Rowena reached for the bucket, relieved that she was almost finished—and remembered there was no hot water left. “You will have to wait—”
“Nay, do it now.”
“But—my lord, the water is—”
“Now, blast you!”
Her lips pinched together. Well, he asked for it, did he not? With a good deal of pleasure, she dumped the icy well water over his head.
She heard him suck in his breath, along with the water streaming down his face, which then caused him to choke and sputter. Her moment of pleasure turned to alarm. He was going to beat her now, even though ’twas not her fault. He did not leap from the tub, but she still backed slowly toward the door as he wiped the water from his face—until his hands lowered and those silver eyes pinned her to the spot.
“1—I tried to tell you there was no warm water left—my lord.”
“So you did. Were my eyes not stinging, I might have listened.”
She stiffened. “So you will blame me anyway? Had you asked, I could have told you I had never bathed anyone ere this, knew not the way of—”
“Be quiet!”
He was definitely annoyed, but it did not look as if he was going to get up and beat her, so she offered, “What will you wear now? I will fetch it.”
“There is no need. I have missed my own bed and intend to go straight to it.”
“Then—may I be excused—my lord?”
The hesitation she kept giving his address was deliberate, and the look he gave her said he knew it, which was possibly why he answered, “Nay, you will dry me first,” but that was more likely her punishment for the cold water. Only he stood up as he said it, and standing far away from him, she could not help but see too much of his body.
She started to shake her head, to refuse again to obey him, but he asked first, “Are you pleased with what your ministrations have wrought?”
“Nay!” she said emphatically.
“You always were before,” he reminded her.
His voice was too husky. God’s mercy, was he going to try to seduce her into wanting him? If so, ’twould likely only be to then dismiss her and send for his Celia. He had had his like for like. He could not want her again. Nay, all he wanted was more revenge.
“I—I like rape no more than you did,” she told him miserably. “I have told you how sorry I am for what was done to you. When will your revenge end?”
“When it no longer infuriates me to look at you. When every offense has been satisfied. When I have killed your brother for my squire’s death. When I lose interest, wench, and not before…mayhap never.”
Chapter 21
Rowena lay on her uncomfortable bed on the floor of the weaving room, wide awake. She had put her chemise back on before bedding down. The coarse wool might be scratchy, but the even rougher woolen pallet was much worse, and so the chemise offered her some little ease. She was getting no other kind, not from her thoughts, not from her belly—and not from the disquieting feelings LordVengeancehad stirred up in her.
She did not understand those feelings. She did not want Warrick de Chaville. She could not want a man she hated. Yet many times these past days hehadmade her want him, despite her hate, and her body had remembered that tonight and responded, once again, not as she wished it to.
And he had been so angry after being reminded of all the reasons he wanted revenge against her. He had contained it well, however. It had only been seen in his expressive eyes. But that was enough to make Rowena tremble. And he liked her fear. ’Twas almost enough to pacify him—almost.
Her feet had felt wooden when she approached him with the soft drying cloth. And his cold voice had not relieved her any.
“On your knees again,” he had ordered. “And take care, wench, that you do not miss a single drop of moisture. Do I catch a chill because of your negligence, Iwillbeat you for it.”
He had said that as if his other threats of beatings had lacked substance. She doubted that, but was concerned only withthisthreat. And in self-defense, she forced herself to dry him slowly, to make sure she left no patch of skin even a little bit damp.
’Twas an experience she did not ever want to repeat. Her fearful trembling had turned to another kind. And he knew. He watched her like a hawk, so he could not help but see the effect he was having on her. Of course, the effect she was having on him was even more obvious, was staring her right in the face, and her fascination with his manroot returned. Against her will, she even caressed it as she dried it.
That was when he had snapped at her to get out. She had been surprised, but had not waited around for him to repeat the order. She had run out of there, and straight up the stairs near his solar that led to the women’s quarters, which included the sewing and weaving rooms.
The latter had been dark and empty then, for the hour had still been early, the other women down in the hall. Rowena should have just calmed herself some, then gone back down to get something to eat. Instead she had fetched a torch from the corridor to light a few candles in the room, made her pallet, put her chemise back on, and gone to bed.
