Prisoner of My Desire (13 page)

The kitchen was an eerie place without its blazing fire pit and many torches to chase away the shadows. The resident rat-catcher hissed in complaint before streaking off to hide behind the well. The cook was mumbling about missed sleep; Bernard was holding his candle high so the cook could see what he was doing. Rowena was still cradled in Warrick’s arms. Each time she moved the slightest bit, he interpreted it as an attempt to escape and tightened his arms around her.

When he finally set her down on a stool before the table, a fine array of food was spread out for her to choose from, all cold, but still tempting to an empty belly. The half loaf of bread would have served as a trencher on the morrow, but just now it was still soft, as was the butter to spread on it. There was a thick slice of roasted beef, jellied
veal hocks, and a chunk of mackerel spiced with mint and parsley, minus the sorrel sauce it had been served with earlier. A wedge of cheese, spiced pears, and an apple tart rounded off the meal, along with a tankard of ale.

“Were there no partridges left?” Warrick asked the cook as Rowena started eating.

“One, my lord, but Lady Beatrix has requested it be served her in the morn—”

Warrick interrupted to order, “Fetch it. My daughter can eat whatever is prepared on the morrow, as will the rest of us. This wench is starving now.”

Rowena could not believe what she was hearing. Did he not realize he would be making another enemy for her? You did not take from the daughter of the house to give to a servant. To a guest, certainly, but not a servant. And the cook would have to deal with the angry Beatrix on the morrow, so there was another enemy for her—and he was husband to Mary Blouet, who had the care of her.

“This is more food than I can eat,” Rowena quickly assured them. “I do not need—”

“You need variety,” Warrick insisted.

“But I do not like partridge,” she lied.

“You do not feed only yourself,” he shot back.

That reminder made her face go hot with embarrassment, especially since it had the other two men looking at her differently, as if Warrick’s strange behavior was now quite understandable. That she was with child was likely to become common knowledge at this rate. Coupled with the undue amount of attention Warrick was giv
ing her, ’twould not be hard for anyone to guess who the father was. Did he not mind? Nay, why should he, when he intended to keep the child himself.

That
reminder had Rowena glaring at him. “The babe
and
I do not like partridge, nor will
we
eat it.”

He stared at her for a moment more before he conceded in a grouchy tone, “Very well,” then turned back to the relieved cook to add, “But she should have wine instead of ale, I think, and none of that soured brew. Fetch a bottle of that sweet wine I sent from Tures.”

Rowena stiffened. So did the cook, saying, “I will have to wake the butler to get the key, my lord.”

“Then do so.”

Rowena had just avoided the acquisition of two new enemies in giving up one of her favorite foods. She was not going to get another in the form of the butler by accepting her own wine, which she would likely choke on because it
was
hers. ’Twas cruel to offer her a sample of what she had lost, but this was one cruelty she could not even place on Warrick, for he did not know she was the Lady of Tures.

She stopped the cook on the way to the stairs. “That will not be necessary, Master Blouet. Wine makes me ill just now,” she lied again. “So I could not drink it.”

The cook turned back hopefully to get confirmation from his lord, but Warrick was now frowning down at Rowena. “’Tis strange that only what will inconvenience others is what you
cannot stomach just now,” he remarked to her.

“That is not so,” she insisted.

“Is it not?” he replied doubtfully, then with a cold edge added, “And never counter my command again, wench. Did Master Blouet obey you instead of me, he would receive ten lashes for it.”

Having heard that, the poor cook was now racing up the stairs to wake the butler. Rowena stopped eating, bringing her hands to her lap so Warrick would know he was ruining her appetite.

“You are contemptible in your spite.” Bernard drew in a sharp breath at her effrontery, but she still asked, “What will you do with the wine? For I will
not
drink it.”

“I will have it delivered to my solar for my own use—as you will be delivered there as soon as you are finished with that meal—unless you are finished now…” Rowena reached for the food so fast, that humorless smile came to Warrick’s lips. “Bernard?”

