Prisoner of My Desire (24 page)

Warrick whipped his daughter right there in the hall for all to see, and he used the thick leather of his sword belt. Rowena leaned back in the chair she had been allowed to use and closed her eyes to it, but she could not close out the sound. And it was a brutal walloping. Beatrix’s screams became hoarse, her pleadings pitiful to listen to. Rowena had to bite her lip to keep from trying to end it sooner than Warrick deemed sufficient. But by the time he was through, his daughter was utterly repentant, and utterly cowed.

After she was assisted from the hall by her ladies, Warrick dropped into the chair next to Rowena. “That should have appeased my anger, but it did not.”

“It certainly took care of
mine
,” Rowena assured him dryly.

The sound he made was choked laughter. “Wench—”

“Nay, I am sorry,” she said seriously. “’Tis no time for levity. And your continued anger is certainly understandable. It can only be heart-sickening to know that your own child wouldst do you harm. But try to remember that she
is
still just a child, with childish reactions, which was what her attempt at revenge was.”

He cocked a brow at her. “Are you trying to console me, wench?”

“God’s mercy, I would not dream of it.”

He could not choke back his laughter this time. “I am glad you are still here.”

Rowena stopped breathing at those words. “Are you?” she asked softly.

“Aye. I would hate to have to go out to hunt you down in that rain.”

She glared at him for that answer, until she noticed the slight curl of his lips. Was the feared dragon actually teasing her?

’Twas amazing how relaxed she felt with him now. Verily, he seemed no longer her captor, nor she his prisoner. Had that night of mutual passion they had shared really put an end to his need for vengeance against her? The thought was too tempting not to explore further.

“The question of my stealing,” she began carefully. “Has it been settled to your satisfaction?”

“Aye—in this case.”

Rowena almost stopped there, for that taunt did not bode well for what she hoped to hear. But it had not brought annoyance to his expression, so she braved on.

“What of my—temporary sojourn in yonder woods?”

He snorted at her mild terms for what would have been a successful escape if her brother had not been in the area seeking vengeance. “What is it you ask, wench?”

“Am I to be punished for it?”

“Am I a monster that I would do so, when I am aware of the harm that could have been done you had you not left the castle when you did?”

She grinned. “Actually—”

“Do not say it,” he warned.

“What?” she asked innocently.

His frown was not the least bit intimidating. “As we have dealt with your theft and your escape, would you now like to discuss your audacity?”

Rowena rolled her eyes, wishing he had not so fine a memory. “I would as soon that discussion be saved for some future time—some
far
future time. But there is another thing…”

Now that she had reached the point of asking, she was losing her nerve. His mood was mellow, despite the unpleasantness of dealing with his daughter. She hated to change that, to see again the cruel visage that bespoke his darkest rages. But she had to know if his new attitude toward her ran deeper than what she saw on the surface.

Finally she just blurted it out. “Do you still mean to take my child from me, Warrick?”

What she was afraid of happened—the cruel mask coming so quickly to the fore, the slant of his mouth, the narrowing of his eyes, and the
icy menace in his tone. “What would make you think I no longer want it?”

“I—I did not think that—only—”

“So you would raise it as a serf?”

“I am not a serf!” she snapped. “I do have properties in my own right.”

“You have no rights other than those I give you,” he growled.

“What will you do with the babe?” she demanded. “Who will see to it whilst you are off fighting your damn wars? Another serf? Your wife?”

He did not seem to note the sneering tone she ended with. “Do you give me a son, I will see to him myself. I want a son. A daughter?” He shrugged. “Bastard daughters have their uses, I have only just learned.”

She was so angry over that answer she could have screamed. But losing her temper, as she had just done, was not how to reason with a man, particularly this one.

So she schooled her features to express mere annoyance, and dropped her tone to a moderate level to ask, “What of nurturing and love and proper guidance?”

He cocked a brow. “Think you I am incapable of supplying those things?”

“Aye. Beatrix is a fine example.”

That was a harsh blow, and one that struck true. His expression changed to that of a man in deepest pain.

Incredibly, Rowena felt it, too, a tightening in her chest that hurt for him and sent her from her chair to his. “I am sorry!” she cried as she
wrapped her arms around his neck and squeezed in measure to her regret. “I did not mean that, I swear I did not! ’Tis not your fault that the land is run so rife with lawlessness that you must be forever gone to protect what is yours, instead of at home with your family. That damn Stephen is to blame for that. Because of him, my own father took off to fight again and again, and you can see how unruly that has made me, even though I had my mother to guide me.
You
can only be faulted for not frightening me anymore, so that my cursed tongue now runs away with—”

“Be…quiet.”

