Rain was falling fit to drown the world. The road, which Margaery had been following since morn, was quickly turning into a muddy quagmire, so she had taken shelter beneath the trees. Even here the water found its way down, dripping from sodden leaves onto the hood of the peasant's cloak she had snatched from a clothesline earlier in the day. She was cold and wet, and clutched the cloak tightly around her throat as she peered out into the pouring evening.
A little way down the road, light glowed behind coloured glass. There was an inn, and quite a fine one too. A little discomfort and she would be under its eaves. Steeling herself, Margaery dashed out into the rain and splashed her way down the road, fouling her boots and the hem of her cloak. A gust of wind slapped rain into her face, and she was still blinking moisture from her eyelashes when her boots found the wooden steps and she hurried up into the shelter of the porch.
Her pale hand rose on a slim wrist. Fingers that had never had to grip a spade or hoe rapped smartly on the thick wooden door.
After a moment's wait, Margaery heard the metallic clatter of a latch lifting. The door swung inwards, allowing warm yellow light to fall across her.
"Can I help you, m'lady?"
The speaker was a young man, broad-shouldered and dark-haired. He spoke carefully, as if afraid of giving offense.
"Yes, I would like dinner and a room for the night."
"Come inside."
The young man stood back, pulling the door wider so that Margaery could slip past him. She lowered her hood as she crossed the threshold, light from the fire catching on her long, auburn tresses. The young man pushed the door shut behind her and dropped the latch, cutting off the sound of the rain.
The common room was large but mostly empty, with only a few tables occupied. Men sat alone or in small groups, and while some flicked their gaze over to Margaery, an air of subdued disinterest prevailed.
"I am Aaren, m'lady. This is my father's inn," said the young man. "Would you like to see our rooms first, or shall I have some food readied?"
"Is the innkeeper here?"
"No, m'lady, he's away at the moment. He's gone into town to get supplies, and won't be back until tomorrow."
"Well, lucky us then."
"Sorry, m'lady, why is that lucky?"
"Because that means you get to take care of me all by yourself."
Margaery smiled brightly at the handsome young man, who blushed.
"I'll see the rooms first, I think."
Aaren nodded. "Up the stairs, m'lady."
Margaery was relieved when the staircase walls closed around her. She knew the raider was still out there somewhere, and would likely come looking for her once he recovered from the blow she'd dealt him. She doubted he'd be able to track her through all the rain, but for the moment privacy and anonymity suited her just fine.
The stairs led up to a long corridor which ran the length of the inn. Aaren led Margaery towards one room and then seemed to think better of it, taking her further down the hall towards the very end. He pushed open the last door on the right and then stepped back to let her through.
"This is our finest room, m'lady."
Margaery walked in slowly and turned around, taking it all in. The wooden floor was chilly underfoot, but a thick rug covered the central space at the foot of the bed, which was a large four-poster. Dark, heavy beams held up the ceiling, sloping away from the hall towards the far wall, which was only chest-height except for within a large alcove opposite the door. A comfortable seat was positioned beneath the lead-paned window and would be a lovely place to read during the fine weather, but right now the dim glass showed only a distorted version of the rainy night. Opposite the bed, a large fireplace dominated the right-hand wall, and Margaery saw that it had no back wall, allowing fires lit in the pit to warm a second room. A small door on the far side of the fireplace led through to said room, and Margaery sighed with satisfaction after she opened it.
The innkeepers must have been making a good profit, for the washroom was quite large. A concertina partition made of thin paper stood between the tub and the door, providing an extra layer of privacy, while the tub itself was easily large enough for two people. It was made of wood, wider at the rim than the base, creating sloping edges to lean back against. There were benches within the tub on which to sit, and on the far side a wooden frame stood ready to receive her clothes. The bathroom floor was tiled in earthy red and there was only one small window, giving it a warm, cosy feel. Margaery turned back to Aaren.
"Food first, the best meats and vegetables from your kitchen. While I'm eating you can light that fire and have the tub filled. I'll be staying the night."
***
Margaery ate heartily but in silence, and once her stomach was full the sensation of dirt on her skin pressed in with renewed insistence. Returning upstairs to her room, she found flames dancing in the hearth and steam rising from the bath, curls of vapour caressing the air on their way to the ceiling.
With nimble fingers, Margaery untied her cloak and let it fall. Beneath it she wore the dress she'd snatched from her bedroom the day the raider kidnapped her, now stained and creased from travel. Reaching down with crossed arms, she grasped the fabric and pulled up as she straightened, fluidly stripping the dress away. She shivered, the warming air still cold enough to speckle her arms and belly with goosebumps. Her nipples went hard, pink bumps stiffening on the crowns of her full, pale breasts. Last to go were her smallclothes, the bunching fabric sliding over the curve of her bum as she bent down to take them off. They fell lightly from her loins, joining the rest of her garments on the floor.
Naked, Margaery crossed the room to the tub. She climbed in, sighing with bliss as she lowered herself down and the warm water embraced her body. She leant back and closed her eyes, savouring the sensation. Even sitting on the bench, the water came up to her ribs, gently lapping at the base of her breasts like a lover's tongue.
Margaery scrubbed her body with soap, running the hard cake up and down her slender legs and across her belly. She slowed down as she went around her breasts, enjoying the sensation of her flesh yielding gently to the soap and feeling a small thrill as her nipples disappeared under its hard edge. When she went to wash between her legs, she indulged one of her guilty pleasures and let the corner of the bar slip between her lower lips, running it up and down over her nub several more times than was necessary for hygiene.
With her skin finally clean, Margaery took a breath and lowered her head under the water, running her fingers through her long curls to tease out any knots. She came up with a gasp, glowing with the twin sensations of warm water and clean skin. Using her hands to build up a lather, she washed her hair and then let it hang down around her head and neck in darkened strips, the ends drifting slowly in the water.
Margaery heard a polite knock on the door in the other room.
"Enter," she called.
One of the serving girls she'd seen downstairs came in, carrying fresh clothes she'd requested earlier. They were simple garments that probably belonged to one of the staff, but with her only dress soiled Margaery couldn't afford to be choosy. She nodded her thanks as the serving girl set them down on a stool.
"Will m'lady need anything else?"
"Yes. The fire is getting a little low, could you send Aaren back up here with more wood?"
