Prisoner of My Desire (21 page)

Verily, it seemed she occupied his thoughts now to the exclusion of all else. And he could not even say it was because she, too, had earned his complete ire, since he no longer thought of revenge when he thought of her. Even d’Ambray’s challenge was of little interest to him now,
whereas a month ago he would have leaped at the opportunity to meet his enemy face-to-face. He would ride out on the morrow to do so, but he saw it now as more of a bother.

It occurred to him suddenly that he
was
riding out on the morrow, not to return for a goodly number of days—not to see her for that long.

He left the hall in the direction Rowena had taken. She could have her boon later, aye, he would insist upon it. But he could think of no conceivable reason why he should have to wait until the sun set for what he wanted. She might need the dark to become bold with him, but he preferred the light when he was buried inside her, so he could watch every nuance of her expression when she reached her pleasure beneath him.

He was gone, but Rowena had not been thrown back in the dungeon as she had feared. She had not even been roused from his bed to attend her duties this morn, but had been allowed to wake on her own—to the empty chamber.

Warrick had bid her good-bye, however, at the crack of dawn. She remembered that, just barely, remembered being swept up into his arms, pressed tightly to his mail-clad chest, and kissed tenderly. Tenderly? Aye, she was not mistaken in that, for her lips had been sore, were still sore, yet that kiss had not hurt. But she had fallen back to sleep almost immediately after she had been lowered back to his bed, the exhaustion of the night she had spent with him too much to pique her interest in his leaving or aught else.

Now that she was awake, she wondered about
that kiss, so different from all those she had accepted—and given—throughout the long night. Her swollen lips could attest there had not been much tenderness in those other kisses. Not that she minded. The pleasures she had received far outweighed the little discomforts she was left with. And now that she thought of it, she also wondered why Warrick had been so insatiable. Surely not because she had brazenly spoken aloud what she would like to do with his body. And yet—and yet he had found her not long after she had left him in the hall yesterday afternoon and had dragged her to his chamber, where he had shown her the—consequences—of teasing him like that.

He had been so hot to have her that it had happened only moments after they reached his bed. There had been some discomfort when he plunged into her, but so arousing did she find his unbridled passion for her that she was moist by the second thrust, and as mindless as he by the third. After that he made love to her more leisurely, but with no less ardor. And it was lovemaking, for he gave more of himself than he took, without once mentioning what stood between them.

At one point they both realized they were hungry for something aside from each other, and he went himself to wake the cook. But ’twas unnecessary, for someone had left a tray of food in the antechamber for them, as well as a full bath. They availed themselves of both, though the food was as cold as the water by then. That they had so lost track of time…

But the night was not over, and Rowena had not forgotten what had started this odyssey of sensual indulgence. Neither had Warrick. But only after he was confident that ’twould take a miracle to stir his manhood to life again did he grant her original request. Yet the man was mistaken in what he was capable of, for he had been unable to lie still for her for very long.

Twice he had tried, and each time when his control finally broke he was like a wild man in his possession of her. She had started at his neck with her mouth, working slowly to his shoulders, down those thick arms, across to his chest. She had wanted to lick every inch of his body, but she had not got much lower than his belly ere he would push her back on the bed and drive into her. ’Twas not until he was nigh exhausted that she finally had her way with him, and even now she blushed to remember her boldness—and the sounds of pleasure she had wrung from him.

It seemed like a dream now, how he had been with her, so different from how he usually was. Not once had he shown his cruel side. And she was amazed, now that she remembered, how often she had made him laugh. It had been a night she was not likely to ever forget.

What she did not know, and was not going to find out now with him gone, was if his new behavior and treatment of her was the hoped-for result of her seduction of him, or if it was only temporary. He was going to be away less than a sennight, he had told her, but just now that seemed an infinitely long time to wait to
learn if she really had succeeded with Mildred’s plan. Of course, even if it had worked, this separation just might undo it, so she would have to start over again.

Rowena sighed as she got up and dressed. She was being impatient, she knew, especially when it was, in truth, unrealistic to assume that she might have actually tamed the dragon this soon. One night did not make a changed man. And one little reminder of why he had sought revenge against her would bring the fire-breather back. But she
had
made progress. There was no denying that. And she could not deny either that seducing Warrick de Chaville was not the hardship she had thought it would be. Nay, ’twas most definitely a pleasure.

She did not realize how late it was until she entered the hall and saw none of the morning sunbeams that usually winked in from the high windows. The large room was almost deserted as well, except for a few servants. Mildred was one, and hurried to intercept Rowena on the way to the kitchen.

