Page 18 of Saxon Blade Norman Blood
“I asked you to my room to spare you Malemort’s advances,” he reminded her, running a hand through his hair.
“Don’t tell me you did not seek to take advantage of the fact I was in your room! You asked me to bare myself to you as soon as you walked in and would have taken me had your man not interrupted you.”
“Because I thought you wanted me to!” William barked, closer to explosion than ever. “Need I remind you that you were already lying in bed when I walked in, showing me your legs? Your intentions were clear, I would say.”
Now her cheeks raged with heat. Indeed, there had been no ambiguity in her gesture. “It was not to—”
“No. Of course, I had not realized then that all this was only a performance destined to get me killed once I was in your arms,” he snapped. “Now that I know just how adverse you are to my bedding you, however, I will not do so. It is not my style to take reluctant women, never has been, whatever else you think me capable of.” He gave her a long stare, daring her to doubt his word. “But Iwillkeep you close, so you will share my bed, unless you insist on spending your nights chained to the wall, in which case I would hate to deprive you of that pleasure. But I know which one I would prefer if I were you.”
She wavered at the intensity of the tirade but she could see that, though she had pushed him over the edge, his control was still in place. He spoke harshly but she did not feel physically threatened.
“No, I… Please. Not the chains,” she croaked. The thought was too dire to contemplate.
“As I thought.”
She exhaled in relief and could not stop herself from asking one final question. What truly frightened her was not being arrested for murder but being raped and she could not be sure that William would make any effort to resist the desire she provoked in him if they slept in the same bed. The idea terrified her.
“You swear you will not touch me?”
The question, or rather the hitch in her voice seemed to act like a bucket of cold ice over his boiling anger. His face softened, and he gave a sigh.
“Yes. I swear it,” he said more gently.
She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Could she believe him? He took two steps toward her, and this time she didn’t move. She let him walk all the way to her until he was within arms’ reach.
“I need to know who sent you and why, for my own protection, so I will not let you out of my sight, but I will not lay a finger on you. I will not deny that I find you a most alluring woman, whatever else you turn out to be, but you need not fear I will act dishonorably because of it.”
His voice was strained. Rowena saw how much the promise cost him, and oddly, that was what made her trust him. He wasn’t pretending he didn’t feel any desire for her, rather he seemed annoyed that he did.
“Thank you.” The words came out by themselves.
“And now I’m hungry,” he said slowly.
“H-hungry?” she stammered. The change of subject had thrown her.
“Yes, hungry. Don’t you know the meaning of this simple word? I need to eat is what I mean.” A smile made it clear he was amused by her reaction. He nodded at the tray of food the servant had brought earlier. “Fortunately, you left me some cheese and bread, though not much. I will finish this off if you don’t mind.”
He bit into the bread with appetite but even then, his gestures were more graceful than most men’s. This was what would best define William de la Falaise, she thought.
Refined.
Not rough or violent, but elegant and controlled. Everything about the life he led was luxurious, if not in an ostensible manner. The clothes he wore, the horses he rode, the food he ate. It was a far cry from the household her stepfather had kept.
She recalled his coarse language, his dirty hands, his poor table manners. Above all she remembered his appalling attitude toward everyone, his own wife included. Rowena had always wondered what her mother had seen in Godric the Redman. How could she have married such a man after being married to her father? It was difficult to imagine two more dissimilar men, both in appearance and behavior.
But her mother had seemed subjugated by her second husband, so much so that she had found it unimaginable to live without him. Rowena knew her desperate gesture had been dictated by her inability to envisage a life without Godric rather than a means to defend herself from the two men’s assault. After all, she could have stabbed them rather than herself. Such a gesture would have dampened their ardor and given her time to escape or call for help. Instead, she had plunged the blade into her own breast and asked her eighteen-year-old daughter to kill a man in his prime, a near impossible task.
“Are you ever going to tell me what your name is?” William asked, settling himself in a chair. His attitude reminded her of the previous evening when he had demanded that she touch herself. Her cheeks burned again, which he seemed to take for an admission of guilt. “I see. You don’t want to make it too easy for me to find out more about your master.”
If he thought she was doing it deliberately Rowena reasoned she might as well keep her identity a secret. It would not serve to give him more information than strictly necessary. She didn’t want him to make the link between her and Godric.Without knowing quite why, she felt more secure if he did not know much about her.
He stood. “Now tell me. This master of yours—does he enjoy your favors?”
Outrage made her gasp. How could he suppose she was that sort of woman? Before she could think on the wisdom of such an act, she lifted her arm. She never even touched him. He stopped her hand in mid-air and kept her wrist in a hold, the grip firm but not so much as to inflict pain.
“You are rather touchy,” he growled. “That was unnecessary, not to mention ill-advised.”
“I will not be taken for what I’m not. I’m not a whore!”
