 
# Claiming his Lady (A Medieval Romance)

### Norfolk Knights—Book 1

## Saskia Knight

### Contents

Copyright

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Afterword

Seducing his Lady

Also by Saskia Knight
**Claiming his Lady** by Saskia Knight

© 2013 Saskia Knight

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(previously published as _Claiming_ , book 1 of Gresham Chronicles)

**—Norfolk Knights—**

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Claiming his Lady (Novella)

Seducing his Lady (Novella)

Awakening his Lady (Novella)

Defending his Lady (Full-length novel)

Honoring his Lady (Full-length novel)

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You can sign up to Saskia's newsletter here (or via her website) for more information on book releases.

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For more information about this author visit:

www.saskiaknight.com

All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

# Dedication

To my beautiful sister, Lynda. There can be no other sister so loving, so selfless, or so kind. Love you to the moon and back, sis. xx

### Notes on Norfolk

Today, Norfolk is a quiet, rural county in eastern England, criss-crossed with narrow roads, golden fields, and full of tantalising reminders of a very different past. With over 659 medieval churches still standing, you can't help but reflect on a time when Norfolk was rich, heavily populated and a very different place to the one in which I grew up!

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To help you figure out where the books in the Norfolk Knights series are set, I've created the map below. The first three books featuring Rowena, Melisende, and Angelique are set in and around the medieval ports of Blakeney Haven and Cley, close to where I was raised. Book 4 onwards are set on the coast, near the rivers and Broads of east Norfolk.

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Wherever I live, Norfolk will always be my home and I'm happy that I can share a little of my love for it with you through the stories of the three Gresham sisters, and the de Vere family.

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Happy reading!

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Saskia

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# Prologue

_Norfolk, England 1206_

Lady Angelique Gresham closed her eyes and fell back on the soft grass, relishing the heat of the summer sun on her eyelids and the sensuous tickle of wildflowers against her ankles. "What a perfect day," she sighed. "If only it would last forever."

Lady Melisende Gresham gazed thoughtfully across the lush river valley to the castle, so solid and prosperous, and watched as the pennant flying atop the battlements snapped and fluttered briefly before changing direction. "Nothing lasts, Angel. You will be married soon, as will Rowena."

Lady Rowena Gresham, who paced restlessly as she cast a knowing eye at the crops in a neighbouring field, took one last bite of her apple and threw the core at Melisende, hitting her squarely on the back. "Hush, Melly, I was happy until you said that. I'll never marry, unlike Angel, lying there grinning like a fool while she dreams of a certain knight. And unlike you, marrying God." She folded her arms and looked upon the castle with a proprietorial air. "I will live here at Gresham, will run the castle, just as father does. And will live happily ever after."

"'Tis that simple?" Angelique's grin broadened at the sight of Rowena's supremely confident stance, and turned into laughter as she met Melisende's answering smile. But Rowena didn't laugh, just looked out at the line of darkness that lay on the northern horizon. Melisende was right. A change was coming...

# Chapter 1

_Gresham Castle, Norfolk, England, 1207_

Lady Rowena Gresham rode alone, ahead of her men as usual, along the well-worn bridle path that led to Gresham Castle. The crop of barley she'd been inspecting barely moved under the hot summer sun, but it wasn't the bright light that made her eyes burn.

She swallowed hard, trying to keep at bay the knot of grief that would not release its grip. Her beloved father was dead and she doubted the pain of his loss would ever leave. She'd held him in her arms and watched him slip away from her, hour by hour, minute by minute, until his hands had gone limp in hers.

If that wasn't enough she'd now been summonsed back to her own castle, by the High Sheriff of Norfolk and Suffolk no less. His name sent a frisson of fear through her body. There had been no word from her father's liege lord, and now the sheriff had arrived, unannounced. It did not bode well.

She urged her horse to the top of the ridge that overlooked the fertile river valley in which her castle lay, and reined him in sharply. Below her dozens of strangers swarmed around the castle bailey, disrupting the usual ebb and flow of people going about their business. The sheriff was not alone.

She frowned as the fear that had nagged in her head moved lower, gripping her gut. She spurred her horse into a gallop. The estate was _hers_ , _hers_. _Hers_ , she repeated again and again in time to the beat of her heart and the pounding of her stallion's hooves on the dry ground.

Rowena strode into the Great Hall, shadowy after the bright sunlight, followed closely by two greyhounds who loped subserviently behind her. Her attention was immediately focused on the two men who stood by the light of the great window—one was the sheriff, the other a priest. _Why, in God's name, had the sheriff brought a priest with him?_

"Sir William!" She beckoned to a servant to bring her wine. "I would offer you refreshment but I see you are both already enjoying my best Bordeaux. I hope it is to your liking?"

"Excellent, my lady." He glanced over her shoulder and then back to her, his expression hard, unreadable. "Please accept my condolences on the death of your father. He was a good man."

She shrugged. Of all the things her father could be called, "good" wasn't one of them. He was strong, brave and could outwit his wiliest enemy, but he hadn't been "good". But she wasn't going to argue the point with strangers. "Thank you. Please, be seated." She accepted a goblet of wine from one of her servants and dropped down into a chair with a confidence she didn't feel.

She took a sip of the wine and carefully placed it on the table as her mind raced, trying to gain their measure. Despite her quickened heart beat, she sat back, laced her fingers together and held them before her as she focused intently on the men, waiting for them to crumple like men usually did before the "Gresham stare". She had inherited it from her father. Just like her personality, just like the estate.

"So, to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?" She refused to call it a summons.

The grizzled-haired sheriff rubbed his lips in silent consideration, as his eyes narrowed against her insolence.

"You are like your father, my lady, inclined to the point."

"You compliment me, sir."

"No, my lady, I do not. However under the present circumstances such directness is useful. 'Twill save me time."

Rowena bit her lip. She'd angered him. It would not be wise to anger such a powerful man. She took a deep breath. "And these circumstances...?"

"Your father, my lady, was a wise man."

She nodded, feeling a slight lessening of the tension. Sir William was correct this time. "Indeed."

"And his estates have always been prosperous."

"He worked hard to make them so. We both did."

"Yes," Sir William looked at her with a cool, disapproving gaze. "I have heard of your unusual interest in the estate." His lips curled into a smile that sent a chill down her back. She shivered and one of the dogs leaned against her legs, sensing something was amiss. "You will no doubt be pleased to know you no longer have to run the estate alone."

Rowena gasped as if winded and bit her lip as she tried to hide her reaction to his words. She reached down to the dog and petted it, giving herself time to try to understand, try to cover her confusion.

"I know not what you mean, sir." She tried to form a smile as she looked up at Sir William, but she feared it hadn't worked because he was not smiling back at her.

"I mean, Lady Rowena, that your father's estate has now been settled and I'm here to advise you of this."

Rowena gripped the arm of the chair for strength, willing the fear and anger that raged inside not to emerge. "Settled? It is already settled. With due respect, my Lord, my father's wishes for the estate have been well known by everyone concerned for years. He has divided it between his three daughters, with Gresham Castle and its surrounding estates being my share."

Sir William did not reply immediately but a sly glimmer of a smile rested briefly on his lips before he took a sip of his wine, his steely gaze all the while focused on her. He was playing her. The bastard was making her suffer. But she would not show weakness before him. She reached across for her wine and took a small sip, replacing the goblet with the same deliberate control. She brought her hands loosely together and raised an eyebrow in query.

"Your liege lord has charged me with informing you that he agrees to your father's wishes. Your sisters do indeed inherit their portions as you say. But this estate? No. Your esteemed father has passed you over in favour of Sir Saher de Bohun. Sir Saher is now lord of Gresham Castle and its estates."

She didn't move a muscle. It was as if ice, crushed and made liquid, had been poured into her body. It felt an age she sat there as dismay, fear, and anger raged inside her.

It was only when Sir William finished his wine and gave her a smug smile that she rose and smiled back. She knew she smiled because she felt her lips curl. But she felt no smile within, only sickness.

"No. You must be mistaken. My father would never have done such a thing. Now, if you've quite finished I have business to attend. I have no time to listen to such tales." She turned to go, clicking her fingers to summon the dogs to her side.

"These are no tales, my lady." The unfamiliar deep voice echoed around the large space. She snapped her head around, searching the shadows for its owner.

"Who's there?"

He stepped forward from behind a screen, until his outline was illuminated by a halo of orange firelight. He looked like the devil himself.

"Lady Rowena," Sir William's voice had a smug tone which didn't go undetected. "Allow me to introduce Sir Saher de Bohun, Lord of Gresham. He is a relative of your father's."

Anger broke the chill. She looked him up and down. "Of course he is. It's surprising how many relatives emerge when a wealthy man dies."

Sir Saher came close to her, too close, but she refused to back away. Despite her own good height, he was at least a foot taller than her and broader built than any Gresham man. His skin was browned by the sun, his muscles hard and his eyes and jaw harder still. "Quite a performance, Lady Rowena. I'm impressed."

"Impressed? I have no need, nor wish, to impress you." She turned back to Sir William. "Who will vouch that he is who he says he is?"

"None other than your liege lord, the Earl of Norfolk, Lady Rowena, and the King himself. There is no doubt. Sir Saher has been on the King's business these past few years and is now here on his own business. Sir Saher is lord and master of Gresham Castle and its estates. And _that_ , my lady, is fact. Your liege lord anticipated you might be... unaccepting, shall we say, and requested that I ensure the peaceful handover. And now that has been accomplished, we will take your leave."

"There will be no peaceful handover. There will be no handover at all. The land is mine."

Saher raised an eyebrow and his hard grey eyes—the colour of flint—sparked with amusement. "You exceed your reputation, lady. I'd heard that you are your father's daughter, but I had imagined some softening of his character."

"You imagined wrong. You'll not be taking my place as head of this estate. _I_ am in charge and always will be. I suggest you leave immediately."

The smiled broadened, the lines around his eyes crinkling into an intensely irritating smile. "Now why would I do that, when I've only just arrived? Be seated, lady, and listen."

"I do not take orders from anyone, sir. Least of all in my own Hall."

"Priest," Sir William interrupted. "Pass Lady Rowena the scroll. Let her see with her own eyes her father's wishes and those of the Earl and King, and have done with this nonsense."

The priest, who'd been nervously holding a scroll in his ink-stained hands, unrolled it and passed it to her. "It says—"

She snatched it from him. "I can read." She scanned the parchment, confusion building with each passing word. She stopped abruptly when she saw her father's distinctive signature. It was his hand. Betrayal, sickening and lurid, filled her stomach. She turned slowly to this man, this stranger, this barbarian, and took the document and tore it in half. The rending of the precious scroll shocked the observers into silence. She looked from one to the other of them. "This is what I think of the document. Whatever my father did, or did not do, I own the estate and I run the estate. And as to the rest, it will never happen."

The tall stranger clapped his hands slowly. "Brave, but foolish words. We have other copies of the document." He came towards her, towering over her, trying to intimidate her but she refused to move. "And it _will_ happen."

"You seem to forget to whom you speak, sir."

"I know exactly to whom I speak. I would not mistake the woman whose father left his entire estate—including her—to me.

"What?"

"Yes. Your father not only left me his land, manors and castles. He left me _you_. We are to be married, my lady."

# Chapter 2

Rowena pressed her hand to her side, trying to stem the pain and panic that swamped her. She could hardly believe it—after all these years of being her father's closest daughter, to have worked and lived alongside him, for him to then betray her in this manner? They must be wrong.

"You are mad, sir."

He huffed quietly as if the idea amused him. "No. Despite a life that at times has driven me close to it, I am not mad." He beckoned to the priest. "Certainly sane enough to ensure that the highest authority in the county," he nodded respectfully to Sir William, "witnesses our betrothal ceremony."

It was too much. She paced away from the fire, and looked out the unshuttered window to the busy bailey. Sir Saher's men were everywhere, commandeering stables, her own people doing as they were bid as if she'd already lost control. She gritted her teeth—she had to fight for this. She turned to him, her hands seeking out the hard, cold stone to stop herself from showing weakness. "You speak of marriage, of being my father's heir, yet I have no knowledge of your existence before now."

"Your knowledge, my lady," interjected the sheriff curtly, "is not important."

Rowena ignored the sheriff's comment and continued to look accusingly at the man who was to be her husband. "It is to me." The sheriff huffed angrily and paced away.

"'Tis fitting for Lady Rowena to know." Saher answered smoothly. "My lady mother was a cousin of your father's."

"No doubt he had many cousins. Why you?"

"I fought with him in France. We got to know each other well and he spoke of you often. He wanted you to stay on this land, to be safe on this land."

She turned away then, as she felt the pain shoot through her body and come to rest in her head, pressing against her skull. She closed her eyes tight. Her father knew her. He knew that the land was the most important thing to her. Nothing else. She'd always been her father's favourite child, but he'd betrayed her. Her mind raced to comprehend the choices available to her. There were only two—she could either stay on the lands she loved and marry this man, or she could leave. But she refused to leave destitute, with no options. No. She had to keep her cool, had to think.

She took a long deep breath and turned back to the men.

"Let me get this straight. My father has bequeathed the estate to you, providing you will marry me. And the King agrees to this ridiculous arrangement. What if I decline?"

"I will still inherit the estate and you will have nothing."

The truth of his words slammed into her gut. "You cannot want to marry me."

"I wish to have heirs. You are as good as anyone else."

"Charming."

"I'm not known for my charm."

"I'm not surprised. I dare say you are _not_ known for many things."

