Prisoner of My Desire
Read Prisoner of My Desire Online
Authors: Johanna Lindsey
| Prisoner of My Desire |
| Johanna Lindsey |
| HarperCollins (1991) |
Destined to be yet another bestseller from the inimitable Johanna Lindsey.
Spirited Rowena Belleme must produce an heir - or incur the dangerous wrath of a ruthless stepbrother who stands to forfeit his ill-gotten wealth. And the magnificent Warrick deChaville is the perfect choice to sire her child - though it means imprisoning the handsome knight and forcing him to bend to her amorous whims.
Vowing to resist but betrayed by his virility, noble Warrick is intoxicated by Rowena's sapphire eyes and voluptuous beauty. Yet all the while he plans a fitting revenge - eagerly awaiting the time when his sensuous captor becomes his helpless captive. . .and is made to suffer the same rapturous torment and exquisite ecstasy that he himself has endured.
Prisoner of My Desire
The lady was small and fragile, but with the tall…
They arrived at Kirkburough just as the sun was setting.
Rowena woke with some disorientation, but it lasted only moments…
The day progressed, despite all hope that it would not,…
They set upon him on his way out of the…
Rowena had fallen asleep at the edge of the bed,…
Rowena was still glaring at the door that had closed…
“So now you know,” Rowena said dejectedly, having finished telling…
I am glad ’twas you.
“’Tis done.”
Rowena did not realize it until after Gilbert had gone,…
Mildred found him in the chamber she had come to…
Rowena was in a daze for what remained of that…
Rowena knew she was in trouble when the jailer showed…
Rowena did not beg John not to take her to…
Rowena’s breath had stopped completely. Her eyes closed in dread.
That first day in the lord’s solar continued endlessly for…
When Rowena thought of Warrick de Chaville coming to her…
“This be where ye will spend most of yer time,”…
Rowena was furious over the anxiety Warrick had caused her,…
Rowena lay on her uncomfortable bed on the floor of…
The kitchen was an eerie place without its blazing fire…
Warrick was in a bemused state of utter repletion and…
God was merciful the next morning in allowing Rowena to…
With the thorough cleaning done yesterday, Rowena and Enid finished…
“Welcome, Sheldon!” Warrick exclaimed and clasped his old friend in…
No sooner had Rowena returned to the weaving room than…
Warrick had not noticed before how many of his men…
Rowena was never going to live it down. She was…
Warrick was still there when Rowena awoke the next morn,…
Warrick was not sure what complexity the wench was perpetrating…
Warrick was not in one of his better moods when…
He was gone, but Rowena had not been thrown back…
The woods were not a welcoming haven for a woman…
The sun made only a brief appearance that morn ere…
The afternoon dragged by with nerve-racking slowness. Rowena went through…
“Is there a reason you await me out here, wench,…
The noise coming from the Great Hall predicted the evening…
Warrick whipped his daughter right there in the hall for…
“I had sent a man ahead to Gilly Field, to…
Warrick looked up from his cold meal as the tent…
Rowena laughed as Emma’s nose scrunched up when she smelled…
There was one other reason that Rowena could think of…
Warrick castigated himself for the hundredth time for giving in…
Rowena saw the two guards walking so determinedly toward her…
The resumption of Rowena’s previous duties did not lift the…
He did not come. She was to give birth to…
“And what was that swearing about after ’twas over?” Mildred…
England, 1152
The lady was small and fragile, but with the tall knight standing before her, her frailty was much more apparent. Her blond head reached no higher than his broad shoulders. And when his open palm cracked across her cheek, her thin body jerked to the side with the force of it. A blow like that would have easily sent her to the floor if she were not supported. But she was supported, by two of the knight’s men-at-arms. They stood well behind her, her arms twisted just so to thrust her forward so they would not take a blow meant for her. This kept her upright when she might have buckled, kept her there to receive another blow, and still another.
Across the small chamber, Rowena Belleme watched. She also was being held fast by two
men-at-arms, the same two who had dragged her into this chamber to witness her stepbrother’s brutality. Blood trickled down the center of her chin from biting her lips to keep from screaming. Tears fell copiously over ashen cheeks. But she had not been struck herself. Like as not it would come to that if she did not give in to her stepbrother’s demands after this demonstration of his seriousness, but while his patience held, he did not want to blacken her with bruises that would elicit comment at her wedding.
Gilbert d’Ambray had no such qualms regarding his stepmother, however. Lady Anne Belleme—nay, she was Anne d’Ambray now and once again a widow, now that Gilbert’s father was dead—was of little use to him except as a hostage to Rowena’s behavior. And there was not much that Rowena would not do for her mother. But what Gilbert wanted of her now…
Anne turned to look at her daughter. Her cheeks were blotched a fiery red with the imprints of Gilbert’s heavy hand, yet she had shed not a tear, nor made a single sound. Her expression, so eloquent, wrung more tears from Rowena. It said plainly,
This has been done to me so often, ’tis naught. Ignore it, daughter. Do not give the cur what he wants
.
