Knight of Her Heart (Conquering the Heart) Page 7

  “We will do well together, Lady Lisette,” he told her steadily over the cheers of the crowd.

  You don’t deserve him. Her conscience raged at her. He deserves a better woman to wife.

  ’Twas true. When they were alone she must be firm in her resolve to confess her transgression and brave enough to accept whatever castigation she must bear from her husband. She would throw herself upon the mercy of this gallant knight and pray that he mete out a punishment rather than handing her over to the church for her sins. At least Genevieve was out of danger from Lord Collins.

  Lisette could not, would not, deceive the Earl of Romsey when it came time for her to join her flesh with his.

  Chapter 5

  The instant Lord Rowan was out of his suit of armour, he led Stormbringer into a stall at Collins’ keep and dismissed the stable boy. Today he would unsaddle his own war horse and brush him down.

  The events of the last few days swirled around in Rowan’s brain like a whirlpool of muddied water. He needed time alone before he joined the planned wedding feast. Time to steady and clear those muddied waters, to let the silt settle and put things into perspective. He needed an opportunity to regroup and focus on the man he was, rather than the man he had been reduced to in the last few days.

  Humiliation churned in his gut and made rage pound through his bloodstream. That he—the king’s first knight, leader of men in warfare and victor over the enemy on the bloodiest of battlefields—had been drugged and held captive for three days and nights and...used...by a woman for...her pleasure?

  Only once before had he been overpowered and dishonoured. On that occasion he’d been but a youth expelled from his home. He’d vowed it would never happen again, but now it had. His recent humiliation at the hands of an unknown foe had brought back all the demons he’d tried so hard to exorcise. This time he hadn’t been a youth overpowered by soldiers at the bidding of a jealous brother. This time his mortification was greater for he’d been a knight abused by a woman. A mere woman!

  Cringing, he let his forehead fall forward to press against Stormbringer’s neck. The fearless battle-horse gave a slight whinny as though he sensed his knight’s distress and couldn’t understand the reason for it. Raising a hand to stroke the horse, Rowan wanted to receive comfort from the close connection he had with the beast as much as he wanted to reassure it that there was no imminent danger.

  “I was as helpless as a babe, boy,” he confessed to his horse. “The cowards must have put something in my ale for I remember being dizzy and having the innkeeper and his wife help me to my room. Then I passed out. When I came to my wrists were bound at either side of my body, up above my head. They bound my ankles too, so I lay spreadeagled on a bed of hay.”

  Stormbringer whinnied again, sounding indignant on his master’s behalf.

  “Don’t worry, boy. I will hunt them down and make them pay.” His frustration at his inability to defend himself against faceless enemies slashed him to the core. Defender of king and country had been rendered powerless. He’d expected the worst, but there’d been no interrogation, no beating, and no torture. Instead there’d been hushed footfalls and the soft feel of a woman’s hands at his breeches.

  What had happened next had been an exquisite form of torture that—had he been free—he would have welcomed and savoured. Not so when the events were out of his control. The wench had taken him in her mouth and aroused him most proficiently with her lips, her tongue and the divine strength of her suckling. He’d been driven almost to the limits of his control. Then she’d stopped and he’d endured another form of hell. His body had ached for completion even while his mind had shouted angrily at the injustice of the situation.

  Voices had whispered. Female voices. Two of them. But he hadn’t been able to make out what they’d said. Then, the fumbling attempts of a less experienced woman to mount him and take him into the sweet, tight recess between her thighs when she was obviously not ready to receive him. So tight. So dry. She’d cried out as she’d finally absorbed the full length of him.

  Without the benefit of his sight, robbed of the need to control the coupling, every physical sensation had been magnified. He thought he’d been aware of a membrane of resistance as she’d taken him in. If he wasn’t wrong, she’d been a maiden.

  None of it made sense.

  “That woman muttered things to me in apologetic, soothing tones, but her words were whispered so quietly I couldn’t make out much of what she said.”

