Prisoner of My Desire (17 page)

No sooner had Rowena returned to the weaving room than Celia showed up there, sauntering in with a superior-than-thou expression and a tight little smile that warned Rowena she was not going to like hearing what the girl had to say. Indeed, she did not.

“Get you to the East tower, wench. A bath has been sent there for Sir Sheldon’s use, and you are to assist him.”

Celia’s diction was much improved, Rowena noted, when she was not upset. Gloating and delighted were what she was just now, while Rowena felt as if the floor had fallen out beneath her feet.

“Did Mary send you with that order?”

“Nay, Warrick did.” Celia smirked. “And best you hurry. Sir Sheldon has already been shown to the chamber. And mark you, wench, he is not
merely a guest, but a good friend of your lord. Warrick would not like it were his friend not pleased with your service.”

A couple of the women snickered at that. Rowena merely got up and left the room. She was angry at Warrick for this new humiliation he would force on her, but even more angry at herself for beginning to think seriously about the suggestions Mildred had made earlier. Any man who could send her to another man’s bed—and she did not mistake Celia’s taunting warning any more than the other women had—was not worth seducing, even if it might better her lot to try it.

She was surprised, too. When the girl Emma had summoned her, she had expected to receive what she had missed that morn, utter shame over her behavior yestereve in his bed. Yet when she had stood before him, Warrick still had not mentioned last eventide, though it had been there in his eyes as he stared at her, full memory of it. Instead he had as much as given her to another man with his blessing.

Verily, this could be seen as another punishment, yet she could not think what she had done to merit it. She had not even hesitated over calling him her lord. She had not delayed in coming when summoned. Had Warrick reached a point, then, where he did not need a reason to punish her, where good behavior would avail her naught? If so, why should she bother to do as bidden?
Because there are worse punishments than attending a stranger at his bath
.

Attending that stranger in his bed was out of the question, however, no matter if it was War
rick’s wish that she do so, no matter what was done to her for refusing. The stranger would have to rape her, and he was not likely to do that. A knight might take a field wench without a thought, but he would not abuse his host’s servant in that way—not without his host’s permission. But there was the rub. Had Warrick told this Sir Sheldon that he could have her?

Mixed in with the anger was hurt that aught not to be there, but dread took over both emotions the closer she got to the East tower chamber, until she was nigh sick with it. Yet there was a core of stubbornness in her that would not let her run and hide instead.

The door to the chamber was open. A young squire was just leaving the room with Sir Sheldon’s heavy armor. Steam rose from the tub that had been set in the center of the room. Buckets of cold water had been left to temper the hot. And Sir Sheldon stood next to the tub, rubbing the back of his neck as if it pained him. It took him a moment to notice her standing just inside the door. When he did, his surprise became quickly evident.

“
You
are to assist me, lady?”

Lady? So he knew. Warrick had told him about her and
then
sent her here, making it all the worse for her. Damn that monster and his diabolical methods of revenge.

She lowered her head and gritted out, “I am ordered here by Lord Warrick.”

“I would not have thought—” he began, but ended with a slight flush. “I am grateful.”

That single word put a new light on what she
had to do and took the shame out of it. Were she lady of this castle and married, she would not think twice about assisting an honored guest. Her mother had frequently done so, and did the guest require more than a bath, he would be sent a willing light-skirt of whom every castle had its share. Granted, virginal ladies were not expected to assist at a bath, but Rowena was not exactly virginal any longer. ’Twould be best to treat this as any other chore and see first if Sir Sheldon made any untoward advances before she condemned him.

With that settled in her mind, Rowena moved forward to help the man out of his tunic, which was already half unlaced. She was still slightly nervous, so thought to make small conversation to distract herself.

“Did you travel far, Sir Sheldon?”

“Nay, not overly.”

“I was told you are a good friend to Lord Warrick. You have known him long, then, have you?”

“Aye, he was my squire.”

“Yours?”

He grinned down at her. “Why does that surprise you? Thought you he came to knighthood without the training?”

She grinned back at his gentle teasing. She had barely noticed this man in the hall, her attention so set on Warrick, but on closer inspection, Sheldon was not nearly as old as he had seemed at first glance. Verily, he seemed not much older than Warrick.