Rowena was surprised enough to ask, “Is it safe, then, with him gone, for us to be seen talking?”

“His order be damned,” Mildred replied. “What I have learned cannot wait for a private moment. But why do you not seem distressed at his leaving?”

Rowena grinned. “Behold, this is not the dungeon.”

“Nay, I do not refer to that, but to where Lord Warrick has gone. Can it be you do not know?”

“Know what, Mildred? Warrick told me only that he would be gone a short while, not why he must leave.” Rowena began to frown. “It cannot be to make war, not in so short a time.”

“Nay, not war, but a battle nonetheless. Gilbert has challenged him, and Warrick rides now to meet him—face-to-face.”

Rowena paled. “God’s mercy, one of them will die.”

Mildred blinked, startled that
that
should be a concern. “Certainly,” she said impatiently. “But first they will recognize each other.”

Rowena barely heard, for she could not get the picture out of her mind of how large Gilbert was, how well skilled with a sword, and how Warrick would fight fairly, but Gilbert likely would not. Nausea churned in her belly as the picture became Warrick…lying on the ground…with blood…

She was shoved forcefully into the chair by the hearth, with no knowledge of having walked there. Mildred’s hand was cool on her hot cheek.

“What ails you, my lamb?” the older woman was asking anxiously. “Is it the babe?”

Rowena looked up with utter despair in her eyes. “I do not want him to die.”

“Ah,” Mildred said knowingly. She sat down on the stool beside Rowena and continued briskly. “And why should he? He left here anticipating and prepared for a trap. ’Twill not likely even come to a fight—at least not between the two of them. But I thought you would be more worried about Warrick realizing who you really are. Once he gets a good look at Gilbert,
he will recognize him as one of his captors at Kirkburough, and he will make the connection. Does that no longer concern you?”

“Not for the same reason. I know now that he will not kill me—at least not for my properties,” she added with a smile that was more sickly than wry. “’Tis his rage I fear if he thinks I deceived him with my silence, which in truth I did. For that I could end up back in his dungeon.”

Mildred’s smile was even more sickly. “Sooner than you think, my sweet one.”

Rowena frowned. “How so?”

Mildred glanced behind her first to make sure they were still alone. “The Lady Beatrix has been throwing tantrums since she was informed she must wed into the Malduit family. She is utterly furious with Warrick, and if the man has taught his daughters aught, ’tis the satisfaction of revenge. She means to make her father sorry for giving her to a mere boy she does not deem worthy of her—and she means to do it through you.”

Rowena’s eyes widened. “Me? But—does she have authority, then, with Warrick gone?”

“Some, not all, but she is too clever to depend on that. I overheard her plotting last eventide with her sister, and ’tis clever indeed what she intends. She does not know what your crime against Warrick was to make you prisoner here, no one does, but ironically, she plans to say ’twas thievery, that Warrick told her so.”

Rowena closed her eyes against full understanding. “She is going to say I stole from her.”

“Aye, and her most valuable trinket, a pearl
necklace given her by Warrick. Melisant will support her, to say that you were the last one seen outside their room ere it was found missing. Beatrix will then demand a search of the weaving room, as well as Warrick’s chamber, and whilst there, she will pull the necklace out of its supposed hiding place, confirming your guilt.”

“And she will not even have to insist I be put in the dungeon. ’Twill be done no matter what, until Warrick’s return, and he is like to believe her tale. So often he called me a little thief. He will be forced to punish me, severely—mayhap a whipping or—”

“
That
is not your worry, my lamb. What will be done to you ere he returns is how Beatrix hopes to hurt him.”

Rowena frowned. “But John Giffard—”

“Is not here. There is another jailer, a man not so nice who they say takes pleasure in abusing those given into his charge.”

Rowena paled. “I—I have met him.”

“That still is not all. Beatrix intends to suggest that you should be questioned to find out what else you might have stolen. Do you know how prisoners are questioned by this man?”

“Torture?”

“Aye. That little bitch hopes you will be so scarred and—and used that Warrick will not want you back in his bed, but more than that, that you will lose the babe you carry.
That
is how she thinks to hurt him, because she knows—all know—how much he wants a son, even a bastard.”

“I am going to be sick.”

“I do not blame you,” Mildred said sympathetically.

“Nay,
really
sick.” And Rowena ran to the garderobe.

Mildred was waiting with a cool wet cloth when she emerged. Rowena accepted it gratefully, then asked, “How long do I have ere this trap is sprung on me?”

“Until Beatrix readies herself for the evening meal. That will be her excuse to want to wear the necklace—and find it missing. But you will be safely gone ere then. I have already prepared you a sack with food and clothing, some of yours but more servant’s garb also, which you will need to wear in order to leave. I hid the sack in the alehouse, and was just about to see what was keeping you so long—”

“I overslept.”

