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Aimee could see he winced with every step. “You are footsore?” she asked sympathetically.

“My whole body is sore,” he corrected her as he gingerly lowered himself onto the mattress.

“This should help,” she told him brightly, showing him the bottle. He turned his head toward her, looking at her face rather than the bottle. “What is it?” she asked lowering it. “Konrad?” She pulled a face. “Or should I call you my lord?” She glanced about the interior. “For I suppose this counts as a bedchamber, strictly speaking.”

He looked uncomprehending a moment before his face turned a little red and he cleared his throat. “How about you forget I ever said that?” he suggested. “I only meant – well, I like how you talk to me in general. When you’re unguarded in speech, I mean. But I especially like it when we’re naked in bed together.” He shrugged his bare shoulders. “I’m pretty sure you could call me anything there and I would like it.”

Aimee regarded him in surprise. He reached slowly across the bed and touched the back of his fingers to her cheek. Aimee leaned into his touch a moment before raising her hand to lightly clasp his own. “You were very impressive today,” she said hesitantly, not knowing how to respond.

“Not as impressive as de Bussell,” he grimaced, letting his hand drop.

“I thought you were. It was just luck that he won out in the end,” Aimee insisted. “Either one of you would have been a worthy winner.”

He gave a short laugh. “You are biased in my favor.”

“Always,” she agreed and again his eyes sought hers.

“I just think you like me best when I lose,” he said in an odd tone.

“Win or lose, you are the one my gaze is drawn to,” Aimee admitted, drawing the stopper from the bottle. She did not dare look at his face as she admitted the fact. The scent was fresh and smelled of the leaves from which the balm was made. “Shall I do your hands or your feet first?” she asked cheerfully.

“Both ache,” he admitted with a groan.

“I’m not surprised after jolting and jarring your bones the way you do.” Aimee reached across and drew one of his hands into her lap. She spread the balm over his chafed knuckles first, working it into the dry skin by circling her thumbs. “Will you let me do all of your limbs?” she asked when he closed his eyes and relaxed against the bed with a sigh.

“All of them?” he asked drowsily.

Aimee decided to take that a yes. Turning his hand over, she smoothed the thick liquid over his calloused palm and along his fingers before rubbing vigorously. When that drew a groan from him, she reflected that gripping the hilt of his sword had likely left his palm aching and sore. She redoubled her efforts, circling her thumbs with increasing pressure as she moved over the area of his large hand, working the joints of each finger.

Interestingly, he never voiced any objection, however hard she pressed and pummeled, so Aimee decided brisk and firm was the method to employ. She did both hands and feet and then the front of his arms and legs, his chest and stomach, bunching the drying sheet about his hips as she worked so she could reach those thick thighs and then his muscular stomach.

“Konrad?” she murmured breathlessly, leaning over him. “Can I do your face?”

His eyes sprang open at once. “My face?” he asked, looking as though he had been disagreeably startled out of slumber.

Seeing the tension entering his frame again, she said quickly, “It does not matter, if you would rather I did not.”

He lifted a hand from the mattress before letting it fall again. “No, you can do it,” he said, looking as though he meant to say more but could not form the words.

“Would you rather I stayed away from the scarring?” Aimee asked carefully.

He did not speak for a moment, and when he did, his voice was low. “If you want to touch it, you can,” he said gruffly.

Aimee nodded and tipped the bottle into her palm. “Tell me if anything does not feel nice,” she said setting her hands against each side of his face.

“You won’t hurt me,” he grunted. “There is very little feeling in that side of my face.”

Aimee smoothed the lotion against his cheekbones and then massaged it into his cheeks, her fingers light yet firm. The scarred side of his face felt tight and tough under her fingers. Aimee wondered regretfully if it had been fresher, would she have been able to manipulate it back into supple skin?

“I wish I could have been there when you were recovering,” she said pressing her lips together. “I do not think they can have taken good care of you as I should have.”

He let out a huff of laughter. “Very likely not. It was the not the place for a lady though,” he said grimly, and she guessed he must have been a prisoner at the time.

“I would not have been a lady,” she pointed out. “But the daughter of a spice and herb merchant.”

He looked amused but did not pursue this line of conversation. Instead, she felt him slowly relax as she ran her fingers along the line of his jaw and chin, up and over his brow, and down the sides of his face until he was breathing deep and easy again. Likely, she could get some special oil for the dark beard which he had kept tidily trimmed since their marriage.

“I need you to turn over,” Aimee murmured as his eyes drifted shut again.