Prisoner of My Desire by Johanna Lindsey
he had done wrong, was the breaking point for her, and her voice and fury rose
to a shout.
?Get out! I need no help to rape this man. But send Mildred to me, for I may
need help to revive him. Little purpose he serves as he is.?
It was her anger and bitterness that made her speak so, but those shouted words
were what Warrick heard as he regained his senses. He did not open his eyes. He
had been a man of war too long to give away such an advantage. But this time it
availed him naught, for no more was said, and a moment later, a door was slammed
shut.
Silence. He was alone for the moment, but that screeching female would likely be
back soon if her wordsnay, he could not credit those words. Females did not rape.
How could they when they had not the proper parts? And she could not have meant
him, in any case. A jest, then, from a crude wench. No more than that. But as
long as he was alone?
He opened his eyes on a view of the ceiling. The room was well lit, the glow of
candles on either side of him just discerned without his moving. He turned his
head to find the door, and pain sliced through it. He stilled for a moment,
closing his eyesand became aware of things without seeing. He was lying in a
soft bed. A gag pulled at his lips. He was as he had been when he was taken,
without his clothes. That did not alarm him. There was no reason to dress him
when he could do it himself once he was awake. The bed? Better than a dungeon,
he supposed.
And then he felt the manacles on his wrists. He tried to move one and heard the
chain rattle and felt the tug and scrape on his ankle. God?s blood, bound to
himself, and with chain, not rope!
If it was ransom they wanted, then they knew who he was and were risking his
vengeance, which was always swift. Thieves and outlaws, however, took anyone for
whatever they could get. They did not care if they captured knight or merchant,
lady or fishwife, and torture of one kind or another was swift to come if they
did not get what they wanted. He had taken the keep of a robber baron once, and
even he had been sickened by what he had found in the man?s dungeonbodies that
had been slowly crushed under heavy stone, naked bodies hung by their thumbs
with smoke blackened skin, some with feet nearly burned off, all dead because
they had simply been forgotten by their tormentors once he had laid siege to the
keep. And this was no mean hut or forest floor, nor even the inn where he had
been taken. Stone walls meant a keep. A petty lord, then, and just as bad as a
petty thief.
Warrick opened his eyes again, ready to ignore the pain in his head to see what
he could of his soft prison. He lifted his head and saw her there at the foot of
his bedand decided he had died, for that could only be one of God?s angels, made
perfect in the afterlife.
Chapter 7
Rowena was still glaring at the door that had closed on Gilbert when she heard
the chains creak and looked back at the man on the bed. His eyes were shut, he
lay perfectly still, but she sensed instinctively that he was now awake. She had
not looked at him closely before, had not seen him as much more than a male body,
a large male body. He lay flat on his back without a pillow, while she stood
several feet beyond a mattress that was as high as her waist. She still could
not tell much about him from this position. Then his head lifted, his eyes
riveted her to the spot, and she stood perfectly still, forgetting even to
breathe.
The gray of his eyes was more silver, soft and luminous in his surprise. Even
with the gag dividing his face, she could tell it was a handsome fece, the
features well defined andarrogant.
What made her think that? The broadness of his cheekbones? That hawklike nose?
Mayhap that sharply squared jaw, thrust out more because of the gag. She had to
be mistaken. Arrogance was a trait of noblemen. Arrogance in a serf would get
his back whipped raw.
But this serf did not lower his eyes or look away in the presence of a lady.
Bold he was, or still too surprised to recall his place. But what was she
thinking? He could not tell she was a lady, when she wore her bedclothes. But
then she realized he certainly could, for her white shift was of the finest
linen, soft and nearly transparent, it was so thin. Her bedrobe was that rare
velvet of the East, given her on her fourteenth birthday by her mother, sewn by
her own hand. A by-blow, then, as Gilbert had said, and apparently proud of it.
And what did she even care what he was? She could not care he was to die. But
first she was to give him her maidenhead oh, God! How could she? Fool, how could
she not when her mother? ?
She wanted to sink down on the floor and cry. She had been raised gently, with
love and care, the cruelty and harshness of life kept at bay. It was difficult
for her to see her life now as real, because it was so alien to her. She was
supposed to take this man, in truth, to rape him. How? In anger she had told
Gilbert she needed no help, but she did, for she knew not the first thing about
begetting children.
There was no longer surprise in his eyes. They were nowadmiring. Was that good?
