Prisoner of My Desire (29 page)

She held on to him for dear life, and was too shaken to release him even after she was yanked away from the hole and had purchase for her feet again.

Warrick, forgotten for the while, brought himself back to mind. “Step away from her, d’Ambray.”

The inherent threat in those words, as well as the sword point that came across Rowena’s shoulder to press against Gilbert’s chest, was incentive to do as told. But Gilbert did not release her, his hands tightened on her instead, and Rowena knew him well enough to know where his thoughts were going.

“He will not believe a threat to my life after you have just saved it,” she told him.

The expression those words brought to Warrick’s face was almost comical in its frustration. Rowena turned in time to see it and was disgusted in reading it correctly. He truly did not want to let Gilbert go now that he had him, but to kill him now would not be part of their
knightly code of fair exchanges. A saved life was
always
worth a just reward. But this life in particular Rowena still found despicable. If Warrick had to turn forgiving, could he not have waited a few more—Forgiving? Warrick? Had the vengeful dragon of the north really changed that much?

He had, but he was not exactly happy about it himself. His snarl was less than gracious as he lowered his sword. “I give you your life do you trouble me no more.”

Gilbert had never been one to thumb his nose at a golden opportunity. “Give me back Ambray as well.”

Rowena gasped at Gilbert’s audacity. “Nay, Warrick, do not! He does not deserve—”

“
I
will decide what your life is worth, Rowena,” Warrick cut in. “As it happens, a castle—nay, a hundred castles—cannot compare with what you mean to me.”

Not very romantically put, to be compared to stone edifices, but ’twas the meaning behind the words that counted and rendered her speechless, long enough for Warrick to tell Gilbert, “You would have to swear vasselage to me.”

Gilbert did not hesitate, amused at the irony of having Warrick sworn to protect
him
. “Done. And Rowena—”

The sword came back up, and Warrick’s expression was now dangerous rather than just chagrined. “Rowena will be my wife once she agrees. In either case, she will never be in your care again. Tempt me not to change my mind, d’Ambray. Take what I offer and count yourself
fortunate that I no longer require absolute vengeance.”

That got Rowena released, and she was snatched immediately into Warrick’s arms. The hard contact brought along another pain, however, to remind her that she had no more time for their squabbles.

“If you two are finished, my daughter would like to be born now, Warrick, and not out here on the battlements.” Both men just stared at her in bemusement, so she added with a lot more volume, “
Now
, Warrick!” and got better results. Panic, actually. Verily, men were ofttimes useless…

“And what was that swearing about
after
’twas over?” Mildred wanted to know as she laid the baby in Rowena’s arms. “You did good, my sweet one. He is the veriest angel, the veriest—”

“
He
should have been a she,” Rowena grumbled, though she could not hold her sour expression once she looked down at her precious, golden-haired baby.

Mildred was chuckling. “You cannot still be holding that grudge. Look how many months you made the man suffer. I felt so sorry for him.”

“You did not,” Rowena countered. “You were the only one who did not try to get me to change my mind.”

“Only because I knew your stubbornness would dig in its heels even deeper with any more pushing. There was no reasoning with you on
the subject. You had to figure out for yourself that the man loves you. But did you have to make him wait until the last minute to wed him?”

“Wait?” Rowena said incredulously. “He did not fetch the midwife, he fetched the priest! And none of them would leave until they had an ‘aye’ from me. That was blackmail. That was—”

“Pure stubbornness on your part. You knew you were going to wed him. You just had to make him suffer right to the end.”

Rowena snapped her mouth shut. Arguing with Mildred these days was like pulling hairs. She lost a lot of hair.

Of course, she
was
just being stubborn. The man had been willing to die for her. No grudge could hold up against that.

“Where is my—husband?”

“Waiting without to see his son. Do I show him, or will you?”

Not waiting for an answer, Mildred was already walking to the door to bring Warrick in. Then he was there, looking down at her with such warmth and pride in his eyes that the last of her animosity fled. She did love him, after all. That had been made clear to her in so many ways long before she’d left him that it was useless to deny it any longer.

She smiled shyly up at him. “What do you think of him?”

Warrick had not even looked at the baby yet. He did now, but his eyes came right back to hers, and there was humor in them. “I trust his looks will improve with time?”

She looked down at her son in alarm, but was
soon chuckling. “There is naught wrong with the way he looks. He is supposed to be red and wrinkly.”

“What happened to the daughter you hoped to give me?”

She flushed, then grinned. “I believe I finally got lucky, my lord—not to get that particular wish.”

He sat down on the bed to surprise her with a kiss. “Thank you.”

“’Twas not so difficult—well, mayhap a little.”

“Nay, I thank you for marrying me.”

“Oh,” she said, filling with such warm feelings she felt like laughing. “That was actually…my pleasure.”

That got her another kiss, one not so tender. “You are no longer angry with me?”

“Nay, but if you ever send me to your dungeon again—”

“I no longer have one. ’Twas torn down after you came here to Tures.”

“Why did you do that?” she asked in surprise.

“’Twas an unbearable reminder of what I had done.”

“But you had reason, Warrick. Even I can—”

“Do not make excuses for me, wench—or have you so soon forgotten the words you threw back at me?”

He was serious, but there was self-mockery there, too. “Very well, suffer a little longer if you must. But ’twas a waste of a good dungeon do you ask me.”

Her sigh made him chuckle. “Mayhap I did
act too hastily. I can always have it excavated again.”

“You had better not, my lord,” she warned with mock fierceness.

“Then if I ever find the need to lock you in my solar again—I will be sure to be locked in with you.”

“Now
that
I will not object to.”

“So you are still a brazen wench?”

“You do not mind my brazenness.”

“Nay, I do not.”

“And you love me.”

“All right, I love you.”

“Do not say it as if you are indulging me. You do love me, Warrick. How can you not when I—”

“I
do
love you, wench.”

That sounded much better, so much better she drew him down for another kiss, then the soft whisper, “I am glad ’twas you, Warrick. So glad.”

He remembered those words, spoken so long ago, and admitted finally, “So am I, my lady. So, too, am I.”