Prisoner of My Desire (6 page)

She cried out as it happened, and her weight carried her down to sheathe him fully in her depths. Warrick ground his teeth against the gag in his mouth. His muscles strained, but he remained still otherwise. He fought now for impotence. He fought to ignore the powerful urges of his body. It was torture. He had never resisted anything so hard, never wanted anything so much that was so opposed to his will.

She moved on him, hesitantly at first, clumsily. She was still hurting, still crying, but still determined. Her breath, which was coming so hard, fanned his belly along with her hair, providing another caress, another torture. And he knew exactly when he lost the fight. He tried one last time to throw her off, welcoming the pain in his ankles and wrists, but she knew,
knew
, and she held fast to him. And then he no
longer cared, was mindless in the throes of primal instinct, which took over completely to drain his seed with explosive, unbelievable relief. Damn her,
damn her!

I am glad ’twas you
.

Warrick would never forget those words, nor would he forgive them. He recalled them again and again in those next days while he lay chained to that bed.

She had collapsed onto his chest when it was over, her tears wetting his skin. She had found no pleasure in their coupling, but she had gotten what she wanted. And before she left him, she had touched his cheek and whispered, “I am glad ’twas you,” and his hate had increased tenfold.

Her servant had come after that, to tend his wounds. The older woman had clucked her tongue over what he had done to himself, but she had also found the blood-encrusted lump on his head and cleaned that, too. He had let her. Devastated by his failure, he no longer cared just
then what was done to him. Nor had it bothered him when the man came in still later to stare at the blood and seed still wet on his loins with an odd mixture of satisfaction and fury.

“She tells me you fought her. That is good, or I think I would kill you now for what you had of her.”

The man had turned about and left after that, nor had Warrick seen him again. But those few words had given him a wealth of information. He knew now that he was not meant to leave here alive. They wanted no ransom from him. They wanted only the babe he might already have planted in the wench’s belly. He also knew the man was jealous of him, that he would take pleasure in killing Warrick when his usefulness was at an end.

Still he did not care, not that next day, not about anything. He did not even feel the humiliation of having Mildred feed him, bathe him, and assist him to relieve himself right there in the bed. He did not even try to speak to her when his gag was removed for the feeding. His apathy was almost complete—until the wench came back.

Only then did he know it must be night again, for there were no windows in that small room to tell him of the passing hours. And only then did he come alive again, his fury driving him nigh mad. His thrashing loosed his bandages, embedding the iron manacles deeper into his still raw flesh.

But she was patient that second night. She did not try to touch him until he had worn himself
out. And she avoided getting on the bed until he was nearly full ready for her.

Three times she visited him that second night, throughout the night, and three times the next, waking him if she needed to. Each time, perforce, took longer, with his body already sated, yet that did not stop her. She had him at her complete mercy. She examined him fully in the guise of caressing and stimulating him to readiness, everywhere, but mostly between his legs.

She was fascinated by his manroot, brought her face and breath close to it, yet never did she actually do as promised that first night, for ’twas unnecessary. The mere thought that she might affected him as if she had. And he could not prevent any of it, could not stop her, could not smite her with a look or put the fear back in her that she should feel. She used him, she drained him, she no longer displayed the least remorse. She had no mercy whatsoever.

Ah, God, how he wanted revenge on her. ’Twas all he thought about the third day, what he would do to her if he could just get his hands on her. And to think he had actually thought to give her a home when he had first seen her. Aye, he would give her a home, in his dungeon. But first he would pay her back in kind. Nay, first he must escape.

’Tell me her name.”

’Twas the first time he had spoken to Mildred. She eyed him warily as she brought another spoonful of thick mutton stew to his lips.

“I think not. You do not need to know.”

“My men will find me, Mistress. Do you want
to live through the destruction I will wreck on this place, you will cooperate with me now.”

She had the gall to snort at him. “You were alone when taken.”

“Nay, I was with my squire Geoffrey. They killed him, did you know?”

Such coldness had entered his tone, Mildred was suddenly afraid of him, even though he was bound fast. Then she scoffed at herself and at him.

“A knight? Nay, they were sent for a villein. Think you they would not know the difference?”

He did not try to convince her otherwise. “My men were sent ahead. I was to join them the next morn. Think
you
they will just ride on without me?”

