Prisoner of My Desire (27 page)

Rowena saw the two guards walking so determinedly toward her that she knew. Before they opened their mouths, she knew. They did not have to tell her. But they did.

“We have a message from Lord Warrick, Mistress. You are to abide in the dungeon henceforth.”

She had known they would say exactly that; still she turned ashen to have it confirmed. “Did he—say for how long?”

“Henceforth,” was repeated.

That, of course, was indefinitely—or forever. “Did he say why?”

Stupid question. Why was she torturing herself?

She had known this would happen if Warrick found out Gilbert d’Ambray was her stepbrother. She should have taken her courage in
hand and told him herself when she’d had the opportunity. She would have faced his anger, true, but she would have been there to try and soothe it, at least to tell him why she had kept silent. Alone, he had concluded the worst, and now wanted naught more to do with her, wanted revenge—nay, this was not that. This was pure fury, and final.

The guards had merely shaken their heads to her question, then directed her to come with them. She did. What choice did she have? At least she had been alone in the hall when they had come for her. Emma had not been there to protest, nor Mildred, which would likely have brought Rowena to tears. It was all she could do now to hold them back in front of the two guards.

Aye, she had known Warrick would do this to her—but deep down she had not thought he really would.

When the jailer she dreaded showed up with his leering grin to gloat that she was to be in his care again, Rowena turned her back on him ere she was sick. ’Twas not the babe making her feel so. ’Twas the tightness in her chest that was turning hollow. Now she wished the tears would come, but they would not.

When John Giffard arrived not an hour later to tell her he had had to clout the other one this time to get him to leave, she had only one question for him. “Are you here at Warrick’s behest?”

“Nay, my lady. The word has spread fast that you were brought here again. I came as soon as I heard.”

At that point she cried. Why John had been given to her the last time she did not know. She had never asked. But that he was not this time was self-explanatory. Warrick did not care what happened to her now, as long as she was locked away where he would never have to lay eyes on her again.

A while later she heard an argument out in the guardroom. She recognized Mildred’s voice. She and John had become very friendly of late. Just now they were not. When silence returned, Rowena knew John had won, knew also what the argument had likely been about. Mildred was not to be allowed to see her, nor would John go against his lord to let Rowena out.

Two more hours passed, then John came again to open her door. “He has changed his mind, my lady. I knew he would, but—You are to be locked in his solar instead of here, with a guard at the door.”

“What if I prefer it here?” she wanted to know.

“You do not mean that.”

“Aye, I do.”

John sighed. “The guard has his orders. He will drag you from here do you not go on your own.”

“Then by all means, I shall walk.”

“Take heart—”

“Nay, John,” she cut him off curtly. “Mine is dead now, for it hurts no longer.”

God’s mercy, why could that not be true? She prayed for blessed numbness, yet it would not come with this much pain. But no one was going
to know that, not John, and especially not Warrick.

No hope came to her from the change in prisons. Warrick must have merely recalled that she was carrying his child. Obviously he had forgotten that in his first rage, and it must have enraged him more when he remembered and thus had to make allowances for her just to protect the child. She did not think for a moment that he had any other reason for moving her to a more comfortable prison.

She was allowed to see no one except the guard, who handed her food to her each day. Every time she had tried to speak to him, she had gotten grunts or mutters in answer, so she did not try anymore. Verily, she
would
have preferred to stay in the dungeon with John.

She sat often in the window embrasure, from where she could look out on the side yard. Not much activity ever happened down there, but ’twas a better view than none at all. She sewed a lot, too, for the child that was nigh three months along, soft chemises for Emma—naught at all for Warrick. What she had made for Warrick ere he left for Ambray she now ripped apart to make tiny tunics for the babe.

No one had told her aught about the siege at Ambray. For Warrick to have learned the truth of who she was, he had to have taken the castle. Had Gilbert been there? Was he captured or dead? Was her mother all right? Free? In a new prison as a result of Warrick’s fury?

She counted the days. For each one that passed, she stabbed a hole as deeply as she could
with her small eating knife in one of the carved bedposts. They had been fine bedposts, richly detailed. Now there were twenty-five unsightly holes that she took to admiring. Before the twenty-sixth could be added, Warrick returned.