“Ah, then ’twas working, our plan?”

“
Your
plan, but aye, it did seem to be—” Rowena laughed joylessly. “Not that it matters now.”

“Nay, this matter will right itself with Warrick’s return. And you need not go far. There is a woods a league east of here, big enough to hide a whole army. Stay near the edges, and I will send Warrick to find you once I make him understand why ’twas necessary that you go.”

“Can you not come with me instead, Mildred?”

“I would be noticed missing too soon, which might draw attention to your own absence, which should not be otherwise noted until the accusations are made. You will have a better
chance do you go alone, and I needs be here to assure Warrick hears the truth ere Beatrix offers her lies.”

“You forget he does not listen to excuses—leastwise not from us,” Rowena said in a small voice. “If I must go, better I not return. Tures is not so very far from here—”

“’Tis a good three or four days on foot!” Mildred exclaimed.

“But my people there will help me, or hide me until I can figure out a way to rescue my mother from Ambray Castle.”

“Rowena, you
cannot
think to travel that far alone on foot. Trust in Warrick. Given time, he will do right by you. I feel it.”

Rowena shook her head. “I have not your confidence. And now that I think of it, I do not want a man who breeds such vicious children to have aught to do with the raising of my child.”

“Fault him for his negligence, but remember that neither of those girls had mothers to guide them, whereas you—”

“Mildred, there is no time to debate this issue now,” Rowena cut in impatiently. “Tell me only how I am to get outside the gates.”

That Mildred was annoyed to leave the subject unfinished was obvious by her sour expression. “There is only one guard at the postern gate. You will slip through whilst I distract him. But if you are determined to escape for good, then wait in the woods a day—nay, best make it two days, until the furor dies down. I will join you then.”

Rowena hugged her in relief. “Thank you.”

“Thank me
after
you have to listen to me telling you all the way to Tures how foolish I think you,” Mildred grumbled.

The woods were not a welcoming haven for a woman alone, not when every little sound was an imagined thief or murderer about to pounce on her. The sky had clouded over with the threat of rain ere the sun set, so there was no moon to mark the passing of time, but time crawled for Rowena. Hours passed while she tried to sleep and could not, her only consolation that it did not rain.

She felt no sense of exhilaration for having made good her escape. The ground was too hard for comfort, even with her serf’s woolens spread out for a thin pallet, and she was cold. She had changed into her own clothes as an act of defiance, one that would not last past the morn, when she would have to don her serf’s garb again for what little protection it afforded. The bright yellow bliaut and scarlet mantle that she
wrapped herself in gave her back a sense of herself, which had been shaken by the Lord of Fulkhurst’s intimidations.

Fulkhurst…she wished she dared wait for his return, but she had none of Mildred’s certainty where he was concerned. He might not be as cruel as she had first thought him to be, but he was still capable of brutal retaliations and judgments, and she doubted not that if he believed she had stolen that twice-damned necklace, the fact that she was sharing his bed
and
carrying his child would not stop him from meting out the same punishment he would give anyone else found guilty of the crime.

There was the chance that he might believe her if she was given the opportunity to declare her innocence. But ’twas a slim possibility considering what he knew about her—naught much good, thanks to Gilbert—and she was not willing to risk a whipping or worse just so his daughter could have her revenge against him.

She discovered she had a few vengeful thoughts herself for that young lady for forcing her out into a lawless countryside. Ladies never, ever left their homes without armed escort to accompany them. Most often even female serfs were given a guard or two if they were sent out on errands. But here she was completely alone, with only the small dagger she had found in Mildred’s sack to protect her. Mildred had included another of her fine bliauts, which Rowena could sell to buy escort if she could reach a town, but ’twas a big word, “if,” and any number of unpleasant things could happen to her in the
meantime, especially once she left the concealment of the woods.

When she thought of some of those unpleasant things, she found how easy it was to hope that Beatrix de Chaville received some just reward for what she had instigated. If Rowena should die ere she reached an end to this misadventure, mayhap she could come back and haunt Beatrix…aye, now
that
would be a just reward, eternal revenge. Warrick would love the idea.

The thought put a smile on her lips that was still there when she finally drifted to sleep moments later. But the noises of the woods still gave her no peace, waking her again and again in what little was left of the night, until she opened her eyes to the dim light of a lavender dawn—and a man standing over her.

She sat up so fast, pain stabbed at her temples. But ’twas no dream. The legs were still there next to her, and the sound of horses that had woken her. She turned to see other men dismounting near her, nigh a dozen who would be within reach of her in moments.

