The lapse was temporary, ending abruptly with the jolt that set her upright on her feet again. Someone—not her— resettled the flowing ends of her wimple, smoothing it back over her shoulders so that she could see, but since she had no idea where she was, she needed several astonished seconds to realize what she was looking at.
He had brought her into a grotto of sorts, a low-ceilinged, elongated cavern hewn out of the solid rock. The mist of fright and anger she had supposed was blurring her vision proved to be clouds of steam rising off the surface of a small pool. It was fed from beneath the ground rather than above, and was obviously heated by nature’s grace, from some unknown source far below the surface of the rock. The basin of the pool was no wider than two tall men stretched head to heel, and was as clear as glass, with a bottom of fine white sand. At the very centre, at a depth of perhaps three feet, the sand was molded in the shape of a small volcano with occasional featherings around the rim of the crater to suggest erupting jets of hot water.
Overhead the rock glistened wetly. Drops of water fell like dew from the short, pointed stalactites hanging from the ceiling. The domed shape of the cavern trapped the heat and the steam, while the open end was curtained by a thick wall of ivy and ropes of fragrant honeysuckle. What hint there was of the dazzling sunlight beyond the wall was muted and filtered by the leaves, only to be refracted in the million tiny fragments of phosphorescent sand embedded in the rock.
“What is this place?” she asked in a tremulous voice. “Where have you brought me?”
“You questioned the existence of a hot bath,” the Wolf replied matter-of-factly. “And since you claim to have no apprehensions about myths or superstitions, it should not trouble you to know the druids who were said to inhabit this forest long ago, used the waters of this particular well to purify their sacrificial offerings.”
Servanne looked at him aghast. She had never said she was not superstitious, and jesting about druids and sacrificial offerings was a sure call for doom.
She swallowed hard. “Very well, I have seen your bath. I would like to go back to the abbey now.”
“Without taking advantage of the hot water and obliging hands? You said yourself you craved the pleasure of a scrub —here is your opportunity, and here am I to assist.”
“Assist! I would sooner trust the assistance of a whore-master!”
He looked wounded. “Why, you act as if I want more from you than to exchange a simple courtesy. In truth, I ask only for a bath. A request for anything else must needs come from you.”
Her mouth dropped open in shock.
“Take me back,” she insisted shrilly. “Take me back at once, do you hear?”
He ignored her and pulled the sweat-soaked tails of his shirt over his shoulders and flung it aside. Servanne pressed as far back into the shadows as she could go, her feet slipping on the lush carpet of thick green moss, her hands finding nothing to support her on the smooth, wet walls.
Under her horrified stare, the Wolf casually unfastened the leather points that held his leggings taut about his hips. The deerhide was peeled down the solidly thewed thighs and discarded along with his boots, shirt, and stockings in a crumpled heap beside the pool.
Naked as a gladiator he stepped into the steaming water and waded to the centre of the basin.
“Ahh—” he sighed and sank down in a cloud of swirling mist. He stretched his arms out and let his head fall back, submerging himself below the surface of the water. He reappeared a few moments later, his long chestnut mane plastered sleekly to his head and shoulders, his bronzed torso streaming crystalline sheets.
Almost as an afterthought, the gray eyes returned to the shadows and he grinned.
“I await your convenience, my lady,” he said, spreading his arms.
“You may wait until hell freezes, milord! How dare you think … presume you can treat me this way!”
“What way is that?”
“Like a … like a common tavern wench, or a … a …”
“Yes?”
Servanne saw the arrogant smile and squared her slender shoulders in defiance. “You treat me as though I were someone who should fawn at your knees, or at the very least faint with awe over this … this paltry dividend of flesh you