by Sandra Jones
Her stomach rumbled in disagreement. Laced with sleeping draught or not, food sounded wonderful.
She lay regaining her breath from her exertions when the door opened and the mouse returned with a basket. Grim-faced, she moved to the opposite side of the bed away from the door. Her eyes darted over Eleri as if she were as untrustworthy as a snake.
Speaking in perfect English, the woman said, “My lord says you’re to eat, get your strength up.” She placed the basket on the floor out of Eleri’s view.
The idea of taking a directive from her captor—whether he was Warren or his brother or someone else—wedged under her skin like a hateful splinter. “I will not! ’Twill only be something to make me sleep again.”
The woman’s eyes widened at her Welsh, and she slid back into her native tongue. “I wouldn’t know about what you had before you came, but this broth came from this evening’s boiling hens. I saw Cook ladle it meself.”
Soup sounded heavenly. Eleri sniffed the intoxicating aroma of herbs and chicken, and her gut squeezed with longing. It would be easy to tell if the woman was lying. “You first.”
The mouse’s eyes narrowed, thinking. Then with a nod, she bent over the basket and reached for its contents.
While the woman was distracted, Eleri pulled the bonds keeping her hands far above her head. Mayhap she could stretch them loose enough to squeeze her hands through. She could almost get her teeth on her right hand’s restraints. Almost. The fabric needed to be a tad longer…
Turned away from the door, she didn’t notice someone else had entered the chamber until warm tingles spread under her clothing. But unlike when she’d seen the mouse guarding her from the corner while she slept, the sensation of being watched swept her like the tide in a thunderstorm.
Warren.
She rolled on her side to face him.
He stood leaning against the doorway, strong arms crossed over his chest. She hardly recognized him. A commanding figure in all meanings of the word, he wore a deep blue tunic edged in gilt embroidery over a second skin of form-fitting chain mail. His face cold and impassive, he stared past her to the woman holding the bowl up to her mouth.
“Nay. Don’t take orders from her, Gwen.” His words were stern yet quiet.
“Sorry, milord.” The servant lowered the bowl, glancing about as if unsure where to put the broth.
He lifted a brow, continuing to make his point. “If I’d wanted my enemy poisoned, she’d kill you instead.”
After everything they’d been through, now they were enemies? Her heart sank.
“I see your meaning.” Gwen nodded emphatically. “I didn’t think you…but of course I see now.”
“Leave us. I’ll make sure the prisoner understands her place is to take commands, not give them.”
The woman curtsied and sidled past him, leaving them alone.
A mixture of anger and relief brought tears to Eleri’s eyes. She wanted to rail at him for the way he’d treated her, yet how could she forget the look he gave her that fateful night months ago when he’d realized who she was, disguised as one of the abbey brothers when she’d surrendered him like some common war booty.
“Warren.” Her voice cracked.
Pathetic. Be the princess that you are!
Seemingly oblivious, he closed the door and stalked into the room. Avoiding her glance, he dragged Gwen’s vacant chair closer to the bed and sat.
She surveyed the changes in him since she’d seen him last. His hair had been trimmed, and he looked healthy with skin more bronze than when she’d left him.
Her relieved breath rushed out. At least that burden was off her shoulders.
His intelligent gaze finally rested on her, but with none of the wonder she’d shown him, leaving her to guess he’d come to visit before she’d awoken. She’d wager her best longbow he had!
“Eleri,” he echoed in a cold greeting, leaning forward as he rested an elbow on his knee. His gaze, dark and steady, held hers for a long moment, leaving her desperate for his thoughts and feelings, some sign of his current emotion. He swallowed, but said nothing.
She could’ve returned his stare for hours through unshed tears and all, but at the moment her arms ached from her struggles. “I demand you untie me.”
“And have you attack me? You’ve proven I can’t trust you.” His face hardened, gaze cutting into her. “And that is why I had my brother put a sleeping draught in your wine. That and…I didn’t want you killing anyone in the process of capturing you.”
A knot formed in her throat. She forced her voice around it, working to keep her rampant emotions in check. “You know I would never! And you didn’t have to ambush me. I would’ve come to you willingly if you’d asked.”
For a moment he was silent, as if mulling over her answer. “I came to you willingly once, and the end result was far from what I had in mind.”
He reached for the sheet she must’ve kicked off her feet in her struggles. Picking it up from the floor, he spread it across her legs. His hand smoothed the wrinkles from the fabric in an idle pass, and her body responded with an immediate jangle.
He leaned over the bed, stroking away the smallest kinks in the fine linen. “Now that I have you, I can finally control the outcome of my mission. I’ve grown weary of others having dominion over me—my father, my king, you. Now ’tis my turn to seize what I want and please myself. No mercy, save that which I feel is deserved.”
Her face flushed at his ministrations as well as the sudden realization someone had not only removed her boots, but also her clothing, exchanging her riding clothes for a thin chemise.
When she glanced at his face again, she found him looking at her with a bemused expression, eyes crinkled slightly at the corners. “Do you remember my promise to you when you first came to my holding chamber at Dinefwr, when I begged you not to return me to the king?”
