Page 39 of Brighter Than Gold

“You’re not alone, I’m right here.” He lifted my face to meet his eyes.

I said nothing, I simply looked at him, his unshaven jaw, and unruly brown curls. Thick dark lashes and dark eyes that searched my face for… something.

I saw his chest heave with a slow sigh, and then Callan started on his own belt.

Satisfied, I turned and climbed into the bath. The hot water made my skin feel as though it was coming alive, waking up. I closed my eyes and leaned my head back against the edge of the tub. Waves crashed over the sides and spilled onto the floor as Callan lowered himself into the water across from me.

Within minutes of our bodies being submerged, the water had turned red and smelled of iron. For a long time both of us just sat there, relishing in the healing properties of simple hot water, how our bodies felt lighter and buoyant.

Callan moved first for the soaps set out by the tub. He lathered his arms and chest but flinched when he moved too near his ribs or to his back.

I pushed off the back of the tub, and took the soap slowly from his hands. There wasn’t enough room for him to turn around, but in my state, I didn’t care. I climbed into his lap, careful to avoid the angry bruises.

Callan held his breath and sat motionless, tense like a wary dog that may lash out a bite at any moment. But he let me continue, pity silencing his usual righteousness.

I lathered the soap and began to run my slippery hands along his neck and shoulders, the soap bubbles that ran off him stained brown and red.

I lathered more soap and reached farther down his back, pressing my bare breasts against his chest to reach around him so that every inch of skin could be touched and cleaned.

Callan turned his head away from me with his jaw firmly locked. I knew I was pushing boundaries; I simply didn’t care.

“I’m almost finished,” I said, sensing his discomfort. I ran my soapy hand along the last parts of his back. “Can you manage the rest?” I asked, holding out the bar of soap to him.

“I can. Thank you.”

Carefully, I crawled down from his lap and back to my side of the bath. When he’d finished with the soap he leaned forward and handed it to me.

I ran the bar over my body uninhibitedly, and then lathered my long hair with a floral smelling shampoo. When I’d worked it into thick, foaming bubbles I stopped, looking down into the filthy bath water, so dark you could no longer see the bottom of the tub.

“Wait,” Callan said, stepping from the bath. He kept his back to me until he was able to wrap a towel around his waist. Then he brought over a last pitcher of water.

“Stand up, I’ll rinse you.”

Normally I would have smiled at his thoughtfulness. I braced both hands on the tub and pushed myself up.

“Tilt your head back.”

I did, and immediately lost balance.

“It’s all right, I’ve got you,” Callan said catching me by the wrist. “Here, lean on me.”

I placed both hands on the general’s broad chest to steady myself, while he poured the clean water down my hair. He went slowly, making sure all of the bubbles rinsed out, then he poured it over the rest of my body so meticulously, so caringly, as to make sure not to leave a single drop of the filthy, tainted water on me.

He poured down my shoulders and watched the water sluice down the arch of my back, and then cascade over my back side. He poured down each of my arms. The clean water washed over my breasts and made my nipples furl into tight points, but Callan’s eyes never lingered on them. He poured the clean water down my belly and watched it run down each thigh and disappear into the murky bathwater below me.

“Thank you,” I whispered when the pitcher was empty. He helped me step out of the bath, and then pulled a towel around me. A second towel he gently wrapped around my hair and squeezed firmly, wringing the water out.

“Come.”

I took his hand and he led me back over to the stool. I sat and watched while he took a brush from the vanity.

Callan gently started to work the brush through my long locks. I was surprised by how expertly he worked out the snags and knots.

“Never in my life have I seen such pure black hair,” he said quietly. “It’s like obsidian.”

I closed my eyes and relaxed into his gentle care.

“Did you inherit this marvel from your mother or your father?”

---