He came around her then and flicked away some barley seeds that had caught in a strand of hair that had escaped her coif. "Do not try to insult me, lady. For one thing, I am immune to insults, and for another, it gives you a distinct unladylike quality."

She slapped his hand away. "I care nought for your opinion. There is only one man whose opinion I regarded"—she turned away—"and he is now dead."

She sensed him behind her. "You really believed you would inherit the estate, didn't you?" His tone was softer now.

"Of course. It was always understood that that was what would happen."

"He told you this?"

"He..." She couldn't continue because as her memory roamed back and forth over the years she'd spent time with her beloved father, those words had never passed his lips. "He made it known."

"But not through words. My lady, he could never have left you this land. If he loved you, he would never have left you undefended. These are troubled times, no one and nothing is safe, least of all an estate as wealthy as this one."

"I could have defended it." Rowena was annoyed to hear her voice catch.

"You, with your great knowledge of defence and warfare?"

She turned to him then, her eyes glinting with unshed tears and barely suppressed rage. "I know my castle, I know my land, I know my people. _That_ is enough."

"Your father knew it wasn't and entrusted me with the care of the castle and of you. Besides, even if he had been of a mind to leave it all to you, his liege lord would never have let such a prize be awarded without his involvement. Upon your father's death, you became his responsibility. You must have known this."

She tried to speak but couldn't for he spoke the truth.

"You knew it, but found it convenient to forget it, to believe otherwise."

"I know my liege lord. He would have been content enough to carry on collecting the revenue from our lands. He knew I could continue to produce it. He obviously changed his mind. You, sir, changed it for him. How much did you have to pay to make him agree?"

"Enough."

She closed her eyes, trying desperately to regain control of her life, of her thoughts... But she opened her eyes and the man still loomed tall over her, dominating her. But, beneath it all, her sense of betrayal ground into the pit of her stomach, undermining everything. "How did you know my father? How did you make him do such a thing to me?"

She saw a flicker of reaction in his grey eyes that warmed and swept his features as if he was, himself, frustrated. He turned to the sheriff. "Sir William. Lady Rowena accepts the terms of the will, as do I." He turned back to her. "Don't you?"

She nodded stiffly.

"I have a financial settlement drafted if you care to look at it."

"I care all right." She took the document and read through it. If he should die she'd be well cared for—the dower package was generous. She looked up at him and nodded. "'Tis satisfactory."

"Good. Sir William, I would have the betrothal ceremony witnessed before you leave." He glanced at Rowena. "So everyone will know the Lady Rowena has consented, that our marriage will be legal... once consummated." He reached for her hand but she stepped away, putting both hands behind her back. He shrugged. "I take you as my wife. Do you wish to take me as your husband?"

Rowena tried to speak but her mouth was dry with shock. She took a deep breath and swallowed, holding her head high. "If I have to."

"If you wish to stay here, you do."

"Then I will take you as my husband."

He took her right hand and this time she didn't withdraw it. She had no alternative but to suffer his large, calloused hand wrapping around, and dwarfing, hers. He looked at her sharply, obviously aware of the tremor in her hand. "I take you as my wife, for better or worse, to have and to hold until the end of my life and of this I give you my faith." He bent toward her. "Come, lady, say the words and it will be over."

Then he squeezed her hand, his thumb sweeping over the back of her hand in a gesture of compassion that startled her. She gazed up into his eyes and knew she had no option but to continue. "I take you as my husband, to have and to hold until the end of my life and of this..." Her voice cracked and she cleared her throat. "I give you my faith."

He dropped her hand, taking away his warmth and careless gesture, bringing her back to reality. "Good." He turned to Sir William. "Thank you, Sir William, for your help in this matter.

"You are most welcome, my lord, and congratulations on your good fortune. As to the marriage, there will be no need to issue bans, or for a ceremony at the church door. It is sufficient that we have witnessed it on behalf of the King. No-one dare gainsay it. All you have to do now, sir, to complete the deal, is to consummate it." He glanced at Rowena and returned an amused look back to Saher. "Good luck with that."

Saher ignored the innuendo. "Are you sure you don't wish to stay for more refreshment?"

"I must return to Norwich. I wish you well in your new endeavours." He turned to Rowena. "My lady, I wish you well, also. No matter what you think, your father sought the best for you. I suggest you make the best of it."

Rowena nodded coolly. "I intend to, sir."

Sir William gave a pointed glance at Sir Saher. "Good luck, sir, I think you're going to need it."

She walked away from them, hoping that Sir Saher would leave also. She poured herself more wine and sipped it with her back to the door. Suddenly there was silence. She waited, her ears acute, listening for the slightest sound, hoping against hope that she was now alone. But then she heard his footfall approach her. She closed her eyes once more.

"I made your father do nothing, my lady. I spent many months with him five years ago, in France. He was a tough man with a hard heart. He did nothing on a whim. He knew me well, knew what I sought, and believed I could be of use to him. And of use to you."

"And what is it that you seek?"

"Lands, a wife, children."

She pressed her hand flat against her chest, trying to come to terms, now, with the idea of lying with this stranger. It was unthinkable. She'd lain with a man years before and had had her heart broken. She'd vowed then and there to never allow herself to be vulnerable again, to allow the needs of her body to lead her to destruction. She'd fought off any suitors, much to her father's amusement. And he'd let her. All the while knowing that he planned her marriage after his death. It had been _convenient_ for him to have the attentions of the daughter with whom he was closest. That was all.

She took a deep breath. "Well, you have the first two on your list. Do you care to make a start on the last item? The solar is empty. You could throw me over your shoulder and take me to bed, now. No-one would know. In fact, forget the bed, pull up my robe now and be done with it."

He sighed, strode up to her and gripped her arms. His fingers dug into her skin but she refused to look away from him, or to flinch. He dipped his head to hers. "Now, _that_ is an idea." His breath was unexpectedly warm and pleasant against her cheek and sent a ripple of sensation across her skin that travelled beyond where his breath touched her. She widened her eyes, suddenly alarmed, suddenly out of her depth, suddenly aware that he'd noticed her reaction. His lips upturned into a slow smile as he swept a finger along her jaw line. "I was wrong. Your softness isn't in your heart—there, you are like your father—it is in your body. You think you don't want me, you believe you are impervious to men—you are mistaken."

She didn't move. She _couldn't_ move. Her whole body was held in thrall by the stray touch of his hand on her face. It was as if his touch delved deep into her body, like the last quivering note of a lute, designed to transport the heart to a different place. Then he withdrew his touch and the magic was broken. She stepped away, feeling as if she'd drunk too much of the Bordeaux.

"I think... I think, I should know my own _mind_ , my own _heart_ , my own _body_."

"Aye, but you don't." His finger insolently stole round her neck and she gasped. "Do you? Look at how the blush creeps up your neck and fills your cheeks. At how your breath quickens and the indentation in your neck flutters." He shifted his hand up until it rested on a hollow and she felt the quickened movement under his fingertips. "Just here. You are not immune to me in the least. You want me. And you shall have me."

She brought her arm up and pushed his away. "I will not. Go, sir. Go now. Leave me at once."

"I will not be leaving here, my lady. Didn't you hear Sir William? I just need to bed you and we will be married."

"Then we shall never be married because I will not sleep with you. I will never lie with you, never have your children."

"Listen here, lady. We _will_ live together, we _will_ sleep together and everyone _will_ believe we have lain together. It will be enough for others. But for me? No. I will not leave you until I've bedded you."

"You would not force yourself on me?"

"I won't have to. I've plenty of experience with women. I know an aroused woman when I see one. I know the look of a woman whose eyes explore the lips of a man she wishes to kiss and whose thoughts stray to a man's body, wondering and wanting."

She swallowed and forced a low laugh. "I'm sure you would believe every woman wishes to bed you. However, in my case, your knowledge has proved faulty. I would sooner bed an adder; I would sooner lie in the filth of an animal's pen; I would sooner kiss a leper."

He smiled. "I knew this wouldn't be easy, but, by the Lord, I had no idea it would be such entertainment."

Before she could reply, he'd slipped his hand around her head and pressed his lips against hers in a kiss designed to dominate. But his breathing quickened, his lips moved as though he wanted to explore hers, and a groan of pleasure, ran through his body, under her hands that were pressed against his chest, ready to push him away. Ready... but not pushing.

For one long moment neither of them moved. Then a shout from outside brought them both to their senses. She raised her hands from his unyielding chest and slapped his face.

"How dare you, sir." She stepped away, horrified at his response... and hers.

"I dare many things, my lady wife. But I'm not in the habit of pressing myself on women who don't want me. It won't happen again." He turned away, and walked to the door where he hesitated and turned once more to her. "Until you instigate it yourself, that is."

"Then it will never happen," she spat out.

The door slammed shut on her. And she was glad that he was no longer there to witness the vivid colour that had spread over her cheeks, the shaking hand that she pressed against her hot lips, and the panting breath that refused to subside.

She staggered back into a chair and put her head in her hands. What was happening to her? In one afternoon, she'd had that which she valued most—her home—taken from her, and that which she feared the most—the passionate nature she'd inherited from her mother, revealed to her. It couldn't be. It _mustn't_ be. She refused to succumb to such a passion. It had been her mother's undoing. It would _not_ be hers.

# Chapter 3

Rowena scowled as she looked around the hall from her position at the raised table, and skewered another piece of meat from her trencher.

She'd been over and over her predicament in her mind, trying to find a way to rid herself of this man, to reclaim her lands and herself. But there was none. Sir Saher not only inherited her father's estate legally, but he also held it in fact. His men were fighters, hers were farmers and there was no-one willing to gainsay either the Earl of Norfolk or the King, no-one to defend her lands or herself. Her father's "friends" hadn't answered her urgent request for help, no doubt preferring to have Saher as their protector rather than a weak woman.

She was no match for him. She could leave. But where would she go, on her own, without money? She would have nothing. To one of the suitors she'd rejected in the past? Even if she could get one of the few who remained unmarried to marry her, and persuade them to fight for what was rightfully hers, she'd be no better off than she was now.

She refreshed her goblet and sat back in the chair with a sigh. She could go and join Melisende and her aunt, the Abbess, at Blakesmere Priory. It wasn't a life she wanted for herself but she'd go if she had to, and take her money with her. Her aunt and sister were the only people she could trust with her money. It would be safe there.

Rowena glanced at Saher who was questioning her steward on the estate's accounts. She hoped her steward had done as she'd instructed and hidden well the money which was hers—and would stay hers—alone. She had to bite her lip to stop herself from interrupting. It would only make it appear she had something to hide, which she had. Silver—which she was due to collect from the Flemish merchant, with whom her father had secret business, on the morrow. Some called such business smuggling, but in these times of heavy taxes, her father had called it prudent. It would be enough to buy her a future with the Priory should she ever need it. She just needed Saher gone so she could collect the casks of coin from the merchant and deliver them safely to the Priory. But how to rid herself of this unwanted husband who'd made himself so at ease in her own castle?

Saher turned and dipped his head to her ear, so he could be heard over the raucous laughter and noise in the Hall. "You are looking thoughtful, my lady. Considering what names to call our children?"

She wanted to ignore him but he was too provoking. "'Tis blasphemous, sir, to suggest I could bear a child without having done the necessary deed to produce it. You liken me to a lady to whom no mortal could aspire."

His laugh was loud and filled the Great Hall. "Least of all you. The Blessed Virgin would be the last person I would liken you to."

She looked around quickly. "Hush, 'tis rowdy talk."

He leaned forward. "And you don't like rowdy talk?"

"'Tis not appropriate only days after my father's burial."

He placed his goblet thoughtfully onto the table. "Ah yes, your father. His sudden passing must have been a shock to you."

Rowena glanced at his face but found him to be serious and turned away sharply, narrowing her eyes as if she was looking for someone, trying to cover the swell of mixed emotions his words evoked.

She cleared her throat. "Indeed. I had imagined he would live a long life. But 'twas not to be."

She felt his eyes suddenly upon her and wondered for a moment if he could detect the pain that gave a slight tremor to her words. But he couldn't have done, for he looked away just as quickly.

"You were his great companion, I understand."

She hesitated before she spoke, as her mind turned back to her beloved father. "Yes, we enjoyed each other's company. I gave him due respect and love and he gave me free rein around the estate and castle." She bit her lip as she felt the pain in her heart that her father's passing had left. She cleared her throat and blinked. "The fire is exceptionally smoky tonight." She signalled to an attendant to add more wood. Although it was summer, the nights were chill and the Hall was large.

"Free rein? I think not. While he was alive to watch over you, you had your _supposed_ freedom. But he knew, full well, that you and the estates needed protection after his death. And you must have known, too, that your father would choose a husband for you."

She shook her head. "He tried once or twice, of course, but I refused." She shrugged. "I have no interest in men."

"Now _that_ , I do not believe. Maybe you were put off men for one reason or another, but I do not believe you had no interest." His eyes narrowed. "You have passion in your eyes. I can feel it, I can see it. What went wrong?"

How could he have guessed so accurately? A vision of the young man who had stolen her heart and her virginity flashed into her mind. She'd been fifteen—too young, too impetuous and too easily fooled by a few flirtatious words and flattery. Another woman—older and wealthier than she—had beckoned to him and he'd gone. Sold to the highest bidder. She'd decided there and then that she would never again fall prey to the appetites of her body, appetites that had also been her mother's downfall.

She shrugged in what she hoped was a casual manner. "My past is none of your business."

