A bell rang for dinner, and Sir Barrett appeared beside her, offering his arm like a gentleman. She almost asked if he intended to tie her wrists again, but bit back the impulse in time. She did not want to suggest it if he had decided it was not necessary.
He swung one leg over the bench in the dining hall and tugged her onto his lap.
She winced, squirming at the soreness.
“Do you prefer the hard bench?” he asked in her ear, mistaking her squirming as an attempt to free herself.
“Yes, I do,” she said, her stubbornness rising.
He pushed her off his lap and she grunted at the impact of her raw flesh with hard wood. Ridiculously, she found she missed his lap. Not because of her sore backside, but because she suddenly felt quite alone in a totally foreign environment. As much as she’d hated his manhandling, he’d made it easy for her to fit in at Rothburg. Her place had been simple: she belonged to Barrett. Now she sat facing the rest of the high table, seeing the curious faces for the first time.
She remembered the prince, Barrett’s half-brother. Beside him sat a pretty woman who must be his wife, the princess. A dozen other men and women sat at the high table with them.
“You’ve untied her,” one of the knights remarked.
“For the moment,” Barrett said, cutting a piece of meat and placing it on her plate.
“He’s really not a complete ogre,” one of the ladies-in-waiting said, looking sympathetic.
“How would you know?” Sir Barrett shot back, breaking a chunk of bread off the loaf and splitting it between their plates.
The poor lady became flustered, as if Sir Barrett had suggested she had carnal knowledge of him. “I wouldn’t know anything like that!” she exclaimed and everyone at the table laughed.
“Daisy, you are welcome to join us in the spinning room after the meal,” the princess offered.
“Not today, thank you,” Sir Barrett answered for her. “I cannot trust her to roam about unsupervised.”
The princess looked puzzled. “Why not?”
“She’s shown a propensity to try to either kill me, kill herself, or make an escape.”
Everyone at the table stared at her, and she flushed. She wanted to deny it, but of course, it was true. Now they probably all believed her to be half-mad. She shot Sir Barrett an angry look, and as usual, he grinned. Catching her nape in his large palm, he tugged her head forward and planted a kiss on the top of it. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you,” he murmured so only she could hear.
God help her, she wanted only to crawl up into his lap and let him comfort her. She truly must be going mad.
Chapter Four
Barrett locked Daisy in his room after the midday meal. She looked so tired after eating, he didn’t want her to go back outside and work. She protested a little, but he showed her that she would have a view of him from the window and if she wanted to come out after resting, she could call to him.
When he returned to the solarium, he noticed a great many people loitering about in the tower stairwell and on the landings. At his doorway, he discovered the reason: the most beautiful music emanated from his room.
Smiling, he unlocked the door and slipped inside. Daisy sat on the bed, the harp between her legs, her fingers dancing along the strings and the sweet honeyed notes of her voice rising to match the music.
She did not notice him at first, but when she did, she abruptly stopped playing and stood up.
“Please don’t stop.”
She looked peevish. “Is it time for supper?” she demanded, ignoring his request.
“Yes,” he said. “Are you hungry?”
She looked away, toward one of the windows. “Please do not lock me in here again,” she said stiffly.
He frowned. “Why did you not call to me, as we arranged, if you wished to come down?”
She stalked past him, toward the door.
He caught her about the waist and hauled her back against his front. “Answer me when I speak to you,” he murmured in her ear.
