Forbidden Night with the Warrior Read online

  ‘No,’ Alan said quietly. ‘It doesn’t. She will do as I command, or I will find someone else.’

  Warrick seized the man by his shoulders, hardly caring that de Courcy was so weakened. ‘She is not your brood mare. She is a good woman, and I’m damned if I will stand back and let you hurt her in any way.’

  ‘You still love her,’ Alan accused. The words sliced through him, for Warrick had vowed that he would never let himself fall prey to that emotion again. He started to shake his head, but de Courcy was not finished. ‘It matters not that you care for my wife. She married me, not you, and I have been patient enough with her. Time has run out, and she must obey. She will, if I have to witness the consummation myself.’

  ‘You care more about Pevensham than her,’ Warrick shot back. ‘You would throw her to the wolves if it meant saving your estate.’

  A strange expression passed over Alan’s face. ‘You don’t know what it has been like these past three years. To love a woman and know that she wept at the thought of marrying you. To claim her body and know that she loathed the very act.’ There was weariness in his tone. ‘I love her nearly as much as I despise her.’

  Warrick took a step back from the man. There was no mistaking the resentment in Alan’s words or the hatred towards him.

  ‘I will go to her after midnight, when it is too dark to see. She will think it is me touching her. And you will do what is necessary to help her conceive an heir.’

  Warrick wanted to say no, for Rosamund would immediately know the difference between them. But he could not deny that he hungered for the woman he’d wanted to wed. Though it was a sin, he craved the silken touch of her skin. He wanted to kiss her, to pleasure her in the darkness until she could not refuse him.

  Without a word, he left de Courcy’s chambers and didn’t look back.

  Chapter Eight

  It was dark within her bedchamber when she heard the passageway open. Immediately, Rosamund froze in her bed.

  ‘It is I,’ she heard Alan say. His voice was a relief, and she started to sit up when he refused. ‘No. Lie back upon the bed.’

  She heard him approach, but for some reason, her instincts were raised. She felt him reach towards her in the darkness, pushing back the coverlet.

  ‘Remove your shift,’ he commanded. ‘I am going to lie with you.’

  She hesitated, for she was not eager for his touch. And yet, she understood his desperate need for an heir.

  It is your duty, her conscience reminded her. It didn’t matter that she did not want her husband to join with her.

  ‘Are you...well enough for this?’ she asked him, feeling awkward about the question. He had grown weaker each day, so much that the very idea of lovemaking seemed impossible.

  It will not take long, she told herself. If she lay still and did not argue, it would be over soon.

  ‘Do not ask questions,’ he rebuked her. ‘Take off your shift and lie naked upon the bed. I want you on your stomach with your legs spread apart.’

  Rosamund flushed at his blatant request. But then, the position was likely easier for him to manage in his condition. In the darkness, she could not see his face, but she heard his footsteps drawing nearer.

  Dear God, she didn’t want this. The idea of lying still while he drove himself inside her was not at all appealing. But she gritted her teeth and removed her shift. Slowly, she rolled over to her stomach and did as he asked, spreading her legs apart.

  She closed her eyes tight, hoping that somehow he would be unable to perform. That he would be overtired and would give up.

  But then, she felt a warm hand upon her bottom, and she jolted at the sensation. It was not Alan’s hand. She knew it from the moment she felt Warrick’s caress upon her. She was shocked to realise what her husband planned.

  ‘Alan, wait.’

  ‘Be silent.’ His voice was sharp, and he ordered, ‘You will not speak. You will not move. You will obey me, for you are my wife, and I may do with you as I wish.’

  The hand upon her bottom moved lower, and she felt her body respond to the wicked touch. It was sinful, so very wrong. But when Warrick’s fingers moved lower between her thighs, a surge of aching wetness dampened her intimate flesh. Pleasure and need coursed through her body, and he began to stroke her.