Rowena had had no warning. He was just there, walking into the room, stopping before the window embrasure, where she sat with her feet propped up on the opposite seat, her hands on her belly, which was thickened, but not yet rounded. She had been trying to determine if the fluttering she had felt was the child or indigestion. Her first look at Warrick, and she decided ’twas
going
to be indigestion.

“So the mighty warlord returns,” she said, not caring whether he liked her sneering tone or not. “Did you kill Gilbert?”

“I have not found him yet, though not for lack of hunting him these weeks past.”

“So that is why you did not return here? But there was no hurry to return here, was there? You sent your orders. That was sufficient.”

“God’s blood, do you dare—!”

He stopped when she looked away from him to stare out the window, deliberately ignoring him. She was not frightened or contrite. Her expression was calmness itself. He had not expected that, but then, he had not given what he did expect much thought, for he had forced her from his mind to concentrate solely on finding d’Ambray. But he found now that he did
not
like her undertone of resentment. And the anger he had felt that night he met her mother was starting to rekindle.

He sat down on the opposite bench to face her. “Such an innocent demeanor to hide such deceit,” he remarked coldly.

She glanced at him with raised brows to ask quietly, “When was I deceitful? At Kirkburough when I knew not who you were? Or at Kirkburough when you came with your army to kill my stepbrother, knowing not who he really was? But I thought you were there for Gilbert d’Ambray, your avowed enemy, so aye, I should have told you then, when I was sure you would kill me as well if you knew he was my stepbrother. Or mayhap I should have told you when you took me out of your dungeon the first time to explain to me how you were going to have your revenge. Was I to tell you then, Warrick, to add to what you had already planned for me?”

“You
knew
I would not kill you!”

“Not
then
I did not!”

They glared at each other. Rowena was in no wise calm now. There were twenty-five days of repressed anger glittering in her eyes. His had turned to silver ice.

“What excuse do you offer for your later silence, wench, when you escaped, only to have d’Ambray return you? Did he send you back to spy on me?”

“I am sure he would have asked me to if he had thought of it. But until you arrived, he thought he had won the day, that he would have the means to bring you to your knees. When you did arrive, he had no time to think of aught but escaping himself. But I did not tell you then that he was d’Ambray, for the same reason I did not
tell you when you summoned me to his castle. I did not want to face your anger again—or
this
.” She waved a hand to indicate her imprisonment.

“And I am to believe that, when ’tis more likely that you and d’Ambray go hand in hand in this deceit? He left you at Kirkburough for me to find,” he reminded her harshly. “Was I to become smitten with you and tell you all my plans?”

“He assumed you would make terms with me. But I was left there because he panicked. You were approaching with five hundred men, while he had only a handful remaining. He intended to come back with Lyons’ army, which had been sent to retake Tures from you. Possibly he hoped I would distract you long enough for him to get away. More like he thought I would slow him down if he took me along. Whatever ran through his mind that day besides fear and rage, I know not. But I do know ’twas not his intention to leave me with you any longer than it would take him to return. And he did return. When he found me that day in the woods, he told me he thought you had killed me.”

Warrick snorted. “Very cleverly said, wench, but I do not believe a word of it.”

“Think you I care anymore what you believe? Last month I would have, but now I do not.”

“Your circumstance depends on what I believe, wench,” he reminded her.

“My
circumstance
cannot be any more wretched.”

“Can it not?” he replied with quiet menace. “I
ought to punish you properly, not just curtail your freedom.”

That brought her to her feet in a burst of wrath. “Go ahead, damn you! Do it! It will not make me despise you more than I do now.”

“Sit down,” he growled low.

She did not, not by him. She stalked around the fireplace to the other window and took a bench there, her stiff back half turned away from the room. She stared blindly out the window, seething so much her hands trembled in her lap. She hated him. Despised him. She wished he…she hated him!

She heard him behind her, come to block the opening of the other window embrasure so she could not leave it without pushing him out of the way. As if she could, and she resented that fact, too.

