Knight of Her Heart (Conquering the Heart)

by Alyssa James

  “Yer guards will do ye no good now m’lady,” a rough voice told her.

  Panic made her pulse race. Who were these men? Where were they taking her?

  For a second she stilled. She had sent her men to capture Rowan. Her husband must have known the same panic, the same helplessness. He too had been blindfolded.

  Initial fear subsided. For a few mad moments she wondered whether this was Rowan’s idea of revenge. Was it a demonstration of how helpless and uncertain he’d been when she’d had him captured, bound and blindfolded? Mayhap he planned to subject her to the same humiliation as she had wrought upon him in order to make her understand what he had gone through.

  Nay! Her husband would not stoop to such behaviour. The code of honour he lived by would not allow it.

  The horse she was carried on whinnied. Another snorted as they set out.

  “Time to get ye to the baron, m’lovely!”

  The baron? Rowan had been informed that Malin plotted against him. Malin must surely be the baron her captor referred to.

  One of the men laughed lewdly and pronounced, “By Gawd she’s a fine-lookin’ filly. The baron did promise us we could all ’ave a turn of ’er when she’s served ’er purpose, didn’t ’e?”

  ‘Aye. That he did,” another replied.

  Ice trickled through each of her veins when yet another strident male voice announced, “Lord Blake wants first poke, then he said he’s gonna watch as we all have our go at swiving her.”

  Saints in heaven! She gasped out loud. Her former guardian and the baron planned to rape her then offer her to their men for the same purpose?

  “Ride hard then for I want my reward!” one man urged.

  “We’ll ride hard alright!” Ribald laughter followed the double entendre.

  Bound and blindfolded as she was, and sorely outnumbered, there was little means of escaping the fate these fiends had planned for her. At that point the horses galloped and would be long gone from Romsey Castle before any other guards from the castle began their search for her. Rowan, bound for Henry’s court, would not hear of her predicament and come to her aid. By the time he learned of her capture and rode to her rescue, it would be far too late.

  How badly would she be mistreated? Badly enough to harm her unborn child? If her former guardian and Malin found out that she was carrying her husband’s child, surely, hating Rowan the way they did, they would not allow his child to survive. The sadistic streak that ran through her former guardian’s veins would be bound to vent itself. She tried to calm herself with the knowledge that her pregnancy was not yet obvious. Hopelessness weighed her down and she fought to stop herself from crumbling in despair. Thoughts tumbled over each other in her head, for surely there was no way she could save her child?

  Lisette agonised over her future.

  If she couldn’t escape her captors at this point, she might at least slow down the soldiers’ progress toward their intended destination in the hope that Rowan would reach her, even if he was not in time to prevent her rape. She could think of only one way. Trying to clear her head and think rationally, she weighed up the risks. Did she chance her plan? Her idea would surely place her babe in just as great a peril if she acted on it?

  Her babe was in peril anyway.

  For several moments she allowed her body to go limp and her head to fall. The fool who held her laughed loudly and declared, “Yer’ve made her pass out now with all yer talk.”

  “Them fine ladies are all the same. Think they’re something special—untouchable—but half of them have never known real men. I reckon most of the nobility either have limp cocks or they don’t know what to do wiv ’em.”

  A chorus of male laughter rang out.

  “I was part of a group once that kidnapped a lady. The lord who paid us let us have her. To start off she was all scared. By the end of it, the high and mighty lady was gagging for it. Said she’d never been with a real man before! She couldn’t wait for the next man to drop his braies and climb on top. Opened her legs wide and met each of us thrust for thrust she did.”

  Lisette almost choked then on the bile that rose from her stomach.

  The party of men continued to speak in a vulgar fashion, but what was more immediately alarming was the blatant arousal of the man who held her on horseback. His stiffness pressed into the small of her back. Thankfully, however, he must have fallen for her ruse and believed she had fainted, for his arms slackened around her.