  He was relentless, circling his thumb against her hooded flesh. Warrick knew exactly how to draw out her response, and she understood what this was.

  Revenge.

  His fingers dipped inside her wetness, filling her. He didn’t plunge hard, but instead played with her body, tantalising her with a gentle surge and withdrawal. She moaned, her breathing growing more excited as he led her closer and closer to the edge.

  It had been three years since she had felt like this. Her mind knew it was wrong, and yet, her body could not stop responding to him. His other hand touched her bottom, and she could not stop pressing back against his fingers inside her. She was losing control of herself, unable to grasp a single thought.

  ‘Alan?’ she pleaded, praying her husband would put an end to this wickedness. Was he still here?

  ‘Lie still and I will see this done.’ There was rage within his voice, the hateful anger of a man who wanted an heir so badly, he would stop at nothing.

  But it was not Alan’s hands upon her. She knew it with every breath she took, with every shocking pulse of pleasure rising inside. Her husband wanted her to take Warrick within her body, and Alan was past the point of reason—especially if he had taken matters this far.

  The hands touching her were not demanding, nor were they threatening in any way. Instead, Warrick was doing exactly what he had promised. He was showing her all that she had missed during these three years. His thumb began to circle her intimate flesh with a different pressure, and he stilled the thrust of his fingers. Now, she felt a different sort of deepening quiver within her womb. He rolled her to her back, still rubbing her intimately.

  Warrick continued his onslaught while his left hand reached higher towards her naked breast. Rosamund cried out when he touched her erect nipple, gently twisting it as he thrust with his other hand. She could not stop the moan from escaping her, and she desperately tried not to take pleasure from this.

  She heard the soft click of the passageway closing and knew that Alan had left. He would not witness the rest. Thank God.

  His departure marked her own decision. If she wanted to stop now, she could. Alan would never know what happened between them.

  She was torn apart by what was right and what was not. Was it a mistake to give Alan what he wanted and join with the man who had been her first husband? God help her, she was so confused. She had spoken vows to Warrick, binding him as her husband. And then her father had forced her to marry Alan, abandoning her first marriage. She had obeyed his orders to save Warrick’s life.

  But what if she was still married to Warrick? What if this marriage to Alan had been invalid all along?

  Or was it only her mind trying to justify the sin?

  Warrick’s mouth lowered to her breast, and a dark spear of lust drove straight through her. Her hands gripped the edges of the sheets, and she was barely able to breathe. He took her to the edge, and then slowed his caress, pushing her back again.

  Her body was pulsing like a living heartbeat, and she wanted him so badly, she wanted to weep.

  ‘Please,’ she begged. His tongue slid over her nipple, suckling and pulling at her until she was writhing against him. Then she heard a rustling noise, and she felt his shaft at her wet entrance. She tried to guide him, but his strong arms held her fast.

  He was teasing her again, showing her what she had been missing.

  She wanted to tell him that she knew what was happening, that it was not Alan touching her. But another part of her was furious with her husband for treating her like this�
��for his deception and his own part in this night. She wanted to lash back at him, for he saw her as nothing more than a vessel for his heir. Alan cared about none of her feelings or her sense of honour.

  He had begun this night, wanting her to believe that she was giving her body to him.

  But she was not stupid. She knew Warrick was touching her, and she wanted her own vengeance against her powerless state.

  And so, she gave in to the rush of sensation, arching her hips until the suffocating pleasure rose into a shimmering peak. She squeezed the inner muscles of her womanhood until she broke apart, shattering as Warrick gave her the release she’d sought. A cry of ecstasy escaped her lips, and she wanted to weep from it.

  Warrick was poised at her entrance, his thick erection barely inside her. And before she could change her mind, Rosamund reached for his hips and pulled him inside her, their bodies joining together.