"True. But I'd always found understanding people helped greatly in everything I do."

"Everything? You are a mercenary, are you not? So understanding people helped you to murder them?"

" _Was_ a mercenary."

"You still are sir. You've sold your services to the highest bidder, as before. My lord father must have thought it a great joke, to match me up with you." She didn't even try to keep the bitterness out of her voice.

"He knew that I could guard and protect you and his lands like no other man could."

"Strange form of protection—gifting my life to a stranger."

"Better than gifting to you a life of certain defeat and ignominy."

She placed her wine goblet carefully on the table, trying not to spill the ruby liquid, trying not to reveal the fact that she feared he spoke the truth. "Nothing is certain, my lord. Not defeat, not ignominy. Only death."

"Come now. You are too young and beautiful to contemplate death."

She glanced at the rapidly reducing wine flagon. "The wine is obviously addling your eyes and brains. I am too old to be considered young."

"You consider twenty-one years of age, old?"

"You know it is. All my friends were married by the time they were eighteen, or earlier. And, as to your other point, I have too healthy a complexion and body to be considered beautiful."

His eyes travelled leisurely down her curves. She met his gaze with a narrowed one of her own. "I see nought to complain about."

She leaned toward him, as if to speak confidentially. "How ill you are at the gentle art of wooing, my lord. Because, even to me, unused to such talk, 'nought to complain about' is seldom used to flatter a lady."

"Indeed, you have me there." Even under the intermittent flicker of the torchlight, Rowena could see the unmistakable flare of interest in his eyes. Eyes that had grown darker with each passing moment. "While I hardly think I need to woo my wife, all this talk of beauty makes me think that you desire me to court you."

"That's..." she spluttered, "that's utterly ridiculous. I have no wish to be courted."

"Just bedded and married then?"

"Certainly no wish for either of these."

"The last of these has been accomplished but I can add in some wooing if it sweetens the idea of being bedded. You are obviously acquainted with the art of wooing for you to criticize my efforts—"

"Not at all—"

"Tell me, what words should I be using?"

"I have no interest in such matters. You purposely misunderstand."

"Your protestations simply convince me further of my rightness."

"So... if I speak, you disbelieve me, and if I say nothing, I cannot defend myself."

" _That_ is about the sum of it."

"Then I shall save myself the bother of conversing." Rowena rose. "I'll bid you goodnight, sir. Do not even think to disturb me."

"You seem to forget, lady, that we share the same solar."

"You touch me and—"

"You would enjoy it, believe me."

"You would not force me?"

"You're right. I would not. I never have, and I never will, force a woman into my bed—the thought is abhorrent to me. But I will lie close to you, watching you, but not touching you. And then there's tomorrow. Tomorrow, 'twill be different." He looked at her thoughtfully. "Tomorrow we will begin our courtship."

A thrill of excitement shot through her, as she remembered his lips against hers. She couldn't risk being close to him, couldn't risk being weakened by lust. "Surely you have better things to do."

"Aye. I have. We can inspect the estates together. Tomorrow, show me the estate's business at the port. Seduce me with your words of business and I'll seduce you with my words of love."

"You're wasting your time. Instead of seduction you should be about your business."

"As of today, seduction is my business. And I'm going nowhere until you come to me willingly." The noise she uttered made him laugh. "Go to bed, sweetheart, gather your strength. You'll be needing it."

Rowena gritted her teeth at his arrogance but did not reply. She didn't trust herself. Instead she walked away without a backward glance, calling to her maid who was laughingly fighting off the attentions of one of Saher's men.

It certainly wasn't the heat of the fire that enflamed her cheeks and her body now, but anger at finding her freedom curtailed. Nothing else. Certainly nothing to do with the hot lick of desire his touch, his words and his eyes had sparked. Certainly nothing to do with the knowledge that there was clearly only one way to get him to leave the castle—to allow herself to be seduced by him.

# Chapter 4

"'Tis too dark to see in this small room, my lady," Birghiva muttered as she opened the shutters to let in what little light there was, before returning to fuss over Rowena's hair.

Rowena's gaze was immediately drawn to the faint outline of the deserted tower on top of the hill, barely visible in the pre-dawn light. Despite her dread of the place and the memories it held for her, her gaze was inevitably drawn to it, a constant reminder of what could happen to a woman.

"Turn to me, my lady, I cannot dress your hair if you insist on twisting around."

"Keep your voice down, Birghiva. I don't want Sir Saher awakened."

"You look tired, my lady," she whispered.

Rowena knew the question Birghiva wanted to ask, but she wasn't of a mind to answer it. Let people think what they wished. For, if people thought she hadn't lain with Saher, that they weren't properly married, then it could be the worse for her—Saher could expel her from the castle on any grounds whatsoever. She sighed. "So would you be."

Birghiva raised an amused eyebrow. She wasn't to know that the cause of Rowena's tiredness was the fact she'd lain awake all night watching the man who was her husband. At least he'd taken the hint and slept on the pallet she'd placed on the floor for him. She felt as if she'd lain the whole night watching the course of the moon track across the room, illuminating his body, his hair, the rise and fall of his chest. The light brought form to his face, form to her fate. She supposed she must have dozed as some point but she'd been awake and arisen before him. And she wanted to be away on her business before him. He might want time together. But she most certainly did not. She had a merchant to meet and illicit funds to receive, neither of which she wanted the king's man to witness.

"There," Birghiva patted Rowena's hair and stepped away. "That should do it."

Rowena fastened the silver clasp of her cloak around her, glad of the cloak's warmth in the chill of the summer morning. "Your cloak, Birghiva. Come, we mustn't delay."

Birghiva swiftly obeyed. "Aye." She swept it around her shoulders. "Although why you don't wait for Sir Saher, I don't know."

"Because I don't wish to be with him. He may be my husband but he is not, and never will be, my keeper."

She took one last look out the window at the jagged edged tower—a symbol of everything she feared—and silently pushed open the door and slipped past the solar where Saher lay.

Rowena looked up from the clerk's figures with satisfaction. They accounted for the goods currently being loaded onto her ship—a fine cog, bigger than the others that were tied up beside it at the quay. A line of men carried the cargo aboard—grain, hides and wool destined for Germany—that made her estates so profitable. She inhaled the unique port smell of salt air, rank mud and the fragrant food from the nearby Inn and stalls that lined the road. She glanced at the sun. It would soon be time for her meeting with the Flemish merchant to arrange the next shipment and collect payment on the last. She was relieved she'd managed to evade Sir Saher. He would ask awkward questions, questions she couldn't answer honestly, not if she wanted an escape route.

"Good morning, my lady."

Rowena jumped at the whispered greeting, close to her ear, and blushed, as if caught red-handed, wondering if her thoughts hadn't somehow summoned him to her. She recovered quickly and gave him a cool stare which seemed to amuse him.

"Sir Saher! I did not expect to see you here." She was suddenly nervous, aware of what her father's reaction to her disobedience would have been. But, strangely, his expression was not one of anger.

"And I didn't expect to be here, my lady, I assure you. What I expected was to break my fast in a leisurely fashion and to be shown around the estates by my wife and steward. Not chase around the countryside after my wife."

"It just shows that life seldom gives us what we expect. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have business to attend."

She turned away and walked along the wooden planks placed on top of the mud for the men loading the cargo. She'd hoped he'd take the not-so-subtle hint and leave, but he fell into step beside her.

"Excellent idea. I'll join you and you can show me the Gresham holdings while I am here. Let's not make it a total waste of a morning." Her heart sank. How was she going to lose Sir Saher before she met up with the merchant? "This vessel is very fine," he indicated the large cog before them.

"The finest." She stopped walking and looked up at the ship proudly. "It can sail all around Cape Skagen to get to the Baltic, with no ill effect. And the fore and stern castles, which you see we've added, are the best defence against pirates. Our trade with the Baltic and Germany is flourishing because of it. The merchants will take as much grain as we can produce."

"Excellent. I can see the estate's business is in good hands."

She turned to him in surprise. "You would leave it to me, sir?" She could barely hope that such a man as this would allow his wife any authority.

She jumped as he reached out and took her hands in his. "These hands are capable, I've no doubt, but do not think I allow you complete control over the estate's affairs, for I do not. I will be looking through the accounts later today and I expect you to inform me of all I need to know." She wanted to pull back her hands from his but she was frozen, aware only of the gentle way he held her, and of its effect on her. She swallowed and held his gaze, waiting with a heightened sense of anticipation to see what he would do next. He smiled. "Now, lead on, show me the Gresham warehouse I've heard so much about."

She did as he bid, not least so she didn't have to look into those dark grey eyes that seemed to see directly into the heart of her. She shook her head in a vain attempt to rid it of the confusion brought about by his touch and words, and stopped beside open warehouse doors from which a stream of men laden with cargo emerged.

"The Gresham warehouse. We keep the goods here until the cog has returned. My father employed learned men to advise on its construction and the goods therefore keep well and are sought-after because of it. We keep a mix of..." She blushed, suddenly realizing she was getting carried away with her enthusiasm for the subject. She waved her arm. "I'm talking too much, I'm sure you're not interested. Few people are. But it's what has made us prosperous in bad times."

A smile flickered on his lips, as though he found her passion amusing. "Impressive," but he was looking at her. "A fighter and a businesswoman."

"My father taught me to take care of business. He taught me to look out for myself, to not trust others."

"These are good lessons. But you know, Lady Rowena, he trusted _me_ with his most beloved possession. Should you not also?"

There was a heavy pause and she couldn't prevent herself from frowning as the truth of his words hit home. She'd loved her father, despite his many faults. Not least of which was the imprisonment of her mother, a woman whose unbalanced and passionate nature had been her downfall. But he had always been mistrustful of people, except obviously, of this man. Should she trust him?

She only knew it was too soon, she knew him too little. Besides it wasn't in men's _words_ that she could trust—she knew _that_ through experience—it was in their actions.

"You must have business of your own, sir. I am merely meeting a merchant to discuss a further shipment." She waved her hand in what she hoped was an airy, unconcerned fashion. "'Tis nothing important, too small to interest you."

"Believe me, my lady. I am very interested in all your business." He narrowed his eyes. "And I doubt very much 'tis 'small.'"

Rowena turned away, and drew in a sharp, anxious breath, and walked into the shadowy interior of the warehouse where she knew the merchant secretly awaited her.

She walked past the barrels and pallets, most of which contained grain bound for Germany, but still others with goods bound for Iceland and the Baltic countries. She hoped the smell of the dried fish awaiting despatch to various English ports would put Saher off but no, his footsteps followed her, echoing on the dusty wooden floors.

She indicated to her steward, who was looking nervously on, to do something.

"Sir Saher!" he called. "Last night you mentioned your interest in the French wine we are importing. Do you care for a taste of our most recent imports? 'Tis the best."

Saher looked from Rowena, to her steward and then back to Rowena again. "It seems, my lady, your men are loyal. I'll go now. But I'll return in a few moments."

As soon as Saher had walked out into the bright sunshine, Rowena moved quickly to the rear door where she was met by the merchant. Accustomed to transacting their business discreetly and swiftly, the negotiations were soon complete. He'd indicated which casks, amongst the many, contained the coins and now all Rowena had to do was somehow remove them securely from here and deposit them at the Priory. Her hopes for the future depended on it.

Within moments the merchant had stepped towards the door but hadn't reached it when she heard the steward's voice rising in warning. She turned as Saher bore down on her. He tried to look over her shoulder and there was nothing else for it—she knew the merchant had yet to leave the warehouse—and she grabbed Saher's hand and clasped it tight between her own. He turned sharply towards her.

"My lady? What is the matter?"

"The matter?" Rowena's mind raced as she tried to think of something, anything, that would prevent him from discovering the merchant, so obviously Flemish, so obviously flouting the law. "I... I've been thinking about what you said... about," she cleared her throat, "us..."

Concern was replaced by suspicion. "Us?"

A quick glance over his shoulder revealed the merchant frozen into inaction, unwilling to open the door and be revealed in the sudden blast of daylight. She had to do something and something fast. Without thinking further she stood on tip-toes and pressed her lips to Saher's.

She closed her eyes as his lips instantly responded with a pressure of their own, claiming her mouth with a sensuous caress that sent shivers of desire through her body. Neither moved for shocked moments, simply focused on the pressure of their lips against each others, in a kiss which held the rest of the world at bay. The raucous shouts and cries of the town outside the warehouse faded away; the pungent smells of the warehouse were replaced by the fresh outdoors smell of Saher's skin. The rough texture of his woollen cloak over which her hands had curled, was more dominant in her mind than the casks of coin beside which they stood.

She may have taken the initiative, but it was he who now took control. With a sharp intake of breath, he drew her body tight against his, his hands fanning around her waist, back and lower. At the same time, his lips explored hers as if savouring the sweetest delicacy. She felt his low rumble of pleasure against her mouth, intensifying the breathless tension that coiled deep inside of her.

The kiss must have lasted moments only, but when he pulled away from her and caressed her cheek briefly with his hand, she could have sworn more than seconds had past. She felt different. Her hands continued to hold on to him, as if wanting to prolong the connection that seemed to penetrate deeper than their skin.

"Interesting," he murmured. "Very interesting."

He stepped away and her hands fell, almost reluctantly by her sides. She took a deep breath, trying to quiet her breathing but she felt weak and gripped the edge of a barrel for support. "Interesting," she repeated raggedly. It wasn't an adequate word for what had just passed between them but it was surely a safe one. She tried to regain her focus, tried to think, but nothing made sense apart from an overwhelming need to have those same lips, that same body, pressed tight against hers once more.