“You have not acquitted yourself, wench. Verily, I am not like to believe aught you say ever again. What you did was akin to betrayal. Had you told me it was d’Ambray on my land, I would have run him to ground despite the blackness of the night. Had you told me you were Rowena of Tures, I could have secured your remaining properties the sooner, thereby—”

“The sooner?” she cut in scathingly. “You do not think I will help you to secure them now, do you? I would not help you were you—”

“Be quiet!” he snapped. “Your resentment is misplaced, wench. I could not leave you free to communicate with that devil’s spawn, and I doubt it not that he has secreted someone here to carry your messages to him. I needs now in
terrogate my own people to be rid of any who were not here ere you came, be they innocent or not. Be grateful I did not leave you in the dungeon.”

“Grateful for this tomb, where I have had no one to speak to since I was shut in here? Aye, I am grateful,” she sneered derisively.

Silence greeted that. She did not turn to see if he showed any contrition, if he had even realized what he was sentencing her to when he had ordered her confined. In his rage he had condemned her without trial, without even asking if she was guilty. That damn pain she had thought would have gone numb by now was becoming more acute, twisting in her chest, tightening in her throat.

Finally she heard him sigh. “You will return to your duties, those first given to you. But you will be watched, doubt it not. And never again will you be trusted.”

“When was I ever trusted?” she asked in a small, bitter voice, the pain nigh choking her.

“When you shared my bed, wench, I trusted you not to betray me.”

“Nor did I. What I did is called self-preservation.”

“Your pretense of wanting me?”

She would have liked to say, “Aye, that, too,” but she would not lie to hurt him as he was hurting her. “Nay, my silence. But you need not worry that my unseemly behavior of the past will bother you again. Whatever I felt for you is no longer there.”

“Damn you, Rowena, you will
not
make me regret my actions! ’Tis you—”

“Spare me any more recriminations. There is naught else I want to hear from you, except—tell me what you did with my mother.”

He was silent for so long, she did not think he would answer her. He was cruel enough to leave her wondering—nay, not that cruel.

“I gave her into the care of my friend, Sheldon de Vere. She assisted me in taking Ambray Castle. For that she has my gratitude. She also assisted in opening your remaining properties, which
you
should have done. D’Ambray’s men were ousted with little bloodshed. He no longer has control of aught that is yours.”

She did not thank him for that.
He
now had control of all that was hers, as well as herself, and he was not like to ever relinquish it.

Quietly, without looking back at him, with despair about to crush her, she said, “That day you came triumphant to Kirkburough, I had intended to offer you my wardship—despite all the horrible tales I had heard of you—if you had proved to be just a little less despicable than Gilbert…but you did not. You sent me straightaway to your dungeon. Small wonder I never got around to telling you who I was.”

He walked out ere her tears betrayed her.

The resumption of Rowena’s previous duties did not lift the gloom that had come to Fulkhurst. Mary Blouet was not happy to have charge of her again. Melisant cried frequently. Mildred grumbled constantly. Emma gave her father such baleful looks that he ought to have reprimanded her for them, but he did not. And the hall was so subdued at meals that even a cough was embarrassing.

Rowena refused to speak of it to anyone, including Mildred, whom she was annoyed with for instigating a plan that had so horribly backfired on her. Warrick had not been caught by it,
she
had, and so she listened to Mildred now with a closed ear and few, if any, comments.

The weeks that followed were much like her first days serving Warrick, with a few notable exceptions. She was not called to assist him at
his bath now, or in his bed. Nor did she receive any of those humorless smiles she had hated. He barely looked at her at all, but when he did, his face was devoid of expression. She was no more than what he had first intended her to be, a servant beneath his notice. Perversely, she stopped wearing her own clothes, though he had not insisted on that. But if she would be no more than a servant, then she would look like no more than a servant.

She still instructed Emma when she had time to spare. That she enjoyed doing, and so tried to keep her own feelings from the girl; these waxed between depression and bitterness, then just bitterness. She took even more pains, however, to keep her emotions from Warrick’s notice.

But then the day came that Emma was taken from her, sent to Sheldon’s home for her wedding to young Richard. Rowena was not allowed to witness it. She had sewn the gown Emma would be married in, but she was not there to see her wear it.

