"Because I would know if he is in consort with the Welsh. 'Twill be a good test."
She didn't answer, noting the veiled threat. Did Royce have some other nefarious plan for her brother?
"Nothing to say, wife?"
She met his stare defiantly. He smirked, as if he knew the thoughts tumbling through her head.
"Very well, then. Eat your supper; you will need your strength tonight."
Why did the shiver of delight explode in her sex, making her slick and hot and wanting his tormenting touch already? With a shaky breath, she sat and reached for the stew.
***
Royce watched his wife help herself to her supper. She paused and looked up at him.
"Are you not eating, my lord?"
"I've already taken my meal below. That is all for you."
Her violet eyes widened in surprise, then softened in gratitude. She must be starving by now, as he'd given orders that she was not to eat until he brought her the food. Much as he hated treating her thus, he knew Edward expected him to get whatever secrets Gillian possessed by whatever means possible. But more and more, Royce began to believe she truly was innocent of the rebels' claims.
The last three nights had been a delight for him, and near torture for her. Yet, she'd enjoyed every moment, he felt sure of it. Even now, despite her anger and defiance, he read desire in her gaze.
No doubt she'd enjoyed the way he'd coaxed the names from her, giving them easily. While he wished those names had given him the information he sought, he found himself oddly pleased her compliance had worked in his favor. Since then, she'd had nothing more to share, and by now, she surely would have, if she indeed knew anything more.
Still, he must use caution. The only alternative was allowing Edward to handle her interrogation. Royce truly feared what the king might do, knowing how impatient his overlord could be in passing judgment, sometimes beforehaving all the facts. While his loyalty to Edward never wavered, he found himself anxious to keep his wife from suffering the same fate as the hanged rebels. After tonight, he would know what to tell Edward on the morrow.
Finally, Gillian pushed away the trencher and gave a loud sigh. Drawn from his thoughts, he met her gaze at the moment she lifted her cup and took a long drink of wine. When she lowered the cup, her tongue swiped along her lower lip. His cock stirred at the thought of his plans for her this eve. Still, he waited, staring into the flames dancing in the hearth, casting the room in a surreal glow. His wife sat silently as well, her head lowered. She appeared to contemplate her entwined fingers.
How long they remained thus, sitting quietly, listening to the crackle of the logs in the fire, he wasn't sure. The chapel bells indicated it had been over an hour. He'd not realized how comforting it felt to simply sit beside her. God's bones, he'd surely gone daft, finding contentment with a woman who could very well be a traitor. Yet, he found himself disavowing the idea more and more.
"Do you wish to eat anything more?" He pointed to the custard tarts on the tray. When she shook her head, he found himself glad of her choice.
"Very well. Remove your clothes."
Her hesitation drew him a step closer. Instead of her obedience, his reward was the defiant lifting of her chin, while her hands clenched at her sides.
"You refuse my order?"
"And if I do?"
He savored the way her face paled at his slow smile. "I think you know. If I didn't know better, I'd think you sought punishment."
"If you didn't know better, you'd be nothing more than the king's jester."
He wanted to laugh at her bold insult. How he restrained himself, he might never know. Instead, he took another step closer. He noted her swallow, but admired her refusal to cower. "You have a choice. Remove your dressor I will cut it from you."
Her hands rose quickly to the back of her gown, fumbling with the laces of her kirtle. When she had loosened all she could, she turned her back to him. He undid the rest and she slowly slid the dress from her shoulders. The chemise followed as did the hose, until she stood naked before him. His heart thudded, cock straining against his braies.
He pointed to the floor before him pleased when she obediently knelt. He said nothing, merely watched her. He yanked off his tunic and folded his arms. She looked up at him. The anger in her stare only made him harder. He chuckled, laying his hand on her cheek.
"You please me, wife."
Surprise flitted across her face. "Then you believe me?"
He shook his head. "I still don't know what to believe."
"Surely by now, you realize I've done nothing against England."
