The morning sun had no place in this house.
Marybeth blinked awake to the dim orange flicker of the firelight and the slow crackle of wood in the hearth. Her body was warm beneath the thick velvet sheets, but her chest was tight, remembering the way last night had ended.
She had undressed for him, as a wife would a husband. And even though it was her first time, she had been willing.
And yet, after he touched her and awakened a fire… he had stopped, stepped back, and looked at her like she was something unnatural. He hadn't even looked her in the eyes afterward.
Did I disgust him that much? She wondered.
A soft knock pulled her thoughts back and then a small-framed maid that looked barely older than Mary, with chestnut hair pulled into a bun, walked in with her head bowed. She wore a white flared gown under a lilac apron.
"Good morning, Lady McKenna." Her face was hard, not even a single smile. She walked toward the velvet curtain and pushed it aside, letting the light in.
Mary closed her eyes, squeezing it tight.
The maid bowed, almost apologetically, "I will assign a maiden to clean up your room and dust your sheets."
Mary nodded, wanting to ask more about McKenna—if he had other family she was meant to meet, and how she was supposed to present herself.
But instead, the maid looked up.
"Master has summoned you, Mrs," she murmured. "He says to come to the bathing chamber."
Her lips parted. The bathing ch… chamber? Was there one outside her room? And was he going to be there?
She sat up slowly on the bed, hands knotting in her lap, "did he… say why?"
The maid only shook her head, "Come with me, Mrs, I will show you the way."
Mary followed the maid, covering her nightdress with her shawl. Once she stepped out of her room and descended the stairs, she looked at the open center of the courtyard. The mist from last night had lessened, and she could see now there rested a fountain in the shape of a naked woman, pouring out water from her chest.
The hallways were cold and quiet, and only the stamping of their feet echoed. Portraits lined the walls with gloomy oil paintings of strangers she didn't recognize, with eyes that seemed to follow her every step.
She gulped, clutching the shawl tighter.
They finally reached the door. It was a double golden door that gleamed with the morning light.
The maid gave a small curtsy, "He is waiting, My Lady." Then, without another word, she vanished down the corridor.
Mary's lips parted as she stared at the dim hallway where the maid scurried through. Huh? She really left her here alone.
She turned to the door and gulped. Then, with trembling hands, she pushed it open and stepped in.
The first thing that hit her was the scent of candle wax, lavender oil, and something else...like sandalwood and smoke. The room was dim, bathed in the glow of dozens of candlelights set in iron sconces along the walls. Only faint sunlight came in from the small window atop the walls, pouring over her messy hair.
Shadows flickered and danced on the cobblestones, and at the edge of the room where more candles sat around, was a massive claw-foot tub filled with water and clouds of steam.
And in it… was him.
McKenna sat deep in the bath just opposite her. His eyes were closed, head leaned back like he was in the middle of meditating.
His broad shoulders gleamed wet under the light, droplets of water dripping down his collarbone, rolling slowly toward his chest and the deep lines of his taut stomach, hair was wet as well, strands fallen around his forehead. He was as still as a statue, or perhaps a beast at rest.
"You came," he said quietly, without opening his eyes.
Mary gulped, clasping her hands together to keep herself steady. "You asked for me," she murmured.
His voice was low and calm, like smoke curling in a cold room. "I did."
He hadn't looked up at her, eyes still closed. She caught his chest rising and falling, his muscles flexing slightly as he shifted.
"Come closer," he said.
Mary blinked. If she moved any closer, she would see that he was naked. He was having his bath, how could she…?
"We are married. There is no need to feel ashamed."
Was he doing this again? Like how he touched her and stopped. Did she not repulse him again?
Suddenly, his eyes flew open, his darkened gaze fixed on her, and Mary's foot instantly moved against her will.
Her heart was hammering with every step. Her feet dragged against the floor, and every bit of her wanted to flee, yet she moved.
McKenna, suddenly satisfied that she was obeying, closed his eyes again and leaned his head back.
She clutched the shawl tighter over the nightdress, while sending silent glares at him. She finally reached, stopping right in front of him.
McKenna didn't glance at her. Instead, he raised one hand lazily, holding something.
A sponge.
"Wash me," he said.
She blinked.
"…"
Did he just? Haha. Clearly, he had maids around and could tell one of them to wash him, if he couldn't as well clean himself.
The braveness inside her was nothing close to the tinge of her voice.
"I…" her voice trailed off.
"I can't reach my back," he added. "And the servants are forbidden to enter this room when I'm inside."
With shaking hands, Mary took the sponge and crouched close to him. She did this while forcing herself not to look at his abs, at the smoothness of his chest. Thank heavens the water was filled with soapy foam, so below his stomach was hidden.
The sponge was wet and rough on her palms, soaked with lavender oil, for the scent filled her nostrils.
She took a moment to calm herself, but no matter what she did, her hands still trembled. So she dipped it into the water, then reached toward him—but her hands were trembling midair, and it must have taken forever because he opened his eyes.
They didn't settle on her face—they stared down at her hands holding the sponge, almost about to reach his chest.
"Have you always had those scars?" he asked suddenly, eyes intent.
Mary stilled. She followed his gaze to the dark, burnt mark in a circle shape on her wrist. She quickly covered it out of habit.
"They are old…" she said softly. "From long ago."
He didn't press, and that relieved her because she didn't want to visit that place.
She dipped the sponge again and touched it to his shoulder. Her hand brushed lightly on his skin and she felt the jolt like before. His skin was cold, almost feverish, but the water was warm, so it didn't bother much.
She trailed it down his arm, mesmerized by the smoothness of his skin. The fear she felt was now replaced with curiosity. The soapy water dripped down his skin into the tub in slow drops.
"Why did you call me?" she asked, unable to keep the question from leaving her lips.
"Because," he said, eyes half-lidded like her hands on him were pulling him into a strange sensation he had never known, "something is changing me."
She paused, looking at him, at the same time, he looked at her and leaned so close she could feel his breath.
"In me," he clarified. "And perhaps… because of you."
Mary's heart skipped. She cleared her throat and stayed fixed on her task. "Because of me?" she asked.
"You are not ordinary, Beth. And neither am I."
She swallowed, then whispered, "I thought you never liked me. I thought… perhaps… that I repulse you."
He tilted his head, eyes fixed on her. "I don't."
Two words, but they sent a rush of chill down her feet. She looked at him, his face was close, almost touching hers, and she thought of last night: how he had touched her earlobe, her neck, and how she had felt the heat like blazing flames. She still felt it, right now.
And maybe she was drawn to this flame like a moth and didn't want to pull away.
Mary leaned in closer, wanting more of his scent, his breath, and then the sponge slipped from her fingers, splashing into the water and sinking out of sight, especially with the clouds of foam.
She gasped, pulled back instantly, "I'm so…"
"Find it," he said flatly.
Moving back to his position, he leaned his head back and closed his eyes again.
Her breath caught. She looked down at the soapy water and wondered how she could find something she couldn't see.
Mary moved her hand into the water slowly, the steam curling around her fist and then her forearm. She try to feel around, her fingers brushing his leg and quickly pulling away.
The sponge wasn't there.
She leaned further, her sleeves soaking wet. At first, all she could feel was the smooth bottom of the tub.
When…
Her fingers touched something that didn't feel like the sponge. It curled around something hard and long, that moved the minute she touched it.
She jerked her hand back like she had been burned, and in that instant, McKenna's eyes flew open.