“So you knew him ere he turned so—” To call
the man’s friend what she would like to would not be very wise, so she settled for “Hard?” But that word made Sheldon burst into laughter.

“You do not know him very well, damosel, if all you can call him is hard. Most women call him terrifying.”

Rowena flushed. “I do not claim to know him at all, yet does he not frighten me—much.”

He laughed again, a deep, rich sound. She yanked hard on his chausses to show him she did not appreciate it.

“What do you here, wench?”

Rowena gasped at the sound of
that
voice and looked toward the doorway whence it had come. Warrick filled the opening that she had not thought to close and put the lie to her last words, for he looked terrifying indeed in his present anger, of which she could not begin to guess the cause.

“You ordered me here, my lord,” she dared to remind him, but that just made him look angrier.

“Nay, I did not, nor would I have. Your duties are exact, wench. Do they increase or decrease, I will tell you so myself. Now get you to my solar and await me there.”

She was hot-cheeked with indignation, but she did not care to argue with him in front of his friend. She left without another word to either man, but had gone not even halfway down the stairs before Warrick caught up with her, roughly yanking her about and shoving her up against the stone wall. The arrow slit that gave light to the stairwell was blocked by his wide back, so
she could not see clearly just how angry he still was. His voice told her, however.

“Explain to me why I should not punish you for being where you do not belong!”

“I thought ’twas a punishment, my being sent to him. Now you tell me I am to be punished for doing as I was bidden? If you dare—”

He shook her once. “You were
not
bidden to come here. If you speak that lie again, so help me, I will not order you beaten, I will do it myself!”

Rowena swallowed the retort she would have made. The man was simply too angry, and beginning to seriously frighten her with it.

She made her tone soft and placating. “I know not what to tell you but the truth. I was told I was to assist Sir Sheldon at his bath, and that ’twas by your order.”

“
Who
told you?”

“Celia.”

“She would not dare.”

“Mistress Blouet can tell you how much Celia dares, if you do but ask her. And the other weavers all heard her send me here, not just to assist your friend, but to please him in whatever way he required.” She winced as his hands bit more into her arms. “Do not take my word for it, my lord. The other women will vouch for what I say—” She paused, her stomach turning with dread as a thought occurred to her. “Unless Celia has bidden them to lie. Mistress Blouet says they do all follow her lead and—”

“Did he touch you?”

Rowena blinked at the new subject, which
could not help but prod her bitterness and release it. “Nay, but what matters if he did? A servant has little say in these things. You told me so yourself.”

“You have no say in what
I
do to you, wench, but no one else is to touch you.”

As if to prove it, his hand went to her thick braid to hold her head still and his mouth closed over hers. ’Twas an angry kiss, punishing and claiming at once. She did not like it. She liked even less that her loins heated, preparing her for his further invasion.

But he did not intend to take her there in the stairwell. He ended the kiss, but she was still pressed to him. And his hand tightened in her hair as he demanded, “Would you have
pleased
him did he ask?”

She did not even think to goad him with a lie. “Nay, I would have refused, and did that not work, I would have fought him.” She felt the tension leave his body, and the hand in her hair loosened its grip.
Then
she goaded him. “But little good it would have done me without weapon to hand, which I am not allowed.”

“Nor will you be allowed one,” he growled, angry again.

She did not heed his anger this time because she felt too much of the same emotion herself. “Then what is to stop any man from raping me, when you dress me as a serf and when female serfs are considered fair game? Even your men-at-arms would not hesitate—” She stopped when she saw his grin.

“My interest in you has been noted and under
stood. No man here would dare to touch you. Nay, wench, you still will find yourself bedded only by me—but then, you are coming not to mind that overmuch. You protest, but not for long.”

She knocked away his hand, which had moved to caress her cheek. “I hate it, as much as I hate you!”

But
that
only made him laugh, infuriating her so that she pushed away from him and ran the rest of the way down the stairs. He let her go, but the thought that he
could
have stopped her if he wanted only increased her fury.

All the power was his. He had control over her body, control over her emotions, control over everything she did. She could not even get angry without his leave, for he knew well enough how to frighten the anger out of her.