It was only when she heard the calls of the porters outside the warehouse that she dragged in a deep breath of pungent stale air and remembered where she was, remembered the contents of the heavy cask upon which her hand rested. The weight of freedom.

She glanced over his shoulder, the merchant had disappeared. "And now," she cleared her throat to try to make her voice less husky. "I think we'd better return to the castle."

"Indeed." He glanced at her briefly, frowning as if he was also trying to understand what had just passed between them.

She, too, was trying to understand. It was a kiss, yes, but nothing like the few she'd experienced before. Not even like the kiss he'd given her the day before. _That_ had been all about domination. But this kiss? It didn't dominate and destroy, it created sensations that consumed all thought.

He cleared his throat and looked out through the open doors of the warehouse to the light and busy street beyond, as if searching to ground himself in reality again. "Although I can't say I've not enjoyed this... interlude, but your steward is waiting patiently for us to taste the wine and then, afterwards, I would like you to show me the estate."

She brought the cloak tightly around her and stepped hesitantly forward from behind the huge barrels that had sheltered them from view. "Of course."

She walked beside him to her steward who'd poured out three goblets of the latest import of wine from France and accepted one of them. She glanced up at Saher, suddenly shy, but he stood with the brightness of the open door behind him and she couldn't see the expression on his face. She glanced away and sipped her wine. Leaving him discussing the wine with her steward, she walked outside, needing to be grounded in the reality of the world.

She watched the plodding horses pull their heavy loads through the muddy street, the cluster of men—merchants and free workers alike—sup ale at the alehouse across the road, and the women call to their neighbours from the doorways of their tiny cottages that tumbled down the hill from the church, around the green, following the road to the quayside.

This was the real world, she chided herself. Where survival was difficult and vigilance was required. Not that other one she'd briefly experienced within the warehouse. That had been but a kiss. Only a kiss. To lose her wits because of it would surely be fatal. She couldn't be weak, as her mother had been. Her passion had led to her banishment from the castle, her banishment from her children and ultimate confinement to the tower. She glanced up at the tower that was visible for miles around. _That_ had been her mother's fate. It would not be hers.

"My lady?" She turned to see Saher holding their horses. "Come. I would see what else lies in store for me. This day is proving more interesting than I had imagined."

Rowena's glanced at the casks that represented her freedom, checked that the extra guards she and her steward had ordered were in place and then nodded coolly in agreement to Saher. "Of course."

# Chapter 5

Saher's gaze swept the crowded hall where wine and ale flowed and the best of food was available for all. The minstrels sang, the lights were bright and, for the first time in many a long year, he felt content. At last, his own castle and estate. He'd imagined he'd have felt easier. And he would have done if it hadn't been for Rowena's displeasure. Such marriages were made every day. If it had not been him, it would have been someone else, someone like Angelique's husband. On their ride home, Rowena had told him about her sisters, about her youngest, Melisende, at Blakesmere Priory, and about Angelique, forced into marriage to a man she despised and whom Rowena believed to be cruel. The thought of a man mistreating a woman made his blood boil and he took a soothing drink of wine and sat back, watching Rowena stretch across the table to reach her goblet.

He marvelled at the fact that most of the day's pleasure had been gleaned not from the estates, which were impressive, but from this woman. He watched as her sleeve fell back revealing an arm tanned on top, with a pale, delicate underside. The combination of the brown skin of her hands and arms, so disliked by noblewomen, with the white skin, so tender and vulnerable, did something to him. The tanned skin showed a strength and individuality that he admired. He hated weakness in anyone and had seen immediately that Rowena was a strong woman, a woman who could hold his attention and his desire. Then there was the delicacy of her pale, hidden skin, hinting at a vulnerability he longed to explore. He could only imagine how her passionate nature and bold mind would move that lush body once she'd discovered the joys he could bring to her. He hardened at the thought. And she was his for the taking anyway. Not that he would. He had the castle and its lands secure, and he would make his wife totally his, not by taking, but by giving. That was the way with women. And that was the way with him. He'd not lied to her about his aversion to force when it came to women.

She shifted in her chair and he admired the long curve of her thigh. She said something that was hard to hear above the music and laughter in the hall and he shifted closer, until his thigh was pressed against hers. She stilled to begin with but didn't shift. The blush that rose through her body hardened him further as he imagined the effect on her breasts—full and heavy—just as he liked them.

She turned to him suddenly, her jaw lifted, its line strong and uncompromising in the flickering light. Her brown eyes flashed. She was a force to be reckoned with all right but he'd never been interested in meekness, not in animals, nor in women. She was like no other woman he'd ever wanted before, but he had to restrain himself, take her slowly, seduce her little by little. But, on second thoughts, maybe a little playful touching would not go amiss.

"I know not of what you are thinking, my lord, to make your hand stay, unwelcome on my thigh, or for your eyes to be so dark and penetrating."

"You are possibly better off not knowing."

"Is it so bad then?"

"No worse than any of my men who are enjoying themselves with your women."

"Yes." She looked around. "And my women seem not to dislike the attention."

"And why would they?" He clicked his fingers and the musicians began a number for dancing. Couples jumped up and began to form a circle.

"You dance, my lady?"

"No, I do not. My priest—thank the Lord he is not in attendance—would never allow it. Says it leads to unclean kissing."

He laughed. "I think all kissing is unclean to the church. But we are not at church and I'm all for dancing and kissing. Come." He stood and grabbed her hand. "I will show you how to dance."

People laughed to see the usually non-festive lady of the castle escorted, obviously unwillingly, onto the floor. She threw him a quick nervous glance and took hold of his outstretched hand, before turning and accepting the hand of the knight who stood to her left. People rushed to remove the trestle tables to give the dancers space, and they were soon shuffling, skipping and jumping in a circle as everyone joined the minstrels in singing the ronde.

Rowena tried to pull away from Saher's hand but he held it too firmly. He smiled to himself as he watched her try to retain her dignity and follow the other dancers. It didn't take long before he noticed a change in her. Slowly the pounding of the drum began to filter through the vibrations on the rush-strewn floor up into her body. He still gripped her hand, urging her to follow the dictates of her body, and she did—her movements becoming more fluid as she allowed only the rhythm of the drum and the harmony of the voices to enter her mind.

The ronde turned into another and another and still the dancers whirled, slowly slipping their hands away from the circle until only pairs of dancers twirled each other around, hair flying as clothing slipped out of place. When the music finally ceased, the Hall was wild with people hugging, laughing and singing. So no-one noticed when he led her out of the hall, toward the back chamber where they could have some privacy. She was out of breath and laughing as he slipped his arms around her waist and lifted her up against him. The laughing stilled as they both became aware of their bodies pressed against each others. Slowly he allowed her to slip down his body, until her feet were once more on the floor. He'd felt every slight movement of her rounded breasts against his chest, her sex against his before her stomach rested against his sex, arousing him further.

Beyond the chamber the music continued, growing more ribald. He shifted his hands so his thumbs could sweep the undersides of her breasts and lift them slightly. She gasped and he looked down at the thin muslin that barely covered them. Her nipples were just visible, as rosy as her lips, their points tight and hard.

She pulled away. "Enough, sir. We will be missed." She readjusted her gown and looked around.

"I very much doubt it. Listen, 'tis a night for merriment and... loving." So much for going slowly. He couldn't resist her.

She looked back at him then and he saw the tension in her eyes. She was as aroused as he was, but scared still. He placed his hands either side of her face and drew her close to him. He half-expected her to pull away but she didn't. He could see from her opened lips, her quickened breath and dark eyes that she wanted him. "Tell me when to stop, my lady, for I want to give you only what you wish to receive."

He hesitated but she made no sound, seemingly caught in a haze of expectation. He couldn't resist her softly plumped lips—parted and inviting—and he dipped his head to hers and kissed her. To his surprise she didn't stand immobile, but moved her mouth against his, while allowing his hands to caress her lush curves.

His whole body leaped at the meeting of their mouths and bodies, as if it'd come to life. It was like nothing he'd felt before. This was no barely satisfactory coupling, no fumbling desire to ease an itch. He could swear her passionate spirit was focused in her lips, communicating its strength and urgency to him, sparking into life a corresponding intensity and passion he thought had been subdued through the years of fighting and bloodshed. She breathed life into his darkness. And he wanted more.

He hadn't intended for this to be anything but a kiss, an indication to her of what was to come. But he couldn't stop himself from deepening the kiss. And she kissed him back with a wild abandon he'd sensed within her from the first. She pressed her body to his and opened her mouth wider to allow his tongue to explore hers. His hands slid down her back, caressing her shoulders, the sharp incline into the small of her back, and down further, onto the curves from which he'd been unable to take his eyes every time she turned her back to him. They were as luscious as he'd imagined. He spanned his fingers until they covered and tucked underneath those curves, drawing her into him.

She moaned under the ministrations of his hands, his tongue, his lips and without thinking, he lifted her and she slid her legs around his hips. She trembled in his arms—this strong warrior woman was vulnerable and needy for him. He groaned as his body heated and hardened under the knowledge of her surrender and his need for her—raw and unadulterated. He moved her back until she was pressed against the cold, flint wall, and ground his sex against hers. His lips sunk then to her neck, kissing and nipping as he went. Then the moon shifted from behind a cloud and showered its silvery light on the countryside, illuminating Rowena in its beams. She opened her eyes and looked out through the unshuttered window and froze. He drew back and followed her gaze out to the moon that illuminated the high ridge with its solitary tower that overlooked the castle, down to the fields that surrounded it. He turned to her once more, his heart was thumping, his mind and body narrowed to one purpose—possessing her.

She jammed her hands between their bodies and let her legs slide to the floor. She shook her head against his chest. He drew in a deep breath and let his hands fall.

"No, I can't, I don't want this," she said, shaking her head again and pursing her lips as if unable to say anything further. She looked up at him only briefly before picking up her skirts and running up the winding steps that led to her solar.

He hesitated a moment, trying to regain control over his body, trying to understand how such a passionate person as Rowena could have stopped the natural progression of their love-making. He didn't understand but, by God, he was going to. He followed her up the stairs.

The door was closed and he knocked. There was no answer so he pushed it open. "Rowena?"

She turned from the window where she was standing before the open shutters. She looked younger than her years, and vulnerable. "I thought..."

He stepped inside and closed the door. "You thought I would burst in on you whether you wished it or not? No, my lady, I don't do that. If you tell me to go, I will go. Do you?" She didn't answer but he saw the shake of her head in the moonlight. He went and stood behind her. "What is the matter, Rowena? Tell me what haunts you? What is it you're so afraid of?"

He put his hands gently on her shoulders and followed her line of vision, out beyond the shutters to the tower that stood atop the hill. It would have been used as a beacon in years past, but now it was a near ruin.

"I'm scared, Saher."

"You, scared? I don't believe you're afraid of anything."

"Oh, but I am."

"Tell me."

"I'm afraid of being claimed, being owned, and then," she turned away from the window to face him. "Of being abandoned. You must go... please." She placed her hands on his shoulders. He lifted her face to the moonlight and kissed her gently on the lips.

"I'll go, but you have no reason to fear being abandoned. Why would I? How could I? You are my wife. What is it really you afear? Is it that I'll turn into a brute like your sister's husband?"

She shook her head and looked out over the land, now flooded with moonlight, out to the broken-turreted tower. He followed her gaze. What was it that drew her attention so?

"Please go." Her voice was so uncharacteristically soft, so low, so plaintive that he could not bring himself to voice any words of objection.

Slowly, he thought to himself. He was meant to seduce her slowly. But his lust for her body had overridden his sense. He stepped away. "I don't know what you're hiding, Rowena, what fear that lies deep in your soul, but I will find it, I will eradicate it and I will claim you, heart and soul and body, to be mine."

"To do with as you wish?" Bitterness and fear edged her tone.

"To do with, as _you_ wish. Not me. Because, believe me, you will want everything I have to offer. I can feel it on your skin, can hear it in your soft breath, as it pants into my ear, wanting me."

He walked away, down the corridor, down the narrow spiral stairs, back in to the heat and noise of the Hall. He settled himself by the fire with a goblet of wine and imagined Rowena, disrobing and lying on the fur throw in the moonlight, and of the things she'd beg him to do to her.

* * *

Rowena waited for Saher to return to their shared solar, awake and cursing the day that Saher had set foot inside the castle. It was a warm night and she could not sleep. The image of the tower haunted her. Captivity—it was the one thing she'd always feared, always thought her father would keep her safe from. And yet, he'd known all along he was condemning her to it. And yet she'd fallen a willing victim to Saher's clever hands, to his lips and tongue. He was well versed in the art of love and he was using all his charm and skill to bed her. Heat throbbed inside, pushing out to skin that bloomed with a sheen of perspiration. Her breathing quickened and she lay on her side, her hand slipping down over her stomach, cupping her sex that ached and throbbed. She slid up her gown and circled her quim with her finger. It was wet. She hesitated, knowing it was a sin to do as she did. But when did she ever do what was right? She slid her finger inside a small way and gasped, pressing that part of herself that needed to be touched into the heel of her hand. She shifted rhythmically against it, her eyelids fluttering as she dwelt on the memory of Saher's tongue inside her mouth, his hands slipping around her bottom, his lips on her neck. She plunged more deeply inside of herself and the breath was torn from her as she felt strange tension inside her body, coiling and a sudden release as she spasmed around her finger. She gasped, again and again, pressing her hand against her mouth, while her other hand continued with its ministrations. Then it was over and she rolled onto her back, throwing off the covers until the soft summer breeze could run over her naked legs and breasts. She groaned and imagined Saher there, looking at her, wanting her.