He meant that he’d threatened the king would soon return to retaliate against the Deheubarth, but her traitorous body quickened at the memory of her own dark fantasies of that day. Of her imagining he would someday come back to ravage her. That imagined threat was more personal, carrying far more potency now that she had intimate knowledge of him and what he was capable of doing to both her body and soul.
She shifted her legs to try to end the fluttering of her insides.
“I had no choice but to turn you in, Warren. ’Twas the best thing I could’ve done,” she rasped. “I did not mistreat you while you were with us, and you know it.”
He moved to the edge of her bed, sitting beside her hip. Leaning over her, his mail snagged repeatedly across her gown as he reached for her binding. Her heart sank again as he touched each of her wrists, inspecting her bonds. His fingertips swept over her pulse points. Checking perhaps for chafing…or for signs that the restraints might fail to keep her.
Seemingly satisfied, he planted his hands on either side of her head and gazed into her eyes. The corner of his mouth quirked in wry smile, though his gaze was smoky and serious. “I remember every detail of how you treated me, ma cœur,” he murmured, leaning closer, “and I shall do…exactly…the same for you.”
His armor grated as he moved in, his face mere inches from hers so that their breath mingled and she could almost feel him. His unreadable eyes searched hers. Conquered by his glorious proximity, she surrendered herself, closing her eyes for his kiss, and waited. And waited.
He fidgeted against the pillow, pushing his hand beneath it. She opened her eyelids to see him frowning as he looked for something beneath her head. His expression smoothed when he withdrew a long wilted sprig of green and held it between them.
She recognized the mugwort she’d picked before they were ambushed.
“I believe this is yours. Gwen has more of the herb if you need it still.” He traced her chin with the feathery stalk, his gaze lingering on her lips, giving her hope
he wasn’t unaffected by her, either. He trailed the silken leaves between her breasts. For an instant, raw hunger revealed itself in his expression, old longings overruling his cool demeanor. Pausing on what appeared to be the brink of decision, his heavy-lidded eyes lifted to hers. Then catching a glimpse of her wounded cheek, his brows pinched with guilt. “Your scratch is healing. Eleri, I did not mean for any harm to come to you or to your—”
She gasped. “Sayer! Nest!”
Her words managed to squash his warmth.
He set the mugwort on her pillow. “They’re fine. They have everything they need. They’re angry and fit to kill someone—me—but ’twas expected.” Leaning back, he gestured an open palm at her surroundings. “Your chamber is far from theirs.”
“And where exactly would we be?” She took a deep breath, regaining her righteous anger with the distance he put between them.
“Cardiff Castle. My stronghold for the moment along with its forces borrowed from De Braose, my brother Dom and his men.”
“And my father’s men? How are they?”
He arched an eyebrow. “You mean your Lord Vaughn.”
“He’s not my anything!” Frustrated, she kicked the bed.
Humor lit his eyes for a moment. “The rest of your traveling party went unmolested. One of the reasons Dom is the king’s favorite mercenary is his ability to be discreet.”
Goddess. So no one knew what had happened to her and her guards? But someone did, or else Dom wouldn’t have known where and when to overtake them. This would require more thought later, but now her mind was too befuddled to concentrate.
Her captor stood, still staring at her.
“Warren, you wanted revenge, now you’ve had it. You caught me. Let me loose…please.” She tugged on the bindings. Fear crept into her chest. Would he actually leave her this way?
“Mes excuse, but I do not trust you after you surrendered me so easily.”
He was right. She had betrayed him, but he had no idea how much that decision had tortured her. She’d only done it to save his life, not to hurt him. “Wait! You must be careful. We were returning to Deheubarth to meet with Lew. Father wants more strikes against the Norman colonists. He knows your name, that you stand in his way, and he won’t stop his revolt after you’re dead or even after he’s taken a Norman castle, not until Stephen relinquishes power—”
He laughed, incredulous. “You worry about me now?” His mail rattled as he rubbed his thumb across his brow. He turned, shook his head, then moved toward the door.
Good heaven, he couldn’t leave. “Warren, if you go to defend another fort in Deheubarth, you’ll go to your death.”
He wheeled around. “Don’t worry, Princess. I’m not leaving today. I have to see to the preparations for the wedding party.”
Wedding? She squeezed her hands into fists as outrage and something appallingly similar to flattery slammed through her. That was what this was about? She gasped, “You had me captured to force me into marriage?”
The light in his eyes faded. “Non. You won’t have to worry about that either. I’ll not trouble you further with the idea of marrying me. You’ve made your position clear on that account. While I was your captive, Stephen engaged the Deheubarth in peace negotiations of his own. After my failure to wed a Deheubarth princess, my liege made arrangements with your prince to betroth him to my sister Claire.”
“Lew? And Claire?”
“A gesture of amity between England and the Deheubarth principality.” His words were clipped and angry.
“But your sister…she’s a child!”
“Ten years. Old enough, or so says my king,” he muttered, failing to disguise his true feelings on the subject. His brows drew together as he stared back at her, emotions warring behind his serious eyes.