She did not wait to learn who they were. After her nerve-racking night, Rowena panicked, grabbing the dagger she had stashed at her waist and slashing wildly at the legs next to her. The man howled, but ’twas cut off as one of his companions leaped toward him and clapped a hand over his mouth. Rowena did not see this; she had shot to her feet and was running deeper into the woods, where their horses could not quickly follow. But
they
could, and did, three of them giving chase, laughing for the sport of it, which fright
ened her more than anything else. She
knew
what happened when men chased women through field or woods. They ended wanting a reward for their effort.

They were gaining on her. She could hear it over the violence of her heartbeat, now pounding in her ears. They were encumbered by armor, which she could hear clanking, but she had her long skirts to hamper her, and could not manage to grasp them with her one free hand to lift out of the way. She kept trying, for ’twould be the worse luck if the damn skirts tripped her up. Then they did, her toe catching in the hem of her chemise enough to throw her off-balance.

Her dagger fell from her hand as she braced herself for the fall, but she merely stumbled a few steps, then regained her footing. There was no thought to retrieving the weapon, however, and with both hands free now, she was able to yank her skirts out of the way. But the advantage was too late gained because one man was close enough behind her that he took the chance to dive at her. Had she seen him do it, she could have jumped out of his reach, for ’twas mere inches that undid her. He grasped only the very edge of her mantle ere he hit the ground facefirst, but that was enough to jerk her to an abrupt halt and right off her feet to land hard on her backside. Had the mantle been clasped at her throat instead of around her shoulders, she would likely have broken her neck. As it was, for the first few seconds she was sure she had broken her spine, so painful was her landing.
And before she realized that she
could
move, ’twas too late to do so.

The other two men had arrived, panting, one stopping in front of her, one at her side. And the one behind her was getting to his knees, so angry at the smarting from his own fall that he jerked again on the mantle still in his hand.

Rowena fell back the rest of the way, her head hitting the ground. But she was not so dazed that she could not kick at the man in front of her as he bent toward her, nor did she forget to scream. This she did shrilly, and it changed their minds about what they might have done with her first. Their concern now was to end the noise she was making, and they nearly collided with one another in their haste to reach and cover her mouth. She bit one hand, threw aside another, but then a third slapped her, and was about to do it again when that arm was caught and held by one of the others.

“Wait, I know her.”

“You are daft, man. How can you—?”

“God’s truth, she is our lady.”

This was said with a great deal of surprise, but Rowena felt even more.
Their
lady? She thought of Tures, but she did not recognize the faces leaning over her—then she did remember one and groaned inwardly. She even had it confirmed by a fourth visage looking down at her, and an incredulous voice she had hoped never to hear again.

“Rowena?”

He did not expect an answer. He had come upon the scene as she was being struck, and as
the memory of that intruded on his surprise, his fist knocked back one of the three still crowded ’round her head. Then her stepbrother was lifting her up and holding her so tightly to his chest she could barely breathe.

“How came you to be here?”

The question broke through her thoughts, which were a jumble of fear mixed with annoyance. If someone had to find her,
why
did it have to be Gilbert? And she knew not what to tell him, except naught of what had truly happened to her in the month since she had last seen him.

But she could tell him one truth, and did. “I was held prisoner at Fulkhurst Castle, but was finally able to escape—”

“
He
had you? I have been mad with grief, when all this time
he
had you?” He had shoved her back as he questioned her, but now he crushed her again to say with a trace of the genuine regret he had felt, “I thought you dead. There was no one at Kirkburough to tell me what Fulkhurst had done with you.”

That he was serious in his concern made Rowena feel strange considering how much she hated him. “I am not surprised,” she answered carefully. “He had sent me straightaway to his dungeon ere the servants at Kirkburough came out of hiding to witness it.”

“His
dungeon!
” Gilbert roared in his amazement. His men hissed at him to be less vocal, but he merely glared at them, then brought that glare down to Rowena. “The man must be mad. Did you not tell him who you were?”

She glared back at him for his stupidity. “You
would have had me confess all when you know he means to destroy you and all you hold? He had already taken properties of mine because
you
held them. Think you he would not have murdered me to take the rest from you in so easy a way? So I told him naught other than what he assumed, that I was Lady of Kirkburough.” Then she lied to support his original assumption that Warrick had come to Kirkburough for him. “He sent me to his dungeon because he was so furious that
you
were not there for him to kill.”

Gilbert actually looked guilty, then confirmed it by saying, “I am sorry, Rowena. I did not think he would harm you, or I would not have left you there, but I was not thinking clearly that day.”