Then he entered the solar but didn't come to her bed. He lay down on the pallet, with his hands behind his head and appeared to fall asleep instantly.

She could have cried. She'd always imagined she was strong but she was as weak as the next woman. She'd have been able to resist if only she could keep her distance. If she'd not known the magic his lips and hands and hard body could create, then she might have been able to continue as she was, separate, alone... safe.

# Chapter 6

It was early morning and Rowena would normally have enjoyed the ride through the beech forest. Saher rode beside her and their men behind. It was still in the forest, the only sound being the softened tread of their horses' hooves on the thick carpet of twigs and bracken on the forest floor, and the birdsong and rustling leaves of the majestic beech trees above them. But it was not still in her mind which constantly worried about the fortune hidden in casks in her warehouse. The warehouse was under constant guard—day and night—but it wouldn't be long before suspicions were roused. It had to be moved soon. But it could not be moved while Saher was glued to her side.

"Are you sure you can spare the time to go hawking, sir? Shouldn't you be in Norwich, on business?"

"I will go when I'm ready. I intend to claim the attentions of my wife before I leave here."

"And what do you think I will do if you leave me 'unclaimed'? Raise an army? Bar the door?"

"I'm sure you're capable of all of those things." He leaned over and grabbed the reins of her horse, pulling her towards him until their legs were pressed against each other. "But I know how to bring you to my side. I know we will be good together. I just need to convince you of this matter."

"By seducing me?"

"I can think of no more effective way. And, no way more suiting to my desire."

She yanked the reins back into her hands and urged her horse on, shooting him an arch look. "So... interesting, if I wish you away, I need to sleep with you."

He frowned. "Admit it, you do not wish me away. You enjoy our talk, our touches, our kisses."

She refused to look at him, to give him the satisfaction of knowing he was correct. "I certainly do _not_ admit it. But you have given me a quandary. I have no liking for the presence of a husband watching my every move. I have no liking to share my control of the estate and, contrary to what you may think, I have no liking to be bedded. And yet you will not leave me in peace until you have bedded me."

"So, 'tis easily solved. Come, we should return at once to the castle solar. There I can do the task at hand."

Her lips threatened to curve into a smile at the combined look of humour and lust in his eyes. She bit her lip, trying to compose her face into a haughty expression. She feared she did not succeed. "Sir, it would not be proper."

"And you are so proper, my lady." He grinned, smacked her horse on the backside and they both galloped off to where his men were waiting with the hawks.

* * *

Rowena followed the course of the tawny-plumed falcon as it soared into the sunshine until the brightness made her eyes water and she had to look away. Saher stood, hands on hips, watching the bird he'd just released enjoy its new-found freedom. But, she realized, he stood with the confidence and knowledge that he might have set him free, but that the bird would return.

They watched him swoop and soar in sheer joy before suddenly plummeting down to earth and returning to Saher's outstretched hand, with prey in its beak.

"He's young, this one. Smaller than the female." Saher took away the prey and tossed it into a bag.

Rowena watched, mesmerized as Saher calmed the young falcon, who was skittish with excitement at the kill, smoothing his ruffled feathers until he positively preened to his touch. Then, he slipped on the hood and the bird relaxed under its comfort.

"Try this one." Saher beckoned to a squire who presented Rowena with a female falcon, much larger than the male, who lifted her head proudly once the hood had been removed and looked around serenely, as if it not much mattered whether she was hooded or not.

"She is beautiful."

"And she knows it. Is she too heavy?"

She was heavy but Rowena would never admit it. She lifted her higher, straining her muscles. "No, I can manage. I'm used to doing more than embroidering pretty pictures."

Saher reached over and ran his fingers along the long muscle of her arm. She closed her eyes briefly as if she, too, were the female falcon, responding to her master's touch. Then she turned away and let loose the bird. This bird rose higher than the male, and did not swoop with delight but flew with a focus and surety which entranced Rowena.

"Your birds are well trained, sir."

His eyes searched her face with an insolent expression. "I make sure of it."

She turned away suddenly, torn by her arousal and fearful at what his words implied.

* * *

The hours slipped by, judging by the lowering of the sun in the sky and the sacks full of rabbits and other small prey that would supplement the castle's kitchen.

The last bird returned to the gloved hand of the man they knew instinctively to be their master—Saher, who now held Rowena's full attention. His strength, control and command of the birds had impressed Rowena, despite herself and now that the shadows were lengthening she allowed herself to admire him—his long dark hair pushed away from a face of chiseled cheekbones and strong lines. She watched in a daze, feeling as languid as the hot afternoon, as he quieted the bird. He whispered words that made the bird shiver and sink into his feathers before passing him to one of his men.

She should speak, she should mount her horse and return to the castle. But she did neither of these things. Instead, the daze lingered and her eyes dropped to his lips when he turned to her. She turned away immediately but not before he'd smiled a private smile that created a low, fluttering tension deep within. She walked over to her horse and fiddled with the reins as she remembered how his hard cock had pressed against her belly the previous night, imagining it in place of her fingers, seeking out her damp heat. Hot colour flushed her cheeks.

What was she waiting for? If she truly wanted him gone—at least for a while—then she knew how to effect it.

"Are you ready to return, my lady?" She jumped around startled, not realizing he was so close.

She opened her mouth to speak but it felt parched, dry. She licked her lips and swallowed, her eyes seeking his mouth once more, which was now curled into a sensuous smile. "Dismiss the servants."

# Chapter 7

He cocked his head to one side in surprise and then shouted a few words at the men who promptly took the birds and left the clearing. They were quite alone.

"And what, lady, do you have in mind?"

"Something that may as well be done in the fields, with the animals, among the flowers." She looked around. There was not a soul to be seen. The clearing in the woods glowed in the late summer sunshine, its grasses interspersed with the wildflowers—from the yellow of Mary's Bedstraw, to the vivid blue of the Mary's Slipper. She sighed and sat amongst the flowers. "It's beautiful here."

He sat beside her and plucked some of the pale yellow flowers and brought them up to her face. He gently pushed away her hood and one by one joined them together until they wove through her hair. "Summer... a time for lovers. It's ever been that way."

Gone was the stranger who wanted to rob her of her inheritance. In his place was a man whose dark eyes were hot with desire. She reached out to touch his cheek with tentative fingers and he caught her hand with his, turning it against his lips and kissing the palm of her hand.

Her heart beat till she thought it would pound out of her chest. His lips against her palm felt daring and intimate, yet it didn't warn her off, merely made her want more. She rose on her knees to him and brought her face to his. He smiled, knowing what she wanted and closed the distance by slipping his hand behind her head and bringing her to him.

Any lingering thought of resistance, of her plan to make him leave, of the morrow, vanished under the passion his lips incited. As the kiss deepened—their mouths opening and their tongues tangling—her body was shot through with a need so urgent she could hardly breathe. He thrust his fingers through her hair, loosening it, tossing her hood to the sweet-scented ground. His lips moved down from her mouth, and, breathless, she arched back, exposing her throat to his mouth and her chest to his lips.

He thrust down her gown, exposing her full white breasts, their cherry red tips tight as buds. His smile was short-lived as he moved his mouth first to one nipple—flicked it with his tongue and then sucked hard—and then the other. She gasped at the exquisite pleasure that consumed her and closed her eyes, her breathing coming fast as her body became overwhelmed with sensation.

He pulled away and stroked her face. "You are beautiful, my lady." He put his arms around her and they rolled to the ground as one, the scented grasses crushing beneath their bodies as they lay on their sides. He kissed her and she surrendered to the mindless bliss of sensation that his lips, his tongue and his hands created in every part of her body.

Then he moved, eased himself away from her and his head blocked out the sun, casting her into shadow, revealing the tower on the hill that dominated everything. At the same moment she felt his rigid cock straining at his hose, against her.

She froze.

He pulled away. "What is the matter? You look as if you've seen a ghost."

She shivered. "I cannot, Saher, I cannot do this." She struggled up to sitting and covered her face with her hands, whether for shame, embarrassment or fear, she couldn't have said.

"And what is it exactly you cannot do? I think your response has proven to both of us that your body is ready for mine, that you can enjoy our coupling more than many. He knelt behind her and gripped her hips, bringing her to lie with her head against his chest. "You want me and you shall have me." He kissed the top of her head but she shook it and stood up, swaying unsteadily.

"No, Saher."

To her chagrin, he simply smiled as if she'd not said a word. "Look at you." He rose and ran his fingers over her nipples, visible through her flower-laced hair that had spilled around her semi-naked body. He laughed. "You look like some ancient dryad, some siren of the land, about to seduce a man, to suck a man dry."

She frowned at his words, recalling her mother's intemperate passions and also her own first lover, who preferred a meeker love to her own. She awkwardly tried to pull on her robe once more, to cover her nakedness. "You see me as some unholy demon of a woman? Someone to be feared?"

It was his turn to frown. "Feared? Why would you think that?" He helped her adjust her clothing for her, tucking in her chemise and gown and smoothing it under her bliaut.

She shrugged. "Because..." Should she admit that her one and only lover had found her passion too overwhelming and had left her because of it?

"Rowena. Tell me, what do you know of sex?"

"I know of sex. I have lain with a man before." She looked up at him with a defensiveness that made him laugh.

"Indeed? I am not shocked, my lady, although no doubt I should be. I guessed as much. For someone as passionate as yourself, there must be a reason you have sworn off men. It's simple. You must have chosen poorly to have been disappointed." He lifted her chin. "I will not disappoint, nor will I leave. Lay down, my lady and listen."

The replies began to form in her head, only to die on her lips. She lay down, curled on her side and watched him sit opposite, idly pick a flower and tickle her hand with it. "So, sir, what tale will you tell me?"

"No tale, my lady, but a description of my intent. First, I would explore your body." He smiled, a slow smile that heated her stomach. She smiled back. "I wouldn't be able to move past your breasts for some time for they are indeed, perfect, and there is much to be admired. With my fingers, with my lips, with my tongue."

She shivered and clenched herself inside but her eyes didn't stray from his. "Go on."

"I'd lave my tongue against that cherry red nipple until it grew tight under my caresses. Then I'd take your breast into my mouth, and suckle until you feel like you're going to explode. You know that feeling, don't you?"

She swallowed and nodded, the blush on her face telling him her answer.

"Then, I would strip you of all your clothes." He shifted himself and she could see he was aroused. For the life of her she could not lift her eyes from the thick rod that pushed against his britches. "Do you know what I would do then?"

She shook her head, unable to speak a word.

"I would take my mouth and lick you. I would like to taste you. I would explore you with my fingers, with my tongue, I would discover where you like to be touched, where you liked to be teased and tasted."

"And I," her voice was faint. "What would I do?"

He smiled. "Not lie quietly, that much I am sure." He took a blade of grass and stroked it up her neck. She grabbed it and drew it into her mouth, sucking the grassy liquid from the blade.

"Then what?"

He gazed distractedly at her lips sucking at the blade of grass, before speaking again.

"Then, you would lay there, the air quickening from your open lips, your quim, wet and ready for me. And you would lie back and open your legs for me."

"What if I did not?"

"I would push them open."

"What if my arms held your arms tight so they could not push them open?"

"Then, I would take the long train of silk from your hood and wrap it around those beautiful wrists and tie them tight so you were held for my pleasure."

"Held? But I would not like to be held." She frowned for a minute but her curiosity won out. She looked up at him and held his gaze with dark, dark aroused eyes. "And then?"

"I would feel your sex, stroke it with my finger, watch you move, watch you wriggle against me, watch you wanting more. Then," he shrugged, "I would know you are ready for me and I would plunge my cock into you and you would receive me. It may feel tight to begin with, but, after? Nicely tight."

"But..." she stayed her hand on his. "Would you not roll me over first?"

"Ah, your knowledge is surely limited. But, yes, I _could_ roll you over and take you from behind. Some women like it thus. But I would like to watch you. You have a face that shows exactly what you are thinking. As it does now."

"And what is it I'm thinking now?"

"That your curiosity is vying with your need for control. You want me, but you're scared about the strength of your body's hunger."

She looked away quickly. "Maybe..."

"But there is no need to be scared. You will be too busy enjoying the movement of my cock inside you."

She gulped and clutched him. "Stop, Saher."

"Why? There is nothing to be afraid of, nothing to be scared about. You know it truly. Your body knows it. You're wet now, aren't you?"

She nodded, reluctantly.

"And you will be even wetter, even more ready for me, I'll make sure of that. And... after that, there will be nothing but pleasure."

She drew in a deep, shuddering breath. She knew of what pleasure he spoke. He'd nearly brought her to its height with just a few kisses.

He took her hand. "You must trust me, Rowena. The circumstances of our meeting leaves much to be desired but, for better or for worse we are to be together. And I'm thinking it will be much for the better."

"For whom?"

"For both of us, if you'd let it, if you'd trust me."

She bit her lip, uncertainly. "Trust you? 'Tis a lot to ask."

"Not of a husband, it isn't. And I am yours, whether you desired it or not. You must trust me with yourself, your body, your mind, your future. I would know all about you. I want to know everything about you, I _need_ to know the truth of you. There's been enough deceit in my life to recognize it, and to hate it for such."

