Captive Rose

by Miriam Minger

  “Oh God. Leila … Leila!”

  Deliciously dazed and panting hard, she fell back on the mattress as Guy collapsed heavily on top of her. She was so full of him, she could feel his body still throbbing from his climax. It was only after what seemed an eternity, when he still did not move, that she realized with a start he was unconscious. The splendid afterglow was instantly shattered, harsh reality hitting her like a cruel slap in the face.

  Assailed by guilt and anger, Leila began to struggle beneath his weight, desperately trying to extricate herself from their wild tangle of limbs and wet hair. But it soon became apparent that her efforts were useless. In his drugged stupor Guy held her as fast as any bonds, his body impaling hers.

  Overcome by a tumult of emotions, Leila began to cry, great, wrenching sobs that made it all the more difficult to breathe. She had never felt such wretched helplessness or such confusion.

  She had doubly lost. Her virginity was gone forever, and now there would be no escape. Not tonight.

  Heaving a broken sigh, Leila touched Guy’s face with trembling, tear-wet fingers.

  Most unsettling of all, deep in her heart she was no longer sure she truly wanted to escape him.

  Chapter 15

  Loud pounding upon the door startled Guy awake and he groaned, slowly opening his eyes as he rolled over onto his back. He stared at the velvet canopy and rubbed his eyes until they focused clearly.

  What the devil had happened? Why did he feel so damn lousy? His head was aching and his mouth was as dry and scratchy as coarse wool.

  Guy felt the mattress depress slightly and heard the rustling of linen sheets beside him. He turned his head to see Leila rising stiffly from the bed without so much as a glance in his direction. She was naked, her hair still damp and clinging to her lovely back and buttocks …

  Suddenly the events of the previous night came rushing back to him and he groaned again, remorse and self-disgust flooding him, as well as incredible relief that she had not managed to escape. Wondering dazedly how that had been accomplished, he watched her quickly dress herself while the vigorous pounding continued on the door.

  “God’s blood, who is it?” Guy shouted, throwing his forearm over his eyes against the bright sunlight slashing across the rumpled bed. “Cease that infernal racket or I’ll—”

  “Lord de Warenne! It’s Henry Langton. Robert Burnell is here with me, too. We just got your message from the taverner that you were here, so we came night up. Open the door so we can get a good look at you, man. It’s been a hell of a long time. And traveling with a new wife, no less!”

  Guy sat up in bed, trying to shake off the muddled haze still lingering in his brain.

  Of course. Langton and Burnell. He had left a message for them to meet with him early this morning so that they could journey together the rest of the way to London.

  “Hold a minute!” he called out, climbing from the bed. As he stood up, he grabbed a torn curtain to steady himself against a sudden wave of dizziness and waited on unsteady legs until it passed. “Damn,” he muttered.

  How long would it be before he was free of the drug’s unpleasant aftereffects? He saw Leila glance furtively at him from the bench where she was sitting, then she lowered her lashes and quickly resumed braiding her hair, her exquisite jawline set obstinately as if she was damned and determined to ignore him.

  “Those men outside the door are my own knights,” he sought to explain as he snatched a towel from the floor and slung it around his hips. “Remember? I told you about them last night.”

  Silence.

  “They’ll be traveling with us to Westminster. I told the taverner you were my wife, and he has obviously informed them of that, but I’ll set them straight when I introduce you.”

  More silence.

  Guy swallowed hard, acutely aware of what she must be thinking about him. If she had hated him before, he could well imagine how much she hated him now. He wanted to try and explain what had come over him last night, but she probably didn’t care to hear any explanations. Maybe an apology …

  “Leila, I’m sorry about—”

  “‘Tis done,” she cut him off, meeting his eyes fully for the first time. “There is nothing more to be said about it, Lord de Warenne.”

  Ah, but there was more to be said about it, Guy thought, seeing the hurt and defiance reflected in her unswerving gaze. Much more.