’Twas intolerable, such utter domination, and she could bear it no more. She had accepted it as her due for what had been done to him, but she had been punished more than enough for that, and still had the worse punishment before her, the taking of her child. Well, she was done with meekly accepting her lot. If Mildred’s suggestions could shift some of the power, to give her even a little sway over that insufferable man, then she would try them.

Warrick had not noticed before how many of his men watched Rowena just as he did, but the moment she entered the hall, many eyes besides his were on her. He did not like that at all. In fact, he so disliked it that he did the unthinkable and called for complete attention to himself for no reason other than to show his displeasure.

His men knew him well. They did not mistake what had displeased him. But ironically, he was even more annoyed that they
did
understand and did not look toward the girl again. His action smacked of jealousy, which was absurd. God’s blood, she was no more than his prisoner. Yet…yet what he had felt just now was no different from what he had felt earlier when he had found her with Sheldon—nay, that had been more powerful. Utter rage had consumed him to see
her kneeling at his friend’s feet, in the process of disrobing him.

“You did not like the shape of your tankard?” Sheldon asked as he took the seat next to Warrick at the lord’s table.

“How so?”

But Warrick looked at the vessel in his hand and saw that the soft metal had collapsed under his grip. He threw it away angrily and called for another, which a page quickly supplied, along with the ale to fill it.
She
should have been there already to do it. What the devil was keeping her in the kitchen? But then she appeared with a large platter of meats, and he schooled his features to conceal his rioting emotions.

“You must do better than that if you do not want her to know how she affects you,” his friend warned, trying unsuccessfully to hide his amusement. “You are wound so tight—”

“Go to hell, Sheldon.”

The older man laughed, but said no more, leaning to his left to speak with Beatrix, with whom he was to share a trencher. Warrick did try to relax, only it was impossible. The closer Rowena came to the table, the more he tensed, as if expecting a blow. And it did seem as if he received one when he saw her smile at him.

“What will you have, my lord?” she asked pleasantly as she set the platter down in front of him. “A sampling of each?”

He did not even look down at the meats she was offering. “Have I made things too easy for you, wench?”

“Nay, my lord.”

“Then why do you smile at me?”

The smile vanished instantly. “I forget myself. What is it you require? A frown? Indifference? Mayhap fear? You need only say—”

“Be quiet!” he grumbled and waved her off.

Rowena could feel his eyes boring into her back as she hurried from the hall, and it was all she could do not to laugh before she was out of his sight. Lord Vengeance was going to be easier to confound than even Mildred had thought. With no more than a smile, she had soured his mood and received no punishment for it. She wondered if she could force herself to touch him next, without being bidden to. ’Twas not something she wanted to do, but she had made the decision and so could not cavil over the means.

“So ye heard, did ye?”

Rowena started and looked around until she spotted Mary Blouet. She knew not what Mary referred to, but ’twas unwise for her to look so pleased with herself where others could note it.

“Heard what?”

“That the high-and-haughty Celia got sent away to Dyrwood keep. I know not how ye did it, wench, but ye be having my thanks for it.”

Rowena could not speak for a moment, she was so incredulous. “He actually sent her away?”

“Aye, and good riddance, I say. But why do ye look so surprised?”

“But I did naught that would—I mean, I only told him she gave me an order in his name. I did
not know she lied, and he was angry, but I…he actually sent her away?”

Mary chuckled. “Did I not say so? And what ye did be more than anyone else wouldst dare. I should have warned him myself of the advantages she took of her position, but a man is funny about such things. Like as not the bearer of tales gets the brunt of his displeasure.”

Rowena tamped down the pleasure she was starting to feel, reminding herself that what Celia had done was outrageous and deserving of some kind of discipline. Warrick certainly had not done it for her sake. He had merely been made aware that Celia had overstepped herself, and he had acted swiftly to punish her for it. After all, the man thrived on meting out punishments. Why should his favorite leman be excluded from them?

Rowena hurried back to the hall with another platter of food, her plan to baffle and subtly seduce her tormentor forgotten for the moment. She noted, however, that his mood had taken a turn for the worse. There was that risk, of course, that instead of merely confusing the man and making him wonder about her, he would get angry instead. The frown that followed her to the table now said he was definitely angry about something.