Deceit. The word that so aptly described what she was about to do, damped down the ardor that his touch had ignited. She looked up at the now sunless sky behind the tower. "The light, 'tis fading. People will be wondering where we are."

He rose, picked up her hood and brought it over her hair, still mussed and sprinkled with grass and flowers. He carefully tucked her hair under her hood. "My wild lady. I might be marrying you, but I still want you wild. I might tie your hands at night when we are alone, but I would not have you tamed for the world."

She smoothed her hair and fixed her hood. "And I would not be tamed, my lord. I cannot be. I would die." She glanced up at the jagged-edged tower that dominated the skyline. "'Tis getting late, sir. We should return."

He followed her gaze to the tower. "What place is that?"

She shrugged. "Nothing. Just an old place."

He looked from the tower, to her, back to the tower again. "A 'nothing' place that makes you shudder and casts fear into your eyes? Tell me about it."

"'Twas a place used for imprisonment."

"Take me there."

"'Tis late, we should return to the castle."

"Not yet. I would have you show me this place."

She bit her lip to try to stem the trembling that just the thought of seeing the tower induced. But she wouldn't give way to fear. "As you wish."

# Chapter 8

Rowena kept her horse to a walking pace, partly because the forest became more overgrown as they approached the top of the hill, and partly because she had no wish to arrive. Eventually they emerged into a small clearing from which the ruin soared high into the blue sky above them. They dismounted and tethered the horses. "This is it. You see, it's nothing much."

"Then why does that look come into your eyes?" He narrowed his own, consideringly. "Like a veil of fear." She shrugged but turned away, not wanting to give herself away further. "Come, I wish you to show it me." They walked over and looked inside. "An unwelcoming place. 'Tis on Gresham land?"

She nodded. "It was the first castle, so I believe, abandoned. A place where things were left... forgotten about." She tried to turn away but he brought her head round to face him.

"Tell me."

And just with that touch of his hand under her chin, she felt the fear melt a little. She looked up into eyes that were interested and kind. "It was my mother... She... was not my father's equal in temperament. There was madness on her side of the family, and her behaviour had become increasingly strange. She sought refuge in the arms of other men and ceased to hide it. I heard rumours growing up, none of which I fully understood until the night when Melisende was born. You see Melisende looks nothing like either me or Angelique. I witnessed the accusations and arguments and watched my mother leave. We never saw her again. She was banished..."

He followed her gaze to the ivy that crept up the flint exterior, its suckers invading the decaying mortar. "To here."

"Yes. To here. My father imprisoned her. We did not see her again. Not many years passed before she died. My maid says they were not unhappy years for her, and so I like to believe that. My mother was unbalanced, driven by her passion and in the tower she was controlled and lived in relative peace for the few years she had left to her."

"Your father was a hard, unforgiving man."

She nodded. "Yes. But she wasn't well and he had to do something. I suppose he was concerned about her influence on us." She shrugged. "I don't know. All I know is that, for me, the spectre of madness and passion is all rolled into one and embodied in my mother... in the tower. I used to think..."

"What?" He slipped his hand around her shoulder and caressed her, encouraging her to speak.

"That her fate was the fate of a wife and mother. She lost the respect of my father, her health suffered, and she was hidden, forgotten..." She shivered.

"You have nothing to fear on any of those accounts with me, my lady. My mother taught me well to respect strong women. And I do. I am ruthless with men, but respectful of women. 'Tis my weakness."

She looked up to his dark grey eyes that were softer toward her now than before. "'Tis no weakness to respect women, sir."

"No." He brushed a cobweb from her cloak. "I do not think so either." His eyes bore into hers, making her heart beat more quickly and her stomach flutter with desire. "Especially strong women who deserve all the respect they can get." Their gaze once more collided, setting her senses into confusion.

For a long moment she'd forgotten why she was there, forgotten everything except the fire that dwelt in his eyes, heating and caressing her until the flutters grew in her belly... and lower.

He smiled as if aware of her changed response to him. "Come, let's leave this dismal place and return to the castle. I would like to see those beautiful lips curve into a smile more often." He lifted his finger, and gently dragged it against her lower lip. She swallowed down a strange mix of fear and something she'd never felt before, a strumming of excitement that refused to be subdued. "You've beautiful lips, my lady."

She shook her head and his fingers moved against them, this time pushing over her top lip. He traced the edge of her lips, she was embarrassed by their fullness.

"Nay." Her voice was strangely hoarse. She swallowed, desperate to try to be rid of the tension that suddenly existed between them. "They are too full."

He frowned. "How can plump lips, so luscious and inviting, be 'too' anything? My only criticism is that there is a smudge of something..." He licked his finger and ran it over her lips. She flinched as if struck. But it was not the force that struck her but something quite different. It was as if his finger held sway over her whole body from the fluttering of her stomach, like so many moths around a flame, to the beat of her heart that raced, although she made no movement.

She watched, fascinated, compelled, unable to move, as he brought the finger that had swept her lips, up to his. He opened his mouth and tasted it. She took a sharp intake of breath.

"Um," he murmured. He looked up through lowered lids at her and his eyes were darker than before. She could not, for the life of her, look away. "It tastes..."

"Of wine?" She swallowed, determined to try to keep her wits about her. "Mayhap I was over-hasty when I drank after hawking."

"No, it's of the grass you sucked. But it tastes more than grass now. Something like cinnamon, apples and heather. Not sweet, not sour, but spicy, delicious."

"I know not what you mean."

"It tastes of you, Rowena."

She gasped as his head dipped down to hers but there was no kiss. "Come, my lady, I will take you away from such sorrowful memories."

Somehow her mind had drifted into a sensory haze once more and her usually strong limbs felt weak. He must have sensed it because, before she knew what he was doing, he'd lifted her onto her horse and they'd begun the descent to Gresham castle, away from the spectre of the decaying tower and its constant reminder of her need for independence.

There was no need now, to fret about how she would be free of Saher to get her silver to safety. There was no need to try to rid her body of the lazy torpor of arousal. His words and understanding had soothed her fears. And now both of her needs could be satisfied in the one act. Seduction. Tonight.

The Hall was less festive that night. There was a sense of expectation in the air. Saher's knights had made themselves at home and her ladies and others of the household had become accustomed to their presence. The minstrels played an ancient air, languid and sensual. It was fitting. Tonight was the night she would sleep with Saher. Because he had to be gone by the morrow. And, if there were to be another chaste night, he would not leave and her schemes would be discovered. She could not risk the King being informed of her illegal gains, and she did not relish Saher discovering her deceit. She _had_ to have him—she _wanted_ to have him.

"You look pensive, lady."

He inclined his head into her line of vision and plucked a piece of the most tender lamb from the trencher and offered it to her. The aroma of roasted meat and spices would have made her mouth water alone, if it weren't for the look in his eyes—dark, passionate, full of humor and kindness. So many things, all at the same time.

She opened her mouth and he touched her lips with the meat, teasing her a few times before she opened her mouth further and he laid it on her tongue. She closed her lips around it and looked up into eyes that had darkened with desire. Gone was her initial apprehension. Within a few short days she'd gained the measure of the man. They were drawn to each other—body to body—and she did not look upon coupling with displeasure. But 'twas not easy to dismiss a lifetime's apprehension so quickly.

"So, tell me, why the lack of talk, why the lack of eating. You sit there like a nun, your hands folded on your lap, your eyes far away. What is it you're dwelling on?"

How could she begin to voice her fears, her doubts, her longing? She shook her head as she chewed the meat slowly. "I am thinking of my sisters. My sister Melisende could always sense when a change was coming."

"And you think there is a change on its way now?"

She nodded.

"Tell me about your younger sister. Where is she?"

"Melisende is within the convent attached to Blakesthorpe Priory. I cannot contact her. She's preparing to be a novice."

"And your other sister, Angelique, the one with the husband you suspect of being cruel?"

"She is away at present at one of her husband's manors. She is kept a virtual prisoner."

"I can release her for you if you'd like me to?"

For a moment a surge of hope shot up, only to be slammed down. "She's about to have a baby and is hoping this will make things right between them."

"So your sisters' lives will be unchanging for the forseeable future. Is it yours where you sense a change?"

She looked at him levelly. "Of course. I am married now and, if you have your way, will soon be bedded."

" _My_ way? Come, do not tell me that you do not wish it also?"

How could she deny it? She not only wanted the feelings that he engendered within her, but she needed to be bedded so he would leave her for a few days. "Yes. I do."

"Tonight, then, my lady?"

She bit her lip, turned away and nodded. She'd thought she'd be transferring the power to this man when he'd arrived only days before. She couldn't have had any idea as to how she'd feel now. Empowered, able to hold this man at bay, able to draw him in when she wanted to. He wanted her. And he would have her tonight because she had no choice—not for the demands of her body, but because she needed to take the silver to Blakesmere Priory for safekeeping as soon as possible. With each passing day the danger that her silver would be discovered, heightened. She could not delay.

His hand slid across her thigh. No-one could see. And immediately her body reacted, a low throbbing where she wanted him. She turned to him slowly, gripping his hand. One more nod was all it took and he rose.

Everyone turned around and watched as she rose. There were a few quiet cheers and murmurs of approval. Such a small thing she thought, as she walked with him, hand in hand, through the crowded hall to his bed chamber. But it signalled to everyone that their future was together. The massive candles flickered through the great hall and the fire roared. Everything was as it always had been but now everyone knew they were sealing their betrothal vows. She was married in their eyes and her future was forever changed.

She stepped into the stairwell and he closed the door and drew her to him in a deep kiss. All thought of the people on the other side of the wall vanished under the power of his kiss. Breathless they pulled apart and he took her hand and they ran up the stairs and into the solar.

# Chapter 9

Saher opened the solar door and Rowena paused. The candles had already been lit and the bed lay ready. She pulled her hand away from his and walked to the window. There was no light from the moon or stars. The trees and pastures lay clothed and unrevealed. She shivered under the chill of the night air and pulled the wooden shutters closed.

"Cold?" His hands swept up her arms and enclosed her. She shut her eyes as she felt the shivers subside, giving way to a liquid heat inside. She leaned back against his hard body, breathing him in. She felt his groan travel through her skin, sending tingling sensations to the tips of her fingers and toes, heightening her own arousal. His hands slid from her arms, to her waist, and spanned her flat stomach before moving up to cup her breasts that felt heavy with need, desperate for the wet heat of his mouth over them.

Impelled by the desires of her body, she slid her hands down the front of his thighs, which tensed under her searching fingers. She shifted them further up his legs and felt his sharp intake of breath as her palms cupped around his hard shaft. She drew back, alarmed both by her own audacity and his response. But he turned her in his arms and kissed her until her fears were submerged under the onslaught of sensation that his tongue set in train all over her body.

He drove his hand into her hair and held her face against his as first his lips gently moved, caressed and open her mouth. She'd never been kissed like this before. Stolen kisses at parties, maybe, and then with the boy she'd thought she'd loved years before, but not in such a passionate way, not in such a way as if he were sensing every movement and taste of her own, savouring it as if it were the most exquisite food—a food he needed and would not be without. A food he was hungry for.

The thought cast away the last remaining shreds of fear and she slid her hand around his neck, intensifying the kiss, building that coiling and broiling flutter of sensations that charged throughout her body. She felt the wet heat of her desire, throbbing between her legs.

"You are beautiful, my lady." His hand caressed her skin, the curve of her waist and the plump contours of her bottom. His other hand joined it in its exploration and they tucked under her and pulled her up to rub against his hard erection.

She shook her head. "Do not flatter me, sir. I am here, with you now. We both know I am not beautiful."

"Oh, Rowena," he breathed as he kissed her lips, the tip of her nose and each of her closed eye lids. "Do not bother denying it. Because I will surely not bother defending such an obvious thing. You _are_ beautiful, whether you gainsay it or not. And do you not feel how ready I am for you, how my body needs you? I wanted you from that first moment I saw you."

She bit her lip, searching his eyes and saw nothing but the same honest gaze that had struck her when she'd first seen him. For all his strength and command, his honesty and integrity never left him. Perhaps she _was_ beautiful to his eyes.

He pulled her tight against him and she felt his hard cock rub against that sensitive part of her that needed the contact, over and over again. Her breathing became ragged and she gasped against his lips.

He pulled away and for one moment she thought he was going to leave. But he deftly untied the laces of her dress and pulled it off. She was left only in her under-dress. He slid it from her shoulders, somehow sensing that she didn't want to be totally naked in front of him. Then he kissed her again and she whimpered against his lips. He gripped her bottom, as if the small noise that she'd uttered had acted as a sign, and lifted her at the same time as he sat down. She found herself astride his lap, her sex pressed against his arousal.

She angled her breasts, heavy and aching with need, so that his mouth could give her the pleasure she sought. Greedily, he suckled her, while at the same time, his hands smoothed over the soft flesh of her bottom. She jerked in his arms as his fingers found the place where she most needed to be touched. She moaned louder as his teeth nipped her breast and sucked further her nipple into his mouth. She sank into his lap harder, and the sudden contact with his long hard shaft that was barely contained by his hose, sent her over the edge and she cried out as her body exploded, her mind numbed and a weightless sensation entered her limbs. She fell against him, panting, in awe of the strength of the feeling—a feeling she was used to but had never managed to produce by herself on such a scale.

Laughing, he kissed the side of her face as she slumped against him, her hands beginning to caress his body, just as he'd caressed hers.