  Stormbringer snorted and pawed the ground urging Rowan to release the girth strap, remove the saddle and saddle cloth and brush him down. Rowan was happy to oblige. Pleased to ground himself in the reality of the routine task after days of what must surely have been a bad dream.

  No man wanted to be held prisoner, powerless and at the complete mercy of an unknown captor, uncertain as to what would happen next. No knight would relish the thought of being so completely at any woman’s mercy. It didn’t matter that he had found his ultimate release in her tight body. ’Twas no consolation that he had eventually been released, nor that he had been well fed and generally cared for while he was there as her prisoner. A short, bitter laugh escaped at the memory that he had been fully drugged once again, returned to the inn and left with silver coin and food. Paid, like a whore, for services rendered!

  The innkeeper and his wife had been bemused by his sudden departure and reappearance. They’d told him he’d returned to the inn in the dead of night as mysteriously as he’d departed. They were evidently clueless as to what had transpired in those days he’d been captive and Rowan had no intention of telling a living soul what he’d endured.

  He’d been violated, yet he’d lied to the knights who’d accompanied him and told them he’d been occupied investigating Collins’ crimes the entire time. Hell would freeze over before he would tell anyone what had transpired.

  Resentment at the memories made his movements brisk as he fetched some hay for his horse.

  Damn the unknown women and the men who had bound him! He hated them. He hated even more that he couldn’t suppress the physical pleasure he’d known from the couplings.

  When his unknown rapist rode him, he’d resisted for as long as he could. Damn but her tight, satin sheath had been a perfect fit for his shaft, and the feel of her flesh around him seduced him until his body could resist no more. As surely as if he was under a sorcerer’s spell, his body had surged underneath hers, overridden his mind and done everything it could to reach completion. Hell’s teeth! Against his will he’d enjoyed the rhythmic ride. His physical release each time she’d ridden him had been cataclysmic. Each time had been better than the time before as his captor had mastered the rhythm of mating, leaving him in an agony of conflict between desire and resentment.

  “Mayhap ’twas more enjoyable physically because they kept me in a semi-drugged state,” he muttered. Semi-drugged but not to the point where his cock had failed to rise when his captor had demanded it.

  Everything during that time was a little foggy and he’d not had the strength to break free of his bindings. All the while he was captive he’d listened for clues, but the woman had not spoken to him again. He’d strained to hear any sounds that would help him to identify his captors or his location. No pieces of the puzzle had been forthcoming.

  He reached for a brush and began stroking Stormbringer methodically, enjoying the numbing rhythm of the task. Tightening his fingers around the brush he vowed to bring his captors to justice. Yet he knew not where to start. The only clue the innkeeper and his wife had provided was the mention that two unknown men had drunk at the inn the same night his kidnapping had occurred. Those two strangers may be the villains he sought but descriptions of them had been vague.

  There’d been little time to think on finding his captors and bringing them to justice. Once they’d freed him he’d only had days to complete his mission. His priority had been to investigate Aveline’s death and gather enough evidence against Lord Collins to proceed with
his arrest. He’d had to ride hard to meet up with the rest of the knights and prevent the marriage of Collins to Lady Lisette. Thankfully he’d made it just in time. ’Twas a relief to be able to bring his cousin’s killer to justice and save the innocent daughter of his former commander from marriage to a murderer.

  Lisette. His bride.

  A bride he hadn’t wanted.

  A fair maiden who surely deserved a more worthy husband.

  A pure maiden whom he was expected to bed this night.

  By the Holy Grail! He realised with a start that he had misgivings about this eve. ’Twas all due to the humiliation of having had his body used so thoroughly and repeatedly by his captor. Imprisonment and torture after being captured by one’s enemies in a fair fight would have been more bearable than the sexual degradation of being mounted and milked dry by an unknown enemy.

