Authors: Teresa Medeiros
She lifted her chin, forgetting to dim the rebellious glitter in her eyes. Sir Gareth stood in the doorway, his long frame propped casually against the timbers. His eyes assessed her coolly, giving Rowena the maddening sensation that he could read her mind. He had just returned from his fields. His immaculate surcoat was thrown carelessly over one shoulder. He was stripped down to tunic and chausses, dusted with chaff and dripping sweat like a peasant. The happy glow of exhaustion bathed him. His eyes sparkled in the firelight. Rowena inclined her head, struggling to reconcile the vision of the knight who had threatened to slay her family with the laughing man who only last night had tossed honeyed raisins in the air for her to catch on her tongue. She supposed to him she was only a pet, and according to Marlys, not a very clever one.
She wanted to shake him, demand answers to questions she'd never dared to ask, claw away the mask that hid the man.
But the answers might be worse than the questions, and the man more dangerous than the mask. She rose and brushed past him without a word, answering his murmured good night with a stilted nod. She had promised Papa she would stay for a year, and stay she would. Gareth's dark eyes bored into her back as she climbed the winding stairs.
As fall waned, daylight grew shorter, each hour bringing Rowena nearer to nightfall when she would curl into the bed of furs on the floor at the foot of Gareth's bed. She knew now that the furs had not been careless cast-offs from Gareth's bed, but had been artfully arranged for her comfort from the first night. She waited for him to suggest she move into Marlys's chamber or sleep huddled in the great hall, but he never did. The pattern of the first night was not repeated. She was always snug and dreaming before Gareth came to bed. Some nights he did not come at all. Once an entire week went by without his presence at Caerleon or in his bedchamber.
Rowena started awake one night, her heart heavy with nameless longing. She rubbed her cheek against the soft fur, but did not find the comfort she sought.
She tossed back the furs and padded to the window. The shutter creaked open at the touch of her fingertips, and pallid moonlight streamed into the chamber. A cool breeze poured over her. She shivered, knowing the wind blowing cool at Caerleon would soon blow cruel at Revelwood. The silver glaze of the moon burnished the cobblestones to the color of Little Freddie's hair. She lay her cheek against the shutter with a sigh.
Gareth's voice came out of the dark, as warm and intimate as a touch. "Are you saddened, Rowena?"
Rowena lifted her head. "I knew not that you were here, milord."
"Why do you sigh? You are well fed and warm and no longer have to toil from dawn to dusk."
"But I have no Irwin to tell me tales and no Little Freddie to comb my hair." The words came out more bitter than she intended. Gareth would think her an ungrateful wretch, but tonight she did not care.
Gareth rose from the bed, slipping his chausses over his naked form. Rowena turned her face to the night outside the window. He reached for the comb on the table, then paused. His callused fingers crept upward. He stared at his scarred nails. They seemed suddenly broad and common, unworthy of touching the silky mass at his fingertips. But he buried his fingers in the coarse softness of her hair anyway, drawing them downward in a gentle motion.
"You've grown wan and pale in the past fortnight. Do you pine for your betrothed?" His teasing tone masked the huskiness in his voice. He reached around and touched what he knew to be a cheek newly flushed with good health. Wetness bathed the back of his fingers.
He froze. Before he could command any semblance of restraint, his arms had slipped around Rowena's waist and pulled her against him.
Rowena stood barely breathing in Gareth's embrace. The cool wind flooding the chamber fled before the warmth of his hips pressed to her back. His head bent to hers. His lips touched her throat.
"You don't have to be lonely, Rowena," he whispered.
Rowena melted against him, letting his warmth envelop her in a cocoon of safety. His lips brushed her ear. She shuddered, his invitation a more compelling temptation than if he had made the choice for her.
See how he charms.
The words came from nowhere, an ugly whisper fraught with accusation. Rowena stared down at the arms circling her waist. The dark hair that furred them stood out stark and foreign against the whiteness of her bliaut.