"I'd imagined, well, my lady Rowena. You were made for loving. Strong, passionate, honest, you are everything I could want in a woman."

His words filled her with a low spreading warmth that was both sex and something more. She'd never thought that anyone would say such things to her. Tears sprang to her eyes, tears that had been held back by her practical nature that had thoroughly ignored the part of her that needed love.

"Saher, I... never thought..."

"Hush, don't speak." He kissed away her tears, and set her to her feet and withdrew her robe from over her head. Suddenly she felt unsure. She'd never been naked before a man. What if, after all his hot pursuit, Saher didn't like what he saw? Where would that leave her?

He must have sensed her hesitation because he lifted her chin with his finger and kissed her lips.

She felt a deep gratitude which took her by surprise. She hadn't known what she was missing from a man's touch and would never have known if it hadn't been for him. Because she knew, deep down, that this feeling wouldn't have been the same with anyone else. She might not need to speak, but she could act.

She pushed her hands down his hose and caressed the length of his erection. It shifted beneath her hands and she pulled down his hose. She stepped back, suddenly doubtful as to how she could take such a size inside of her.

"What is the matter my lady?"

"How will that ever fit inside me?"

He grinned. "Do not worry, I will take my time and you will enjoy how I fill you." He kissed her again. "I promise."

He picked her up in his arms and took her to the bed. The light from four sconces cast a steady rosy hue over the bed, transforming it from a place of sleep to a magical place of pleasure.

She lay back on it, watching him strip off the last of his clothes, feeling like a wanton. She tried to touch him, but he was having none of it.

"Do that," he growled, "and I'll take you any way I can." He stroked her arms, pressing them up above her head. "No, we'll do this my way, we'll do this slowly, as I'd described to you earlier." A slow smile lit his face as he reached over for the strip of silk she used to bind her hair. Swiftly he tied her wrists together, tethering them to the bed posts behind.

"You think that will stop me? I can easily wriggle my hands from these loose bindings."

"No. It won't stop you. 'Tis nothing but a reminder for you not to tease me. I never want to restrain you. Not totally, only if it gives you pleasure too." He grinned as he knelt above her and closed his mouth over her breasts as his hands pinned her hips to the soft bed. Any further thought fled from her mind as she succumbed to the devastating delights of pure sensation.

His mouth and tongue played wickedly with her breasts, teasing out the nipple, straining the tension within until it threatened to break. She wanted to reach out to him, to touch the smooth length of his erect cock. It was magnificent and she wanted to explore it. But the tug of the silk bindings around her wrists checked her movement. She smiled as she suddenly understood what he was doing.

But... if she couldn't use her hands, she had the rest of her body. She raised her leg until the inside of her calf gently slid along the length of where she wanted to touch. It was silky smooth. He raised his head from her and growled. "Lady, I won't be going slow if you keep that up." His hands replaced his mouth on her breasts, leaving her hips free from constraint.

A flare of devilment ignited in her. She grinned and lifted her hips, angling them until she could feel the tip of his thick shaft, glistening with a pearl-like drop on its end, connecting with her wet quim. She quivered with anticipation. He closed his eyes, his expression tense with restraint, as she pulled him against her, moving and spreading that pearl drop against her, shifting it until it rubbed against that nub that still held tight and needy. She could feel the shivers of excitement begin to course through her body but before she could do anything further, he growled, lifted her legs and slid his length slowly into her waiting body. She cried out in surprise as she pulled him into her, her hands fisting within their restraints as her body struggled to accustom itself to his size. But he held himself there and kissed her and her body relaxed around the heft and length of him, centring her.

He pulled away from the kiss and their eyes met in the steady amber light of the candles and she saw, for the first time, a tenderness in his eyes that she'd sensed, but never seen before.

Then suddenly he shifted slightly and the exquisite friction inside and against her caused her eyes to open wide and a soft sigh to expel the tension. Slowly he pulled out of her. There was no friction now, only a slick warmth as he pushed back inside. The look of both tension and pleasure combined on his face gave her more confidence, and she shifted slightly and gasped as sensation—pure and vivid—coursed through her body.

She felt the tug of the silk against her skin and she arched her body up toward him. Slowly, with each sign she gave him, each gasp, each wriggle of her hips against his, his rhythm quickened and the sensations increased, tumbling, tightening until she raised her hips in abandon as he tensed, gasped and pumped his seed into the very heart of her. It was all she needed, this thought of the intense intimacy of the act, to allow her body to plunge headlong into the oblivion of bliss, fluttering and pulling around his cock, as if to massage every creamy drop from him.

Carefully he pulled himself out and rolled onto his back, loosening the silk and pulling her into his arms as he went.

They lay silent, one of his hands stroking her hair, the other her breast, as their breathing slowly returned to normal.

"I liked that." She pushed herself up to look at him, unable to prevent a grin. "Is it always like that?"

"Only with me." His grin widened. "But are you not sore?"

"I'm sore." Tentatively she reached down to herself. "And sticky." She touched herself and her legs gave an involuntary jump as her fingers discovered just how sensitive she still was.

She lifted her eyes to see him watching her, touching herself.

"Do you touch yourself there often?"

She bit her lip and nodded.

He lifted his head back and roared with laughter. "You, Lady Rowena, wife of mine, my love, hold surprises. I would watch you touch yourself. See what you do."

"Only..." she rolled back with assumed nonchalance. "Only if I can tie your hands this time."

He reached out for her and drew her on top of him. "You ask too much wench. I will do many things for you, I can see, but I will always be in control, no matter what your demands."

* * *

Saher didn't know what made Rowena roll away from him and withdraw her gaze from his, for the first time since they'd entered the chamber.

She stood up and pulled on her robe. "So you will be away tomorrow for Norwich?"

"You wish me gone so soon, my lady?"

She shrugged as she pulled it tight around her and stoked the brazier, releasing a burst of heat. Where was the wanton intimacy of only moments before? He stood up and went to her. He had to know. He turned her and kissed her thoroughly and felt her respond with a heat and growing desire that reassured him. But as soon as he pulled away he saw the veil of distance once more fall over her eyes. He had her physically, but her eyes told him there was a breach between them he had yet to mend.

"'Tis just that you said you had pressing business and..."

"And you wish me away. I wonder why?"

She looked at him sharply but didn't respond.

"What are you hiding from me, Rowena? I've had enough deceit played upon me all my life to not want it in my home. I need honesty. Can you give it to me?"

"I..." She looked away.

He grabbed his clothes. "I think I have my answer." He pulled on his shirt. "Yes, I'll be away. One week. And then I'll return for good."

As he turned to go and he saw once more the distance in her eyes, he knew he wanted more from her. He wanted those eyes to trust him, to believe in him, like no-one else had done before. And he thought he knew the way to do it. Yes, he had work to do on the morrow but it wasn't where she thought it was.

# Chapter 10

"Are you well, my lady?" Her maid opened the shutters and sunlight flooded the room. Rowena groaned, feeling the aches in her limbs, and in her muscles, unused to such exercise.

"Of course." She turned and looked Birghiva in the eye. The woman's soft smile brightened and she laughed.

"'Tis good you've already taken to the master's bed."

"Birghiva! Do you know everything that goes on here?"

Birghiva laughed. "Of course. We are all very pleased that he brought you pleasure. Twice!"

Rowena felt the blush rise deeply and cover her chest and face. "Birghiva! You should not listen. You must reprimand the others."

"'Twould have been hard not to hear. Your cries and those of my lord, echoed around the inner castle. Got quite a few of the others at it, I can tell you. Lust is catching."

"That's enough. I do not wish to know."

"'Tis nothing to be ashamed of, my lady. You are married in law and now in fact and that is as it should be. Besides he is a good man."

"And how would you know that?"

"Because you can tell a good man by the reports of their men. And he has good reports, believe me."

Birghiva passed Rowena a cup of ale and Rowena turned over in her mind Birghiva's comments. A good man. And he _had_ been a good man to her these past days... and nights. Was she doing the right thing? She'd had great plans for the use of the money on the Gresham estate and would miss it sorely. But she didn't dare risk Saher discovering it and guessing its source. Proof of the smuggling she and her father had undertaken these past five years would lead to certain imprisonment, at the very least, if the King should be told.

"Sir Saher is gone?"

"Aye. He and his men left after sunrise."

"And you have arranged for the horses to be ready for the ride over to Blakesmere Priory? We meet my men with the cart from Cley on the road to the Priory."

"Aye, my lady. As you said, they'll be there within the hour."

"Good." She had to go forward with her plans, but it didn't feel good. A little voice inside her said these were plans she'd made before she knew him, before she'd made love to him.

"Are you sure, my lady?"

She opened her mouth to speak but closed it again as conflicting words battled in her head. What had seemed such a good plan a few days ago had now lost its shine. She nodded. "I must. I don't know Sir Saher. I don't know how he will treat me. Look at my mother. Look at Angelique. Both have suffered at the hands of their husbands. Even my father, whom I loved, found it in himself to banish my mother from us."

"But, my lady." Birghiva gripped her hands in hers. "He believed he was doing that for your own good."

"My mother wanted us and he wouldn't let us near. For all I know she'd recovered. How can I trust a man with my life?" She shook her head. "I can't." The memory of Saher's eyes, so strong, direct and imperative, urging her to trust him after their lovemaking, flashed into her mind. She shook her head, trying to rid herself of the image but failed.

"I can't," she repeated, more to herself than to Birghiva. But, even as she said it, she wondered if she was making a mistake.

"Well," said Birghiva. "Sir Saher won't notice you're gone. It sounds as if he has his own secret plans."

"Really? Are they still secret?"

"No," laughed Birghiva. "He's planning to demolish some buildings and build some more."

Rowena felt cold. It wasn't just herself who'd been keeping secrets. Trust Saher? How could she when he was already working in secret against her. No, she'd continue her plans, she'd hide her silver where he could never discover it and it would be there for her when she needed it.

"Is he now?" She glanced at Birghiva. "We must leave soon. But first I must bathe." Rowena frowned at Birghiva's grin.

"I've the maid heating up the water for your bath, my lady."

Birghiva left the room and Rowena grabbed a robe, and pulled it around her, and walked over to the narrow window that looked out across the gentle wooded and rolling hills, up to the tower.

She'd given her body to the man and she'd enjoyed it. Enjoyed him. But she couldn't forget what men were capable of. If life with this stranger became unbearable, the silver would buy her a future should she need it—a future her mother had never had.

The day was hot and the ride arduous across the land, rich with swaying crops of wheat and barley. The rattle of the cart, heavy with casks of coin, masquerading as barrels of wine, was reassuring. They held enough money to buy a King's ransom... or a woman's freedom.

Rowena didn't let up the fast pace until they reached a river where the horses needed to drink. She sat under the shade of the tree and closed her eyes against the reflections of light on water, her mind drifting back to Saher during the night—his cock driving into her, taking her to heights of pleasure she'd never imagined. And then, afterwards how he'd drawn her into his arms, arms that were thick and muscled and yet held her gently, as if she were someone to be reverenced. She'd never felt reverenced before.

She drew in a long breath, trying to calm her heart that raced at the thought of their lovemaking, and at the secretive, dangerous plan she was now undertaking. A man like Saher who'd sworn loyalty to the King, a man who hated deceit—a man like that would not forgive her actions.

Suddenly she felt a shadow pass over her and shouts from her men. Alarmed, she opened her eyes and looked around. Saher stood watching her, his expression furious. She jumped up and stepped away from him, from his powerful body that cast a darkness over her, away from his glowering eyes and fierce frown.

"Sir Saher! I did not expect—"

"That much, my lady, I know. What I do not know and what I wish you to tell me, is where you are going this fine day."

She shook her head and tried, unsuccessfully, to tamp down her fear. "To... to see my sister and aunt at the Priory."

"Is that so?" He came towards her and she moved back, but her way was blocked by a large oak tree. But he did not approach her. Instead he looked over to the cart, laden with casks. "And you are thoughtfully taking good wine to your family, I see."

"I take them gifts when I go."

"Really? Generous gifts, too, I should imagine." He cast an eye around her heavily armed men. "If your guards are any indication." He walked over and pushed one of the barrels and she heard the rattle of coin. "Enlighten me, lady?"

She shook her head, trying to conjure up some tale that would withstand his scrutiny. But, before she could speak, he'd walked up to her and pressed his finger against her mouth. "Nay. I don't wish to hear your lies." He let his hand drop. "'Tis the coin I heard whisper of at Cley. Silver I'd heard rumour of long before I came here. Your father was suspected of smuggling but it could never be proven." He raised one angry eyebrow. "Until now."

She gasped. "You wouldn't."

"You're right, I wouldn't. I'm less interested in that, than I am its destination. The priory, you say?" He looked away from her, his mouth a grim line of disappointment. "You wished to leave me, then."

There was something other than anger in his voice now. Something that found its way past her fears and defences, and filled her with regret. "No. I wasn't going to leave. But I was making sure I'd be able to in the future, if..."

"If you needed to escape me," he completed. He nodded and turned away, looking out across the tumbling stream to the swaying willows on the far side. "But you lied, Rowena. You didn't need to lie. You see"—he walked up to her but didn't touch her, his eyes roving over her face—"I understand. You should have trusted me."

"Trust you? You came to the castle, a stranger, insisting on taking over my life. Trust you, when I hardly know you?"

He looked around, avoiding her face, taking the measure of her words. Then he sighed. "We were not strangers in bed, in each other's arms, though were we, my lady?"