She hesitated to get near him when he looked so forbidding, but there was no help for it. Her duty was to serve him his food, not merely set it before him.

“Does aught tempt you here, my lord?”

Rowena did not realize the implication of that
innocent question until she saw the fire leap into Warrick’s eyes. She flushed. She had not meant to be deliberately provocative, yet so she had sounded. And to her amazement, his frown turned into a grin, not of that cruel humor she abhorred, but of genuine male amusement.

“Come you here, wench, and we shall see what if aught will tempt me.”

Sir Sheldon guffawed beside him, as did a few other knights within hearing. Rowena’s flush turned to hot flames. But she did not hesitate this time. She hurried around the table and came up to stand beside his chair—and found herself pulled onto his lap.

’Twas the perfect opportunity to further her seduction of him—if she could forget that they were the center of attention. But she could not forget that there were other nobles present, including ladies, including Warrick’s young daughters, and all she wanted to do was crawl into a hole and hide for the next decade. Verily, if she were given even a little of the respect her true status was due, Warrick would never have treated her so before his entire assemblage. But she was classed as a lowly serf, beneath the notice of ladies, defenseless against lustful innuendos as well as lustful assaults—at least by the Lord of Fulkhurst.

“What think you, wench, will tempt my palate?” he continued to tease her. “Do you select it and we shall see.”

A reprieve? She could fill his trencher and be gone?

She wasted no time in leaning forward to reach
the nearest platter—and felt Warrick’s hand come to her leg, then press between her thighs. She sat back so fast, her head cracked his chin. They both winced, but then he chuckled.

“Think you none of the viands will tempt me, then?”

Rowena groaned inwardly. There was no way she could win this game he had instigated, but she did not think he would simply let her leave his lap did she try. If she could bear his touch for a few moments, he might grow tired of the game and recall that he was sitting here to eat, not to amuse himself with his newest plaything.

She leaned forward to try and fill his trencher again. But his other hand groped beneath her skirts until he found a bare thigh, and she felt a wave of heat that had naught to do with embarrassment. Suddenly she was horrified that he might be able to bring her to the state he had last eventide, right there with hundreds of eyes avidly watching.

Pride be damned, she curled toward him and whispered at his neck, “Please.”

“Truly do I like that word on your lips,” he replied, a wealth of satisfaction in his tone.

’Twas a blatant reminder, at long last, of the begging that had so shamed her, but at the moment she was not embarrassed by it. She was too embarrassed by what he was doing now.

But he had more to say. “Mayhap now you will tell me what caused you to smile before?”

Rowena’s eyes flared wide. Was all this because she had perplexed him with that damn smile? Did he have to get even for being con
founded by her? The thought infuriated her, and anger made her forget her embarrassment, forget even that other ears than his would hear her answer.

Answer him she did, with another smile, waiting only until he took a swallow of his ale. “I was merely thinking of your display of jealousy this noontide, my lord.”

He choked, his response coming out as a wheezing rasp. “Jealousy!”

She leaned back so he could see that she gave his reply thoughtful consideration. “Mayhap possessiveness would more aptly describe it. I understand now that you feel I am only yours to use and abuse, that no other should have that privilege.”

Warrick scowled at Sheldon, whose shoulders were shaking in mirth, evidently because he had heard those words. Then Warrick turned his scowl on Rowena, and she had no more than a moment to wish she had not chosen so public a place to get a little even with him.

“I make certain that you are kept available to see to my own whims, and you see this as possessiveness?” he growled low. “’Twould not bother me to throw you to my men and watch as they have you—as long as I am not in the mood to have you myself. Need I prove this to you?”

’Twas one of those threats that, by merely saying it, he would be forced to carry out did she not make immediate amends. Her anger increased, but that did not stop her from throwing her arms around his neck and squeezing tight.

“Do not, I beseech you,” she said by his ear, then softer, her lips touching his earlobe, “I want only to share
your
bed, know only
your
touch.”

She felt a shiver run through him just before he pushed her off his lap. She noticed his flush as she straightened; then her eyes collided with his and she felt seared by their molten heat.

“Get you below and have your meal, then come to my chamber.”

“You want a bath, my lord?”

“I want to find you in my bed, wench, where we will ascertain if you bespoke the truth.”