Rowena did not want to. Lord Godwine Lyons, the man Gilbert had found to marry her, was old enough to be her grandfather, in truth, her great-grandfather. And her mother had only confirmed the rumors she had heard of this old lord when Gilbert had demanded that Anne convince Rowena to comply with his wishes.
“I know Lyons, and he is not for an heiress of Rowena’s stature. Even if his age were not an issue, the man has scandals of perversion attached to his name. Never would I condone such a match.”
“He is the only man willing to fight to regain her properties,” Gilbert had pointed out.
“Properties your father lost through his greed.”
“Nay, it is every man’s right—”
“To encroach on his neighbor?” Anne cut in with a full measure of the contempt she felt for her stepson, which was not even a quarter of what she had felt for his brutish father. “To raid and make war without recourse?
To steal and force women into marriage before their husbands are even buried!
Such rights only came to men since that weakling Stephen was made king.”
Gilbert had actually flushed, but more likely with anger than in embarrassment for what his father had done to Anne. In truth, he was a product of the times. He had been only a child of eight when Stephen had stolen the crown from Matilda after old King Henry died. The kingdom had split apart then, half the barons refusing to accept a woman as their ruler, the other half holding by their oaths to Matilda, and now her son Henry of Aquitaine. Hugo d’Ambray was one of the barons who had then sworn to Stephen, and so he had felt justified in killing Rowena’s father, who was Henry’s vassal, and then forcing Walter Belleme’s widow to marry him, thereby gaining control of all of Walter’s lands, which Rowena as his only child inherited, as well
as Anne’s dower lands. And neither Anne nor Rowena had any recourse for this injustice, certainly not from a king who had thrown the realm into anarchy.
Unlike his father, who had had a streak of malevolence to complement his brutishness, Gilbert was like most men of his day, respectful when necessary, churlish when not, and intent on filling his coffers with the fruits of other men’s labors. But because he had lived seventeen years with anarchy, his policies were no different from any other baron’s. Most of them might bemoan having such a weak king that the land was rife with lawlessness, but then most of them took advantage and contributed to that lawlessness.
Actually, in the three years that Gilbert had been Rowena’s stepbrother, he had never said a harsh word to her, nor laid a hand to her in anger as his father had occasionally done. As a knight, Gilbert was well skilled and courageous. As a man, he was actually very handsome, with black hair and dark brown eyes that gave unease for their watchfulness. Until today, Rowena had hated him only because he was his father’s son. For their own benefit and their petty wars with their neighbors, they had stripped her lands bare and taken everything of value that she and her mother had ever owned. They had broken the betrothal contract her father had made for her, keeping her unwed strictly for their own profit, so they could continue to draw what they could from her serfs’ labors, and demand war service from her vassals each year.
But last year Hugo d’Ambray had thought
lessly decided to take Dyrwood keep, which sat between one of Rowena’s properties and one of his own. That was tantamount to stirring up a hornet’s nest, for Dyrwood belonged to one of the greater warlords of the north shires, the Lord of Fulkhurst, who not only came to the aid of his vassal at Dyrwood, routing the besiegers and sending them back to their own borders, but then systematically set out to destroy the man who had dared try to steal from him.
Unfortunately, not only Hugo’s properties became this warmonger’s targets, but also those that Hugo had control of through wardship. And he found out how helpful a weak king was when Stephen refused to come to his aid, too busy with his own problems. But even though Hugo had been killed two months ago in this war that his greed had started, Fulkhurst was not satisfied. Gilbert was finding out that this particular warlord thrived on vengeance.
Gilbert had sued for peace and been refused, which had enraged him and made him determined to win back the d’Ambray lands at any cost. But the cost he had decided on was to sacrifice Rowena to the marriage bed of an old lecher. He had even told her it would not be for long, that he would soon have her back under his guardianship, for the man was two steps from the grave. But as long as she was wed to the old goat, Gilbert wanted to see a child come from the union. He had made that perfectly clear, for only in that way would he have her and her lands back, as well as Lyons’ land and wealth through her child. Thusly he would obtain the
resources to win back the d’Ambray properties that were now in Fulkhurst’s hands.
’Twas a fine plan as far as Gilbert was concerned. It truly cost him nothing, but would gain him all that he sought—including, at long last, Rowena in his own bed. This above all else was at the heart of his plan, for he was halfway obsessed with the little flaxen-haired beauty who was his stepsister.
He had wanted her from the first day he had seen her, when she was only fifteen. But his father had refused to let him have her, pointing out that her value would be considerably decreased without her maidenhead, even though he had had no intention of marrying her off. But Hugo d’Ambray could not live forever, and Gilbert was intelligent enough to see that the damned maidenhead was not for him, and patient enough to wait until it was no longer an issue, bestowed on some future husband.
This was why Gilbert had treated her well, not wanting her to be aware of the streak of ruthlessness ingrained in him by his father. He wanted Rowena to want him as well when he finally took her to his bed. He wanted her enough that he would even have married her himself if there had been any profit in it. But since the d’Ambrays already controlled her lands, there was not. As soon as she conceived, he intended to have her, and to continue having her, even though he had every intention of marrying her off again for further gain at some future time. Getting rid of her husbands would be the
easy part. Getting Rowena to develop a passion for him would not be so easy.