  Warrick did not take her roughly, as he could have. Instead, he slowed his pace, sliding within so that she felt every inch of his shaft. There was tenderness and she met his thrusts while he claimed her. The heaviness of desire gathered inside, pushing her back towards the edge. She lost sight of everything, save the sharp pleasure that heightened within. He took her breast in his mouth again, and the hot pressure was enough to drive her over the brink. She allowed the blissful tide to carry her under, squeezing him tightly as he pulled back and penetrated her again.

  Rosamund let him ride her, arching and meeting him as he plunged. He was starting to lose his own control, and she wanted that from him. She heard him hiss as she crossed her ankles beneath him, giving him an added pressure as he entered and withdrew. It forced him to give more shallow penetrations, but she could tell that it was driving him into madness. Over and over he pumped into her, and she came apart once again, the heat of her body erupting and seizing all around him.

  Warrick withdrew from her and pushed her back to her stomach, this time invading her flesh with more speed. His pace was gruelling, and she heard a cry tear from her lips as he slammed against her in a reckless plunder of aching flesh. With each thrust, she took her own revenge against her husband’s wicked orders.

  And she felt the moment Warrick tensed, his body rigid with iron need. He grunted and thrust, pouring himself into her. She quaked beneath him, feeling his hard release as she accepted his seed.

  For a moment, he lay atop her, his rigid body embedded within. Rosamund said nothing at all, but her body continued to shudder with the aftershocks. Her emotions were battered, and she felt the terrible guilt shadowing her when he withdrew from her body.

  Warrick said nothing at all, but pulled the sheet over her and left.

  And when she was alone, she closed her eyes and damned them both for what they had done.

  * * *

  In the morning, Rosamund awakened alone. Memories of last night washed over her, and she had never felt more ashamed and angry in her life.

  You could have said no, her conscience chided. You knew what was happening, and you allowed it. The sin is yours to bear.

  And there could be a child now.

  She tore the sheets off her bed, tangling them into a ball and throwing them across the room. Damn them both for this. She hated being so powerless, unable to make decisions in her own life.

  She put on her shift and kirtle, struggling with the laces. She didn’t know where Berta was, but she was glad that her maid had been elsewhere last night. Rosamund strode towards the fireplace, and her footing slipped upon something small and hard. She went reeling and struck the floor. Too late, she realised it was a weighted gaming die she had played with Warrick the other night. She winced and sat up on the floor, reaching for the die. It was made of bone and filled on one side just enough to land on the side she wanted it to.

  Would that she could arrange her own life to fall into the pattern she desired. She remained on the floor with her kirtle tangled in her legs, hardly caring.

  Her husband had never been this demanding before, not once in the three years of their marriage. Now, he had revealed another side of himself, a ruthless side that she didn’t like. Did he honestly believe she wouldn’t know when another man touched her? Frustration seethed within her, and Rosamund finally stood up from the floor, picking up the small gaming die as she did. A knock sounded at her door, and she suspected it must be Warrick, sent by her husband.

  She jerked the door open and was startled to see Owen de Courcy standing on the other side. He was dressed in travelling clothes with no armour, but a light sword hung at his waist.

  He moved into her bedchamber without a word, adding, ‘Close the door, Rosamund.’

  Her nerves tightened at the sight of this man. There was no denying the threat he posed, though she tried to calm her beating heart.

  Rosamund didn’t move, but instead wondered if she could escape his presence instead. When she stepped towards the door, intending to flee, he closed the distance and shut it behind him. ‘Never mind, then.’

  ‘You should not be within my chamber,’ she argued. ‘If you wish to speak to me, we will do so elsewhere. In my husband’s room or in the Great Hall.’

  ‘Too many would overhear our conversation,’ he said smoothly.

  An icy coldness slid over her skin, for she knew he had come to threaten her. She had no weapons in her chamber, no means of defending herself.

  ‘I have placed a guard outside the door to keep us safe,’ Owen continued.

  In other words, there was no escaping him. Her pulse raced within her veins, and she questioned whether to move away from this man or stay close to the door.

