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‘Where is our di
‘Because that is how you left it. Una gave me some food just now—I think she expected you to be eating in the city.’
‘Because you told her so, I suppose?’ He was so angry he was seeing red. Julia added fuel to the flames by shrugging one shoulder elegantly.
Wulfric took a deep breath. ‘Smoke, get up and stop behaving like a dog. Berig, go and build up the fire, put on the biggest cauldron. Then go and buy a chicken and ask Una if she’ll put it on her spit for us. Then go and get the tub off the cart and scrounge some more hot water. You can bathe at your sister’s, Sichar won’t be back a while yet.
‘And you—’ he pointed a long finger at Julia ‘—you make the beds and gather up the dirty clothes and wash the dishes and when you’ve done that you can damn well scrub my back.’
Berig left at the run, he was glad to see. As for Julia—Halja, he was angry enough to turn her over his knee. Smoke got to his feet and padded over to his side, tail waving apologetically. Julia just sat and stared at him defiantly.
‘Move!’ he roared. She jumped, got to her feet with a look of scorn and strode off to the tent. Wulfric followed, leaning against the front tent pole, watching with narrowed eyes as Julia disdainfully twitched the bedclothes back into order, kicked the dirty clothing into a pile, shovelled it into a basket and then picked up the bucket full of dirty dishes.
‘You will have to move if you want me to put these in hot water.’ She stood in front of him, her free hand fisted on her hip, and glared at him. If he had not been so skilled at reading an opponent, watching the eyes of a swordsman for the flicker of intent, he would have believed her unafraid. As it was, he could feel a sneaking admiration for the way she stood up to him, despite the fear flickering in the back of those big brown eyes and the betraying pulse at her temple under the fine skin.
And he was frightening, Wulfric knew it, and cultivated that reaction. To lead and to fight he had to look dangerous, and he had to follow through on it whenever necessary. He could not hide that from her, even if he wanted to—and he did not.
He was almost twice her weight and head and shoulders taller. He was half-naked, sweaty, battered and had all too obviously been fighting, and yet she did not flinch. He remembered the way she had resisted those two men in the alley—hopelessly outnumbered and outweighed, but not giving up. He had no wish to break her spirit, but he was begi
‘Will you please move?’ Julia repeated, trying not to let her voice shake. Oh, but he is scary. And big. And attractive. She was utterly horrified at herself for thinking it, but she could not deny it. Something fundamentally female was responding shamefully to the nearness of power and arrogance and sheer masculine beauty.
Wulfric moved to the side with a feline grace and she made herself walk past him and out to the fire. If his size had made him clumsy, then she knew she would not feel this erotic tug. But he moved like a panther, not like the bear he sounded like when he growled, and when he was near she could not stop watching him. Julia scooped hot water onto the greasy dishes, well aware that his eyes were following her.
What on earth would he think if he knew she had been having luridly arousing dreams about him? Dreams so vivid I can still recall the feel of his skin under my palm, still feel the indentations around his bicep where he had removed a bracelet, still… She gave herself a vigorous mental shake and fixed a studiedly neutral expression on her face.
A rumble presaged Berig with another youth, rolling what looked like a vast half-barrel around the side of the tent. They manhandled it through the tent flaps, then there was a thud as they rocked it flat onto the ground.
Julia went into the tent and peered into the tub. It came up higher than her waist, high enough for a big man to sit down in comfortably. ‘Ugh,’ she commented. ‘You sit in your own dirty water?’
‘In the absence of a hypocaust and bathhouse system, a strigil and a slave to oil me, yes.’ Wulfric was stripping off his bracelets. He placed them on a stool and bent to unlace his boots.
‘Julia, mind your back!’ It was Berig and his friend again, this time laden with buckets of hot water. ‘He’ll want fresh towels—there.’ The lad tipped his head towards the back of the tent and took out the empty buckets.
How many towels does a large wet man need? she wondered, then picked up a stack, along with the jar of soap balls. They seemed odd to wash with, but she had to admit they were effective. There was more splashing; the lads were working hard at filling the great tub.
‘That should be enough,’ Berig declared at length. ‘I’ll go and have my own bath now.’ He went out, dropping the tent flap and leaving Julia alone with Wulfric.
He reached in to test the temperature, then stretched. Julia hastily put the towels down within his reach. ‘No, fold one so I can rest my head on it.’
Yes, my lord, no, my lord. Fuming, Julia did as she was told and hung the result over the edge of the tub, then turned her back with a gasp as his hands went to his belt buckle. Very definitely time to go.
‘Where are you going?’
‘Out.’ There had been no sound of splashing behind her, which meant that well over six foot of naked man was still standing there within reach.
‘Wait. I may want more hot water.’
She stopped and stood, just inside the door, listening to the sound of Wulfric climbing into the bath, the splashing of water, his long exhalation of pleasure. ‘That’s good.’ Then, ‘I need another bucketful of hot water.’
Julia snatched up one of the empty buckets and ducked outside. Water was steaming in the cauldron and beside it Berig had left another bucket to top it up. Julia tried it with a fingertip. Cold, straight from the stream. It had not even been sitting around in the sun to take the chill off. With a smile she hefted it up and went back inside.
Over the rim of the tub she could see Wulfric’s head, streaming wet, the long, blond hair dark and slick. He rested it on the folded towel. ‘Just pour the water straight in.’
‘Certainly.’ The side of the tub was too high to lift the full bucket straight up. Julia pulled a stool close and stood on that, balancing the wooden container on the edge. Wulfric was lying back, his eyes closed. She let her gaze roam over the wet skin, the way the water flowed off the sculpted muscle, the shadows of the submerged part of his body.
‘Where exactly shall I pour it?’ she enquired sweetly. The green eyes flew open at her tone, but too late. Julia upended the bucket and a torrent of cold water hit him straight in the chest.
She expected spluttering, splashing and a shout of rage. What she was not prepared for was for him to rise straight up out of the water with a bellow of fury, grab her round the waist and heave her into the tub with him.
‘Aagh!’ She was wet to the waist, then with appalling sudde
‘Waurms! Thaunus! Unhultha!’ He gave her a shake and held her, spluttering, in front of his face. ‘Serpent!’
‘I am not your slave, I am not your servant, I am a free Roman citizen and I will not fetch and carry at the orders of a loutish barbarian!’ Her defiance was somewhat marred by the fact that her plait had come undone and she was trying to declaim through a mass of wet hair. She twisted in his grip, tried to stand, tangled her feet in her undertunic and fell back with a splash to land painfully on her bottom. ‘Oh, I can’t move!’