Prisoner of My Desire (2 page)

What color had returned to Rowena’s cheeks left again. She did not question further, but only because she dreaded to know which knights still lived and which did not. Who should she blame for their deaths, Fulkhurst for striking the killing blow, or Gilbert and his father for gaining Fulkhurst’s ire? God’s mercy, when would this land be returned to peace?

Quietly, she asked Gilbert to have her released. At his nod to his men, she was immediately let go and started toward her mother. Gilbert’s hand caught her arm and steered her instead toward the door.

She pulled away from him, but his hold was firm. “Let me go to her.”

“Nay, her women will attend her anon.”

“I have not seen her in three years, Gilbert,” she reminded him, but should have known it would not make a difference.

“When you get yourself with Lyons’ child to secure his lands will be soon enough for you to see her.”

More manipulations and coercions. She could
not be silent any longer, but released her feelings in a hate-filled hiss. “You are despicable, worse even than your father. At least he was honest in his cruelty!”

His hand tightened on her arm, the only indication that her words affected him. “I have only your best interests at—”

“Liar! I will do what you want, but if you tell me once more that I am to benefit by it, I will scream.”

He did not argue with her. What he wanted to do was pull her into his arms and kiss her, for the fire of her fury stirred his desire for her even more than her beauty. But he did not dare even a kiss. Did she go to Lyons’ bed without her maidenhead, he could repudiate her, thereby ending Gilbert’s hope of getting his hands on the old lord’s wealth.

So all he said was, “Then come, we ride for Kirkburough today. You will be wed tomorrow.” And be in his own bed at the very first indication that she was safely breeding.

They arrived at Kirkburough just as the sun was setting. The gates of the town were still open, but it was to the keep overlooking the town that they rode. Rowena found it appropriate to see the high walls of this large fortress awash in a red glow, a portent reminder that she was entering hell.

Gilbert had wisely kept his own counsel during that twelve-mile journey, for Rowena had reached the point where she no longer cared what she said to him. Legally, he was her stepbrother and her guardian, and there was no one to decry that he was both of these by foul means. But if it were not for her mother, Rowena would have utterly balked and done anything to escape her present situation. She thought she might even be able to kill Gilbert, so much did she hate him after today. But she could not escape, for
she had no doubt whatsoever that her mother would suffer horribly for it, and her mother had suffered enough at the hands of the d’Ambrays.

She understood more fully now why she and her mother had been separated immediately after they had been taken from Tures. If Rowena and Anne could have somehow escaped together, they could have found aid from one of the powerful magnates who were opposed to Stephen, as Walter Belleme had been. Likely Rowena would have had to marry then to protect herself from the d’Ambrays, but it could have been to a man of her choosing.

None of which mattered now. She was here, to be wed on the morrow. If only…God’s mercy, how often she had thoughts that began so.

If only her father had not loved her so much, she could have been safely married at the tender age of fourteen, as most daughters were. Her betrothed was an honorable man. He would have waited to consummate the marriage until she was older and better capable of bearing children. But her father had not wanted to tempt that kind lord with her budding beauty, nor had he wanted to give her up so soon.

If only he had not ridden out himself to face d’Ambray’s army, he might still be alive. Tures would have been besieged, but they could have escaped and gone to Henry’s court, or even to one of the other lords who supported him.

If only the laws governing women were upheld, if only Henry were king…if only Gilbert would die. But ’twas too late even for that. She
was in Lyons’ keep, which put her effectively in Lyons’ control, as if they were already wed. He would still marry her to have whatever it was he sought, whether Gilbert was there to force her into compliance or not.

Rowena was almost numb with despair as she mounted the stairs to the Great Hall. ’Twas immediately apparent that Gilbert had not spoken falsely of Lyons’ worth. Just crossing the bailey, Rowena had counted nine household knights, and the towers and walls teemed with men-at-arms. There were more knights inside the hall, where tables were set for the evening meal with gold plate and fine linen. Even the walls displayed the lord’s wealth in useless weapons of polished silver and gold, most encrusted with fine jewels.

Servants abounded, surely one or more to serve each guest, but in this Lyons did not waste his money. Their clothes were nearly rags, their bodies none too clean, their demeanor cowed to the point of trembling hands and haunted eyes, and no wonder. In the space of crossing the hall to the raised dais where Lyons sat like a king in state, Rowena saw three servants cuffed for no apparent reason, one struck so hard that he fell to the floor, only to be kicked twice where he lay unmoving so it could be determined if he was merely shirking his duties.

Rowena was so appalled by this that she stopped walking, making Gilbert jerk on her arm to get her moving again, but not before the knight who was kicking the downed man noticed
her watching him and smiled at her. No shame, no contrition. He smiled.

