Knight of Her Heart (Conquering the Heart)

by Alyssa James

  “He was well cared for, Rowan, and ’twas only for a couple of days. I did assure him he would come to no harm and he did receive silver as compensation. I am certain that was rich recompense for a peasant farmer.” She shifted uncomfortably on her feet. The fabric of her shift started to prickle around her neck as she was subjected to further heated loathing from him.

  “You know little of a man’s pride if you believe that to be true.”

  “I know that it savages a man’s pride if he can’t put food on the table for his family. With the silver coin I gave him, he can take pride in being able to provide for his family. A farmer—” She broke off mid-sentence. Each of her breaths was fast and shallow. Part of her began to panic at the look of barely suppressed, violent frustration she saw in her husband’s face. His features were set so hard, as though he was barely able to control himself from beating her. “Rowan, the farmer—”

  His control snapped. “My God, Lisette!” In two long strides he stood in front of her, grabbed her by the shoulders and gave her a none-too-gentle shake. “The man was—not—a—farmer,” he declared through clenched teeth.

  What?

  She gave a slight shake of her head. “You’re mistaken.” How could Rowan argue this with her? “Who was he? How can you know so much about this?”

  He relaxed his grip on her shoulders, let his hands fall to his sides, and then stepped away. Every facial feature showed strain. His jaw was still clenched tight. The effort it cost him to rein in his anger was visible, but she still couldn’t make sense of what point he tried to make. He couldn’t possibly know the man...

  “John and Frederick,” she said with sudden insight. Had they in some way betrayed her? “I can’t believe they confided in you, but they can attest that the man was a peasant.”

  “Your servants made no confessions, although their reactions made me suspicious.”

  “Their reactions?”

  “Their images teased my memory.” Each word was taut. “This afternoon in my presence they appeared to recognise me and then grow scared, yet they denied having met me.”

  Scared? Why would they be scared of Rowan? “They would never have met you.” “This eve when I observed them drinking ale in the great hall, I was certain I had seen them drinking somewhere else. I dismissed the thought thinking ’twas an impossibility. Now I know my memory serves me true. I saw them at an inn while I was in Southampton.”

  Everything in her tensed. She could not stop the wave of guilt that washed through her again. “Southampton?” The word emerged as a breathy squeak.

  “Aye, Lisette.” There was bitter contempt back in each syllable.

  Oh. Dear Lord. He must have been at the inn the night. “You...you were there when...they took the f-farmer? The farmer told you later what had happened?”

  “I was there, but I have already told you ’twas no farmer they took. ’Twas merely a man who was dressed in peasant garb because he needed to keep his identity a secret.”

  “You truly know this man?” she whispered.

  Silence stretched between them. She could not help thinking that ’twas the calm before the storm as Rowan’s features were as dark as thunder clouds and lightning seemed to flash from his eyes as he regarded her.

  Finally he spoke. “I was the man your servants drugged. I was the one they bound and blindfolded.” His lip curled at her in disgust. “I was the nameless, faceless man whose seed you harvested in your mission to deceive Collins.”

  She staggered backward. “Nay. It cannot be.” The room began to spin around her and she grabbed hold of the edge of a chair for support.

  “’Twas only just now, when you...” He broke off and gestured toward the bed. “’Twas just as it had been that first eve—your weight falling heavily upon me...your instant apology. ’Twas in that second that I knew.”

  She was horrified as she remembered her inexpert attempt to mount him that first night. “’Tis true,” she gasped and sank into the chair, covering her head with her hands in shame.

  “In my wildest imaginings I did not suspect that I was married to the woman I had sworn to hunt down and punish.”

  Her head jerked up. “Punish?”

  “You committed a crime, my lady. You think you should escape punishment for kidnapping and rape?”

  His cold, hard expression made her tremble.

  “But, Rowan, I—”

  He crossed his arms in front of his chest, his whole body straight and tense. “You held a man against his will. You lay with him without his consent outside the bond of holy matrimony. What do you think your king would say if he learned of your deed? What punishment do you think the church would mete out to you?”

  Death. It could only be death that awaited her for her crimes. Her heart stuttered and the blood in her veins chilled. “Pray, Rowan. You cannot—”

  “Nay,” he said with a dismissive sweep of his hand. “I find I cannot.” Self-disgust now flicked across his features. “For you are my wedded wife and I am bound under oath to God to protect you.”

  Lisette let out a relieved breath while he began to pace back and forth. Her relief was short-lived as she considered her servants. “John and Frederick...They didn’t want any part of my plan,” she entreated. “They tried to dissuade me from my course. ’Twas I who insisted they help me.”

  She flinched at the look of disdain he shot her. If she thought it would help she would throw herself at his feet and beg for mercy and forgiveness, but there was no forgiveness in the king’s first knight. The knowledge that she was responsible for this mask of derision he wore—that she had extinguished the warm, teasing light and the flare of passion—stabbed at the very lifeforce of her.

  “You may be noble by birth, my lady. But there is nothing noble about your deed. You have not only acted in a lowly manner yourself, but you have tainted others by your actions. Tainted and incriminated your servants—the very people who require your protection,” he pronounced condescendingly before he strode to the door.