  Adrenaline surged through her as she weighed up the risks of her plan once again. ’Twas perilous but she believed she had no other option.

  Rowan’s assertion that she should not take things into her own hands rang in her ears. But Rowan was not here now to protect her.

  She thought of Genevieve and tears welled. If Lisette died in her attempt to thwart her captors, her sister would need to take care of herself. Nay. Genevieve would not be alone. Rowan was sure to take care of her. He would never allow her to fall back into Lord Blake’s clutches. No matter what fate awaited Lisette, Genevieve would be kept safe at Romsey.

  Enough of thinking negatively! Lisette would certainly be bruised, but she and her child would survive. Her plan would cause some delay, for she would feign injuries far greater than she sustained.

  Convinced that what she had planned would be for the best, Lisette waited edgily until the horse she was on was slowed to a trot. At that moment she lunged sideways. Her captor reacted far too slowly and the next second she fell through the air. Still with the sack firmly in place over her head, she was spared the sight of the ground that surely rushed up to greet her. The only thing she was aware of was her captor’s curses, the sudden whoosh of air out of her lungs as she hit the ground and a harsh pain in her temple as her head made contact with what felt like a rock.

  Chapter 18

  Bathed in a fine sheen of perspiration, Rowan awakened abruptly from the images that plagued him in his sleep. Each breath was sharp and shallow as a result of his heart pounding rapidly. He sat up on his bedding near the campfire, covered his face with his hands, and tried to banish the deep disgrace and guilt that washed over him.

  ’Twas the same recurrent nightmare. Memories of that terrible night from long ago in his youth played over in his head. The bitter taste of intense hatred fouled his mouth again. Every muscle tensed as he remembered anger so fierce it had defied all rational thought. His wrath had been unstoppable, boiling over so that all he had known was a thirst for revenge. Beast had replaced man. A red mist of rage had clouded his vision. The attack he’d launched had been frenzied, the bloody aftermath leaving him with hollow satisfaction. There had been peace in the knowledge that he had put an end to one man’s hypocrisy and the sadistic evil that man had falsely committed in the name of God.

  Darkness had filled Rowan’s soul that night. Lashing out at one who’d been caught unawares—a man who was untrained in swordsmanship—broke all the values of the code of knighthood he’d vowed to live by and sworn to uphold. That was what, to this day, caused his dishonour. That and the fact that he’d lied by omission to his king when questioned about the events.

  Rowan could not fully regret the deed he had perpetrated. Many times he had tried to repent, knowing he had committed a crime against God. Henry’s most trusted knight, he should repent. He should confess. But how could he ever repent when he was not completely sorry? The act had given him savage satisfaction and his soul would never be cleansed, for had he the chance to take a different course that night, he would not have. Justice had been done with his sword, even though he had not received the king’s blessing to mete out that justice.

  Rowan would have been tried and convicted of murder had it not been for his commander’s intervention. Every day since that night, Rowan had sought to pay penance for his deed by being a knight worthy of his name and station. That need for reparation had driven him to take on the strongest of enemies on the battlefield in order to atone for his sin. He’d placed himself in the most dangerous of circums
tances to make up for the silence he had kept about the true events of that eve when he had been questioned by his king. Only he and his commander, Lisette’s father, had known fully what had transpired that fateful night. The former Lord Blake’s support had been unwavering. ’Twas only thanks to that noble lord of Bridlemere that Rowan had been spared punishment.

  Spared in this lifetime.

  Judgement would be delivered by God in the next lifetime.

  Given his past, who was Rowan to judge Lisette? His deed had been far more violent, far more final, and committed for the sole purpose of revenge.

  In her wrongdoing, his wife had meant no harm whereas Rowan had intended death for his victim.

  In her naivety Lisette had not realised the effect of her actions. By comparison, even in the moments of his fury, Rowan had known full well what he was doing and understood the outcome—embraced it. Justified it.

  Lisette’s motivation had surely been born of desperation whereas his had most definitely not.