A bitter knot tightened in her chest. She stiffened. She was no Lady Alise to warm a nobleman's bed for a night.
Her voice was an octave lower than normal. "And what price your company, milord?"
Gareth's arms dropped. He took a step backward and the wind blew very cold indeed.
Rowena bowed her head. "Could you not send me home?"
"I could. But I won't."
Rowena spun around. "Then send word to my papa that I am well. Not starved or"—she briefly dropped her gaze—"sorely abused. You have it within your power to ease my family's torment. Surely you could grant me such a small boon."
Gareth turned away from her, able to face anything but her pleas. 'Twould be far easier to deny her if she stamped her foot with petulant demand like the pampered bratling he had hoped to find. Little did she know his whole life these long weeks had been consumed with sending word to her father. Through malicious gossip spread among the villeins, an offhand remark to a neighboring lord, a casual leer in the village. Word of Rowena's captivity and brutality at his hands was spreading like wildfire through all of England. He was likely to bring down the wrath of King Edward himself before Lindsey Fordyce mustered enough courage to confront him. A part of him blanched before the stories he had spread, but another part of him recognized them for what they were—the product of his own dark fantasies.
Rowena touched his bare arm. "I beg you, milord…"
He recoiled as if she had wounded him. His fist came down on the table, shattering the shell comb. "Nay! If your father wants word of you, then let him come to me."
Words of anger died in Rowena's throat when she saw the fire that smoldered in Gareth's dark eyes, not yet banked. She could not hold his gaze, and her lashes swept down to veil her eyes. The door slammed with a mighty crash, and she was alone.
Gareth's shin slammed into an immovable wooden object. He bit off a curse that reverberated from the rafters.
"My, my," came Marlys's voice, low and taunting in the darkness. "Such curses in the presence of a lady."
Gareth's eyes adjusted to the dim light of a dying fire. Marlys had draped her stomach across a wooden lounge next to the door. Her feet swayed in childish rhythm.
"Show me a lady and I will beg forgiveness," he snarled, jerking on his gauntlets as he walked.
Since the door was the obvious goal of his ragged path, Marlys jumped up and sat down, pressing her shoulders to it. "Does your whore displease you so?"
Gareth halted before her. His brows drew together in a glare that would have sent most men cowering in fear. "Stand aside."
Marlys studied her ragged fingernails. "I think she does not displease you at all. But she does not please you, either."
Gareth caught Marlys's tunic in his hand. He lifted her until her nose touched his. "You may not know as much as you think you do, little sister." He dropped her as if she were a sack of apples and flung open the door.
"I know if that sweet morsel in your chamber was warming your bed, you would not be storming out of Caerleon at midnight."
Gareth stopped.
Marlys's tone lost its mocking edge, leaving it flat in the echoes of the hall. "Why, Gareth? She is only a pawn in your game. Surely her papa has had word of the golden-haired angel imprisoned in your bedchamber. Even the peasants whisper of it. Is that not what you wanted? Why not finish it and send her home?"
Gareth turned on his heel, his eyes darker than the midnight sky. "If I send her home raped and with child, what have I gained?"
"Revenge."
"Revenge on whom? Her? Me? Nay, Marlys. I want the truth more than I want revenge. And I am willing to wait for it."
Marlys reached for his hand, but he was gone, his shoulders hunched against the bitter wind.
Rosy dawn crept through the shutters. Rowena flung herself over and tossed away the furs. She lay still for a moment, feeling hot and vexed, then jerked the furs back up until only her nose protruded. She rolled to her side with a disgusted grunt and glared at the dust balls under Gareth's bed. She threw herself over again, slamming her eyes shut as the door to the chamber glided open.
Gareth's steps were heavy and stumbling. Rowena heard the solid thwack of a foot striking wood, followed by a slurred curse. Silence followed. She did not dare open her eyes. The smell of him wafted down to her—sweat and ale and the ridiculous scent of lilacs overlayed by an earthy tang she did not recognize. His footsteps moved away.