Despite the ambush and his grudge against her, she would abandon every shred of pride she had to wrap her arms around him at that moment and reassure him that everything would be all right. She prayed it would. “Warren, I can’t believe Lew would agree. He told my father his allegiance was with Cymru.”
He shook his head. “I don’t trust the truce either. That’s what you’re here for. I’m completing what I was sent to do by bringing you back…and hopefully saving Claire, too.”
“I want to aid you. But what can I do against your king’s decree? How can I possibly help?”
His gaze drifted over her, reminding her of how vulnerable she must look, how exposed in her thin gown, limbs spread for him on the bed. His glittering eyes took in every inch, burning her from the inside out. He smirked. “We’ll sort that out soon, mademoiselle. All you need remember for now is that you’re my captive…my slave…and you’ll do as I tell you.”
Chapter Thirteen
After a stomach full of Gwen’s broth and a cup of beer tinted with mugwort, Eleri awoke from a deep nap, which may or may not have been induced by more of Warren’s draught. This time, however, she snapped to her senses.
Oh, she should not have slept! Her eyes were covered again. How many hours had passed? Daylight seeped through the fabric.
Too late, she realized she’d let her guard down and now she felt another presence in the room. How long had they been watching?
She wriggled her nose. The covering on her face was soft and loose. Still, who did Warren think he was, trussing her this way?
“Get this off of me!” she seethed.
“Oh, I intend to,” he said softly from the corner of the room. “Eventually.”
A thread of suspense tightened within, yet she was surprisingly thrilled he’d been the one waiting on her, rather than Gwen.
He moved soundlessly as he came closer, and she deduced he was no longer wearing his armor. Soon he filled the space on the bed beside her. His hands worked at the knot on her left wrist.
“’Tis about time,” she huffed.
Was he tying or untying?
“You think so? I disagree, Your Highness.” He stopped abruptly.
Any disappointment she felt evaporated when his breath brushed against her ear as he reclined beside her, and his hand rested comfortably just beneath the curve of her breast. “I rather like admiring you thusly.”
She envisioned herself turning into him, putting her mouth to his, convincing him to let her free with a deep, lasting kiss.
Aye, she had one weapon left—her body—if she could persuade him to release her for what they could do together.
“That’s unfair of you, my lord, to have such an advantage. I’m unable to admire you.” She smiled.
“Oui. But this way you have no idea what I’m doing or what I’m about to do to you.” His voice curled an octave lower, holding a timbre of threat as well as desire. “When one engages an opponent, one hopes to have at least one advantage.”
She swallowed. Heady excitement ran wild through her.
He brushed a lock of hair from her forehead, and she caught a whiff of spice and smoke on his arm. “I don’t consider us opponents anymore, Warren.”
“But of course we are. I am vassal to King Stephen. You’ve sided with the rebellion. You used me until you had no more need of me, and now I will do the same.” His hand cupped her jaw as his mouth pressed against the side of her neck in a soft kiss.
Aye! Her flesh tingled from the contact.
He whispered, “I could never forget the feel of your skin, like satin against mine. Don’t you remember this? Your sigh tells me you do.”
Indeed, she’d made the sound, though she’d tried to keep from it. She should not feel the warmth low in her stomach, should not want his hands and lips on her. But oh, how she did!
“Um, yes,” she purred. “I remember how you like my hands on you. All over you. To stroke and feel…but I cannot do any of that unless you release me.”
He made a half-strangled laugh, then eased a long leg between hers,
forcing her thighs apart to make room for his body. His hand took her breast through the gauzy fabric, and she gasped. Moisture rushed inside her. If she did not do something soon, she’d beg him to enter her, and that wouldn’t do at all.
“I’ll give you a release, ma cœur. You know what I really want, what I’ve brought you here for. ” He nibbled her neck gently, making her quivering knees bend as if drawn by a string. She sucked in air through her teeth, fighting against her lust. Do something!
“Are you afraid I’ll escape? That I’ll fight you?” she croaked in as seductive a voice as she could manage.
“Non,” he murmured against her ear, making her shiver. “You’re the one who’s afraid because you fear you want me too much to resist.” He carefully avoided her bruise as he kissed her cheek.
Stung to hear her worries repeated, she turned her face away. Her true concern was what their lovemaking would do to her heart.
She felt his jerky movements beside her, and his hands closed over her right wrist, working out the knot, to her surprise. The fabric cord fell away, and she brought her numb limb to her chest. Flexing her fingers, tiny prickles spread under her skin. After he untied her left arm, she reached for her blindfold, but Warren snatched her hand.
“Not so fast.”
She licked her lips. She longed to free her eyes, but the incongruity of his authoritative tone and caring actions had her wondering what he was about. The last time he’d kept her from seeing, he’d surprised her with the sight of that darling lamb. She prayed for the return of more of that kindness—some sign he’d forgiven her.
He pulled her hand toward him, and his lips touched the back of her wrist, then the tip of his tongue, following the line of her restraint with velvet heat.
Her heart slammed against her ribs, and it took all she had to keep from sighing with desire again.
He kissed her palm, pressed his cheek against it, then returned it to her chest. “I like a fair fight, too, but when you relinquished me in bonds as a failure to my country, you denied me that. I think it’s only fair I do the same.”