  He had judged her harshly and condemned her. He had refused to forgive her despite it being obvious by her distress that she was truly remorseful. Worse still, he’d rejected her love for him when that was the very thing his soul craved.

  He’d dismally failed to cherish the knowledge that the babe she carried was his own. How could he have reacted that way? When he had been prepared to love the child she carried believing it to be the offspring of another, what had possessed him to say that this child would only serve to remind him of the way in which he had been bested?

  Pride.

  A pent-up breath escaped heavily from his lungs. His words to Lisette—to his courageous wife—had been uttered in anger. In his shock at discovering she had been the one he had sworn to bring to justice, he had been harshly judgemental.

  Had he learned nothing?

  ’Twas not his right to sit in judgement—especially when he was not without fault—yet he was doing it again, judging Lisette.

  “He who is without sin among you, let him be the first to throw a stone at her.” The quotation from the Holy Bible, heard at a mass he had attended years before, replayed in his head. Rowan had thought at the time that the priest’s sermon was solely for his benefit. The first of his sins had been in passing judgement. It had led to him murdering a man. He had failed to observe the Bible’s teaching while he served God and the king.

  Moving restlessly, he stared at the still-glowing embers that remained of the campfire. Thinking of Lisette’s and the tears of remorse that had gathered in her eyes—remembering her utter devastation beneath the denunciation of his harsh, unforgiving words—his heart cramped. Her hopeless despair as she had pleaded for forgiveness the morning he had ridden from Romsey, echoed in his ears and through the emptiness of his soul.

  The lonely ache inside him stemmed from having cast Lisette aside. Only now did he realise that she—only she—had the ability to fill that special place in his heart. Her misery was his misery. They were as one in Holy Matrimony and somehow, as much as he’d tried to keep her separate from him, she’d infiltrated all his defences. ’Twas difficult now to see the lines where he ended and she began. ’Twas impossible to find any peace in his soul unless she was also at peace. There was no other happiness like that which he knew when she bestowed her beautiful smile upon him and when her blue eyes sparkled with joy and love. Her happiness was his happiness. Somehow, their two souls had become inextricably entwined.

  His head felt way too heavy for his neck yet it snapped back as realisation hit him with the full force of a spiked flail.

  He was in love with Lisette.

  Lisette. His wife. The woman who’d challenged him and defied him. His unknown captor who’d ridden him brazenly, yet bravely, and milked him of his seed when her life and her sister’s had been threatened because she’d believed no one else could save her. The one he’d sworn vengeance upon before he’d known her as the one he lusted after. The noble lady who’d risked her life to help a peasant family in danger of being consumed by flames. The woman who constantly considered the needs of everyone around her, whether they be lowly serf or noble visitor. The woman who carried his child.

  He had deluded himself when he’d told her he needed her only as his chatelaine, his lover, and mother of his heirs. Each time he’d had her by his side, telling himself he did so out of courtesy to her—following the example of his upbringing—he’d lied. The reason he’d called her to his side when ’twas not part of a traditional role as chatelaine, was because he’d wanted her there. He’d needed her there. She was the other half of his whole. The one who completed him.

  Screwing his eyes shut, he buried his face once more in his hands. How could he have not realised before now that he loved her? She had penetrated the thick barriers he’d placed around his heart and battered against them relentlessly until they had given way. She’d persisted until his heart was no longer held prisoner by his own hand. Lisette may have imprisoned him for three days, but she had given him the freedom to love. She’d succeeded in her mission to have him find and know his heart and he could be a better man for it.

  There can be no love without forgiveness and no forgiveness without love. Again, his step-father’s wise words rang in his ears.

  Far from needing to forgive Lisette, he needed to beg her forgiveness and give her his thanks. Rather than being his captor she was, in truth, his saviour.

  Gradually the fist eased its hold on his heart. As he began to breathe easier, sorrow was chased away by hope and joy. Lisette loved him when he’d believed for so long, and for so many reasons, that he was unworthy of anyone’s love.