  “Oh, my lord, ’tis true what you say,” she sobbed, “but pray do not punish them for what is wholly my fault.”

  Her words arrested his movement. He turned back very slowly toward her. “If you were not my wife you would receive the full force of the king’s law.”

  Standing, she clasped her hands in front of her and prayed in desperation to find words which might bridge the great chasm that had opened between them.

  Realisation dawned. Joy burst through her. All was surely not lost.

  “Rowan, my plan caused me much angst. Never more so than when I met you and learned you, who are so honourable, were to be my husband. But, don’t you see?” She willed that he would. “It has just occurred to me. As you were the man I lay with,” her hand covered her abdomen, “that means ’tis your child I carry.”

  Frantically she searched his face for some softening, some indication that her words had sunk in. She searched in vain.

  “’Tis a child who was conceived while its father was rendered powerless,” he thundered. “You think this babe would not be shamed by the manner in which its conception took place?”

  “Rowan!” He was being obstinate. “You were ready to claim my child as your own when you thought ’twas from the seed of another. Surely you must rejoice knowing this child is the fruit of your loins?”

  “Nay! I do not rejoice,” His hand cut through the air in a gesture of denial. “This child, as innocent as he or she is in your scheme, will be a constant reminder to me of how I was bested by a woman. Deceived by the woman to whom I am wed. ’Twill be a reminder of how I, the king’s first knight and one who is feared on the battlefield by all of the king’s enemies, was taken prisoner by untrained servants.” He shook his head angrily. “A reminder of being drugged and kidnapped and of the hours spent lying bound and in darkness, not understanding why I found myself in such a predicament and not knowing what fate my captors had mapped out for me. That, my lady, is not something to celebrate!”

/>   “But Rowan, I gave you pleasure.”

  His entire body stiffened in refutation and he exhaled a short, sharp sound of disbelief. “Do not delude yourself in this ridiculously naive belief you have. Short-lived physical pleasure means nothing compared to mental anguish—especially when any physical pleasure is beyond one’s control and totally against one’s will. You enslaved me and gave me nothing but shame.”

  He was adamant. Had she, in her innocence, been so very wrong?

  ’Twas apparent his pride and confidence had been rocked by his being held captive. Replaying his words in her head, she began to realise the magnitude of her mistake. ’Twas exactly as he’d said. This proud, formidable man had been rendered powerless by two servants and a female. Her silver coin would never provide adequate recompense and she understood that now. She began to get a glimmer of understanding of how her actions had affected him.

  Her hands moved helplessly. “I knew not what harm I caused. ’Twas wrong of me. Selfish. I was entirely desperate and could see no other solution to my plight. Pray, forgive me.”

  “Nay.” The word was decisive. “I shall never forgive you nor trust you again. You shall keep the title and privileges of being the Countess of Romsey. But, from this moment forth, you are to make yourself scarce in my presence. Do not seek me out.” He ignored the anguished sound that escaped from her tight throat. “There will be no physical union between us for I find I can no longer bear the thought of your touch.”

  Her hope shattered as he turned away from her once more. Despair clogged her veins. “Rowan! I beseech you!”

  Pausing at the door, his back still to her, he told her, “I ride out with Sir Richard at first light to see the king. ’Twould be better if you were not in the party who will bid us farewell.”

  Every hope shrivelled inside her as he opened the door and left without a backward glance. The glimmer of comprehension she had about the ramifications of her actions to the man she’d naively thought she’d treated and compensated well, sank home. But the realisation came far too late.

  The heavy door closed behind him. The dull thud was symbolic—the pronouncement of the finality of all closeness in their relationship. The thick oak timber was a physical representation of the impenetrable emotional barrier that lay between them. The sob that emerged from her spoke of her complete devastation.

  Chapter 17

  Gathering the fresh herbs needed for the kitchen was a daily task Lisette generally took pleasure in—a time of solitude she enjoyed as she appreciated the nature that surrounded her. For the last two days she hadn’t enjoyed the seclusion of the forest, even though she’d longed for it. Sir Dwaine, the knight in charge since Rowan’s departure, had insisted on sending two guards to accompany her and would brook none of her arguments to the contrary. The presence of the men was an intrusion she resented, for even though the guards kept their distance, she was still aware of them. She yearned to be able to drop her smile, her outward pretence that she was happy and all was normal while in reality her heart had shattered into a million pieces.

  Stifling a heavy sigh, she picked some extra sage. Cook had wanted extra herbs collected and dried before Michaelmas. Lisette had already filled her basket and should return.

  Genevieve would be finished her formal lessons with Ysabel by now. Lisette planned to join them in her solar for some needlework before the evening meal. ’Twas important to continue to provide the illusion that all was well. The routine of life at Romsey Castle went on despite the turmoil of Lisette’s private despondency. The undisturbed order of the day brought stability to all who lived there. As much as she loved her sister and former nursemaid, ’twas not their company Lisette wanted.

  Her lip wobbled and she gripped the handle of her basket tightly, battling to keep her pain from her features. As Countess of Romsey ’twas important to keep her composure and she would not let her guards see her despondency.