Bernard did not need to be told. “Aye, my lord, as soon as she is finished,” the boy assured him.

Warrick put a finger under her chin, which was moving vigorously with her chewing. “Do not stuff yourself, wench, and do not be long, else I will have to return here to see what delays you, and I would not like that.”

So saying, he left her alone with the squire and the food. Rowena chewed more slowly now, but anxiety was beginning to knot her stomach.
He was going to rape her again. He as much as promised he would.

Mayhap she ought to fight the boy instead of Warrick, then run off and hide. Bernard was bigger than she, though not fully grown, so she would certainly have a better chance of winning free from him than from his master. But would that not get the squire punished? And if Warrick came looking for her, would he not wake others to help in the search? Inconsiderate wretch, of course he would. He did not care that his castlefolk worked hard all day and needed their sleep. She should not care either, but she did not want the whole of Fulkhurst mad at her, when there was not a single soul there who would protect her from their retaliating abuse.

“Best you hurry, Mistress,” Bernard said from behind her. “His mood does not include patience for waiting long.”

She did not look back to answer, “So he has to come and fetch me again. Think you I care? Either way I have to deal with his anger.” And his little punishments…

She wondered what would be her humiliation this time for defying him outside the weaving room, for running from him, for annoying him here. The begging he had mentioned? Worse? Nay, what could be worse than begging for pleasure from a man she despised?

“You are a perverse woman, not to be grateful for his generosity.”

Rowena choked on the beef she was chewing. When the coughing spasms eased, she turned
around to glare at the young man who had made that outrageous statement.

“What generosity?” she demanded.

“He feeds you after the kitchen has been locked for the night. Never has it been opened before. Master Blouet would not even dare were he starving.”

’Twas a standard rule in most castles. Too much pilferage would ensue otherwise. But Rowena was not impressed.

“He feeds his child, not me,” she scoffed.

“He would not open the kitchen for his daughters,” the boy scoffed back.

“You know naught!” she snapped impatiently. “The man hates me.”

“When he desires you instead of another? When he debated for hours whether to wake you, though his need was great? When he even carried you so you would not catch a chill in your bare feet?”

She could have shot down each of those statements with ease, but she was blushing crimson over his mention of Warrick’s need, which she knew she had caused at his bath. She had assumed he would send for Celia. Why had he not?
Because with you he gets revenge
and
his need seen to
. But why wait so long? Because, in truth, he could not bear to touch her, any more than she could bear to touch—nay, she was lying to herself. She had never really minded touching that finely made body when she had him in her power. And tonight, she had actually become aroused from touching him, while he had not
touched her back. But she minded that! She minded his effect on her!

“Does it not matter that I want none of his attention?” she asked as if the boy could be made to understand and change his view.

All he replied was, “As I said, you are perverse.”

“And you are ignorant and biased! Your lord is a cruel, vengeful—”

“Nay!” Bernard cried, upset himself now. “He is good and benevolent to those who serve him. He is only swift in retribution with his enemies.”

“And I am one of those enemies,” she whispered, turning her back on him.

She stared at the food she no longer desired, and heard Bernard say behind her, “His enemy? A woman? What could you have done to earn his enmity?”

Only rape him and steal his child
. But that was a crime so appalling in her own mind, she would never willingly admit it to anyone. Warrick would likely change his mind and murder her if she did, because at least half his hate must come from the fact that such could have been done to
him
, so powerful a lord.

So she did not answer the question, saying dejectedly instead, “Do you mean to take me to him, do so. I am finished here.”

The cook returned with the butler then, and hurried over to her. “You did not care for leftovers, girl?”

“’Twas excellent fare, Master Blouet, merely have I had my fill. And I will be sure to eat at
normal times henceforth so you are not disturbed again.”

He waved that aside. “The babe must have nourishment. I will see that you have extra portions at your meals.”

“Nay, you need not—”

“Lord Warrick would have it so.”

