The only respite had come when the sun disappeared, replaced in the sky by the moon, and Royce joined her. Only then could she forget she remained under suspicion. Her husband's wicked games filled the long dark nights. She had given him the names of several of Lyndon's villeins on the first night, the ones who were clearly pleased with her predicament. Still, Royce refused to declare her free of suspicion. She supposed he did it in order to continue his torture. If only she didn't enjoy his underhanded tactics to get her to speak. God's blood, if she had anything to tell, surely he knew she'd have shared it by now. Her thoughts ran wild, recalling how he kept her release at bay for hours, until her head pounded mercilessly with need and her core felt as if it would burst.
Her body warmed to recall the harsh way he'd finally taken her. Her breasts throbbed, still aching from his rough and painful handling. At the same time, she again yearned to feel his palm landing on her flesh, the bite of the strike sparking a heated delight. She moaned and fell back on the bed. With nothing to do, she could only dwell on such musings. Was that his intention? To make her think of nothing but his touch, no matter how harsh or gentle?
When he brought her meal this eve, she must ask him to bring her needlework, or the ledgers, or something to occupy the long hours. She missed the bustle of tending her home, she missed her hawks and she missed Simon. She worried for him. Royce had informed her that her brother was also under suspicion, and closely watched. He would tell her nothing more.
She feared her brother might be locked below, aprisoner subjected to the king's whims when he wanted information. The second rebel had been hanged the day before. Royce had shared the news along with more disturbing information. The torture they'd subjected him to had not changed the outlaw's insistence she was in collusion with the rebels.
Who conspired against her? Who had been loyal to Anne and would continue her evil ways? While Royce's men questioned those she'd named, none had been proven to be traitors. And she still remained locked in here, under suspicion.
What would it take for her to win her husband's, and the king's, trust?
The rasp of the key drew her from her thoughts and she stood. As usual, the sight of her husband filling the doorway set her heart to racing. She clasped her hands before her.
He carried a tray and stepped into the room, kicking the door shut. He held out the dish. She stepped closer and took it. Now unencumbered, he immediately barred the door. She tried not to scowl, fairly sure she didn't succeed before setting the trencher on the table near the hearth. Her stomach rumbled at the smell of the stew.
"I will be letting you out on the morrow."
Hunger forgotten, she met his stare. Excitement bubbled. "You will?"
He nodded. "Aye. But you are not free."
His cold voice sent a shiver along her spine. The contrast of his husky murmurs of last night echoed in her memory.
"I don't understand."
For the first time, she noticed the sack he carried. He reached inside. Her stomach rolled when he withdrew its contents.
An iron shackle, with a chain attached, sparked a terror she'd never known.
"When you are outside this chamber, you will wear this. I will determine where you are needed and you will besecured there until I return for you."
"So I am still a prisoner. In my own home."
"Until I can be sure you are no longer a threat, I will ensure you cause no harm."
She folded her arms and sneered. "You are vile! I've done nothing wrong!"
"You've said that before. And yet, there is still reason to believe you capable of treason."
"Then hang me now! Nothing I say will convince you otherwise!"
He paled at her words. Was that a hint of panic in his tawny eyes? Before she could be sure, his expression hardened again.
"Nay, you will not hang. But I will have the truth from you one way or another."
She shook her head, disgusted with his insistence on treating her as a criminal. Even so, she knew what methods he would use to draw his presumed truth from her, and her body reacted with that damnable heat. She dared another glance at him and the knowing glint in his eyes revealed he deduced just what she felt. She turned her back.
A knock on the door sent Royce across the chamber. Thomas stood in the corridor, concern etched into his lean features. Royce gave her a warning look and spoke to the steward in low tones. Gillian stood silently, but try as she might, could not make out their words.
Her gaze landed on the stew awaiting her. The aroma wafted to her and her stomach rumbled, reminding her she'd eaten nothing since breaking her fast this morn. She moved toward the table, but before she reached it, Royce stood before her.
"There are signs of the rebels nearby."
She glared at him. "And?"
"And I will be riding out on the morrow with my men to find them. Your brother goes with us."
A tremor of alarm shuffled along her spine. "Why?"
