Prisoner of My Desire by Johanna Lindsey Page A

bastards far and wide, so what was one more to them? Nay, that was the attitude of nobles, not serfs. But male serfs took their pleasure where they could, too—only they rarely knew if a babe was theirs or not, for the maids they cavorted with were not constant—and they tended to marry if they were caught.
    Did he think he would have to marry her? Or did he object to the way they would have to copulate, with her on the top, with her in control? Mildred had called it unnatural, so mayhap he thought so, too. Well, she could not help that. She could not help any of this.
    “I am sorry you object, but that changes naught,” she said now, her tone tinged with bitterness. “I still must do it. But I will be quick so you are not disturbed for long.”
    His eyes flared at her, as if she had said something incredibly stupid. She wished she could not read his thoughts so well. She wished he would make this easier for her, but why should he? He must feel as misused as she did. Well, she refused to look at him anymore. And she would get this done and over with.
    So decided, she climbed up on the edge of the bed, but it suddenly shook so forcefully, she tumbled backward to land on the floor. She stared up at the ceiling, fighting for the breath that had been knocked out of her, wondering what had happened. But then she heard the chains settling down to silence and knew—and got mad.
    Damn you! she wanted to rail at him, but all she did was get back on her feet and glare down at him. “I will copulate with you. Do you understand? I have to!”
    She got back on the bed, ready for his violent thrashing this time, but less prepared to actually watch it. He was violent, and the power behind his bucking and twisting and writhing was terrifying to behold. His body strained beyond limits, seemed to grow in size. The entire bed bounced and moved across the floor. She lost her balance again, started to topple, but bent toward him just in time, so that she was thrown across his loins instead of to the floor.
    He stilled instantly. She worried then that she might have hurt him, and lifted herself up to look under her. But his manroot still looked the same, so she could not tell if her belly had harmed it or not. But from that position she sawthe blood coating his ankles. She glanced at his hands, and there, too, blood smeared over his wrists.
    She hissed through her teeth at this evidence of his violence. “You stupid man. Why cause yourself pain over something you cannot prevent?”
    He answered with another growl. But while he was still motionless, she swiftly threw her leg over his hips to straddle them and gave him a triumphant look. If he was going to buck now, it would be all to the good. But he did not. He just watched her with murder in his bright silver eyes.
    Warrick had never been so furious in his life. She meant to steal a child from him, his child! If she succeeded he would kill her. Nay, that would be too quick. He would make her suffer the agonies of hell. But she could not succeed. What she intended enraged him, but it also left him cold, and the stupid wench did not even realize that, if that look of utter triumph she had given him was to be credited.
    He watched her lift her shift just enough to bare her warmth and settle it against his loins. Perversely, it enraged him even more that she did not intend to remove her clothes. She could steal his child, but she would not show him her nakedness to do it. Well and good, she would learn soon enough that she was doomed to fail. To that end, he closed his eyes against the look of her, which was too lovely by half.
    He fed on his anger. He seethed with it, his only desire to get his hands on her so he couldbeat her senseless. That she would dare do this to him! He recalled the words he had thought a jest, that she needed no help to rape him. For that alone he despised her. For that alone he could kill her, but she meant to steal from him as well, flesh of his flesh. The mere