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 thoughts—until 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 blush—you 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, I—nay.”
Mildred hugged her then. “Treat this as any other chore, my sweet one. I would have other advice for you, easier to stomach, were he not a stranger and to remain a stranger. But remember that is all he is, that you will never have to see him again once the babe is well planted, so he does not merit your embarrassment.”
But he had it, Rowena thought as she returned to the small room across the way, and the heat did not leave her cheeks again. His eyes were on her the second she opened the door, and he watched her approach the bed. Mere interest was all he showed this time, and she revealed nothing of her own turbulent thoughts.
A chore, like any other? Very well, she told herself. Just get it done.
She dropped her gaze to the bed, loath to watch him while she explained the horrid facts to him. “I must have a child, and it must be conceived immediately. You were chosen to aid me because your hair and eyes are the same as my husband’s, for the child needs have the look of him. So we must copulate this night, and the next, and the next, until your seed bears fruit. I like this no better than you, but I have no choice—and neither do you.”
His chains rattled, but she would not look toward those expressive eyes of his. Briskly, she took hold of the thick sheet covering him and flipped it to the end of the bed, where it slithered to the floor. She did not watch it fall. With a will of their own, her eyes were drawn to his manroot, and widened to their full roundness. There, truly, was the monstrous weapon she had heard tales of. It lay soft and still in a bed of golden curls.
A growl came out of his throat, making her start, her eyes flying up to his face. Expressive eyes he had, so expressive, and now they promised grim retribution if she did not desist. She took a step back, suddenly afraid. So much fury in an expression.
She had not bargained on this. Most men would not mind what she had to do. They spread their bastards far and wide, so what was one more to them? Nay, that was the attitude of nobles, not serfs. But male serfs took their pleasure where they could, too—only they rarely knew if a babe was theirs or not, for the maids they cavorted with were not constant—and they tended to marry if they were caught.
Did he think he would have to marry her? Or did he object to the way they would have to copulate, with her on the top, with her in control? Mildred had called it unnatural, so mayhap he thought so, too. Well, she could not help that. She could not help any of this.
“I am sorry you object, but that changes naught,” she said now, her tone tinged with bitterness. “I still must do it. But I will be quick so you are not disturbed for long.”
His eyes flared at her, as if she had said something incredibly stupid. She wished she could not read his thoughts so well. She wished he would make this easier for her, but why should he? He must feel as misused as she did. Well, she refused to look at him anymore. And shewouldget this done and over with.