He was shaking, and his arms were squeezing her. She tried to lean back to see his face, but he was holding her too tight. He was also making the most awful noise.

“Warrick?” she asked with dread. “You—you are not crying, are you?”

He shook harder. Rowena’s brows narrowed suspiciously. His head finally came up off her shoulder, but one look at her and his silent laughter turned to loud guffaws. Rowena screeched in exasperation and hit his chest. He clasped her face in both hands and kissed her, only he was still chuckling, so ’twas a ticklish kiss—at least at first. But she was annoyed enough at him for such a rotten trick that she slid her hands up into his hair and pressed her breasts tight into his chest. And
that
took care of his amusement. After a few moments, it took care of her annoyance, too.

They were both out of breath when they sep
arated. Rowena was too comfortable to move, though she had not been invited to his lap and ought to make some effort to get up. He settled the matter by pressing her cheek to his chest and holding it there, whilst his other hand caressed her hip.

“You are so silly, wench. You cannot even have a good argument, because you worry too much that you will hurt your opponent’s feelings.”

They were not alone in the hall, but for the most part, they were being ignored. Rowena did not particularly care either way, and that surprised her. Just a few nights ago, she had been mortified to be held like this in front of everyone. And just a few nights ago, Warrick would not have said something like that to her.

She grinned to herself. “Most women do happen to be burdened with compassion. Are you scolding me for being womanly, Warrick?”

He grunted. “I merely point out there is a time to be merciless and a time to be—womanly. Just now, however, I like you womanly.”

She stretched, sensually, rubbing her body more closely into his. He sucked in his breath.

“Was that womanly enough for you?” she taunted with a seductive purr.

“More like merciless—or do you want me to carry you to my bed right now?”

Actually, she would not mind that, not at all, but she said instead, “Did you forget you ordered a bath?”

“If that was said to cool my ardor,
you
forget the last bath I had—with you in it.”

“Nay, I do not forget, but ’tis like to be cold again,” she warned him.

He bent to nuzzle her neck. “Do you mind?”

“Did I then?”

He chuckled as he stood up and set her on her feet. “Come, then, and bring the wine. I trust you will not choke on it this time?”

“Nay, I am sure I will not.”

Rowena was not yet used to such verbal play. It had her cheeks glowing, but also her pulses racing. She was still a prisoner after all,’twould seem—of her desires. But mayhap Warrick was, too.

“I had sent a man ahead to Gilly Field, to scout the area. By the time he returned to report that he could find no activity of any kind, I had already received other reports of a large army seen moving north toward Fulkhurst.”

“Then you
knew
about the army in those woods?” Rowena exclaimed. “You let me go on and on about it, trying to convince you of the danger, whilst all along you—”

“What are you complaining about?” Warrick asked. “Did I not listen to your every word?”

“You were
amused
by my every word,” she retorted indignantly.

“Not every word.”

That curt reminder closed her mouth for the moment. He had asked her again her brother’s name. Then he had thought to ask where the lands were located that she had claimed to pos
sess, possibly thinking Gilbert might be there. He had become quite annoyed when she would not answer either query, and she could only guess how furious he was over what Gilbert had attempted to do here.

They had not left his chamber yet this morn, though Warrick had been up for several hours already. Gilbert’s army, or what was left of it, had not come to besiege the castle during the night, and was not like to now. But Rowena had finally got around to asking again what had brought Warrick back so soon to Fulkhurst. ’Twas what he was now telling her—if she could keep from interrupting.

He did wait a moment, to see if she would say more, then finally continued. “Since we did not come upon this reported army by the end of the first day’s march, I thought it prudent to return home. ’Twould have been what I might expect of d’Ambray, to lure me out so he could attack Fulkhurst whilst I was not there to defend it. Instead, your brother thought to take advantage of my absence. I wonder now if d’Ambray did not receive word of this other army and thought it mine, lying in wait to ambush the ambusher. If so, he must have been furious to think I had guessed his plan.”

And Warrick was going to be more than furious if he ever found out that d’Ambray and her stepbrother were one and the same.