  ‘What do you want?’ But even as she voiced the question, she knew.

  ‘Your husband tells me you are with child. But you are not, are you?’ His tone held a darkness that frightened her.

  Rosamund didn’t know how to answer him, for after last night, she could be. She didn’t know if Alan had already made provisions for an unborn heir or whether to tell him the truth.

  ‘I believe so,’ she hedged. ‘But it is very soon.’

  Owen’s gaze passed over her, lingering upon her breasts and hips. ‘Or perhaps you bear a bastard child, conceived with Warrick de Laurent. And you think to pass him off as Alan’s heir.’ He circled her, effectively cornering her against the door.

  Her heart beat faster at his insinuation, but she refused to cower before him.

  ‘Leave my chamber,’ she shot back. She poured all her fury into her words, and tried to reach for the door handle. But Owen blocked her and pressed her against the wall. His body was upon hers, and he leaned in to whisper in her ear. ‘The only bastard I will allow you to bear is mine.’

  She could feel the hard ridge of his arousal, and it repulsed her. With all her strength, she tried to shove him back. But he seized her waist, imprisoning her in his arms. ‘I have wanted you from the first moment I saw you, Rosamund. And I swore that one day you would be mine.’

  ‘It would be incest,’ she gritted out. ‘We are related by marriage.’

  He laughed softly. ‘Oh, I don’t intend to wed you, Rosamund. You will receive your dower portion, as promised. And I will come to you at night to share your bed.’ His hand passed over her breast, and she drew her knee up between his legs. But he twisted to avoid her blow, keeping her trapped against the wall.

  ‘Don’t touch me!’ she warned.

  Owen moved back swiftly, and spun her away from the wall. His fist smashed against her jaw, and she dropped to the ground, pain flooding through her.

  Dimly, she was aware of her door opening, and men’s voices arguing. She was barely conscious, but she heard Warrick speak.

  ‘If you ever touch her again, I will tie your entrails around your throat,’ he swore.

  She raised her head and saw Warrick’s fist strike Owen across the face. The man cru
mpled, but Warrick continued to beat him until his fists were bloody.

  One of the guards came into the room and tried to intervene. Warrick disarmed him in seconds and threw the weapon across the room. Then he unsheathed his blade, his eyes burning with hatred towards the soldier. ‘You call yourself loyal to my lady? Or were you hoping to raise yourself up with de Courcy?’

  The guard backed away slowly and left the door open.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Warrick asked her. Rosamund couldn’t answer, but her cheek and jaw were already swelling up. He lifted her into his arms and carried her into the hallway towards her husband’s chamber.

  It was the safest place for her, she knew, but right now, she was trembling from fear. She had mistakenly believed she could shut out Owen de Courcy and live her life without any danger from him. Why had she believed it was only Pevensham he’d wanted? Now, it was clear that he had coveted all of his brother’s property, even his wife.

  Warrick lowered her to sit upon a chair, but her husband was sleeping and did not awaken. He must have taken a sleeping potion to not notice them.

  A moment later, Warrick brought a linen cloth soaked in cool water. ‘Put this against your cheek, Rosamund.’

  She did, and the cold water eased the pain slightly. ‘Thank you.’

  But even as she rested the cool cloth against her face, another yearning rose within her. She needed Warrick to hold her in his arms, to comfort her and keep her safe.

  God help her, he had crumpled her defences. And she did not know what would happen between them now.

  Her cheeks were blazing, but she forced herself to look at him. In a low voice, she murmured, ‘I know what happened last night. And it was a mistake.’

  His expression was stone, revealing none of his thoughts. Instead, he commanded, ‘Stay here and bolt the door.’

  In other words, he held no regrets. His gaze fixed upon her for a moment, and then drifted over her body in an invisible caress. Her breasts tightened in memory of his mouth suckling them, and heat pooled between her legs. Warrick was merciless in his silent perusal, and it was an invisible weapon against her defences.