She bit her lip, trying to stop the swell of emotion from unravelling her thoughts, and shook her head. "What do I know of lovemaking? For all I know, the experience with me was the same as with all your other women." But even as she said it, she knew it to be a lie. The previous night had been more than just two bodies coming together in mutual pleasure. She'd felt it. And she knew _he'd_ felt it. But she'd mistrusted those feelings. "Besides, I am not the only person with secrets. You... you have your own plans, so I hear. Secret plans to demolish estate buildings and to rebuild. Plans I know nothing about."

He didn't say anything for long moments, only looked at her in a way that confused her. Then he stepped toward her and she backed up until she couldn't move. The bark of the oak tree dug into her hot back. He didn't come any further, merely extended his hand. "Come. I will show you what it is I've done."

"Already? You didn't waste any time, did you?"

"Not with something so important, I didn't. I didn't go to Norwich this morning, I considered other work to be more important. Come."

He lifted her up onto his horse, leaped up behind, and they galloped off, her men slowly turning the lumbering carts around to follow them.

# Chapter 11

It was early evening by the time they reached Gresham land. A flock of birds flew low over the golden fields of wheat and barley. Men who'd been giving the fallow field a second plough, were returning to their homes. They shot curious glances at Rowena and Saher, but Saher didn't halt his progress.

He hadn't spoken to her all the way back, had simply held her firmly in his arms and yet, despite the circumstances, Rowena felt safe, secure. She wondered as to their destination—they'd ridden past the estate cottages, the church, the mill and brewery, places where she'd imagined they'd been heading. She looked up at him but his gaze remained steadily ahead of him.

His chin was roughened with stubble but it could not hide the strength of his face. No softness of line or feature now. She turned away, remembering the admiration she'd seen in his eyes at the port, the respect he'd shown for her when she'd handled the falcon, and the passion and tenderness that had been for her only, when they'd made love. Now all she could see was the veil of strength and control he showed to the rest of the world.

They were nearly home when, instead of continuing along the lane that led down into Gresham valley, they turned right and took the woodland path that led to the ridge. The ancient trees spread their thick canopy overhead and the deep orange glow of the late sun barely penetrated the thickly interlaced branches.

They climbed up through the shady forest, its coolness a relief from the heat that lay heavy over the land. Then they stopped. Without saying a word, he swung her down from the saddle and threw the reins over a tree branch.

He took her hand and pulled her out of the trees, toward the clearing. She knew where they were now. How could he, she thought? How could he take her to this place, the tower that represented so much heartache and fear for her?

She refused to look up at that bleak, decaying building, circled by its remaining habitants of rooks whose ever-present dark halo always sent a shiver of fear through her veins. She refused to accept what he was so obviously forcing on her. The tower that represented the loss of her freedom.

"Look, Rowena."

She did, but not toward the tower. She looked at him and shook her head. "No, I can't."

"Look up." His rough growl of command was louder this time.

Just at that moment a skylark burst into song far above them and she looked. Looked up at... nothing. Gone was the tower, a symbol of hatred and fear for so long. There was nothing but a rubble-strewn hilltop under a wide sky, streaked with the orange-pinks of sunset.

"This was my 'secret' plan, my lady. To rid you of the spectre that so evidently haunted you. I wanted to see the shadow of fear vanish from your eyes. I would banish everything that placed such a shadow in those beautiful brown eyes. The tower and all it meant to you had no place on this land, on this estate, in our lives."

His words sent a thrill through her body and his hand that reached out to hers reignited a connection that she'd recognized from the first moment they'd met.

Together they walked up to where the tower had been, to the stones that had been piled according to their size, ready for re-use elsewhere. There was no trace of the footprint of the tower, of the room, high above the ground floor which had been her mother's solar and the small hall where she'd lived the last years of her life. "It's gone..." she muttered under her breath. "Saher," she shook her head, "I didn't know."

"No. 'Twas something I thought you'd like. 'Twas also something I didn't want here. You see, Rowena, the tower stood for something I am also deeply against."

She frowned. "Tell me."

"I tell few people. I abhor violence done to women. I know the results well. I was raised by a woman whose every move was driven by fear. She'd been raped and I was the result. I adored her and was determined to never be the man my father had been."

"But you were your father's heir?"

"After my mother died, my father claimed me and adopted me. I hated him, but I was prepared to use his connections to get me out of the poverty my mother had lived in. And so I went into the world full of ambition to prove myself and make a life away from my father, with an abhorrence of violence to women. Rowena, I swear by Almighty God that I will never hurt you as your father hurt your mother. I destroyed the tower as testament to that."

The walls of defence she'd built around her heart crumbled under the onslaught of that fierce, honest gaze. Tears pricked her eyes. "Saher... I'm so sorry. I was scared you would take everything that I had and leave me with nothing. I did not know—"

His fingers came up to her mouth and touched it gently, stopping any further words. "And how could you? I am still a stranger to you. I wanted your trust but all I'd done is claim your lands, and then claim your body." His fingers gently swept around the outline of her lips that opened in immediate response. "Now, come, 'tis getting late. We'll return to the castle tonight and then, tomorrow, if you wish, I'll escort you back to the priory to take the silver."

His words came to her through a haze of desire that the trail of his fingers over her skin had ignited. "The silver? You'd allow me still to do this?"

"I bring silver of my own and your estates are prosperous enough without me gaining your own..." He hesitated as he searched for a word, a slow smile resting on his lips. " _Savings_ , shall we say?"

She looked at him quickly. "Yes... savings."

"Savings the King should probably not know about, eh?" His smile broadened and she smiled back, shaking her head.

"No. 'Tis best. My aunt will keep the silver safe until... _we_ need it."

"Good." He unlooped the horse's reins from the tree and lifted Rowena up onto its back, his hands lingering around her waist. "So tomorrow we will travel, but tonight—"

"Tonight." She reached out her hand and moved it over his chest. "I would show you my gratitude."

The immediate flare of lust in his eyes and its corresponding flare inside herself made her shift in her seat. He jumped up behind her and pulled her bottom until it was tight against his hardening groin. "I like a grateful woman." His whispered words made her shiver with anticipation.

# Chapter 12

It was still early when they retired to their chamber. The lazy, flickering flames of the brazier illuminated his eyes, hooded with intent. She stood, unmoving as he undressed her. First unlacing her bliaut which clung tight to her body, and then lifting it from her shoulders. She shivered, but not from cold, as he unclasped the silver brooch at the throat of her robe and despatched that in the same way. Now she stood simply in her linen chemise.

His hands swept up her body, pushing up her breasts before grabbing the chemise and lifting it away from her. Then he took her breasts that spilled on to his large hands, and dropped a kiss on top of each one before moving his hands to her bottom, pulling her hard against him, and claiming her mouth with his until she was dizzy with desire.

She whimpered against his mouth, as her hands fumbled with the ties to undo his breeches. He stepped away and pulled his tunic over his head. She took a sharp intake of breath at the sight of his muscled stomach and broad, strong chest. She ran the palms of her hands over his skin, the white scars of warfare, like silver streaks through dark marble. She suddenly felt shy of this warrior of a man and rested her cheek against his chest, listening to the rapid beat of his heart. Then she turned and kissed his chest, sinking lower until her lips touched his stomach and her hands caressed his cock that jerked under her tentative touch. He growled and lifted her in his arms and laid her on the bed. She reached for a cover but before she could reach it he grabbed her hands and stretched them above her and knelt between her legs.

"No cover. I want to see you. You are too beautiful to be covered."

His kisses on her skin sent slivers of sensation slicing through her belly, moistening her quim, making it throb with need. She opened her legs, willing him to give attention to where she wanted him most. But he moved up, suckling each breast as he went, before reaching her face. He kissed her then and her mouth melded to his as exquisite sensations shot through her body. Then he lifted her hips and slid the length of his cock inside her, inch by slow inch, until he filled her completely. Slowly he pulled out until the tip of him quivered against her sensitive skin before pushing fully into her once more. She used her heels against his back to bring him more fully into her.

He rolled her over and she was atop him. His hands reached up for her breasts as she moved up, tentatively at first, and then down, and her eyes closed in bliss. She continued until the rhythm increased and she rode him hard, and harder still, until the coiling of desire exploded inside her and she cried out as she pulsed around him.

He drew her into his arms and then, still joined, side-by-side, he pushed into her. It would not be over so quickly this night, she thought to herself. Nor, she realized with a gasp, did she want it to be. The candlelight flickered gently in the summer breeze that blew in from the unshuttered window, cooling their sweat-slicked bodies that raised and lowered in an age-old dance of sensuality.

She rolled onto her back, while he continued to thrust slowly and rhythmically into her, bringing her to another wave of pleasure. But it did not stop then. He continued as before, holding her, kissing her, as his thrusting slowly increased in tempo. His body and face tensed as he thrust harder now into her, taking her with each thrust to a place she couldn't have imagined. All she could do was hold on tight to him, her fingernails digging into his resistant shoulders, her legs tight around his body as he blasted both of them into a frenzy of cries as he pumped his seed deep inside of her, her body taking all that he could give.

They rolled to the side once more. "You are mine, Rowena." He thrust his fingers in her hair and held her face firmly as he took his fill of her mouth. "Forever. I claim you and I will cherish you."

_Claimed_. It was a word that a short week ago would have sent terror through her body. _Claimed_. The word sent a slice of lust through her belly and she wriggled against him as he became as hard as he was before. _Claimed_. His eyes met hers in an understanding and appreciation that she knew instinctively would never die.

She was claimed, and she never wanted to be unclaimed.

* * *

**THE END**
Dear Reader,

* * *

I hope you enjoyed Rowena's story. You can read Melisende's story in _Seducing his Lady_ (excerpt follows) and Angelique's story in _Awakening his Lady_.

* * *

The fourth book in the **Norfolk Knights** series is a full-length novel— _Defending his Lady_—which begins the stories of the de Vere siblings with Rufus de Vere:

> **_A warrior without a heart. A gypsy without a name. A marriage which will ruin them all._**

You can read an excerpt of _Defending his Lady_ on my website. The fifth book in the series is _Honoring his Lady_.

* * *

Reviews are always welcome—they help me, and they help prospective readers to decide if they'd enjoy the book.

* * *

For news on forthcoming books or to sign up to my newsletter, please check out my website—https://www.saskiaknight.com.

* * *

Happy reading!

* * *

Saskia

# Seducing his Lady

### Excerpt

"...I like to solve mysteries and you are a mystery to me."

She shook her head about to deny it when he stepped towards her and she backed away, and caught her unbound hair in a rose briar. "Oh, I..." she tried to pull her head away but it was held fast and both her hands tightly gripped the basket.

"Stay still," he said coming towards her. She had no choice. She doubted her body would move even if she commanded it to—and she didn't. His hands reached up and unravelled her hair from around the thorns. He dropped it back into place with a quite unnecessary stroke. Then he looked at her and her breath hitched. He was so close, and the night was so dark, it felt as if they were the only two people in the world. "Melisende. A beautiful name for a beautiful lady."

Her mouth dried. She couldn't move, couldn't think of a word to say. She could only _feel_ —the breath of his words on her lips and _see_ —the fringe of dark eyelashes shadowing his dark eyes, the gleam of the torchlight on his cheek which illuminated the hard planes of his cheek and jaw, so strong, even to the hardest fist.

Then he did something she'd dreamt he'd do, night and day. He leaned towards her and pressed his lips to hers. And for one long heartbeat, one breath, the world around them faded away, and stopped. There was only their connection, of his lips upon hers.

Then he pulled away. His hand, that was still pressed against her hair, stroked her cheek briefly before he stepped away.

"Go now, Lady Melisende, before I forget myself."

For one long moment Melisende wanted to stay, to feel the pressure of his lips against hers once more, to feel his hands that had stroked her hair, stroke her skin, her neck, to breathe his breath into her mouth. She wanted to taste him once more. She pressed her fingers to her lips, wondering if it was all a dream. Then she stumbled away, pressing the back of her hand to her lips as reality hit her like a powerful blow. "Sir! These are not the actions of a priest!"

"Go," he repeated, ignoring her rebuke. "Before I discover your secrets."

Just the thought of him discovering the secrets of her body, of pleasuring her, of doing the things her unruly mind imagined late at night when she was alone, made her feel giddy. "What secrets could I, a humble novitiate, possibly have?"

He laughed, a low seductive laugh that sent a thrill through her body. He plucked a rose and slid his hands along the stem, as if inspecting it for thorns. "Oh, you have many, some of which a few people already know, to do with your mission this night, and some of which _no_ man knows. Not yet. But _I_ would know." His eyes grew darker as he stepped away from her. "And you're right, of course."

She stopped walking and turned to face him again. "About what?"

He brought the rose to his face, as if to smell it but looked up suddenly and caught her gaze. "My actions weren't those of a priest. For the very good reason that I am not one." He smiled a smile that shocked her with how it made her feel. He walked up to her and tucked the thornless rose behind her ear. "I am no priest, with no morals of a priest, with no restraints of a priest." He stepped back and his lips twitched into a grin that had only reinforced his words. "Just as you are no nun." He laughed softly, and turned and walked away.

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# Also by Saskia Knight

**_—Norfolk Knights—_**

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_Novellas_

Claiming his Lady (Book 1)

Seducing his Lady (Book 2)

(see previous page for excerpt)

Awakening his Lady (Book 3)

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_Full-Length Books_

Defending his Lady (Book 4)

Honoring his Lady (Book 5)
