The song finished, and she tensed, bracing herself for whatever was to come next.
“My lady,” he said, putting down the citole without breaking his gaze. “I know it is too much to ask.”
“Then you had best keep your mouth shut,” she snapped, but curiosity consumed her about what he was going to say.
“And yet I will speak,” he said gently. “Would you permit me to comb your hair?”
His words surprised her so much that her jaw dropped. He wanted to comb her hair? She’d never heard of a man asking such a thing. Had he gone mad?
And yet the thought of him touching her head as gently and deftly as he’d pluck those strings was more appealing than she wanted to admit. Though it could also be a prelude to things she didn’t want to contemplate.
“Only if you hand me the poker so that I can stab you if you do something I don’t like,” she said at last, certain he wouldn’t agree to any such condition.
He chuckled. “I wondered why you kept glancing at it. You do not need a weapon to defend against me, but if it makes you feel better, then here.” The provoking man took the poker and knelt like a knight presenting his sword to his liege. “Your poker, my lady. I have no doubt you would make good use of it if I broke my word.”
She let out a long breath as her hand closed around it. The knot in her chest loosened ever so slightly as she clasped the rough iron. “If you insist on humiliating yourself and playing lady’s maid, the comb is in my trunk. It should be on the top.”
Martin rummaged in her trunk and returned with the comb. Kicking off his shoes, he climbed onto the bed behind her. Every muscle in her body tensed as he reached out to remove her crespinette and pluck out the hairpins that held her side buns in place. His fingers brushed her ear, making her jump. If he touched her anywhere improper, she would jab his eye out.
“Be at ease, my lady,” he crooned as he pulled out the remaining hairpins. Her hair fell down in two thick braids, and he leaned to the side to set the pins on the bedside table. Moments later, he was behind her again, not touching her back but so close she could feel the heat radiating from him.
As the wind howled outside, she gripped her poker, instincts warring within her. Part of her longed to run away as fast as she could. But another part of her longed to curl into that warmth. It was so cold here at Bamburgh and so rare that she ever managed to thaw out completely. Did she dare get closer to take the edge off her chill? She still had a weapon to defend herself with. Fortunately, good sense prevailed, and she stiffened her back. “Hurry and be done with it before I change my mind.”
He chuckled as he picked up a braid and began combing it out. “My little sister, Eglantine, taught me how to braid,” he said as the comb slid through her hair, teasing apart any tangles so gently that she didn’t feel anything beyond a soft tug. “You’d think my brother, Lance, would have been the one to order us all around, given his size, but my sister ruled my childhood with an iron fist.”
The comb grazed Isabella’s scalp, sending tingles down her spine. Against her will, she found she rather liked the sensation. It took more effort than she expected to remain impervious to all outward appearances. “I didn’t know you had a sister, or a brother, for that matter,” she said, making conversation to fend off the heavy languor that was descending on her at his touch. She couldn’t afford to let her guard down, even for a moment.
“Oh yes,” he said. “You’ll meet them both when we get to Winchelsea. They’ll absolutely adore you.”
As he continued his work, some rebellious part of her wanted to arch into his hand like a cat seeking pets. What dark, nefarious magic was this? “Adore me?” she asked, struggling to keep the thread of the conversation. “No one adores me.”
“No? Not even your sister?”
Her heart squeezed at the mention of Adelaide. “She’s too tenderhearted for her own good. Our parents have never been…” She ought not to complete that sentence while under this roof, if she knew what was good for her. “Well, you’ve met them.”
“No need to explain.” Setting down the comb, he traced his fingers lightly through her hair, sending irritatingly pleasant shivers down her neck.
“We only ever had each other. And our brother, Crispin. But we haven’t seen him for many years.”
He began to massage her scalp, and her breathing hitched as the day’s tensions melted away beneath his skillful touch. Coxcomb that he was, his fingers were doing a marvelous job of putting her at ease.
“I’ve always looked out for them, and they’ve always looked out for me, at least when we’ve been together. Leaving them was the hardest part of going off to serve Queen Eleanor at King Louis’s court. My brother was sent out to foster around the same time I was sent away. Poor Adelaide was all alone for years. How she survived and stayed the sweet young woman she is, I don’t know.”
He pressed his thumbs at the base of her skull, and she couldn’t stop herself from moaning aloud. “By all the saints, that feels heavenly. Where did you learn to do this?”
“My mother’s healer,” he said, his thumbs making gentle rounds as they pressed. “She has terrible headaches from time to time, and this helps alleviate them. You seemed tense. I thought this might help you relax.”
Her shoulders tensed. “So that I’ll let my guard down and you can have your way with me?”
“Never,” he said firmly, his fingers tracing down her neck and kneading her shoulders. She should have stopped him, orat least objected, but she didn’t. “I swear to you, Isabella, I will never lay a hand on you without your leave.”
As if to demonstrate, he lifted his hands away from her shoulders.
“No, please. Don’t stop what you were just doing.” The sweet ache his clever hands released was too much to bear. She needed his touch to soothe it away, even if it left her boneless and lethargic. Her grip on the poker had loosened considerably, though she had no intention of letting it go.
Martin pressed his thumbs into a mass of muscle between her shoulders, and she gasped. “Yes, please, that.” She couldn’t form a sentence.
He chuckled softly. “Someday, I’ll make you say that in our marriage bed.”