It was a well-known fact that without any ladies present, men would behave nearly as beasts. But there were ladies present, wives of some of the household knights. Obviously, they had no effect on the men’s behavior. This spoke clearly of the character of the lord of Kirkburough, for most men will do as their master does, in good or ill.

She had avoided looking toward the lord’s table, putting off as long as possible what was to be her fate. But Gilbert stopped, telling her the moment was at hand. Even so, her first sight of Godwine Lyons of Kirkburough nearly made her cry out in horror. Gilbert’s hand tightened on her arm, for she had taken an involuntary step backward.

’Twas worse than she could have imagined. The man wasn’t just old, he looked like a corpse. His skin was a pasty white, and so deeply wrinkled there was not an inch anywhere to be seen that could be called smooth. What was left of his hair was white, except for one narrow streak of blond to attest to what the color had been. His body was so bent, he stood no taller than Rowena, who was only a few inches above five feet. His bright silk robe, trimmed at neck and sleeves with costly fur, merely made him look ridiculous.

The whites of his eyes were dark yellow. A white film covered the iron gray of one of his irises. He was almost blind. He had to come mere inches in front of Rowena to have a look at her, and she was assailed by his fetid breath, which
nearly made her gag before he moved back. With crooked fingers, he pinched her cheek and cackled, revealing the only two teeth remaining in his mouth.

Gilbert was shouting the introductions, which told her the old man was also almost deaf. That was fortunate, because Rowena could not stop herself from swallowing her pride and begging.

“Please, Gilbert, do not do this to me. If you must marry me off, choose another, any other—”

“Be quiet,” he hissed in her ear. “’Tis done, promises made.”

Before he had her consent? “Promises can be broken,” she told him.

“Nay; there is no other who would agree to all I ask.”

What
he
asked for. For
his
benefit. She had lowered herself to plead with him for naught. She had even known it would be for naught. She would never beg again, not to him or any man, for only God had mercy. Men had only greed and lust.

She turned to look up at him, having to bend her head back, he was so near. And quietly, without emotion, she said, “Guard your back well, brother, ere my dagger finds it. The first chance I have, I mean to kill you for this.”

“Do not speak foolishness,” he replied, but uneasily, his eyes searching hers. And something in hers must have convinced him ’twas not an idle threat. He actually looked stricken when he cried out, “Rowena!”

She turned her back on him and summoned a
servant to take her to whatever room had been prepared for her. If Gilbert or Lord Godwine had tried to stop her from leaving that hall, she probably would have shown them all a fine rendering of a madwoman. But neither did, and she had to stop on the darkened stairs that led up to the tower room where she was to pass the night, for her own tears, finally released, were blinding her.

Rowena woke with some disorientation, but it lasted only moments before she knew exactly where she was. When she had finally gotten to sleep she could not guess, but it had been long after midnight. Now she could almost feel her blood turning cold as dread seeped into her bones, keeping her immobile on the bed.

Some little light came through the high window in the tower room, but not much more than was had from the hearth and candles set about the small chamber. A long while passed before she wondered who had lit those candles and restoked the fire. And who, for that matter, had drawn her bed-curtain open? If Gilbert had dared…

“Do you mean to lie abed until ’tis time to face the priest?”

“Mildred?” Rowena gasped in surprise, recognizing that dear voice.

“Aye, my sweet one.”

Rowena sat up and located the maid sitting on a chest that had not been there when she had first entered the room. Her own chest it was. And her own maid sitting on it.

Mildred had been her maid for as long as Rowena could remember, and before that, she had served Lady Anne. She was a small woman, smaller even than Rowena, though not small in girth. Quite round she was in that respect, for Mildred did indeed love to eat. Two score and five years in age, with gray streaking her brown hair, and warm brown eyes, she had been allowed to accompany Rowena into her isolation three years ago, the only kind thing Hugo d’Ambray had ever done for her.

“How came you to be here?” Rowena asked as she looked about the room to see if anyone else was there.

“When he came for you yestermorn, he left orders for all that you own to be packed up and brought here. Those churls thought to leave me behind, but I set them right on that notion.”

“So sure he was that he would have my cooperation in this farce,” Rowena said bitterly to herself.

“I saw that old man last eventide when I arrived. How could you agree to wed
that?
”

Rowena could feel the tears starting to gather in her eyes, but she fought them back. Her lower lip still trembled, however, when she said, “Gil
bert was beating my mother. I doubt he would have stopped until I did agree.”

“Oh, my lamb,” Mildred cried, and came swiftly forward to gather Rowena into her arms. “I knew he was a monster, just like his sire. Those soft words of his never fooled me, each time he came sniffing ’round your skirts.”

“God forgive me, but I hate him now. He has no thought for me in all this, only his own gain.”