  Brushing Stormbringer more firmly, Rowan squared his shoulders. “I’m still the man I was before my captivity,” he told the destrier. “Had my captors the courage to seize me on a level playing field, they would have thought twice about challenging the king’s champion. Instead they thought they were capturing a peasant because of the disguise I adopted for my investigation.” Slapping his hand against his horse’s rump, he breathed out. “They will know me for who I am, boy, and they will be sorry for their crime. For now I must put this behind me and get through this night. Mayhap the bedding of the beautiful Lady Lisette and the experience of lying with my new bride will wash away the stain of that other bitch’s touch.”

  As physically satisfying as his captor’s touch had been, he needed to lose the taint of her. Making love to the maiden Lisette and being in control of the coupling, would surely do something toward restoring his sense of himself. It would surely help him to believe in himself as a man who was worthy of being called a warrior. A man no woman could best. Fortunately his bride was a woman who had already stirred his lust.

  “I did not want a bride, Stormbringer, but at least I have been given a beautiful, biddable maiden who will help me restore my sense of self. Despite the sin of my past, I will be a worthy husband for her.”

  The horse nuzzled him and answered—this time with a half-snort.

  Rowan closed the stall door, securing his war horse for the evening. “Once my duty is done this night and my manhood affirmed, we will ride together, find the villains who committed this crime against me and bring them to justice!”

  ***

  Several hours later, Lord Rowan regarded the metal trencher in front of him. The wedding feast of quail, capon, geese and fowl set before him by a serving wench, did not tempt his appetite. The woman sitting next to him on the raised dais did. It had been reassuring that his libido had stirred the moment he’d stepped into the great hall of Collins’ keep and seen the vision of beauty that was his bride.

  Yet restless energy still pulsed through him as he attempted to push memories of his captivity into the shadowy recesses of his brain. Those memories stung with the deadly poison of a scorpion’s tail.

  Beside him, his bride declined the servant’s offer of more wine. Her gentle but nervous manner resonated well with him. This genteel woman of noble birth represented all that was pure and innocent. She was the antithesis of all his lady captor had represented and as such she would be the salve to the wounded pride he carried—the antidote to the scorpion’s sting.

  “You were nervous at the wedding ceremony,” he addressed her.

  She jumped like a startled rabbit as he spoke.

  “You’ve no reason to fear me, my lady.”

  Slowly she lifted her head and he all but drowned in the depth of her troubled, blue gaze. “I do not fear you. I have heard naught but good accounts of you and your campaigns with King Henry in Normandy, Lord Romsey.” Her voice was clear and melodic. “I know you are a man of honour. You are the man who has saved me from a marriage that was most undesirable to me.”

  “That evil snake was responsible for my cousin’s death and that of Lady Catherine.”

  She regarded him with surprise. “Your cousin was Lady Aveline?”

  “Aye, and I am pleased to know her murderer will answer to the king for his crimes.” He shook his head in frustration. “I had no time to discover whether Collins was responsible for the deaths of his other brides. ’Tis more than likely he was. I am relieved to have saved you from a similar fate.”

  “I cannot express the depth of my relief nor my gratitude to you, my lord.” She dropped her eyes quickly and began to fidget with the edge of her trencher.

  “’Tis my duty as a knight to protect those who are unable to defend themselves.” And on countless occasions bar one shameful night, he had upheld that duty. Again, he forced the haunting memory of that particular eve aside and focussed upon his bride. She was a great beauty and despite not having wanted to marry, he was pleased to have been able to protect her from Collins.

  In certain situations in the past he’d been called upon to defend women. This time had somehow been different. In addition to upholding his knightly duty, there had been something more personal to his defence of Lisette. Mentally he shrugged the thought aside. Doubtless ’twas because of his friendship with her father and because he knew that she was destined to be his bride. Mayhap his reaction had also been stronger because, in light of his own capture these last few days, he was even more committed to helping those who were at a disadvantage. Standing beside her on the porch and exchanging vows, he’d felt her anxiety and wanted to soothe her. In truth he’d known a fierce need to protect her.

