He was, indeed, right behind her when she left the pool. The last thing they needed was some slippery mishap that ended up with her really hurt. The second-to-last thing they needed was her getting any more room and getting up to her grabby antics again. She was already going to be the death of him. Maybe he would find some scraps of luck, and he could get her dressed and fed and then she'd start to feel the sleepy effects of the wine.
"No one is good at being drunk," he assured her, securing his towel around his waist before taking hers and wrapping her up in it. Its fallen brother he retrieved, and used to wrap her hair in carefully. Soon enough he had her dried off and slipped into one of his tunics, which seemed to hang off her too attractively, and settled down at his table where he could call down for food to give her. Only when she was eating did he dare to change into loose, dry pants of his own to sleep in.
"There, my lady. Warm and dry and fed. Are you better, now?"