  Two unhappy days had passed since Rowan had ridden off to King Henry’s court. Two miserable days full of soul-searching and personal desolation. There had been no appeal she could make that would convince her husband to give her another chance. No forgiveness in his bleak expression. Every feature had been set hard as granite and told her how much he despised her for what she had done.

  Lisette had finally understood the full extent of her wrongdoing. She could no longer assuage her guilt by telling herself that the man she’d used had been cared for and left wealthier. The truth was she’d robbed Rowan of his freedom and of his choice.

  Malin may have scarred his back, but Lisette’s actions had scarred Rowan’s soul. ’Twas too late to have her husband forgive her and she could not undo what was irreparably done.

  Walking a little further—more to stall her return to Romsey than in search of more herbs—Lisette knew that nothing she could do or say would make amends to the man who had been so aggrieved. No silver could ever have salved his pride—even had he been a pauper. The belief that the token amount she had left him would make up for her actions, had merely added to his indignation. No amount of repenting and apologising could give him back what she had robbed from him those days—his freedom. His self-respect. Having been captured and rendered helpless had shaken him to his foundations. Now, she knew what a blow this had been to her warrior husband—a man who only knew victory. Those who had previously tried to best him had met him in man-to-man combat on the battlefield. In contrast, she had been a faceless assailant who had only conquered him with tactics that had been entirely dishonourable.

  Her breath caught on a half-sob as she realised that the child she carried, the unborn babe she already cherished, would be a constant reminder to Rowan of her dishonour. While she thrilled in the knowledge that the child was her husband’s progeny, this truth had not moved Rowan to forgive her. Everything she knew of her husband told her that he would not bear any ill toward his child, but that he would never grant absolution to its mother.

  Knowing that her future with Rowan lay bleakly in front of her was like tearing her heart from her chest.

  Lisette leaned forward to pick some sprigs of rosemary and recalled her last encounter with her husband. When she had sought him out against his wishes, the morn of his departure, he had shunned her.

  “Could you forgive a man who held you captive and forced himself upon you repeatedly?” he’d asked. She’d hung her head in immediate shame. Point made, Rowan had simply walked away without sparing her a backward glance.

  Now her free hand went to cover the very slight swell of her abdomen and this time she could not stop sighing heavily. The Heavenly Father had answered her prayers previously; she’d just been too impatient to await His response. God, in all His mercy, could see into her soul and knew of her deep repentance. In Christ’s name she begged forgiveness. She asked that He answer her prayers and show her some way to make amends to her husband.

  Overhead a bird flew between the trees. The movement made her look upward.

  The sun was surely lower in the sky that it should be?

  She had tarried too long. It must be past the hour she should have headed back to Romsey castle. ’Twas surprising her guards hadn’t called her back before now, for she had lost all track of time and wandered far further afield than usual. She had strayed off her usual course, too, for she could no longer hear the babbling of the brook.

  Despite the warmth of the sun’s rays penetrating through the leafy canopy of the forest, Lisette was suddenly chilled. A sense of foreboding caused her breathing to quicken. Unease prickled up her spine. She stilled, looked around her and scanned through the forest for the two guards who had accompanied her. They were nowhere to be seen, even though Sir Dwaine had been most insistent they stay close.

  She strained to hear any sound of her guards or any sound that warned of danger. Apart from a bird’s song in the distance there was nothing.

  Snap!

  A twig broke.

  One of her guards coming to tell her ’twas time to head back
?

  Lisette’s head whipped around in the direction of the sound but saw nothing. Instincts screamed at her that something was sorely amiss. Should she call out to her guards? Nay, she dare not make a sound. The fine hairs on the nape of her neck rose as she had the distinct impression she was being not only watched, but stalked. She knew not whether ’twas by man or animal. All she knew was that every intuition told her she needed to leave this place quickly and quietly.

  Her hand firmed on the handle of her basket. Her gaze darted left and right, scanning the forest. Nay. No sign of the guards. Tentatively she took a step, resisting the urge to sprint toward home.

  Nerves pulled tighter than the strings of a lute, Lisette was about to take another step when a great rustling came from the bushes behind her. Her heart jumped and seemed to lodge in her throat. She turned in fear, expecting to see an enraged boar charging from the undergrowth. ’Twas not a wild boar but two men who were not her guards. The men viewed her with wild intent.

  Dropping her basket of herbs Lisette turned, prepared to run all the way back to Romsey Castle via a more indirect route.

  “Guards!” she cried.

  Too late! Her path was blocked by another man. Breath constricted in her throat. She looked around desperately. She was surrounded by a rough-looking group of soldiers with her guards nowhere in sight. All escape routes were blocked and the strangers moved closer to her.

  Silently she sent up a prayer for protection as she viewed the menacing expressions. Dear Lord, what had they done to her guards? What did they plan to do to her?

  She opened her mouth to speak, to summon some hauteur, demand an explanation and to send them on their way. Before she could utter a sound of outraged protest, she was grabbed from behind and gagged. Everything went dark as rough fabric was shoved over her head. The arms that grabbed her and man-handled her onto a horse were simply too powerful to resist.