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Ched sent for his daughter and settled down to explain his plan to Bern over cups of strong wine, unwatered, as was the local custom. Effete Romans might drink their spirits diluted, but not Ched. Here business was usually conducted once the menfolk were well on the way to being drunk.
So Ginger stayed in the background to listen and watch. She took a seat at the side of the public space among a group of women working on spi
I live like a nun, Ginger thought, and she gets to whoop it up anywhere, any time.
Until a few minutes ago this hadn’t bothered Ginger a bit. Now she very nearly snarled as Morga caught sight of Bern, licked her perfect lips in appreciation, and made a beeline to sit beside him.
“Daughter,” Lord Ched a
Morga bounded to her feet, looking appalled. So did Bern.
“What?” Morga screamed.
“What?” Bern echoed.
His voice was firm, but anger crackled off him.
Morga gave Bern another once over, and her lips curled in disdain at the lack of signs of rank or fortune. “I don’t mind giving him a toss, but I like the husband I’ve got,” she told her father.
Lord Ched banged a fist on the table. “You’ll take the man I choose.”
“The goddess chose for me already.”
“Your Year King has already reigned too long. When this warrior challenges, the younger man will lose. Be prepared for it—be prepared to do your duty by your father, your goddess, and your people.” He gestured toward Bern. “Now, be a proper priestess and take this fine bear of a man off to the bath.”
“You sound like a Roman,” the girl complained. “But this land is Celt again. And I’ll do no such thing as bathe a stranger.” She looked around haughtily, and pointed to Ginger. “There’s a priestess who obeys you. Let her service this great bear of yours.”
And, with that pronouncement, she flounced back out again, leaving everyone staring at Ginger.
Bern’s initial impulse was to protest all this nonsense about marriage, and bathing with buxom young women, but he let it go when the girl suggested Virginia White as her replacement. That situation had possibilities. It would be a good way to get White alone.
“Perfect!” he exclaimed, and stepped forward to drag the stu
Warmth spread wherever they touched.
Hmmm…maybe they could turn this ridiculous situation into a bit of mutual fun.
“What are you waiting for, priestess?” the chieftain said. “Show the man the hospitality he deserves!”
“Come along,” Bern said. He pulled White along with him out of the hall.
Once out in the courtyard she got her voice back. “You’re in for a treat, warrior, for the Roman hypocaust is still working and the pool is deep, and hot. The baths draw as many visitors as the sacred spring, increasing the lord’s prestige and—”
“I’m not interested in a hot bath.”
She sniffed and wrinkled her pretty nose. “You should be.”
He laughed. “I guess I am a bit ripe from a few days on the road. My tunic could probably use burning, besides.”
“Where I come from that would be breaking a law against polluting the air.”
For a moment he’d let attraction get in the way of professionalism. This reminder that she was no local priestess brought Bern back to his duty. “Lead on to this bathhouse,” he growled.
He watched her walk ahead of him to the baths. She wasn’t a local, or even native to this time. I could have her, he thought. Then he reminded himself to concentrate on the mission. But he feared his body was going to overwhelm his brain at any moment.
Ginger was aware of the rough soldier’s gaze. She’d never been so instantly and dangerously attracted to a man before. All the rules about indigenous relations were being overruled by the demands of her body. She didn’t think she’d be able to keep her hands off this guy.
Conveniently, to keep up her cover as a priestess intact, she didn’t have any choice but to scrape his naked body down with scented oil and rinse him off.
Her job description was getting more attractive by the day.
She gri
He grabbed her shoulders and spun her to face him. At the same time he growled, “Out!” to the pair of waiting bath attendants. She heard the slap of their bare feet on the stone mosaic as they hurried out.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he demanded the moment they were alone.
“Only what my lord ordered—” Then she realized why her senses were in shock. “You’re speaking English!”
On a burst of sheer relief she grabbed him and kissed him.
What was a man to do when a woman flung herself against him and her soft lips pressed against his own? Then Bern didn’t care what anyone else might do. Her hips ground enticingly against his. Her mouth was delicious, and his tongue delved possessively into the sweet warmth. Her breasts pushed against his chest and he brought a hand up to cup the soft roundness, stroked a thumb across the hard nipple he could feel beneath her dress. He’d never wanted anyone so much or so quickly. He picked her up and tossed her into the water, took a moment to unfasten his sword belt and toss off his armor, then jumped in after her.
Though she was fully clothed, the wet dress clung to her body and outlined her breasts and hips in a way Bern found irresistible.
“People generally get undressed before bathing,” she said.
“And before sex, too.”
She laughed, and reached below the water to grab onto her soaked skirt. “Wet wool,” she muttered. “Now I smell like a sheep.” She gave him a once-over.
“Does that make me a ram?”
She was holding the dress up around her thighs. He caught a glimpse of pale skin through the steaming water. “Don’t stop now,” he urged. He wanted her naked.
She inched up the skirt some more.
“Oh, lord,” he groaned. He splashed through the waist-deep pool and grabbed her. “Don’t tease me, woman.”
She threw back her head and laughed, and he took the opportunity to kiss the base of her throat.
“Help me,” she said. “This thing weighs a ton.”
It took him a moment to realize that she was talking about her wet dress, but once he caught on he grabbed a double handful of soaking wool and yanked while she pulled and squirmed.
Soon he had her as naked as he wanted her. The water gave her skin a translucent sheen.
“You look like milk in moonlight,” he said. Then he remembered her name. White. “You look like your name, Dr. Virginia White.”
“Ginger,” she answered instantly. “No one calls me Virgin—of course around here no one calls me Ginger, either.”
“What do they call you?” he asked, while his hands got very busy.
She drew back. “Priestess,” she answered. “Or the Lady of the White Bird Spring when they’re being formal.” She ran her hands down his chest, admiring the rippling muscle beneath his damp tunic. “Who are you?”
He needed to know how she’d gotten separated from her team, how she’d gotten here, and why she was part of the indigenous power structure. But he needed something else even more right now.