That was the day she stopped keeping her resentment to herself.

Warrick noticed the change immediately. Twice in one day food was dumped in his lap. Both times could not be accidents. He could no longer find clothes in his coffer that were not in need of some kind of repair. By week’s end his chamber was filthy. The linens on his bed had not been rinsed properly, which caused him a rash. His wine became more and more sour, his ale more and more warm, the food she now
slammed down in front of him more and more salty.

He said naught to her about any of it. He did not trust himself to speak to her at all without dragging her off to his bed. He wanted her so badly it took his every effort not to touch her. But he would not. She had deceived him. She had plotted with his enemy against him. Her laughter, her teasing, her desire for him—all lies. Yet he could not hate her. He would never forgive her, never touch her again, never let her know how vulnerable she had made him, but he could not hate her—or stop wanting her.

He knew not why he stayed there to torture himself. He ought to go and hunt for d’Ambray himself, instead of sending others to do it. Or visit Sheldon and his new wife. Had he told someone to mention the marriage to Rowena? He must not have, for surely that would have put a halt, at least temporarily, to whatever maggoty bit of resentment she was indulging. As if she had reason to be resentful.
He
did, but she did not.

Though he should leave, he did not. So he was there two days later when Sheldon showed up with his new wife.

Warrick met them on the stairs to the keep. Sheldon merely grinned in greeting and told him to “brace himself,” before he went on into the hall, leaving Warrick alone with the Lady Anne. Her tight-lipped expression gave him warning of what was to come. It came without preamble.

“I am here to see my daughter, and do not think to deny me, sirrah. Your own daughter
has just confided to me the atrocious treatment Rowena has had at your hands. I am not sure I can forgive Sheldon for not telling me himself. Had I known before, I
would
have set a trap for you at Ambray, instead of handing the castle over to you. That any man could be so—”

“Enough, lady! You know naught of what has transpired between Rowena and me. You know naught of what your daughter has done to
me
. She is my prisoner and so she will stay. You may see her, but you may not take her from here. Is that clear to you?”

Anne opened her mouth to argue that point, then closed it. She glared at him for a moment more before she nodded curtly and started to pass him. But she took no more than two steps ere she whirled back around.

“I will
not
be intimidated by you, Lord Warrick. My husband assures me that you have good reason to be the way you are. I doubt that, but he has also told me that you might think Rowena was a willing pawn in Gilbert’s schemes.”

“I do not think it, I know it,” Warrick replied coldly.

“Then you are misinformed,” Anne persisted, but added in a more reasonable tone, “My daughter loves me. Think you she would aid Gilbert in any way after she saw him viciously beat me to get her cooperation?”

Warrick stiffened. “Cooperation for what?”

“Gilbert had made contract with Godwine Lyons for her. She refused. I also disdained the match. He was an old lecher with scandal attached to his name, in no wise her equal. But
Lyons had promised Gilbert his army, which he needed to fight you. So he brought her to Ambray and had her restrained to watch while he beat me.”

“Why you? Why not her?”

“Because in a twisted way, I think he cares for her. He would not want to mar her beauty, at any rate, when the wedding was to take place as soon as they reached Kirkburough. But he had no difficulty beating me, nor would he have stopped until he had her agreement to marry Lyons. But I thought surely she would balk again once they were away from me. She is stubborn, after all, and not above wanting to ruin Gilbert’s plans after what he did to me. But he bragged to me, when he came to Ambray for those few days, that he had completely cowed her, that she would do whatever he required, because he had warned her he would kill me if she did not. I am not sure he would have. He is not as inherently cruel as his father was. Yet would she have believed him. And she would have hated him for—what is wrong?” she gasped when he turned so ashen.

Warrick shook his head, but a groan escaped him as other words came at him from memory, when Rowena had stood over his chained body and explained what she would do. “
I like this no better than you, but I have no choice—and neither do you
.” No choice. She had been trying to save her mother’s life. She had not wanted to rape him. And she had been so sorry for it that she had accepted his revenge as her due.

“Ahhh!” he roared in anguish, the pain ripping at his chest unbearable.