And whatever Lord Warrick would have, so it would be done.

Rowena ground her teeth together and headed out of the kitchen. But before she reached the stone steps, she was picked up from behind, just like before. Only she did not feel secure in these arms. She felt as if she was about to fall.

“Put me
down
, Bernard. I am perfectly capable—”

“Perverse,” he huffed to himself as he trudged up the stairs. “She would rather catch her death so that I will be flayed alive. Utterly perverse.”

“’Tis more like I will break my neck when you drop me, you fool.”

“’Tis chivalrous to assist all women—but next time wear shoes, Mistress.”

He
was complaining? Rowena would have boxed his ears if she did not think he would drop her in startlement. God save her from aspiring knights.

“There,” he said at last, and set her quickly on her feet. “The wooden floor is not so cold. I needs catch my breath, but you may go on.”

She could, could she? Rowena decided to be as perverse as he had called her.

“How would you know how cold the floor is when your feet are not bare? My toes are freez
ing. You will have to carry me after all.”

He was standing there laboring for every breath. The dark hall stretched long before them, with only a torch at the far end to light the narrow path through the sleeping bodies of the servants.

Bernard looked at her in horror. “Ah—mayhap you could wear my shoes instead?”

“Mayhap I will return to my own bed.”

His horror magnified. “You cannot do that!”

“Watch me, sirrah.”

She turned and started down the path, but no more than five seconds had passed before she was picked up again. Now Bernard was angry, and it came out in biting scorn.

“Your ladylike airs do not become you, Mistress. Think you the lord’s favor elevates you to that status? It does not, and best you remember that.”

His words stung, prompting a thoughtless reply. “I do not need elevation to a status already mine. ’Tis your
good and benevolent
lord who would make me other than what I am, which is Lady of—” Her common sense returned before she blurted out “Tures.” “Kirkburough,” she amended. “Which he did recently destroy.”

“You lie, wench.”

“And you sound like your master, lout,” she retorted. “Verily, the only thing I lied about was the freezing of my toes. Now put me down!”

He did, half dropping her as the strength in his arms gave out. But little good it did her, for they had reached the antechamber to the solar, and the door to the inner chamber stood open—
and promptly filled with the presence of her nemesis, drawn by her raised voice.

“What ails you?” Warrick asked his squire, for the boy was truly wheezing now.

Rowena answered before Bernard could. “He thought to mimic you and carry me, but found he must grow some ere he starts acting the barbarian in forcing women to his will.”

The double gibe was not lost on either male. Bernard flushed with angry color. Warrick smiled, that chilling smile she hated.

“So my new serf has claws, does she?” he remarked. “I will have to see what I can do about plucking them. Come inside, Rowena.”

She did not move an inch, horrified by what she had just done. What had made her think she could taunt and insult him without paying for it? But as long as she was damned anyway…

“I—I am through accepting punishments that have naught to do with—” She cast a glance at Bernard before ending with, “What lies between us. Do you want me in there, you will have to drag me in. I told you, I do not go willingly.”

It would have been nice if Bernard were not blocking the only exit from there, but he was, and so there was nowhere to run to when Warrick accepted her challenge and came to get her. And although she tried with every bit of strength she possessed to remove her wrist from the clamp of his fingers, she was summarily dragged into his solar, where he slammed the door closed behind them. Nor did he stop until he had reached his bed and shoved her down on it.

Then slowly, with a good deal of obvious plea
sure, he lowered his body over hers until she was left with the sure knowledge that she could not budge him.

“You see now how little it matters, your unwillingness?” he taunted.

“I hate you.”

“The feeling is returned wholeheartedly, and I assure you I am much better at it than you could ever be.” He was wearing his cruel smile, so she had little doubt about that either.

Suddenly she felt like crying. A few tears even gathered to brighten her eyes to a jewellike radiance.

He noticed and studied them thoughtfully for a moment before he said, “You would not be thinking to make this easy for me, would you? Where is the fight you promised me?”