When did he ever think clearly, or without greed uppermost in his mind? she wanted to ask, but he was leading her back the way she had come, and so she asked instead, “What do you here, Gilbert? You cannot think to lay siege to his strongest castle.”

“Nay, not that, yet will I have control of it by nightfall.”

She stopped, only to be dragged along again when he did not. “How?”

“I sent him a challenge. If he is not stupid, he will have suspected a trap and so taken most of his men with him.” Now he stopped to demand excitedly, “Can you confirm this? Know you how many men he took with him?”

“I did not see him leave,” she replied crossly, “nor did I have time to count how many were left behind when I was leaving myself.”

He was disappointed, and so continued on,
dragging her behind him again. “No matter,” he finally said. “He
would
take most of his men. Why would he leave them behind when, as you pointed out, Fulkhurst is his strongest castle, capable of holding an army at bay with just a handful of men?”

“Then how do you think to take it?”

He turned his head to grin at her. “With a handful of men.”

“Ah, of course. So stupid of me to ask.”

He jerked on her arm to show he did not like her sarcastic tone. “I had planned to approach at dusk for shelter.”

“They have a village they will direct you to,” she predicted.

“Nay, not when I am on Stephen’s business, with a message bearing his seal to prove it.”

“Are you?”

“What?”

“On the king’s business?”

“Of course not,” he replied impatiently. “But the message is genuine. I had the good fortune to find it, since ’twas a message going nowhere with the bearer dead.”

“Did
you
kill him?”

He stopped once again to snarl at her. “Why must you put every black deed at my door?”

“Nay, only what you are capable of,” she shot back.

He scowled at her. “What matters how I came by it? ’Twill gain me entrance to Fulkhurst. Or mayhap I will return an escaped prisoner instead,” he added nastily.

She wished he would. She would give warning
to those inside the castle no matter what it cost her, as long as it thwarted Gilbert’s plans.

He must have thought he had managed to subdue her with his threat, for she said no more until they reached the other men who had been left with the horses. She recognized a few of them from Kirkburough, Lyons’ knights, men who should rightfully be serving Godwine’s brother now, not Gilbert.

Rowena became very still when she realized that. God’s mercy, did they even know? Or were they following Gilbert blindly, under the mistaken belief that he had some claim to Kirkburough through Rowena simply because Lyons had ordered them to fight for Gilbert’s cause ere he died? They must know Lyons was dead, for Gilbert said he had returned to Kirkburough after the keep had been destroyed. Was the marriage contract binding them, then? But that contract had been voided when Lyons failed to consummate the marriage. And no one knew that except her, Gilbert, and Mildred—and Warrick. Gilbert certainly would not have told them. More like he had hinted that a child had been conceived…

She wondered why he had not asked about that yet, but suddenly she knew. Gilbert still had what he wanted, what he had gained through her marriage—Lyons’ army. And he was about to strike a brutal blow against Warrick, the capture of his stronghold as well as his daughters. Gilbert was about to win the war between them, and
she
had given him the means to do it. Because he had been able to act so quickly, Kirk
burough no longer mattered, so neither did a child to hold it.

Warrick…he would be devastated. He would be crazed with rage. And Gilbert would be able to demand any terms for the release of his daughters—including his life.

She had to do something. She should not care what befell Warrick, but she remembered his laughter, his passion, and that tender kiss in parting; and, damn him, she did care—leastwise, she did not want to see him die. Nor did she want to see Gilbert win this war of theirs.

She wanted to blurt out to Lyons’ men that they did not belong here, that the contract that had put them here was never valid. But did she do so, Gilbert would beat her senseless; she doubted it not. He might even kill her in his anger, and little good she could do then. But what
could
she do? Warn the castle, or convince Lyons’ men, without Gilbert knowing, that they did not belong here? Verily, she needed to do both, for even if Gilbert were reduced to only his own men, he still might try to take Fulkhurst while it was so undermanned.

The man she had cut, as well as one other, had left the area, likely to return to their camp. Rowena waited until Gilbert was watching her to glance over those men remaining.

“Is this your army, then?” she asked innocently. “I thought my marriage had gained you much more.”

He could not really fault her for that observation, though he did not like it. “Do not be foolish. My army is concealed deeper in these
woods. Two hours after dark, they will move toward the castle to await my signal that the gates have been opened.”

“That is
if
you can get inside. I still think you will be turned away. They will be cautious without their lord in residence. Likely he warned them, too, to watch for trickery, since ’twas
you
who lured him out with your ruse of challenge, and he trusts you not. Fulkhurst is a smart man.”