Charming the Prince by Teresa Medeiros Page B

set of winding stairs. It seemed her prison was to be a tower. She had expected a spartan cell, or perhaps a straw pallet laid at the foot of one of his bratling's cradles, identical to the one she'd slept on at Bedlington. As the door at the top of the stairs swung open at Fiona's urging, her breath caught in a startled gasp.
    The moment Blanche had arrived at Bedlington, she had laid claim to every treasure Papa had not yet sold. She'd stripped the remaining tapestries from the walls of the great hall and hung them over her bed. She'd sipped her mead from the silver chalices once used to offer the holy sacraments in the chapel. She'd slept in the pearl-encrusted girdle that had belonged to Willow's mother. Over the years, Willow had forgotten how seductive such luxury could be.
      The plastered walls of this bower had been hung with palls of purple silk. Fragrant sprigs of sweet fennel and pennyroyal had been strewn across a timber floor hewn from the finest Norwegian fir. A fire crackled merrily within the belly of an arched fireplace capped by a stone hood.
    Her bed was no straw pallet, but a grand four-poster, curtained with hangings of embroidered linen. Most wondrous of all was the lancet window set deep in the thick stone wall. Unlike the arrow loop on the landing, it was not veiled with crude oak shutters, but glazed with glass—a treasure so rare and precious Willow had never dreamed she would see it in her lifetime.
      The chamber looked as if it had been prepared for a pampered princess. Or a cherished bride.
      As Willow caught a glimpse of her own stunned reflection in the window glass, she resisted the urge to spin round and round like a giddy child.
      "I do hope the chamber pleases ye, m'lady," Fiona said, beaming up at her. " 'Twas Lady Margaret's chamber, and Lady Mary's before her." The old woman crossed herself. "God rest their gentle souls."
      Willow's giddy delight faded. "Lady Margaret and Lady Mary?"
      "Aye—m'lord's first two wives. As sweet-tempered and dear as angels, they were." She shook her head and made a sad little tsking noise with her tongue. "The poor lad has always blamed hisself fer their untimely deaths."
      "As well he should," Willow muttered beneath her breath. They'd no doubt died spewing out his babes in that very bed.
      The old woman's words cast a pall over the cozy chamber. The precocious Beatrix and her married sisters had sometimes whispered of men who measured the vigor of their manhood by the number of children they could sire. Men who looked upon their wives as little more than fertile fields to be plowed thoroughly and repeatedly until their seed took root. Perhaps this Lord Bannor was just such a man. Perhaps he hadn't sought her out to be a chattel to his children, but a slave to his insatiable lusts.
      Her thoughts must have been apparent for Fiona wrapped an arm around her and gave her a quick, hard squeeze. "If ye're tempted to cower under the bed as I did, lass, just remember that Lord Bannor won't need a flagon o' ale to coax ye into his arms. 'Tis said he has charms no maiden can resist."
    "That's just what I'm afraid of," Willow whispered.
      But the woman was already gone, leaving her all alone to await her lord's pleasure.
    ******
      "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't throttle you?" Bannor demanded for the dozenth time as he paced the north tower, glancing off the rounded walls like a cornered stag.
      "I'm your only worthy chess opponent," Hollis suggested hopefully.
      Bannor leveled an icy glare at him. "I defeated you the last eleven times we played."
    "Ah, but it took you more than five moves."
      "Only because I felt sorry for you. A weakness I'm in no danger of succumbing to at the moment."
      "More's the pity," Hollis said glumly, slumping deeper into his chair as if hoping such a pathetic posture would make him a smaller target for Bannor's wrath.
      "I send you out to find me a maternal, bovine dowd to mother my children, and