Page 4 of Saxon Blade Norman Blood
As she allowed her gaze to wander about the well-appointed room, Rowena decided on her best course of action. The most difficult part of her plan had been achieved, and she was right where she needed to be, in William’s chamber, about to be alone with him.
What should she do now?
In a bold move she elected to lie on the bed. It would not be long before he came to find her. The banquet would be drawing to a close by now. Most of the guests, too drunk to leave the great hall, had already fallen asleep amongst sodden trenchers and empty pewter cups. Would William be drunk as well?
She doubted it. He had not seemed anywhere near as intoxicated as the other men. Her hand closed on the dagger’s hilt. Drunk or not, he would be dead before the night was out. As soon as he lay on top of her, she would plunge the blade into his back—before he could take her in truth. With a shudder she thought back to her mother preferring death to letting the two brutes defile her.
Well,shewouldn’t die. Rowena would survive this, at least long enough to fulfil her oath.
The best place to hide the dagger was under the fur covers, right by her head. That way she would draw it out easily once he had joined her in the bed. The thought of sticking a knife into someone’s body made her flesh crawl, but she forced herself not to linger on the thought. There was no other way. It was fitting that the weapon which had claimed her mother would serve to avenge her.
Heart thumping hard against her chest, she lay on her back, stroking the fur under her fingers to steady her nerves. It would look very bold to be in his bed, but she could not see any alternative. If William thought her wanton, it mattered little, his good opinion was not one she sought.
She let out a shaky breath and waited. A moment later, the door opened.
When he saw her stretched out on the covers, ready for him, William arched a brow. It was clear he had not expected to find her already in bed, but he did not seem displeased, quite the contrary.
After closing the door, he walked in lazily, when Rowena had imagined he would stride in with the swagger of a victor and lunge at her like the brute he was. Instead, he rubbed at his chin, making her shiver with what she was shocked to identify as admiration. What was she doing? Admiration was the last thing she should feel for the man!
He unbuckled his sword belt, and she steeled herself for what would follow.
“So. You understand my language.”
Rowena stilled. A woman was lying in his bed, ready for the taking, and that was all William had to say? She was so stunned, she could do nothing but nod.
“Do you speak it too?”
“Yes,” she croaked.
“Why is that? A few noble Saxon lords have thought it profitable to learn, but it is quite rare for a commoner to speak it.”
Rowena blinked. Was he questioning her linguistic abilities? She had to steer the conversation back onto more predictable ground, and fast. She wasn’t here to talk, she had to get him in bed next to her—and the dagger—before she lost her nerve.
“I could tell you all about my motives,” she said in what she hoped was a seductive voice. “Or we could do what I came here to do.”
For good measure, she lifted the hem of her gown high enough to reveal a glimpse of her thigh. The shameless gesture lit a devastating fire in the hazel eyes.
“I hadn’t meant to actually bed you when I intervened,” William murmured. “But if you want me, I will not deny you.”
She didn’t want him, no, but for her plan to proceed further she needed him in the bed, so she had no choice but to pretend.
“Yes. I want you.”
The words caused a surge of heat to blaze through her. Rowena realized with a jolt that the throbbing in her body could only be attributed to desire. She hated herself for this shocking reaction, but it was beyond her control, and besides, it served her purpose. The more desperate he thought she was for his touch, the better. By now she was so confused and tense, she just wanted the whole thing to be over.
Steeling herself, she hitched the hem of her gown higher.
*
When he had lied about her warming his bed, William had not expected the girl to want him. He’d thought she would understand he only meant to spare her from Hugues’s crude advances and accept his help. Then he thought back to the way she had swayed her hips in the banquet hall, and how she had raked him with her bold gaze. She had been as aware of him as he had been of her.
And now she wanted more.
If this was the case, he would be a fool to deny himself the pleasure of bedding her. She was still clothed but with her fiery tresses spread on the mattress she was a picture of sensual provocation. His groin tightened. Her legs were bent at the knees, one hand was resting on her stomach, and the other caressed the fur underneath her in invitation.
She was not smiling though, which he found odd. Perhaps she was worried he would find it too presumptuous of a servant to dare lie on his bed. No need. Presumptuous it might be, but it had the merit of making her wishes clear and alleviate his scruples. He had been right all along. She did want him.
And he would take her.
