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Prisoner of My Desire

Prisoner of My Desire


Description : Prisoner of My Desire
England, 1152

The lady was small and fragile, but with the tall knight standing before her, her frailty was much more apparent. Her blond head reached no higher than his broad shoulders. And when his open palm cracked across her cheek, her thin body jerked to the side with the force of it. A blow like that would have easily sent her to the floor if she were not supported. But she was supported, by two of the knight’s men-at-arms. They stood well behind her, her arms twisted just so to thrust her forward so they would not take a blow meant for her. This kept her upright when she might have buckled, kept her there to receive another blow, and still another.

Across the small chamber, Rowena Belleme watched. She also was being held fast by two men-at-arms, the same two who had dragged her into this chamber to witness her stepbrother’s brutality. Blood trickled down the center of her chin from biting her lips to keep from screaming. Tears fell copiously over ashen cheeks. But she had not been struck herself. Like as not it woulde to that if she did not give in to her stepbrother’s demands after this demonstration of his seriousness, but while his patience held, he did not want to blacken her with bruises that would elicitment at her wedding.

Gilbert d’Ambray had no such qualms regarding his stepmother, however. Lady Anne Belleme—nay, she was Anne d’Ambray now and once again a widow, now that Gilbert’s father was dead—was of little use to him except as a hostage to Rowena’s behavior. And there was not much that Rowena would not do for...
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