He fell to the bed without bothering to disrobe. Only when his even breathing filled the chamber did Rowena open her burning eyes. She dressed in silence and slipped out of the chamber.
Marlys was leaning against the post at the bottom of the stairs. Dark eyes gleamed from somewhere beneath her mop of hair. Without a word, she scooped up a helm and lance and tossed them to Rowena. Rowena caught them. They started into the chill dawn, pausing in the list to divide the steaming barley bread Marlys had stuffed in her pockets.
Marlys charged through the open door of Gareth's chamber. Her roar nearly sent Rowena tumbling out of her chair.
"He comes! He comes at last! I saw his flags from the north tower. May I ambush him? Please, say I can. Gareth, I beg you. Do let me give his pride a damnable whack!"
To demonstrate the whack she would give, Marlys slammed her mace on the table. The parchment Rowena had been studying split and rolled into two halves. Rowena reached for the torn parchment, only to have the precious paper flutter into the air and out the window on the chill draft Gareth invited when he pushed open the shutters.
Gareth swore under his breath.
Marlys joined him at the window. "By God, there he comes! Do let me ambush him. I know just the tree."
"He left us in peace longer than I thought he would," Gareth said. "The torture of his curiosity must have bested him."
Rowena stood on tiptoe behind them but could see nothing but the broad expanse of their shoulders. She elbowed her way under Marlys's arm only to have her cheek smashed against the shutter when Marlys turned.
"Why, look at his retinue! He must have brought half of England with him."
Gareth sighed. "The scoundrel is determined to see us civilized. He has never forgiven me for dismissing Father's knights. He makes no secret of his contempt for our country life."
Rowena dropped to her knees. Gareth glanced down at her with a lift of one eyebrow as she wiggled between his legs and knelt at his feet. She absently leaned her cheek against his hand, all of her attention captured by the spectacle rolling over the hills toward Caerleon.
The festive party flowed away from Ardendonne, dotting the barren landscape with splashes of purple and crimson. Chariots and hand-carried litters brightened the gray day with their gaiety. Prancing horses followed, decked in hangings of yellow and emerald satin tasseled in gold. Rowena breathed a sigh of awe, hearing in her mind the steady flapping of the pennons affixed to the litters, the snort of the magnificent steeds blowing clouds of fog into the chill air, the heady laughter of the ladies being coiffed in the litters.
"One good thump," Marlys pleaded. " 'Tis all I want to give him."
"Nay," Gareth replied.
"I shall free him after one whimper. I swear it."
"Nay," Gareth repeated.
Marlys's lip protruded through a tangle of hair.
Gareth wagged a finger at her. "I forbid it. Blaine hasn't the fondness for you that I have. He would welcome any excuse to poke his lance through your black little heart."
Marlys sniffed. "Blaine has been striving to poke his lance in me in one fashion or another ever since I disdained his suit."
"He might have forgiven you for disdaining his suit. 'Twas knocking him off his horse in front of his father that gained his disfavor. Sir Bryan had finally knighted him. He was a proud lad."
"A foolish lad to lay his lips on me."
Rowena shivered in excitement. Gareth glanced down at the golden head resting on his hand. Her eyes were misty, her lips parted in dreamy perusal of the color-splashed meadows. Gareth's hand tightened on the windowsill as he wondered what effect it would have on him if she ever looked at him that way.
Rowena felt the almost imperceptible movement. The wiry coil of hairs on the back of Gareth's hand pricked her smooth cheek. She shifted, suddenly conscious of the gentle pressure of his thighs against her shoulders. She lifted her gaze past the clinging folds of his hose, past the silver threads embroidered in the hem of his tunic, to meet his dark eyes. In the guise of a casual gesture, his fingertips stroked her cheek. A shiver that had nothing to do with Blaine's retinue lifted the tiny hairs on the back of her neck. Confusion flooded her in a wave of heat.