Anne became alarmed. “Wait, I will get—”

“Nay…there is naught wrong with me that a whip would not cure,” Warrick said with self-loathing. “You were right to revile me, lady. I am the veriest…ah, God, what have I done!”

He ran past her and into the hall. When he passed Sheldon, he told him only, “Keep your wife here,” then was running up the stairs.

Rowena was not alone when he found her in the sewing room. Mildred was with her, and three others. They took one look at him and hurried out. Mildred was slower to go. She gave him one of the frigid looks she had been giving him for weeks that he had not noticed. He did not notice now, either, for he was staring only at Rowena.

She stood up and tossed aside the cloth from her lap, her demeanor what it had been for several weeks, sheer disgruntlement. “Now that you have interrupted our work,” she said crossly, “what do you want?”

“I have just spoken with your mother.”

Rowena’s expression changed to surprised delight. “She is here?”

“Aye, and you can see her anon, but I needs speak with you first.”

“Not
now
, Warrick!” she said impatiently. “I have not been with my mother for three years. I saw her only once some months ago, when…”

Her words trailed off with a frown, causing him to prompt her. “When what?”

“It does not matter.”

“It does. When d’Ambray beat her?”

“She
told
you that?”

“Aye—and more. Why did
you
never tell me he had threatened her life?”

Her eyes flared wide, then lit with a glittering blue fire. “You dare to ask me that? You would not listen to reasons! ‘Never mention to me again an excuse for what you did.’
Those
were your words, my lord.”

He winced. “I know. At that time, ’tis like to have made no difference if I knew. I was that angry. But
now
it matters.” He hesitated then, but he had to know. “Did he also force you to spy on me?”

“I told you, he never thought of that. He was too busy thinking of how he could use against you the army he had just gained.”

Warrick leaned back against the closed door, his expression bleak. “Then I erred even more than I had first thought? My God, you were innocent of it all, even the deceit I most recently accused you of.”

Rowena stared at him incredulously. “Innocent of it all? I
raped
you. Are you forgetting that?”

“Nay, I forgave you that. But—”

“
When
did you forgive me?” she demanded. “I heard no words to that effect.”

He scowled at the interruption,
and
at her obtuseness. “You know exactly when, wench. ’Twas the day you asked me for a boon—the night you had no sleep.”

Color came hotly to her cheeks. “You could have mentioned it,” she grumbled, only to add
as she recalled these past weeks, “Not that it matters now.”

“You are correct. That matters not at all when there was naught for me to forgive. But there is everything for
you
to forgive. Can you?”

She stared hard at him for a long moment, then shrugged indifferently. “Certainly. You are forgiven. Now may I see my mother?”

Warrick frowned. “You cannot absolve me of my guilt that easily.”

“Can I not? Why not? Or has it not occurred to you that I simply do not care if you are sorry?”

“You are still angry,” he guessed, nodding, as if that explained her strange behavior. “I cannot blame you. But I will make it up to you. We will be married, and when—”

“I will not marry you,” she interrupted quietly—too quietly.

’Twas his turn to stare hard, then to explode. “You must marry me!”

“Why? So you can atone for your guilt?” She shook her head slowly. “Were you not listening the day I told you that whatever I felt for you is no longer there? Why would I want to marry you, Warrick?” And then her composure slipped. “Give me
one good reason!
”

“So our child will not be a bastard!”

She closed her eyes to hide her regret. What had she expected?
Because I love you?

Rowena sighed. When she looked at him again, she was without expression—just barely.

“Well, there is that,” she allowed tonelessly. “But that is not reason enough—”

“Damn it, Rowena, you—!”

“I will
not
marry you!” she shouted back at him, her endurance gone and every bit of her resentment released. “Do you try to force me to do it, I will poison you! I will castrate you whilst you sleep! I will—”

“You need not go further.”

He wore the same expression he had duped her with once before, that of a man racked with pain. She did not fall for it this time.

“If you want to atone for your guilt, Warrick, set me free. Relinquish claim to my child and let me go home.”

After endless moments Warrick’s shoulders drooped—but he nodded.