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A bath would be nice, but—she glanced down at her bloodied clothes—she would need some clean clothing as well. She returned to the bedchamber and rummaged through the trunks. Most had been emptied by whoever cleared out the tower, but a few items of clothing remained.

She found a couple of shirts that might be a little snug but would ultimately fit Gideon, a pair of breeches, and one nightshirt that was loose enough not to aggravate his injuries.

There were also a couple of women’s shifts—simple but clean, made of soft cotton that felt luxurious against her fingertips. No actual clothing for her, just the night shift, but that would suffice, she supposed. Better than their bloody rags.

In another trunk, she discovered some sheets, an old dark curtain, and a warm blanket.

She pulled out one sheet and ripped it into pieces, needing the cloth to clean and dress Gideon’s wounds. Then she gathered all the items she had found and bundled them on the bed.

When she returned to the main floor, she found Gideon still slumped in the armchair, his head tilted back and his eyes closed. For a moment, she thought he was asleep, but then he spoke without opening his eyes.

“I need a bath,” he said earnestly. “Violently.”

Leila couldn’t help the laugh that escaped her.

“A violent bath?” she asked, moving to check the temperature of the water heating over the fire. “Are you certain that’s what you want? Because I can give you a gentle one instead.”

The water was steaming hot, so she carefully carried the heavy pot upstairs to the dressing chamber.

By the time she brought the pot back, Gideon had fallen asleep again. He was too tired to stay awake even for a few minutes. Filling the copper tub took several trips, but by the time she finished, the water was pleasantly warm rather than piping hot.

Perfect.

“Your bath awaits, Your Grace,” she called down the stairs, hearing his footsteps—slow but steady—as he made his way up to join her.

When he appeared in the doorway of the dressing chamber, she was struck once again by how much the ordeal had cost him. His movements were careful and guarded, and she could see him favoring his left side, where the worst bruising darkened his ribs.

Without ceremony, he began to undress, and she found herself both wanting to look away and unable to do so. Not because of desire—though she was not blind to his masculine appeal—but because of the horror at what had been done to him.

His body was painted in shades of purple, black, and sickly yellow-green. The bruises covered his torso, and she could see the distinct outlines of boot prints where his captors had kicked him.

He settled into the warm water with a sigh that seemed to come from his very soul, and she noticed some of the tension leaving his shoulders as the heat began to work on his battered muscles.

She rolled up her sleeves and knelt beside the tub, dipping a soft cloth into the warm water. “Let me help you with this.”

He started to protest but then seemed to think better of it and simply nodded.

She began with his face, wiping away the dried blood and grime with gentle, careful strokes. There was a cut above his left eyebrow, and that eye was swollen almost shut. His lip was split in two places, but nothing that wouldn’t heal with time and care.

Working her way down, she cleaned his neck and shoulders. His skin was warm under her touch, and she could feel the tension in his muscles beginning to ease.

The worst bruising was across his ribs and down his left side, and she found herself holding her breath as she cleaned the darkest areas.

Next, she washed his arms, noting the wounds from the iron shackles. She had matching ones on her own wrists. The skin was raw and angry, and she made a mental note to prepare a salve for those particular injuries.

When she reached for his hands, he caught her hand gently.

“Leila,” he said quietly. “You don’t have to do this.”

“I know,” she replied simply. “I want to.”

He smiled a little. “I wish I could return the favor…” He paused, his breathing ragged. “Perhaps not tonight.”

How could he still possess humor when he was in so much pain?

“I will definitely take you up on the offer,” she replied with a smile. “But tonight, you’re all mine.”

His smile turned wistful. “I rather like the sound of that.”