He could have guessed with this latest fiasco. Rowena was surprised he had not, since only the one army had been sighted in the area. But to draw the right conclusion, he would have to
acknowledge that ’twas his worst enemy who had captured and abused him at Kirkburough, and he was like to accept any other possibility, no matter how outlandish, before he would accept that one.

She had kept silent on this subject for too long. As soon as she had concluded that he would not kill her for who she was, she should have told him the truth. Now he might see her silence as a plot against him, her seduction of him as a means to learn his plans so she could warn Gilbert. After all, why should he believe that she hated her stepbrother, when ’twas just as likely that the two of them were working together against Warrick? The truth now would not only bring his anger back to her, but ’twas like to have him wanting revenge again also. She could not bear that now, not when she was discovering she had strong feelings for the man.

’Twas stupid of her to let that happen, she knew. Mildred had warned her of the possibility. Though she had scoffed then, she did not see how she could actually have prevented it, since it had sneaked up on her when she was not looking. The culprit was likely those damn desires of hers that she had so little control over. ’Twas hard to dislike a man she so enjoyed in bed. ’Twas harder still to dislike one who kept showing her a more gentle side to his nature.

She finished combing her hair and started to braid it. She was wearing her yellow bliaut again, which had not drawn comments yesterday, nor yet today, even though she had the serf’s gown that she had stuffed in the sack she had brought
back with her. She supposed she was testing Warrick by not donning it instead, to see just how closely he meant to adhere to the original dictates he had set down for her, when his attitude toward her was no longer the same.

She turned now to ask, “Think you d’Ambray will try something else underhanded?”

Warrick dropped back on the bed, where he had been sitting and watching her. “I do not intend to give him the opportunity. I march on his castle in two days.”

Rowena’s fingers stilled in her hair, her breath in her throat. “Which—that is, has he more than one?”

“Aye, and others in his control that he has no right to. But ’tis his stronghold, Ambray Castle, I will take. Hopefully, this time he will be in it when I do.”

If Gilbert was not, Rowena’s mother still was. The Lady Anne could be freed, finally, from Gilbert’s control—or she could be hurt if Ambray did not surrender, if the battle was taken inside its walls.

“Do you and your men—kill wantonly when you take a castle?” she asked hesitantly.

“Was anyone killed at Kirkburough?”

“Kirkburough was not defended,” she reminded him. “Ambray will be.”

“Men die indiscriminately in any battle, Rowena, but I have never killed wantonly.” Then he sat up. “Why do you ask? And if you tell me you are worried for folk you do not even know, I will—”

“Do not start threatening me so early in the
morn,” she cut in crossly. “I was only thinking of the women and children. Does this lord have a family, a wife—a mother?”

“No one since his father died…nay, actually, there are his father’s widow and her daughter, but they are no blood kin to him.”

“Yet I have heard it said you destroy whole families when you go after an enemy.”

He grinned at her. “They say a great many things about me, wench. Mayhap half is true.”

He was not telling her what she needed to hear, and she was starting to feel sick in her apprehension, so she asked outright, “Then you would not kill those women, though they are related to the Lord of Ambray through marriage?”

He finally frowned at her. “Were I capable of killing women, Rowena,
you
would not be here to ask me such silly questions.”

She turned her back on him, but not before he saw her stricken expression. He muttered a curse and moved to stand behind her, drawing her back against his chest.

“I did not mean that the way it sounded, but was merely making a point,” he told her. “Think you I like these questions of yours when they paint me so vicious? I thought you were not frightened of me anymore.”

“I am not.”

“
Why
are you not?”

She turned around to look up at him, but color suddenly flooded her cheeks and she looked down again in embarrassment. In a small, repentant voice, she said, “Because you do not
hurt women—even when you have reason to. I am sorry, Warrick. I should not have let my thoughts run hither and yon, but—but I like it not that you go to make war.”

“I am a knight—”

“I know, and knights will ever have one battle or another to fight. Women do not have to
like
it. Will—will you be gone for long?”

His arms wrapped around her to draw her close. “Aye, mayhap months. Will you miss me, wench?”

“When half my duties go with you?”

He whacked her bottom. “That was not a proper answer for your lord.”

“That answer was for the man who calls me his serf. I have another answer for the man who loved me through the night. Him I will dream of, and pray for, and count the days until he comes safely—”

His arms crushed her. His mouth devoured her. Before her thoughts scattered from the heat he aroused so quickly, she decided he must have liked that answer better. She just wished it were not all true.