“You did not like the shape of your tankard?” Sheldon asked as he took the seat next to Warrick at the lord’s table.
“How so?”
But Warrick looked at the vessel in his hand and saw that the soft metal had collapsed under his grip. He threw it away angrily and called for another, which a page quickly supplied, along with the ale to fill it.Sheshould have been there already to do it. What the devil was keeping her in the kitchen? But then she appeared with a large platter of meats, and he schooled his features to conceal his rioting emotions.
“You must do better than that if you do not want her to know how she affects you,” his friend warned, trying unsuccessfully to hide his amusement. “You are wound so tight—”
“Go to hell, Sheldon.”
The older man laughed, but said no more, leaning to his left to speak with Beatrix, with whom he was to share a trencher. Warrick did try to relax, only it was impossible. The closer Rowena came to the table, the more he tensed, as if expecting a blow. And it did seem as if he received one when he saw her smile at him.
“What will you have, my lord?” she asked pleasantly as she set the platter down in front of him. “A sampling of each?”
He did not even look down at the meats she was offering. “Have I made things too easy for you, wench?”
“Nay, my lord.”
“Then why do you smile at me?”
The smile vanished instantly. “I forget myself. What is it you require? A frown? Indifference? Mayhap fear? You need only say—”
“Be quiet!” he grumbled and waved her off.
Rowena could feel his eyes boring into her back as she hurried from the hall, and it was all she could do not to laugh before she was out of his sight. Lord Vengeance was going to be easier to confound than even Mildred had thought. With no more than a smile, she had soured his mood and received no punishment for it. She wondered if she could force herself to touch him next, without being bidden to. ’Twas not something she wanted to do, but she had made the decision and so could not cavil over the means.
“So ye heard, did ye?”
Rowena started and looked around until she spotted Mary Blouet. She knew not what Mary referred to, but ’twas unwise for her to look so pleased with herself where others could note it.
“Heard what?”
“That the high-and-haughty Celia got sent away to Dyrwood keep. I know not how ye did it, wench, but ye be having my thanks for it.”
Rowena could not speak for a moment, she was so incredulous. “He actually sent her away?”
“Aye, and good riddance, I say. But why do ye look so surprised?”
“But I did naught that would—I mean, I only told him she gave me an order in his name. I did not know she lied, and he was angry, but I…he actually sent her away?”
Mary chuckled. “Did I not say so? And what ye did be more than anyone else wouldst dare. I should have warned him myself of the advantages she took of her position, but a man is funny about such things. Like as not the bearer of tales gets the brunt of his displeasure.”
Rowena tamped down the pleasure she was starting to feel, reminding herself that what Celia had done was outrageous and deserving of some kind of discipline. Warrick certainly had not done it for her sake. He had merely been made aware that Celia had overstepped herself, and he had acted swiftly to punish her for it. After all, the man thrived on meting out punishments. Why should his favorite leman be excluded from them?
Rowena hurried back to the hall with another platter of food, her plan to baffle and subtly seduce her tormentor forgotten for the moment. She noted, however, that his mood had taken a turn for the worse. There was that risk, of course, that instead of merely confusing the man and making him wonder about her, he would get angry instead. The frown that followed her to the table now said he was definitely angry about something.
She hesitated to get near him when he looked so forbidding, but there was no help for it. Her duty was to serve him his food, not merely set it before him.
“Does aught tempt you here, my lord?”
Rowena did not realize the implication of that innocent question until she saw the fire leap into Warrick’s eyes. She flushed. She had not meant to be deliberately provocative, yet so she had sounded. And to her amazement, his frown turned into a grin, not of that cruel humor she abhorred, but of genuine male amusement.
“Come you here, wench, and we shall see what if aught will tempt me.”
Sir Sheldon guffawed beside him, as did a few other knights within hearing. Rowena’s flush turned to hot flames. But she did not hesitate this time. She hurried around the table and came up to stand beside his chair—and found herself pulled onto his lap.
’Twas the perfect opportunity to further her seduction of him—if she could forget that they were the center of attention. But she could not forget that there were other nobles present, including ladies, including Warrick’s young daughters, and all she wanted to do was crawl into a hole and hide for the next decade. Verily, if she were given even a little of the respect her true status was due, Warrick would never have treated her so before his entire assemblage. But she was classed as a lowly serf, beneath the notice of ladies, defenseless against lustful innuendos as well as lustful assaults—at least by the Lord of Fulkhurst.
“What think you, wench, will tempt my palate?” he continued to tease her. “Do you select it and we shall see.”