Aye, ?twould be better for him did he not find her repulsive. She was glad of
that at least. And he was nothing like her husband. He was young, clean, even
handsome, his skin smooth, his body firmnay, nothing at all like her husband.
Even the gray of his eyes and the blond of his hair were different shades than
Lyons had been, the one lighter, the other darker.
She had the strangest feeling she could read his thoughts through his eyes, for
she imagined a question there now. Had he been told why he was here? Nay, likely
not, since he had been senseless until moments ago. And why would Gilbert bother,
when the man had only to lie there and accept what was done to him? She was the
one Gilbert had instructed, for she was the one who would be doing what must be
done. But that question was there in his eyes?
It was left to her to tell him, and she could not even reassure him that he
would be released when it was over. Her anger surfaced again, this time wholly
for his sake. He had done naught to deserve this. He was an innocent, snared in
a monster?s plans. She would take his seed, but then Gilbert would take his life.
Nay, she could not allow that. She would do the one, she had to for her mother?s
sake, but somehow she must prevent the other. Somehow, she would help him escape
when the time came, before she told Gilbert that his seed had taken, thereby
ending the man?s usefulness.
But she could not tell the man that. She would not give him false hope, in case
she was unsuccessful in helping him. All she could do was try. And he did not
need to know he was to die.
There was no reason to tell him that. Let him think what he would, and why
should he think that he would not be released when she was done with him?
Again he was communicating with her with his eyes, and again she understood him.
He was dropping his eyes down toward his gag, then looking at her again. He
wanted her to remove it so he could speak to her. That sh
did not think she could bear it if he begged her for his release, adding more
heavily to her guilt. She knew what she must do was wrong, but what choice did
she have? But to hear him beseech hernay, she could not.
She shook her head slowly, and his own dropped back to the mattress so he no
longer looked at her. If she did not know better, she would think she had been
arrogantly dismissed, having denied him what he wanted. Like as not his neck was
strained from being lifted so long. She came around to the side of the bed so he
could see her without straining, but his eyes were closed now. He did not care
that she stood there. Or mayhap he had not heard her approach in her bare feet.
She paused now that she could see him more clearly. His big body truly filled
the bed. She thought he might even be taller than Gilbert, though she could not
be certain, but he was surely much broader of chest. His arms were thick and
long, and well corded with muscle from shoulder to wrist. His shoulders, neck,
and chest were likewise thickly muscled, the sungilded skin taut, with no
softness to speak of.
Whatever he did to earn his keep, ?twas obvious he worked hard at it. A
woodcutter, mayhap. One on her father?s fief had been brawnier than any knight.
She realized she was staring, but she could not help herself. Strong he was,
very strong, and she found herself being thankful to Gilbert, after all, that
the man was tied down, then was ashamed of the thought. Yet this man could
easily snap her in two with his bare hands, and ?twas better for her that those
hands could not reach her.
?I am sorry,? she began, wondering why she whispered when they were alone.
? Tis better I do not hear what you have to say, but I can tell you why you are
here.?
His eyes opened again, his head turning slightly so he could stare at her. There
was no question there now, no curiosity of any kind. Patience, she realized, was
what he was displaying. He fully expected to have all his questions answered,
but she was not as brave as that. She would tell him only what she had to and
nothing more.
But now that it was time to do so, she could feel heat stealing up her neck into
her cheeks.
?IIyou and Iwewe mustwe must?
The question was back in his eyes, and if he were not gagged, he would be
shouting it. She could not blame him for losing his patience, but she could not
say the word. She was too ashamed. She tried to remind herself that he was only
a serf, and she had always been kind but firm with her servants, as her mother
had taught her. But he was like no manservant she had ever ordered. And that
arroganceshe could not get it out of her mind that he was more than a serf, and
although that should make this no worse, it did.
And then she heard the scratch on the door and almost melted with relief that
Mildred had finally come. She gave not another thought to the man on the bed,
who had strained nearly every muscle in his body waiting for her to get to the
point in her explanation. An explanation that was no longer forthcoming as he
watched her rush from the room.
Warrick collapsed back and growled in frustration. Damn her.
?We must?what?! Why could she not just spit it out? But then he forced himself
to relax. He could not blame her. She was a delicate thing, ethereal in her
beauty, and she had not put him here.
