Jenni Fletcher - Besieged And Betrothed

He shook his head in disbelief. No. Even if he had been enjoying her pretence of seduction—a little too much, perhaps—he would never have taken advantage of her in that way. He’d never touched any woman who hadn’t wanted him to and he refused to believe that any drug would have affected his behaviour so completely. The very idea was abhorrent. He wouldn’t have touched her, wouldn’t have kissed her, not unless... He blinked as another, even more surprising idea popped into his head. Not unless she’d thrown herself at him first...

He gave a hollow laugh, rubbing his wrists together behind his back in an effort to work his fingers loose. Now he was definitely imagining things. The last thing she would have done was throw herself at him, more’s the pity. The thought of finding out what those cherry-red lips tasted like was certainly tempting, but she was unlikely ever to offer him the chance. His current situation was proof enough of that.

He’d barely reached the conclusion before the door opened and the woman herself appeared, bearing a beeswax candle in one hand and a wooden cup in the other.

‘Lady Juliana.’ His lip curled at the sight of her. ‘Good of you to remember me.’

‘It would be hard to forget with all the noise you were making.’ She put the candle down on a coffer, though she didn’t look at him. ‘Your men can probably hear you on the other side of the moat.’

She kept her eyes cast downwards as she approached the bed, walking so slowly that he would have assumed she was doing it on purpose to taunt him if she weren’t so obviously exhausted. She looked even more tired than she had before, still dressed in the same nondescript brown tunic she’d been wearing in the rain, though she’d covered her hair with a cream-coloured headdress that only made the rings around her eyes look larger and darker by comparison, almost like bruises. Even so, the subtle sway of her hips was causing a definite physical response in his body. Damn it, what was the matter with him?

He dragged his gaze away from her hips and back towards the window. If he wasn’t mistaken, the thin sliver of sky between the shutters appeared to be lighter than before. Hadn’t she slept all night, then?

‘Your hospitality’s somewhat lacking, my lady.’ He pushed an unwonted flicker of concern aside, glaring at her instead.

‘Then you’ll be pleased to hear that I’ve brought you some ale. Poppy makes you thirsty.’

His scowl deepened ferociously. That was true. His throat felt red raw, though the thought of accepting another drink from her gave him definite pause.

‘You’ll have to forgive me being suspicious.’

‘Why would I drug you again? You’re already tied up.’

‘Really? I’d forgotten.’

She gave a weary-looking shrug. ‘You don’t have to drink if you don’t want to.’

He shot her a look that would have made grown men quail, though she was too busy stifling a yawn to notice. The sight made him doubly angry. Bad enough that he was her prisoner—she didn’t have to act as if he were an inconvenience as well! Even if she had been pacing the battlements all night, she could at least have the decency to pay him a little more attention.

‘How do you expect me to drink when I’m tied up?’ he challenged her.

‘Here.’

She held the cup to his lips, bending at the waist and stretching her arms out in an apparent attempt to keep the rest of her body as far away from the bed as possible. If it hadn’t been for his own position he might have found such a bizarre posture amusing, though as it was he was too thirsty to care. After a moment’s hesitation he drank, keeping his eyes on her face the whole time, though she kept her own studiously averted, blinking so rapidly it looked as if she were struggling to stay awake.

‘Am I keeping you up?’ He moved his mouth away, making his tone as scathing as possible. ‘Perhaps you need to go to bed, my lady.’

‘I can’t.’ She put the cup to one side with a look of relief. ‘You’re in it.’

‘What?’

He was so surprised that for a moment he actually forgot to scowl. Instead he looked around, reappraising the room in the flickering candlelight, finally noticing the tapestries on the walls and the small trinket boxes set on a table by the bed. Definitely not a prison, but what on earth was she doing, putting him in her bedchamber? He wasn’t easily shocked, but he could only imagine two types of woman who would drug a man and then tie him up in their bed—ones who were either extremely innocent or extremely experienced. Under the circumstances, he wasn’t sure which alarmed him more.

‘This is your chamber?’

‘Yes. I had my men carry you up. I thought you’d be more comfortable here.’

‘Comfortable? Tied up?’

‘Apart from that.’

He let out a shout of laughter, anger and shock turning to incredulity. ‘Your father always said you were one of a kind. I’m starting to think he was right.’

‘What do you mean?’ Her eyes shot to his face, meeting his for the first time since she’d entered. ‘My father told you about me?’

‘He said he had a flame-headed firebrand for a daughter. Foolishly I thought he was exaggerating.’

‘Truly? He said that?’

He narrowed his gaze, struck by the flicker of uncertainty in hers. Apparently what her father had said about her really mattered, as if she hadn’t known how he’d felt. Strange, but he’d had the impression they were close. Or had been anyway...

‘Something like that. I forget the exact words.’

‘Oh.’ Her expression wavered. ‘Did he say it like it was a bad thing?’

‘A bad thing?’ The question took him by surprise. ‘No, I wouldn’t say that...’

He leaned back against the wall, stalling for time as he wondered what exactly he would say. Generally he favoured the truth, no matter how blunt, but this was hardly the time for discussing her father’s fears for her future. He certainly wasn’t in any position to offer advice. Even if he wasn’t tied up, he was the last person in the world to talk to about any kind of paternal relationship.

‘He said he’d like to introduce us one day.’ That was true, he recalled with a jolt of surprise, though as to why William had said it, he couldn’t remember.

Her mouth dropped open. ‘You mean you were actually friends with him?’

‘For my part, yes. I told you we fought together at Lincoln, but we spent a lot of time on the march talking, too. He had a way of making people talk. He was one of the cleverest men I ever met.’ He paused meaningfully. ‘I should have known better than to underestimate his daughter. I won’t make the same mistake twice.’

She studied him intently for a moment as if considering whether or not to ask something else, before drawing up a stool.

‘Are you hungry? We only have pottage, but I can ask one of the guards to fetch you some if you want?’

He had to stop himself from laughing again. Of all the questions he’d anticipated, that hadn’t been one of them. She was certainly one of a kind. Now that she’d taken him prisoner, she seemed more concerned with his well-being than in interrogating or making any demands of him. She looked as if she’d rather close her eyes and go to sleep instead, though if the hour were really as late, or as early, as he suspected, then it wasn’t long until dawn. Which meant that they were almost out of time. If he were going to convince her to surrender, then he had to hurry.

‘You haven’t taken many men captive, I presume?’

‘Why?’ Her expression turned guarded. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘It’s not usual to care so much about your prisoner’s comfort.’

‘Oh... No, I’ve never taken anyone prisoner before.’