  His optimism was short-lived. Pain lanced through him swift and sharp.

  She loves you, but she doesn’t really know you, a malicious voice taunted in his head. She thinks you’re a completely noble knight. She doesn’t know what you have done.

  If she knew the crime he had committed, the crime her own father had helped him cover-up, could Lisette still love him? Moreover, was he really worthy of her love?

  With a resolute shake of his head Rowan banished his misgivings. There was no point wondering. Rowan would write a missive to the king and Richard could complete the journey without him. Rowan had wasted two days. He needed to return to Romsey and to beg his wife’s forgiveness for judging her so harshly. He had to tell her what he had done years ago and pray that she could still love him. Only then would he know whether they could hope for a happy future together.

  His decision made, Rowan got up from his camp bed. ’Twas almost daybreak and the rest of the party would soon rise. He would wait only until he could inform Richard of his decision to return to Romsey, then he and Stormbringer would be away.

  ***

  The herald’s signal rang loud and long as Rowan approached Romsey a little over a day later. How would Lisette feel upon hearing the trumpet’s announcement that he had returned?

  He’d ridden hard, as though pursued by the hounds of Hell, and had made good time. Travelling alone, and leaving the main road several times to cut through the forest in areas he knew well from previous journeys, had made for a speedier journey. He’d stopped only to rest Stormbringer. Now, although weary, the Earl of Romsey was apprehensive, wondering how he would be received by his wife.

  The heavy portcullis took an inordinately long time to be raised. On the other side, Sir Dwaine waited to greet him. Rowan was disconcerted. There was an urgency and air of angst about his knight that was unsettling.

  Sir Dwaine rushed into speech as soon as Rowan rode forward. “My lord, ’tis a relief that you are here. We have been anxiously awaiting your return.”

  Rowan dismounted and handed Stormbringer’s reins to a stable boy.

  “Where are Sir Bradford and the rest of the men, my lord?” the knight continued.

  Sir Dwaine’s demeanour begged attention but Rowan looked about him to see whether or not Lisette would come to greet him. He could hardly blame her for not rushing forth. His parting w
ords to her had been brutal and now he must seek her out.

  “They rode on to the king with Sir Richard. Is aught amiss, Sir Dwaine?”

  “Did you not receive my missive?”

  “Nay. I know naught of a missive,” Rowan said abruptly. All he wanted was to be reunited with his wife. He had no patience to deal now with other matters, yet he knew duty required him to listen. “Walk inside with me and explain yourself.”

  “’Twas just yesterday that it happened, my lord. Lady Lisette went into the forest to collect some herbs for the kitchen. She did not return.”

  Rowan stopped dead in his tracks as the bottom fell out of his world. The blood left his extremities as he tried to make sense of what his knight told him. Turning toward Sir Dwaine and seeing his concern, Rowan’s heart shuddered to a halt for several seconds.

  “Her guards were murdered, my lord.”

  Rowan was paralysed—incapable of thought or action. The shocking news ripped his heart and rendered him useless as he merely stood like a shell of a man, staring at his knight.

  “We sent out a search party when they did not return. The bodies of the men were found.”

  “And...Lisette?” Rowan rasped, incapable of hiding his anguish. He hardly dared to listen to Sir Dwaine’s response.

  “We found only the basket of herbs she’d collected. It had been dropped on the forest floor. There were tracks which suggested a party of at least six travelled away from the scene on horseback.”

  She’d been taken captive! Rowan uttered a savage curse and rage galvanised him back to life. “Bring Stormbringer back!” he yelled toward the stables.

  “We sent for you at once, my lord, and began searching the forest,” Sir Dwaine rushed on. “Early that eve we received a message from Baddesley.”

  “Malin.” The name emerged as a snarl as hatred filled him.

  Sir Dwaine’s next words confirmed Rowan’s immediate suspicion. “He has captured the countess, my lord, and demands you travel immediately to Baddesley else her life be forfeit.”