“Aye, that is true enough. Already they prepare for war here. ’Tis said this keep will be nigh empty come the new dawn. Every knight, and near a thousand men-at-arms, your new lord has committed to young Gilbert. And there is gold enough to hire thousands more. ’Twill not be long ere you have back all that Fulkhurst, that monster from the north, has reft from you.”

“Not from me,” Rowena snapped. “Think you Gilbert will ever give up my lands? He’ll have them back, and when Lyons dies, he’ll have me back as well, to marry off again the next time he finds himself in similar straits.”

“So that is the way of it, is it?” Mildred asked indignantly.

“So he as much as admitted. But in the meantime, I am to get myself with child to secure Lyons’ lands to Gilbert as well.” Rowena gave a broken laugh. “Can a man so old still beget children, Mildred?”

The maid snorted. “So all men would like to think, but ’tis nigh impossible. Yet did I spend the eventide being regaled with stories of how this lord has tried to get himself another son to replace those who died in war. Four wives he
has had in as many years, recent years, and that does not count the six he had in his youth.”

“What happened to so many?”

“The early wives all died of one means or another, but the servants claim mostly by foul means. The recent wives he repudiated. All innocent maids they were, yet he claimed otherwise when they did not give him the hoped-for son as quickly as he expected. ’Tis all he wants from you, my sweet one.”

“So if I do not give him a son, he is like to repudiate me within the year. No wonder Gilbert assured me I would not be married long.”

“Nay, that old lord will not last even that long, do you ask me. Five years ago he should have been dead. Why he still lives can only be from a pact with the devil.”

“Shush,” Rowena hissed, crossing herself, yet she was inclined to agree. She herself had thought that he already looked like a corpse.

Mildred looked at her narrowly now. “Do you truly mean to wed Lord Godwine?”

“You say that as if I have a choice.”

“Aye, you do. We could kill him instead.”

Rowena scowled to have her hopes raised in one instant, then dashed in the next. “Think you I have not considered that? But if I ruin Gilbert’s plans in that way, he might well beat my mother to death, he will be so furious with me. I am not prepared to take that chance.”

“Nay, of course not,” Mildred agreed. She bore as much love for the mother as she did for the daughter, and could not bear to think of either one suffering when she had certain skills
with herbs to prevent it. “Then if it must be, it must be, but you need not share your body as well as your bed with that old lecher. He can be rendered incapable—”

Rowena waved that notion aside before it was completed. “Only blood on the sheets will satisfy Gilbert.”

“It need not be yours.”

Rowena had not thought of that. She need not suffer those wrinkled and twisted fingers, that fetid breath, the revulsion that was like to wither her soul? If only…She cringed inwardly. “If onlys” had never come to her aid, nor would they now.

“Lord Godwine might be ready for the grave, but that does not mean he is stupid. If he has no memory of consummating the marriage, is he not like to see the matter repeated the next morn?” She shuddered at the very thought. “I would rather suffer this horror in the dark of night than in the light of day, Mildred. I do not think I could bear watching him touch me, as well as feeling it.”

“Very well, my sweet one. I will make a drink for you instead. ’Twill not put you to sleep, but ’tis the next best thing, for you will be so unaware of what goes on about you, you will not care what that old lecher does to you.”

Rowena frowned. She wasn’t sure she wanted to be totally senseless around Godwine Lyons. She was helpless enough in this situation; that would just make her more so. But which was better, not knowing, or merely not seeing?

“How long would your potion last?” she asked thoughtfully.

“A few hours. Long enough for him to do what he will do.”

“And if he took it by mistake?”

“’Twould do him no harm. If he can perform, then he will. Merely will he not recall it.”

Rowena groaned, dropping back on the bed. “Then again I must deal with him come the morn.”

“Nay, why should there be a mistake? I will leave the potion in the nuptial chambers, already mixed in your wine. Yours will be poured and ready to drink, his will not. Merely do you drink it as soon as you arrive there. No matter who will be with you, no one would gainsay you that extra fortification for what you must endure.”

“Then do it just so. Anything must be better than—”

Rowena broke off at the sound of a knock at her door, but it was not Gilbert, as she had half expected. Servants came in, a great number of them, with bath and water, with a tray of bread and cheese to break her fast, with a wedding gown of deepest cream. She was told Lord Godwine would like her to wear it, if she had nothing appropriate. She was also told, or actually overheard the maids’ whisperings, that his last two wives had also worn that gown. How frugal of the man, to get so much use out of it. This certainly showed how little he cared for her feelings.

When one of the maids held the gown up for her to better examine it, Rowena said, “Why not? His other wives were fortunate enough to escape
him. It might bring me the same luck.”

There was an appalling silence for a moment that made Rowena realize she should have kept her thoughts to herself. These servants were his after all. But she had done no more than shock them with her frankness, and soon there was a nervous giggle, then another, and she found that they were in wholehearted agreement with her, for all of them hated the man who was to be her husband.