  Everything was different between them now, whether she realized it or not. He had reached a decision last night before the drug overcame him. He had almost told her then; he certainly couldn’t tell her now. Not with his knights pacing restlessly outside the door. It was a delicate matter, one that would have to wait until they were not pressed for time or likely to be disturbed.

  He could already imagine her indignant protests. But when she heard everything he had to say, his argument would sway her. He was certain of it. Just as he was certain he did not want to live his life without her. She had become a part of him. He could not let her go.

  “You might want to do something about that bedsheet,” she continued tersely, glancing behind him at the mattress. “I doubt you will want your knights to see what has recently transpired in this room, especially when they discover that I am not your wife.”

  Guy’s eyes riveted on the bright red splotches staining the white linen.

  Sharp regret shot through him for her lost innocence, and even more so because he had taken it from her in such a ruthless manner. But in the next instant he forced away his guilt and any niggling self-reproach, convinced that what had happened unexpectedly between them had freed him from an impossible dilemma.

  He was in love with Leila.

  He had known it since that afternoon on the Rhone, and every mile they had traveled after that had driven home his realization with astounding force. Yet he had tried to tell himself over and over that his was an impossible love. Leila hated him too much and, even if she didn’t, Roger would never give his suit the time of day. Now that much at least had changed.

  As soon as they reached London he would confront Roger with the bloodied sheet and demand Leila’s hand in marriage. By taking her virginity, he had made his inviolable claim upon her.

  A claim Roger Gervais would not be able to ignore, no matter the fierce hatred between them.

  That grim truth had been his final conscious thought before the drug enveloped him last night.

  He turned back to Leila and gave voice to the question still troubling him. Could he dare to hope her hate was not so strong toward him after all?

  “When I blacked out, Leila, you stayed. Why?”

  Her beautiful eyes flared angrily at him, giving him a heated answer before she even spoke. “You collapsed upon me, my lord. I could barely breathe, let alone escape. If you had not done so” —she jutted her chin defiantly— “believe me, I would not be here this morning but many, many miles away.”

  Oddly, her bitter words did not discourage him or douse his hope. He knew there was great pain and anger behind them. If anything, they only heightened his resolve.

  Once they were married, somehow he would make amends. He was determined that one day she would grow to love him as much as he loved her. She already desired him. Her unbridled response to his lovemaking had proved it once and for all. Surely such passion could lead to affection and then love. Yes, it was a start.

  “Believe me, my lady,” he replied with quiet certainty, “if you had fled, I would not have rested until I found you.”

  The air seemed to crackle with tense silence until another sharp rap came upon the door.

  “My lord! How long will you leave us standing in this drafty hall? From your delay, I can guess your lady must be very beautiful indeed.”

  “Your impatience is as strong as ever, Langton,” Guy called out, leaving Leila to glare after him while he strode around the bed and pulled another pair of braies from his saddlebag.

  As he yanked on the short trousers, he glanced at the telltale bloodstains and
quickly decided his knights should see them. It was best he had witnesses to counter any of Roger’s expected and vehement objections. He tied the drawstring at his waist as he walked to the door.

  “The bedsheet, my lord!” Leila hissed, jumping up from the bench. Her cheeks colored as Guy ignored her and flung open the door.

  What could he possibly be thinking? she raged silently as two mailed knights entered the room, neither man as tall or as broad as Guy but both forbidding in their glinting armor.

  She clasped her hands together tightly, mortally embarrassed. Guy hadn’t even bothered to dress. It was almost as if he was flaunting her disgrace before their very eyes!

  “By God, de Warenne, this is certainly a grand surprise!” the knight with long, reddish-blond hair exclaimed as he embraced Guy heartily, clapping his bare back. “We didn’t expect to see you until long after Lord Edward’s coronation. Are Reginald and the others in Provins as well?”

  “We’ll talk of that later, Henry,” Guy said, greeting the other knight, a robust, swarthy man, with a firm handclasp. “Robert. From a man who is usually so serious, your grin tells me that the wenches here have been treating you well.”