He could not imagine for what reason she had been there, however, unless she had
brought him food. He could see none left for him, but she could have set it on
the floor. Yet she would not remove his gag, so how was he to eat it?
Questions without answers. Patience. Whatever was wanted of him would be
demanded soon enough, and then he could think of revenge, for whoever had
ordered his capture, whoever was responsible, would die. It was his vow, sworn
to God many years ago when his soul had shriveled and died from the devastation
of his losses, that no one would ever do him an ill again without paying for it
in kind or worse. It was a vow he had kept for sixteen long years, half of his
lifetime. It was a vow he would keep till the day he died.
The little wench intruded on his thoughts again, and he let her, for she was
more pleasant by far than his dark musings. When he had first seen her, truly
had he thought her an angel with her halo of golden hair glowing in the
candlelight. All in white she was draped, and those flaxen curls cascading over
both shoulders down to her hips.
Her sapphire eyes had dominated her small face, large and round and beguiling,
hiding secrets, hiding thoughtsuntil he had seen that spark of anger. It had
aroused his curiosity almost more than the reason for his being there. He had
had the ridiculous desire to play the guardian to this angel, to smash and
utterly destroy whatever was disturbing her.
He had wanted to ask her what caused her anger. He had tried to get her to
remove his gag. Her refusal had surprised him, then annoyed him, enough that he
had acted no better than a child in sulk, refusing to look at her again,
refusing to acknowledge that she was even there. He thought now of what he had
felt at the time and was amazed at himself. Truly, the wench had a strange
effect on him.
But he had not been able to ignore her for long. In truth, he liked looking at
her, she was so pleasing to the eye, and that she would tell him what he needed
to know had been his excuse to look at her again. But he had been struck anew by
her beauty at the closer range as she had stood beside the bed. Her alabaster
skin was flawless her lips lush, inviting, and to his chagrin, his loins had
begun to heat.
He would have choked on his laughter if he?d given in to what he was feeling,
but the gag that would have choked him had also kept him from seducing the wench
to ride him while they were yet alone. But then bitterness reared its head to
ask him, Why would she agree, when he was no more than a prisoner, and naked of
his purse to offer her a coin? When he was released, he would see to the wench.
When he was released, he would burn this place to the ground, so she would need
another home. He would offer her his. He thought briefly of his bride, waiting
for him even now, but that could not change his mind. He would still bring this
wench to his home.
Chapter 8
?So now you know,? Rowena said dejectedly, having finished telling Mildred the
whole sordid tale of her husband?s death and her meeting with his substitute.
?And Gilbert meant it, stated it plainly this time. Either I get myself with
child, or he will kill my mother.?
?Aye, I doubt not that he meant it. He is the devil?s own son, that one. Tis
fortunate he does not want to stand there and watch. Your husband would have, if
he gave you to his own man, that John.?
Mildred sighed.
?I suppose you must see it done, then.?
Rowena wrung her hands.
?I know, but how??
Mildred?s eyes flared, closed briefly, then opened again, clearly filled with
self disgust.
?I am that stupid, I am. How can you know how? Your husband would have taken
what he wanted, with your having to do naught but lie there. But now you have to
do it all on your own, and that lad in there not able to even direct you, with a
gag in his mouth. And he is on his back, you say??
?Flat on his back, and I doubt he can move at all, the chains are so tight.?
Mildred sighed again.
?I am trying to see it in my mind. I have never ridden a man, you understand. ?Tis
not natural.?
?Gilbert must think ?twill not be difficult, for he has left him bound so.?
?I did not say it could not be done,? Mildred said disagreeably.
This was a subject for kitchen wenches, not for her lady. Her cheeks were now as
pink as Rowena?s were pale. But that wretched d?Ambray would no doubt be back
with the dawn to see for himself that the deed was done, so there was no help
for it.
?Aye, all right, I have it now,? she continued.
?And I will speak plainly to get the telling over with quickly. You must
straddle his hips, get his rod inside you, and then you ride it. There will be
pain until your maidenhead breaks, but then it should not hurt so much. Just
imagine yourself astride your palfrey at a canter. You bounce nay, do not
blushyou will likely adjust to this method as soon as you are seated. Just
remember, that rod of his needs the movement to give up its seed, and you must
provide that movement if he cannot. Just sitting on him once he is fully
sheathed in you will not do it. Think you can do it now? Is there aught more
that needs explaining??
?Nay, Inay.?
Mildred hugged her then.