“Methinks you spin a fine tale, sirrah, but to what end?” she asked.

“Release me.”

“Ah, fine tactics.” She grinned at him. “But ’tis unnecessary to tell me lies. If I had the key to release you from these chains, I would not use it, not until my lady has what she needs of you.”

She did not add that Rowena had already bidden her to find the key. But she had had no luck thus far, and she would not give him false hope any more than Rowena would.

The feeding had taken longer this time, because he would not be quiet. The extra time had given the red gag marks across his cheeks a chance to fade. She noticed this when she bent to tie a new gag in place, and the sight of him without those distracting marks gave her a distinct chill.

“God’s mercy, you have a cruel look about you,” she said more to herself than to him. “I did not see it ere now.”

Warrick did not need to be told that. It was why his first wives had feared him. It was why his enemies feared him. It was why that cursed wench should have stayed away from him. It was mostly in his eyes, so expressive of his black thoughts, but also in the hard, bitter slant of his mouth, which rarely smiled. And his expression was particularly bitter now that he knew she would not aid him.

“You would do well to remember that—”

She stuffed the gag in his mouth to cut him off, saying indignantly, “It does you no good to threaten me, sirrah. I do my lady’s bidding, not yours. ’Tis no wonder she is naught but aggrieved when she leaves you each night. ’Twould have done you no harm to have treated her gently when she had no choice in coming to you. But nay, you are as cruel inside as you are without.”

He had sunk back into pure fury at those parting words. Was he supposed to feel pity for a woman who repeatedly raped him? Was he supposed to feel sympathy when the purpose was to steal a child from him? When she was glad,
glad
that ’twas he at her mercy instead of another? And why was that? Why would she be glad, when women feared him? It had been thus since his sixteenth year, when he had learned of all that was lost to him, his family, his home, naught left but his life and a betrothal contract that could not be broken. He had changed then,
changed utterly, not just in character, but in appearance, for the darkness that had entered his soul had also been etched on his face.

Since then, he had never taken a woman to his bed who did not at first fear that he would hurt her in some manner. Even after a second or third time, they still did not trust him not to visit some cruelty upon them. His wives…such timid, meek creatures, they never did get over their fear of him, even though he had never given them cause to think he would be brutal with them. But they had both died many years ago. And they had lived with him during the years when he had lived and breathed for revenge, when his every thought was of destruction and killing—as it was now.

How could she be glad? Because he was bound fast and could not touch her? Because she knew he would be dead before the chains were removed from him, so she had naught to fear of him? That was a very real possibility, that he would be butchered right here in this bed, without a chance of defending himself, without a chance of obtaining the least retribution.

He did not fear death. There was a time when he had even courted it, when his life had been so empty and miserable he simply had not cared if he lived or died, and not much had improved since then. But he would regret the loss of this chance he now had to better his existence with Lady Isabella. Even more than that, however, he would regret being unable to avenge himself on these people for the ills that had been done to him here, much less for his death.

So it was to Warrick’s utter amazement that Mildred came not with food the next day, but with a pile of clothes and the key to his shackles And she came at her lady’s behest, if her first words could be credited.

“’Tis well I found the key, sirrah, for my lady wants you gone, and it must be now, whilst her brother is in the town hiring his mercenaries.” She told him this while she removed his gag. “I will convince him your seed took root, but that does not mean he will not hunt you down.”

“Brother?” Warrick remembered the man, and his jealousy. “I warrant not by blood.”

“Nay, no blood betwixt them, thank the Holy Mother,” she said, not looking at him, wasting no time in unlocking his shackles.

“And if my seed did not take? Will another take my place here in this cursed bed?”

“That need not concern you, sirrah.”

“Then tell me why a child is needed. And
my
child? I deserve to know that at least.”

Mildred was surprised, having assumed Rowena would have told him that, but she shrugged. “Why else? To secure this place. She wed Kirkburough’s old lord, but he died the same day, the day you were taken. The child will be claimed as his.”

Greed, aye, he should have known. And Kirkburough was a large fief, with the town included. He had seen the keep from the town. He had avoided it because he had not wanted to meet the lord and have to explain his presence in the area. His escort of thirty men would have been cause for alarm, even in the town, which was
why he had sent them on ahead. All he had wanted was a bed and a bath, which any inn could supply. He had not counted on a greedy bride determined to keep what she had married for at any cost.