  “Aye, my lord, well indeed. But a fighting man can stand only so much frivolity. Langton and I were planning to ride out tomorrow, but a day earlier suits me just fine.”

  “Lady de Warenne!” Henry said without waiting for Guy’s introduction, his green eyes sparkling with good humor as he strode toward her.

  This freckled knight wasn’t forbidding at all now that he was up close, Leila decided, offering him a small smile because he seemed so genuinely friendly. Yet her warmth faded quickly when Guy approached with the other man close behind him. She drew herself up proudly, saying to Langton, “You have been misinformed, my lord. I am not—”

  “Sir Henry Langton, Sir Robert Burnell. Allow me to introduce Lady Leila Gervais,” Guy interrupted smoothly, his eyes fixed warmly on her face. “I am escorting her to her brother, Roger.”

  “Roger Gervais?” Henry asked, glancing uncertainly from Guy to Leila.

  “Yes. Lady Leila and I became acquainted” —he put an odd stress on the word— “in the Holy Land. We’re not husband and wife, as the taverner claimed. I have been saying so as a guise to protect the lady during our long journey.”

  “Ah. I see,” Henry said, clearly confounded. Nonetheless, he bowed gallantly. “Gervais or de Warenne, my lady, it matters naught. I am most pleased to meet you.”

  “As am I,” Robert stated, staring at her appreciatively.

  Apparently his knight’s frank admiration was too blatant for Guy’s liking. He abruptly moved behind her and rested his hands on her shoulders, his fingers idly playing with her braid. “We have much to discuss, my lords, but first Leila and I must finish packing. We can talk further on the road to Paris.”

  Bristling at his nearness, yet also crazily unsettled by it, Leila fought to restrain an urge to give Guy a sharp elbow in the ribs. It was clear from the subdued expressions of the knights that they had taken full note of Guy’s infuriatingly possessive stance.

  “Yes. Yes, of course, my lord,” Henry said in a much less effusive tone. “Lady Leila. We are honored to share your company.”

  Leila watched in mute horror as Henry turned to go and stopped abruptly, his broad shoulders tensing as his gaze fell on the bed. Yet he said nothing and neither did Burnell, who was also staring at the bloodied sheet. As the two men glanced at the torn curtains and the mess of food, wine, and broken pottery splattered beneath the overturned table, she lowered her eyes, wishing that the floor would simply open up beneath her and swallow her whole.

  “Find us some breakfast that we can eat on the road, hire three swift horses, and meet us in front of the tavern in fifteen minutes,” Guy commanded as the two knights left the room, Henry looking troubled as he shut the door behind them.

  Leila could restrain herself no longer. Trembling with anger, she whirled on Guy. “Do you mind telling me why you have chosen to humiliate me in this manner? I cannot believe—”

  She was stunned into breathless silence when he stroked her cheek very, very gently with his knuckle and stared into her eyes. For a dizzying moment she forgot all else but her inexplicable attraction to him, which was turning her insides into liquid cascades of warmth.

  “Not now, Leila. In due time.”

  As he walked away she could only gape at him, feeling so flustered and furious she did not trust herself to speak. And she had been doing so well, too, until he had touched her! When he turned his back to her and began to dress, she wheeled around and went in a huff to the open window, clasping her arms tightly over her breasts.

  No, you must fight these feelings! You must, you must! she charged herself. This barbarian means nothing to you. Nothing at all! Remember that!

  Though painfully aware of his every movement, his every breath, she ignored him until she heard a loud ripping sound. She whirled to find him tearing the offensive bedsheet in three pieces, then folding the bloodied portion and stuffing it into his saddlebag!

  “Wh—what are you doing?”

  “I take it you are ready to leave?” he queried, dodging her shrill question. His eyes held a strange, disconcerting light as he perused her appearance from head to toe in a most intimate fashion, causing her to shiver. “Your saddlebag is packed?”

  “Of course it is packed!” Leila blurted, her cheeks burning. “I never had a chance to pull out my nightrail, if you recall, only that … that cursed bar of soap!”

