“I was not trying to lure you to your bed,” she quickly assured him.
“Were you not?”
A soft blush rose to her cheeks. “I had thought—this eventide, when ’tis dark and—” She did not finish.
Warrick, so ready to bury himself inside her that he could barely stand it, understood her dilemma, though he wished he did not. “I forget at times that you were a virgin. Just now I would have it otherwise, but—Go, wench, and do not let me see you again ere the sun sets—but then you had best be waiting in my chamber for me. Only do not expect your boon until I have had you at least once, more like twice. Verily, I may not give you rest until the morn.”
Her slight blush had turned bright scarlet before he finished. She gave a short nod in answer and hurried away. Her absence, however, did not cool his ardor, and his discomfort began to infuriate him.
Damn the wench, what was it about her that caused him to react with such extremes of emotion? From his first consuming fury that demanded revenge to this raging lust he was in the grips of now. And then there was this sudden mellowing of his need for absolute retribution, with young Fergant, even with the Lord of Ambray, who had earned his vengeance for nigh two years now. Had it been gradually occurring, or was it, too, a result of the profound effect Rowena was having on him?
Verily, it seemed she occupied his thoughts now to the exclusion of all else. And he could not even say it was because she, too, had earned his complete ire, since he no longer thought of revenge when he thought of her. Even d’Ambray’s challenge was of little interest to him now, whereas a month ago he would have leaped at the opportunity to meet his enemy face-to-face. He would ride out on the morrow to do so, but he saw it now as more of a bother.
It occurred to him suddenly that hewasriding out on the morrow, not to return for a goodly number of days—not to see her for that long.
He left the hall in the direction Rowena had taken. She could have her boon later, aye, he would insist upon it. But he could think of no conceivable reason why he should have to wait until the sun set for what he wanted. She might need the dark to become bold with him, but he preferred the light when he was buried inside her, so he could watch every nuance of her expression when she reached her pleasure beneath him.
Chapter 33
He was gone, but Rowena had not been thrown back in the dungeon as she had feared. She had not even been roused from his bed to attend her duties this morn, but had been allowed to wake on her own—to the empty chamber.
Warrick had bid her good-bye, however, at the crack of dawn. She remembered that, just barely, remembered being swept up into his arms, pressed tightly to his mail-clad chest, and kissed tenderly. Tenderly? Aye, she was not mistaken in that, for her lips had been sore, were still sore, yet that kiss had not hurt. But she had fallen back to sleep almost immediately after she had been lowered back to his bed, the exhaustion of the night she had spent with him too much to pique her interest in his leaving or aught else.
Now that she was awake, she wondered about that kiss, so different from all those she had accepted—and given—throughout the long night. Her swollen lips could attest there had not been much tenderness in those other kisses. Not that she minded. The pleasures she had received far outweighed the little discomforts she was left with. And now that she thought of it, she also wondered why Warrick had been so insatiable. Surely not because she had brazenly spoken aloud what she would like to do with his body. And yet—and yet he had found her not long after she had left him in the hall yesterday afternoon and had dragged her to his chamber, where he had shown her the—consequences—of teasing him like that.
He had been so hot to have her that it had happened only moments after they reached his bed. There had been some discomfort when he plunged into her, but so arousing did she find his unbridled passion for her that she was moist by the second thrust, and as mindless as he by the third. After that he made love to her more leisurely, but with no less ardor. And it was lovemaking, for he gave more of himself than he took, without once mentioning what stood between them.
At one point they both realized they were hungry for something aside from each other, and he went himself to wake the cook. But ’twas unnecessary, for someone had left a tray of food in the antechamber for them, as well as a full bath. They availed themselves of both, though the food was as cold as the water by then. That they had so lost track of time…
But the night was not over, and Rowena had not forgotten what had started this odyssey of sensual indulgence. Neither had Warrick. But only after he was confident that ’twould take a miracle to stir his manhood to life again did he grant her original request. Yet the man was mistaken in what he was capable of, for he had been unable to lie still for her for very long.
Twice he had tried, and each time when his control finally broke he was like a wild man in his possession of her. She had started at his neck with her mouth, working slowly to his shoulders, down those thick arms, across to his chest. She had wanted to lick every inch of his body, but she had not got much lower than his belly ere he would push her back on the bed and drive into her. ’Twas not until he was nigh exhausted that she finally had her way with him, and even now she blushed to remember her boldness—and the sounds of pleasure she had wrung from him.
It seemed like a dream now, how he had been with her, so different from how he usually was. Not once had he shown his cruel side. And she was amazed, now that she remembered, how often she had made him laugh. It had been a night she was not likely to ever forget.
What she did not know, and was not going to find out now with him gone, was if his new behavior and treatment of her was the hoped-for result of her seduction of him, or if it was only temporary. He was going to be away less than a sennight, he had told her, but just now that seemed an infinitely long time to wait to learn if she really had succeeded with Mildred’s plan. Of course, even if it had worked, this separation just might undo it, so she would have to start over again.
Rowena sighed as she got up and dressed. She was being impatient, she knew, especially when it was, in truth, unrealistic to assume that she might have actually tamed the dragon this soon. One night did not make a changed man. And one little reminder of why he had sought revenge against her would bring the fire-breather back. But shehadmade progress. There was no denying that. And she could not deny either that seducing Warrick de Chaville was not the hardship she had thought it would be. Nay, ’twas most definitely a pleasure.
She did not realize how late it was until she entered the hall and saw none of the morning sunbeams that usually winked in from the high windows. The large room was almost deserted as well, except for a few servants. Mildred was one, and hurried to intercept Rowena on the way to the kitchen.
Rowena was surprised enough to ask, “Is it safe, then, with him gone, for us to be seen talking?”
“His order be damned,” Mildred replied. “What I have learned cannot wait for a private moment. But why do you not seem distressed at his leaving?”
Rowena grinned. “Behold, this is not the dungeon.”
“Nay, I do not refer to that, but to where Lord Warrick has gone. Can it be you do not know?”
“Know what, Mildred? Warrick told me only that he would be gone a short while, not why he must leave.” Rowena began to frown. “It cannot be to make war, not in so short a time.”
“Nay, not war, but a battle nonetheless. Gilbert has challenged him, and Warrick rides now to meet him—face-to-face.”
Rowena paled. “God’s mercy, one of them will die.”
Mildred blinked, startled thatthatshould be a concern. “Certainly,” she said impatiently. “But first they will recognize each other.”
Rowena barely heard, for she could not get the picture out of her mind of how large Gilbert was, how well skilled with a sword, and how Warrick would fight fairly, but Gilbert likely would not. Nausea churned in her belly as the picture became Warrick…lying on the ground…with blood…
