Chapter Twenty-Two 

No bath for her tonight, but at least Melinda would be able to wash. Though it wouldn't be like a hot shower and her favorite mandarin-orange-scented shower gel. She could almost conjure up the scent. The serving wench was busy with one of the men, whatever that meant. Melinda's imagination presented her with all kinds of interesting images.

The door opened and the innkeeper's wife bustled in carrying a cloth and what looked suspiciously like a misshapen snowball. The smell of lavender filled the room. The woman handed her the lump and the cloth.

"A fine lady from France paid for her lodging with these lovely soaps. I thought a lady such as yourself would enjoy it."

"Thank you. I love the scent of lavender."

The plump woman gestured to the fire. "I'll start the water." She set a bucket and basin on the floor. Seeing Melinda's look, she said, "To wash your hair, dearie."

Melinda's hand went to the tangled mess. "I'm sure it's full of sticks and leaves from traveling."

The woman helped her undress. She shook out the dress and cloak and laid them over a chair. "I'll scrub some of the mud out. They'll dry by the fire tonight."

Melinda sat on the stool and leaned her head back. The woman poured warm water over her hair and Melinda heard it falling into the bucket. It was such a treat to have someone wash her hair. That was always her favorite part of a haircut.

The woman used the lavender soap to wash her hair. She plucked out leaves and twigs, all the while keeping up a constant stream of chatter.

Melinda reached up to wipe water from her face.

"You don't have any hair in your arm-hole."

She'd better not, with all the money she'd spent on electrolysis for her armpits and upper lip. Too bad the hair on her legs wasn't dark enough for lasers. She had to rely on waxing, which meant if she was stuck here she'd have to find out how to shave her legs.

"Where I come from, ladies remove the hair."

"'Tis a strange land." The woman crossed herself and launched into a tale about the Frenchwoman who'd stayed for several days, and her scandalous behavior.

Melinda closed her eyes, listening to the gossip. The woman knew everything about everyone in the village. And all the travelers coming and going from the inn.

"It sounds very exciting. Different people coming and going all the time."

The woman held up a twig. "Were you rolling in the leaves, dearie?"

"I did roll down a hill once. Not watching where I was walking."

"No doubt watching the arse of that fine man yer traveling with."

She and the innkeeper's wife laughed.

"The Red Knight used to be a beautiful man." The woman sighed, rinsed Melinda's hair one last time, and stood. Melinda heard the woman dumping the bucket out of the window onto the ground.

"'Tis a shame." She winked at Melinda. "Though the dark hides scars. I'd like a tumble or two with him."

Warmth spread out over Melinda's chest and up her face. "He's very strong."

"Indeed. Shall I help you wash, lady?"

"I can wash myself. You've done more than enough."

As Melinda turned to soak her stockings in the water with a little sliver of the soap, the woman gasped.

"You don't have hair on your legs like a wee girl. But lady, the mark on your back…" The innkeeper's wife crossed herself. "I've seen similar strange markings on pagans. Are you a pagan, lady?"

"No, I'm not pagan. Where I come from, everyone has a mark. And all the ladies remove the hair from their bodies."

The innkeeper's wife looked dubious, and Melinda bet she'd be the next topic of gossip. The woman gave a short nod and backed out of the room as quickly as she could. Melinda had forgotten about her tattoo. When she graduated from college, she did it to mark the occasion.

It was on her shoulder blade. The simple shape of the sun. To remind her no matter how far she went from home, she would always remember where she came from. The funny thing was, she never left Holden Beach. She'd always thought she would travel the world, but ended up staying in the town where she was born and raised. She had no regrets.

Though be careful what you wish for. Now it looked like she was getting her wish to see other parts of the world. Even if she did have to travel over seven hundred years to the past to do it.

Melinda wrinkled her nose. Her chemise needed a good wash, but then she wouldn't have anything to wear. The innkeeper's wife had done a good job of getting the mud and stains out of the cloak and dress. Both were damp and steaming next to the fire. She'd put the cloak back to dry before she went to bed. Right now she wrapped it around herself and sat down in a chair next to the fire. There was a knock at the door and the serving wench rushed in, looking a bit disheveled.

"Yer husband bid me bring wine. He's an ugly one."

The girl put the jug and cups on the table and left the room with a flounce, hips swaying.

Melinda wanted to slap the tart. James was not ugly. He couldn't help what had been done to him. She noticed the innkeeper and his wife also assumed they were married. It was probably best to let them go on thinking so, as they were sharing a room.

She pulled a comb out of her satchel to run through her hair. What did they use for conditioner? A couple of swearwords left her mouth just as the door opened and James strode in.

"Crap on toast."

He stood there, a smile on his face, letting her know he'd heard every word.

"Let me." He took the comb from her, pulled up the stool, and sat down behind her.

"It's all tangled. The innkeeper's wife got the leaves and twigs out, but I don't think I'll ever get the knots out. Maybe I should cut it all off."

"Patience."

Melinda snorted. "You're a fine one to talk. Before you work on my hair, let me get you a glass of wine. You're going to need it."

She stood and poured them both a glass. It was a red wine with a hint of blackberries. Melinda was becoming a fan of wine.

"You were gone a long time. Is everything all right?"

"Renly and the men will keep watch." James went to work on her hair.

The fire crackled. Voices and the clinking of crockery, the sounds of horses outside in the stable, and the warmth of the room lulled her into a state of deep relaxation. James was gentle. As he worked out each knot, he didn't tug or pull. The man had more patience in his finger than she possessed in her entire body. His fingers skimmed the back of her neck and shoulders as he brushed out each tangle.

"The innkeeper's wife also had a dress in her possession. The same French lady who left the soap left a new gown. I believe it will fit. I'm sorry there wasn't time to have a few more dresses made for you before we left."

She felt his breath on her skin, making goosebumps break out on her flesh as he spoke. A heaviness settled over the room.

"A new dress? Thank you. As much as I would like to wear something clean, I think I'll save it until we get to Blackford. I want to look nice when we arrive."

He grunted and went back to combing her hair. They sat together in companionable silence, James rhythmically brushing her hair, the curls crackling with static as they dried before the fire. Melinda caught herself jerking awake.

He put the comb down on the table and stood, reaching out a hand. She placed her hand in his, feeling the calluses on his fingers. Mere inches separated them. So close she could feel his breath on her face, smell a hint of wine. The flames from the fire reflected in his emerald eyes.

Ever so slowly, he leaned in, the tension in the room so real it was like another person standing next to her taking up all the space. A loud bang and the sound of booted feet running down the stairs made him jerk back. Melinda put her palms to her face.

He'd almost kissed her.

And she'd wanted him to.