  He gave no reply, only smiled at her as he strode around the bed and picked up the saddlebag. “Then let us go, my lady. My men await.”

  “No!” she cried, her racing emotions making her reckless. “I won’t go until you explain why you are taking that wretched piece of linen with you. Tell me, Lord de Warenne. Is it merely a barbaric custom among English knights to keep a bloody memento of each unfortunate maiden they deflower, or is the bedsheet for some darker purpose known only to your black and treacherous heart?”

  “As I said a few moments ago, all will be revealed to you in good time,” Guy stated very softly, his smile gone. “Now, my lady, my shoulders can easily bear both the weight of these saddlebags and you. Make your choice and make it quick. Either walk downstairs or I shall carry you.”

  Suddenly fearful, Leila snapped her mouth shut. His forbidding expression told her he meant exactly what he said. Without another word she whisked her hooded cloak around her shoulders and stormed out the door.

  Chapter 16

  “My lord, may I have leave to speak frankly?” Henry asked, wiping the cold salt spray from his reddened face as another choppy wave broke against the prow of the Channel barge.

  Guy did not immediately answer, his eyes trained on the distant cliffs of Dover. Stark and silent, the chalk precipices rose like welcoming sentinels beneath the cloudy autumn sky.

  England. There had been a time while in that Damascus prison when he thought he would never see those familiar cliffs again. Never see Warenne Castle or his son Nicholas, or Philip, his half brother and one of his most trusted counselors. Now they were within an hour of making shore, the worst of the journey behind them. The wild exhilaration he had experienced upon boarding the barge in Calais with Leila at his side had been indescribable and it lingered still hours later.

  “My lord?”

  “I heard you, Langton.” Guy’s exhilaration was tempered by the somber note in Henry’s usually animated voice. He already had a good idea what was weighing on his loyal knight’s mind. “You may speak.” Guy heard him take a deep breath and he took one as well, filling his lungs with the bracing sea air.

  “It’s about Lady Leila.”

  Guy tensed but did not look at him. “Go on.”

  “I do not presume to know your relationship with the lady, but I can see with my own eyes that it is not a convivial one, my lord. She’s barely spoken since we left Provins two days ago and when she does, her tongue is as
sharp as a razor. I’m just thankful her barbs have been solely directed at you.”

  “Yes, her temperament doesn’t lack for spirit,” Guy agreed dryly.

  Henry gave a short laugh, but quickly sobered. “That’s exactly my point, my lord. My mind is drawn not only to what Burnell and I saw upon the bed linen that morning at the tavern, but to the questionable disarray of your room as well.”

  “And what of it?” Guy queried sharply, feeling a twinge of irritation. “I already explained that you and Burnell would both serve as my witness at court that a bedding had taken place.”

  “Yes, my lord, witnesses to a bedding. But a rape?”

  Guy turned on him, his eyes narrowed with anger. “You know me well, Langton. It was no rape. I have never preyed upon any woman for carnal sport. And as far as Leila is concerned, I have every intention of marrying her—”

  “I believe you, my lord,” Henry cut in hastily. “God knows, I never thought I’d ever see you so smitten by any one wench. I posed that harsh question only because it seems you’ve overlooked something very important.”

  “Say it then, and have done.”

  “Very well. What are Lady Leila’s feelings in this matter? She may have willingly shared your bed, but is she as willing to become your wife? From what I have seen, and in all honesty, my lord, from everything you have told us about her, I think not. Yet you are clearly determined to wed her. Without the lady’s consent, you have nothing upon which to stake your claim and it might as well have been a rape, for so it will appear to Lord Gervais—”

  “Enough!” Guy roared, not so much from anger as from exasperation. “You rattle on worse than a howling fishwife, Langton! Do you think I am an idiot? Besotted, yes. An idiot, no. I have taken all these things into consideration. I am convinced that when I present my intentions to the lady, which I plan to do this very evening and on good English soil, she will accept.”