The Duke and the Enchantress

Chapter Five - Bath

Chapter Five - Bath

Willow had lived on the outskirts of the village her whole life, but she had never once set foot in Connor Keep.  Unless you counted the day she was thrown into the dungeons underneath.  She allowed herself to be carried up the stone steps and into the halls for no other reason than the fact that she became woozy and lightheaded when she was on her feet.  Her eyes took in the grandeur of the castle with disinterest.  She cared nothing for the old portraits of dead royals that lined the halls, or the polished suits of armor, or the Connor family crest above the great stone fireplace.  She had no concern if she dripped blood on the imported carpets, nor did she care about the curious maidservants who peered at her from doorways. 

They reached the great hall, and the duke finally allowed the guard to put her down.  He dropped her unceremoniously to her feet, and she stumbled, and would have fallen forward onto her face if the duke had not caught her by her arms and steadied her.  She glared up at the man she had spent more than a year hating and loathing.  Connor had not been the one to imprison her beneath his castle, but he had done nothing to stop it either.  He had ignored her letters of petition, and turned a blind eye to the atrocities that were committed against her in the bowels of the Keep.  Even now his brown eyes were expressionless and uncaring.  His nose wrinkled slightly in disgust at the smell of her as he straightened her and then took a step away. 

It was true what they said about him, she thought. The duke had no soul. 

“Mrs. Short!” the man bellowed, making Willow flinch away from him. 

Immediately a tall, thin, angry looking woman stepped into the chamber.  Obviously she’d been hovering just outside, waiting to be summoned.  She looked at Willow as though she were a rat that had scampered into the royal chambers.  She turned her eyes to the Duke.  “Yes, your grace?” 

“Have you prepared the bath?” 

The woman inclined the head.  “The girls are heating the water now, your grace.” 

“There is no time to heat the water.  Get her cleaned up immediately.” 

The woman nodded, and turned to Willow, her lip curling in disgust.  “If you will follow me, madam.” 

Willow had no choice but to stumble after the woman.  Her legs wobbled, and little black spots stirred around the edges of her vision.  Warm blood was still sliding down her thighs, and her chest felt tight.  She fought against the darkness that wanted to pull her down.  Not now, not here, she told herself.  Not when she was so close to freedom.  She was led into a chamber where a stone bath had been built into the floor.  Big kettles of water were heating over a fire in the fireplace, but Mrs. Short waved a hand at the maids that were tending the fire.  “Just add the water, Justine.  The duke has said to hurry.” 

The smaller maid, the one called Justine, lifted the kettle off from its hook, and struggled to carry the heavy pot to the bath.  The other maid, who was tall and stout followed with the other two pots, one in each hand.  The chill had barely been taken off the water, and Willow shivered just watching it splash into the stone pool.  But at least it was clean water.  She had not seen a bath in more than a year. 

“Bring the vinegar and Sulphur, Petra,” Mrs. Short commanded the taller maid.  She gestured at Justine.  “Remove her clothing.” 

“I can do it myself,” Willow growled.  Once she might have been humiliated to disrobe in front of strangers, but after the things that had been done to her in the dungeons, modesty was nothing.  The shift she wore was so badly torn, she needed only push it off her shoulders, and the thing dropped to the floor, weighted down by the blood and grime.  She stepped out of it and walked naked to the recessed bathing pool.  It was cool, but not unbearable as she finally let her legs buckle and sank into the water.  Justine struggled with another bucket, filling the tub until Willow sat waist deep in the water.  The clear cold water was already dark and murky from the grime on her body.  The maid handed her a bar of harsh lye soap, the kind used to wash linens with, and a rag.  Willow took it, and began scrubbing at her body.  The soap burned, but it was nothing compared to the pain she had endured. She welcomed the stinging sensation as she rubbed her body all over.

While she was still working the cloth over her skin, Petra returned with two big jugs of wine vinegar.  With a nod from Mrs. Short, the girl uncorked the jug and tipped it over Willow’s head.  Willow grimaced as the odor stung her nose, but lifted her hands to work the vinegar through her filthy, matted hair.  When the jug was empty, and she wiped her eyes, she saw the insects floating on the surface of the water, both lice and fleas that she had been hosting in the dungeons.  “Again,” Mrs. Short commanded, and the second jug was poured over her. 

The vinegar was nothing compared to the treatment that came next.  Chips of Sulphur were added to another bucket of water.  The stink of rotten eggs filled the room, almost drowning out the bad smells that had been on Willows body.  “Stand up!” Mrs. Short commanded, and the Sulphur drench was dumped over her, soaking her hair, and her entire body, making her newly scrubbed skin turn bright pink with irritation.  

Near the wall a drain was opened, and the filthy water began to siphon out of the tub.  Two more buckets of ice-cold water were dumped over her as she stood shivering, clutching her own body.  Her teeth chattered together as a rough linen towel was scrubbed over her stinging skin, and the two maids started yanking a comb mercilessly through her hair.  When they came to a matt that they couldn’t work through, they simply pulled until the hair broke or pulled from her scalp.  By the time they finished, the pile of matted hair at her feet looked like a small dead animal. 

Someone brought her a clean shift, and a brown homespun dress to wear over it.  Willow didn’t care if it was simple and ugly, she didn’t care if the course wool scratched and irritated her sensitive skin.  It was clean.  She was clean.   

“Madam,” another maid appeared and bobbed in front of Mrs. Short.  “The Duke is demanding that you come, and bring the woman immediately.” 

Mrs. Short rolled her eyes.  “Lets go!” she barked at Willow, and again marched off in front of her, back in the direction they had come.  The cold water had cleared Willow’s head, but it had done nothing to strengthen her.  Her body was weak, her muscles were atrophied, and she had lost a lot of blood.  She stumbled after the housekeeper back into the Duke’s public chamber. 

The man was there, pacing the room impatiently.   

When she was a free woman, she’d only had glimpses of him from time to time as he rode out on his horses to inspect his holdings.  From a distance, he’d been a striking figure, riding tall and straight in the saddle.  Up close, he was devastating.  He was tall, with broad shoulders and long lean legs.  She could see his thighs straining against his breeches.  He wore an elaborately embroidered tunic, with a thick leather belt.  The leather strap of his sword scabbard stretched across his muscular chest.  His face was perfect, with a strong, chiseled jaw, and long straight nose.  Thick eyebrows slashed over dark, brooding eyes.  He kept his face shaved, but the shadow of a beard was beginning to darken it.  His expression was completely cold as he looked her up and down. 

“Well at least now you look like a woman,” He commented.  Then he turned to Mrs. Short.  “Bring the child here.”