Unaccountably, to his way of thinking, wedding her to Lyons without her consent, which would be an easy thing to do, would set her against him. He did not see forcing her consent by beating her mother as a worse offense. Far from it. He was so used to seeing his father beat the Lady Anne, it was as if it were nothing. He did not take into consideration that Rowena, kept at Kemel keep these three years instead of with her mother at Ambray Castle, had not witnessed the same and so had grown indifferent to it, as he was. He was so certain that she would never hold ill usage of her mother against him that he was not very sure that his rough treatment of the Lady Anne would even work to sway Rowena. ’Twas merely the least of the things he could do to get her to agree to the marriage, and so had been the first he had sought to try when reasoning and pointing out the benefits had failed.
Gilbert’s first mistake was in assuming that Rowena felt for her mother what he had felt for his, which was next to nothing. His second was in not expecting any kind of reaction from Rowena this soon, so he had not even looked toward her since he had begun striking her mother a few moments ago. But when he saw Anne look toward her daughter with such steady courage, he also glanced behind him, then stiffened in anger, seeing his mistakes clearly now. The girl did care for her mother, too much. Her large sapphire eyes were awash with tears. She was hurting
herself to keep from begging him to stop, and that only because her mother had stated plainly that she did not condone the marriage to Lyons.
Better he had drugged her, married her to Lyons, and got even the bedding over with before she had regained consciousness, a fait accompli. Now those lovely blue eyes gazed on him with such loathing, he knew she would never desire him as he had hoped. So be it. He would still have her, and soon, but he was so enraged that it would not be as he had imagined it, his fingers closed into a fist and slammed into the side of Anne’s head. She crumbled instantly, without a sound.
Rowena made the sound, a choked whimper, before she whispered, “Nay. No more.”
He left the mother hanging between his men and moved to stand before the daughter. He still seethed over what his assumptions had cost him in personal gain. ’Twas there in his eyes, in his expression, and he lifted Rowena’s face in his hand, forcing her to see it. But it was a measure of his feelings for her that his hand was not rough, even in his present anger. Unwittingly, he even gently wiped the tears away from one cheek.
His voice, however, was harsh in questioning, “Will you wed Lord Godwine?”
“I will.”
“Will you do so with good cheer?”
Rowena stared at him blankly for a moment before she burst out, “You ask too much—”
“Nay. What will a smile cost you when it will
ensure his speedy compliance with the marriage contract?”
“Is his compliance in doubt?”
“Nay, but there is no time to lose. Fulkhurst is now inactive, but only because he has just defeated Tures.”
Rowena blanched at this information. She had known that two of her keeps near Dyrwood had been taken, one without even a fight, but Tures Castle had been the largest of her father’s properties, his stronghold, and was much farther north. She had grown up in Tures. All that she knew of love and happiness she had learned there, inside those stone walls. Now an enemy warlord held it—nay, enemies had held it these past three years, so what difference to her, one or another?
She
certainly had not held it, nor did she ever expect to. Even if Lord Godwine could win it back for her, it would be hers in name only.
Gilbert mistook her expression and thought to reassure her. “Do not despair, Rowena. Lyons has become rich in bleeding his town merchants these past twenty years that he has held Kirkburough. The mercenaries his wealth will buy will quickly defeat Fulkhurst and send him back to his own domain. You will have Tures back within the month.”
Rowena did not answer. She had already been told that the marriage contract had been worded to her benefit; that her properties, once they were won back, would be hers, not her husband’s, which meant nothing to her in this day and age when law and justice were ignored, but would
mean everything if only Henry would come to rule. Lyons no doubt thought to have full use of her properties. Gilbert obviously thought to have them back in his control, which to her mind meant that if Lyons did not die soon enough of his old age and ailments, Gilbert would help him along to that end. But Gilbert wanted her to bear Lyons a child first. As she had done every day these past three years, Rowena shuddered and prayed for Henry of Aquitaine to win the throne of England. Her father had been Henry’s vassal, and Rowena would swear herself to him quicker than she could blink. Then and only then might she escape Gilbert d’Ambray’s control.
Instead of remarking what was in her mind, she asked Gilbert, “Does that mean my vassals will be brought to swear to me this time, or will they again be too busy fighting in your wars?”
Color stole into his cheeks. This was yet another way his father had ignored the letter of the law, for when the Belleme properties had changed ownership at her father’s death, his nine vassals should have come to pay Rowena homage for the properties they now held through her, yet she had not seen one of those knights in these three years she had been kept isolated at one of Hugo’s smaller keeps. Each time she had ever mentioned it, she had been fobbed off with excuses that her knights were besieged, or in the middle of a campaign, or some other such thing. Like as not her men thought her dead. That would have been the easiest way for Hugo to have gained their service
without having to answer their concern for her welfare.
Gilbert said now in a hard tone that discouraged further comment, “Five of your vassals have died fighting Fulkhurst, and whether Sir Gerard lives or not is undetermined, as he had been made castellan of Tures. Likely that monster butchered him, as he has done to my own knights.” He ended with a shrug that stated clearly he did not particularly care whether Gerard had been spared or not.