Mildred stepped out of his reach when the last chain dropped loudly to the floor. Warrick carefully lowered his arms, his muscles screaming after three days at that unnatural angle. He gritted his teeth against the pain. That, too, felt strange without the gag to bite on. But he did not wait for the pain in his shoulders to lessen before he reached for the clothes she had brought.

The tunic was made of the most inferior homespun he had ever seen, fit only for the meanest villein, and stunk to high heaven. But at least it fit him across the shoulders and arms, though it was lacking in length. So, too, were the coarse russet leggings, moth-eaten and frayed, and stopping well short of his ankles. The shoes were made of cloth, so at least they stretched to his size. The belt was a thin strip of leather.

He said naught about the deplorable clothes. Once dressed, he had only one thing on his mind.

“Where is she?”

“Nay.” Mildred backed away to the door. “You try to hurt her, I will sound the alarm.”

“I wouldst just speak with her.”

“You lie, sirrah. ’Tis in your eyes. She bade me help you escape because she does not want your death on her conscience, but she never wants to see you again. Do you come back here,
Lord Gilbert will kill you. ’Tis that simple. So take your life and go.”

He stared at her for a long moment, his desire to get his hands on the wench who might or might not already carry his child warring with his desire for freedom. And he did not know how many he would have to fight if Mildred did cry for help. That settled it.

“Very well, but I will need a sword, my horse—”

“Are you mad?” she hissed. “You will go as you are, to draw no notice. The men who took you got rid of all that was yours, doubt it not. Now come. I will lead you to the postern gate. There is little time left.”

He followed her, but he took note of everything he saw as she led him out of the keep and through the bailey. He almost changed his mind about leaving when he saw how few men were about, other than servants. The defenses were strong, but there was no one there to man them.

No wonder the brother was off hiring men. Kirkburough could be taken in a day, and Warrick would be back in less than a sennight to prove it.

“’Tis done.”

“I know,” Rowena said dispassionately as she turned away from the window. “I watched until he disappeared into yonder woods.”

“I have a bad feeling about this,” Mildred said uneasily. “We should have waited.”

“Nay. Gilbert has already said he will not depart here until he is assured I have the babe. He intends to leave the siege of Tures in the hands of his knights, since they do not expect to make much progress in the early weeks, and he is not really needed there. Today was the first he has even stepped out of the hall, much less the keep. He might not again. And he watches everyone with a hawk’s eye, to make sure no servants sneak up here. Think you he would not notice that huge lout leaving?”

“He sleeps—”

“And the keep is locked tight with his own men set to guard at the doors. You
know
this was the best time, Mildred, like as not the only time to get that man out of here without Gilbert’s knowing and setting off a hue and cry.”

“But he did not serve his purpose,” Mildred reminded her baldly.

Rowena shivered, though the chamber was not cold. “I—I could not do it again, even were he still here. I told you that last eventide. Not again.”

“Aye, my lamb, I know ’twas hard—”

“Hard?” Rowena cut in with a harsh-sounding laugh. “’Twas wrong, so wrong! And I can no longer commit a wrong to stop another from being committed. I had to at first, to show Gilbert I was doing as he demanded. But after I convinced him to stay away, convinced him his presence disturbed the man so much that I could not tempt him, I did not need to go back in there. Yet I did. I still obeyed Gilbert exactly, when if I had only stopped to think—”

“
Why
do you blame yourself?” Mildred demanded.” You did not even get any pleasure out of it, when
he
did.”

“Nay, he did not. How could he have pleasure in what he hated? Mildred, he fought me every single time. He hurt himself to fight me. He hated it, hated me, and made sure I knew it. Those eyes—” She shivered again. “I could not have gone in there again. I could not force him again did my own life depend on it.”

“But if your plan does not work?”

“It will. It must. Gilbert will not know he has
escaped. He will think I still visit the man nightly. When I know if I have conceived or not, I will tell him that
I
let the man go. He will not punish me for it, for he will not risk the child. And the man’s life or death is not that important to his plan. He said himself that no one would believe a serf did he lay claim to the child. That is the least of my worries.”

“I am not so sure he
was
a serf,” Mildred admitted with unease.

“You noticed his arrogance, too?”

“He claimed he had a squire who was killed when he was captured.”