  “’Tis an honour to be defended by you, Lord Romsey,” she told him.

  He set down his wine and lifted her hand to his lips. “Yet you tremble like a leaf in the first chilly gust of Autumn.”

  Again she lowered her eyes.

  “Our marriage was decreed by the king, my lady. I trust that you will view it more favourably than your marriage to Lord Collins.”

  “The king has paid me a great honour.” Her eyes continued to avoid his. The second he released her fingers they moved restlessly to the stem of her goblet. “I cannot imagine why he thought me worthy of his first knight.”

  “Mayhap it had something to do with your father having saved Henry at the Battle of Shrewsbury?”

  Lisette’s head snapped up. “I did not know. Father never spoke of it.”

  “Your father was a noble, humble knight. He did not boast about his deeds, but ’twas he who protected Henry when the arrow hit his face. Your father was the knight who saw Henry safely to his father’s surgeon for the treatment which saved his life. Your father was the greatest knight I ever served under.”

  Her mouth had dropped open. “You knew my father?”

  He was deeply indebted to her father, but he would not confess that to Lisette. Although others may suspect the truth of what had happened one fateful night years ago, the truth of the incident that blotted Rowan’s soul had been known by only one other—Lisette’s father. The former Lord Blake had urged Rowan to put it from his mind and move forward with his life. “I was under your father’s command when I first gained my spurs. I had great admiration and respect for him. I am very sorry to learn of his death.”

  Sadness and loss were written in her face and her lips trembled. His eyes were drawn to the lush lips that had responded to his kiss at the front of the chapel despite being obviously untutored in the art of kissing. She’d stirred a thickening of his shaft at his loins. The sight of her mouth inflamed his lust and sent desire thrumming through him all over again.

  “He was a wonderful father,” she mumbled.

  “He was a wonderful leader,” Rowan replied, reaching for a leg of fowl and biting into it to divert his thoughts away from his bride’s emotional state. The muscles across his shoulders stiffened as Lisette sniffled. He’d never been particularly good at handling weeping women. His mother...

  He clamped his mind shut on that memory and grew restless.

  He needed this day to be over.
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  What he’d most wanted when he’d departed from France was to discover the truth about Aveline’s death, get this marriage over with and be on his way to Romsey Castle and closer to Baddesley—closer to his ultimate goal. Now...He needed—wanted—to bed Lady Lisette, find his captors and bring them to justice, then ride to Romsey and plot his revenge on his half-brother.

  “I trust the king will make Lord Collins pay for his crimes to his brides?” Lisette asked.

  “Aye. You can be sure of it,” Rowan told her. “Sweet Aveline’s spirit, and those of his other brides, can now rest easy. Collins will pay with his life for his crimes. The evidence I was able to collect is solid and indisputable.”

  Laughter erupted from the group of knights he’d travelled with from Normandy. They had joined the feast in the great hall of Collins’ Keep. Tomorrow a small party of them would escort Collins to the king.

  The room was filled with guests who had been invited to celebrate the wedding of Lord Collins to Lady Lisette. Instead they celebrated a different union, but were just as merry to be receiving such fine hospitality and rich fare.

  Lady Lisette of Bridlemere was now Lady Lisette, Countess of Romsey.

  Thanks to Henry’s decree, Rowan was charged with honouring and protecting her until they were parted by death. God help him, when he’d ridden in to prevent the wedding and she’d turned around on the stairs, it had been like he’d been struck by lightning. Something inside him had cracked wide open. Sizzling awareness of her had filled the gap.

  The Earl of Romsey raised his pewter goblet and drank some of the spicy, mulled wine. Amid the gaiety of the festivities, his mood was sombre. He regarded his wife. She had a womanly body promising pleasure. Her figure curved in all the right places, with full, high breasts and a slender waist. Lady Lisette also possessed an angel’s image with vivid blue eyes, and those sweet, lush red lips made for kissing. She was just what he needed to bury the emasculating memories from the last few days and make him feel whole once again.