“God’s mercy, another reason for him to despise me.” Rowena sighed. “So he was a baseborn knight. Think you he will admit to anyone what was done to him here?”

“Nay, never,” Mildred replied without a single doubt.

“Then we need not worry about him starting rumors—if there is a child. But whether there is or not, Gilbert will be told there is. He will leave then, off to fight that damn warmonger Fulkhurst—may they both kill each other. And as soon as he leaves, so will we. I still have all of my clothes, nigh worth a fortune, and we have a town right here where we can obtain a good price for all. We will hire our own men, collect my mother from Ambray keep while Gilbert is busy at Tures, then make our way to France and Henry’s court.”

“Lord Gilbert will not be pleased to lose Kirkburough
and
you.”

“Think you I care?” Rowena almost snarled in
her bitterness. “After what he has done, ’tis my hope that he never finds pleasure in anything
ever
again.”

Later that afternoon, Rowena seemed to get her wish, at least temporarily. Gilbert had not been long back from the town, where he had found no more than three men whom he deemed worthy of hiring and another four worth training, when a message came to him that turned him livid with rage. She was pleased to witness it from where she sat sewing by the hearth.

She had been allowed down to the Great Hall a few hours each day so that the people would grow used to her, and so she could assure anyone who asked that Lord Godwine was recovering but still too ill to leave his chamber, and still insistent that only she tend him. Gilbert had realized the necessity in this, and the necessity in claiming that Lyons was not so seriously ill that he could not do his duty to his new wife. When the time was right, Gilbert would merely claim that the lord had had a tragic relapse and died.

Now she watched her stepbrother turn purple, he was so furious, and curse and rant, sending nearly every servant running to vacate the hall. Her first thought was that he had somehow discovered that Lyons’ substitute had escaped. But unless the man had stupidly got himself caught again, that could not be, for Gilbert had not gone abovestairs since the night it had all begun.

When he noticed her sitting there, his high
color slowly receded. He appeared so thoughtful as he stared at her, too thoughtful—and calculating. She held her breath when he approached, suddenly horribly afraid that she was going to be forced into some new act that she would despise. But when she heard what he had to say, she would have laughed if she did not think he would slap her for it.

“I know not how he discovered that Kirkburough is now mine, but he must have, for Fulkhurst has followed me here. God curse him, the man is relentless!”

“I thought you said he was at Tures.”

“He was. But he must have had warning that my army approached and escaped ere the siege began. And he must have gathered another army, for he comes with nigh five hundred men under his dragon’s banner.”

“If he raised another army, why did he not take it immediately to Tures to rout yours?”

“Do not be stupid, Rowena,” Gilbert snapped impatiently. “Tures Castle was your father’s stronghold. You know how defensible it is. Those men Fulkhurst left behind to guard it can hold it for him for weeks. There is no hurry for him to return to Tures, not when he has learned that I am here with naught but a handful of men. Does he capture me, he can make terms that will disperse my army.”

“Or he can kill you.”

He glared at her, but she was pleased to see his color recede even more to an unnatural paleness.

“Are you sure ’tis him?” she asked. “Tures is two days north of here.”

“No one can mistake his colors, or that damn fire-breathing red dragon rampant on a black field. ’Tis him, and he will be without in less than an hour, so I must leave now.”

“And I?”

“He will take this keep whether I am here or not. He knows ’tis mine, and he has sworn to take all that is mine for our trespass at Dyrwood. Curse him, why could he not be satisfied with my father’s death?”

As that was said not to her, she did not try to answer. She could not understand vengefulness of that depth anyway. But she was not alarmed that the Lord of Fulkhurst was coming here, or that Gilbert meant to leave her behind to face him. Anything that thwarted Gilbert and his hateful plans would be well received by her.

“You will make terms with him for yourself,” he continued. “He will not harm you. Last year he captured another of my wards, Lady Avice, and only insisted she swear fealty to him. Do the same if he demands it, for it will not matter. I will be back here in three days’ time with my army to defeat him. Aye,’tis better done here than at Tures Castle, for Kirkburough can be easily surrounded. And I now have enough men to do so, three times as many as he. Do not fear, Rowena, I will have you back in my care shortly.”

So said, he grabbed her and gave her a kiss
that could in no wise be construed as brotherly. She was amazed. She was repulsed. She had not known he desired her until that moment.