Charming the Prince (19 page)

 
The accusation he finally hurled at her was not the one she had expected. "Why did you kiss me?"

 
Out of all her recent offenses
_,
it was almost as if her kiss had wounded him the most. Since it was the one question Willow dared not answer, she had no choice but to toss it back in his face. "Why did
you
kiss
me?"

 
"Because, contrary to your conduct, you're a bit old for spanking." His speculative gaze raked her from head to foot. "At least I thought you were..."

 
"If your kiss is naught but a punishment, I shudder to imagine what you do to women who truly offend you."

He took a step toward her, the light in his eyes sharpening to a dangerous glitter. "Would you care to find out?"

 
Willow took a step back. "Was it your kiss that tricked Bea into betraying me?"

He shrugged. "Not every woman considers my kiss a torture to be endured."

"If you touched her, I'll kill you." Willow blurted out the words before she realized she meant them.

A mocking smile played around Bannor's lips. "Jealousy becomes you, my lady. It kindles a blush in your cheek and a fire in your eyes."

 
She was so caught off guard by the unexpected flattery that it took her a moment to realize he hadn't denied her accusation. "I'm not jealous. I'm appalled! You ought to be ashamed of yourself!"

 
His smile vanished. "If I had seduced your maidservant, I would be. But I can assure you that my carnal tastes don't run to precocious children." He drew closer and began to circle her. "You dare to chide me for sins I've yet to commit, but what about your own transgressions, my lady? Since you came to Elsinore, you've incited my children to open rebellion. You've hardened their hearts against me."

 
"I didn't harden their hearts!" she cried. "You did! The same way you hardened mine—with your inattention and your indifference." Willow turned away from his probing gaze, realizing that she had revealed more than she meant to.

 
His voice softened as he captured her chin in his hand and tilted her face toward him. "Those are sins I cannot deny. But I am coming to regret them."

 
Unable to bear the mockery of his caress, she jerked away from his touch, but continued to meet his gaze boldly. "Just as you regret marrying me?"

 
"And why shouldn't I?" he replied hoarsely, his empty hand curling into a fist. "I haven't known so much as a moment's peace since I first laid eyes on you."

 
Willow stiffened. At least he had spared her a stammered denial or an outright lie. "Then I suppose all that remains is to determine my fate." She ducked out of his reach and began to pace the tower. "Since you find me no more appealing than some fat fishwife with a mustache, perhaps 'tis not too late for you to swear that vow of celibacy you considered." She shot him a look of mock sympathy. "But 'twould be a shame for you to have to give up all your other doxies." She marched to the hearth, then back again. "You could allow Sir Hollis to take me off your hands, but we wouldn't want the poor fellow to have to make such a
terrible sacrifice,
now would we?" She spun around, snapping her fingers. "I know! Why don't you just have me locked away in a convent where I can die a dried-up old virgin. After all, 'tis the only fit place for a miserable creature such as me."

 
Bannor's mouth had fallen open halfway through her recitation. Willow reached up and firmly nudged it shut. "There's no need to deny any of it. Your own son heard the entire exchange."

 
He swung away from her, bracing his hands on the mantel over the stone hearth. At least he had the decency to hang his head in shame, Willow thought bitterly.

"Why did you have to use your children to drive me away? If you wanted to be rid of me, why couldn't you just tell me? I wouldn't have held you to your vows. I would have set you free."

 
Bannor turned to face her. Why, the wretch wasn't cringing in shame! He was laughing! Mirth had crinkled his eyes and deepened that wicked dimple in his jaw.

 
Furious, Willow marched to the door. The clumsy barricade Bannor had erected loomed before her. She shoved at the table with all of her might, but it refused to budge. Only then did she realize that Bannor had come around and was holding the other end of it steady with one hand.

 
All traces of merriment had disappeared from his face, leaving it as grave as Willow had ever seen it. "When I told Hollis I couldn't allow him to make the
terrible sacrifice
of keeping you for himself, I was mocking him, not you."

 
Willow strode to the window and peered down, measuring the distance to the cobblestones below.

 
Bannor's voice followed her, more relentless than his touch, more compelling than his kiss. "I didn't swear a vow of celibacy because I knew I could never resist a temptation as sweet as you."

 
Rejecting the window as a possible escape route, Willow began to tap her way along the wall, hoping to find a stone she could dislodge to reach the secret passage.

 
"And I almost locked you away in a convent, because I couldn't bear the thought of any man but me putting his hands on you."

 
Willow froze, forgetting to breathe. Forgetting
how
to breathe. She slowly turned, feeling as if she'd wandered into one of her dreams.

 
But Bannor was still there, leaning against the table with his arms folded over his chest like a shield. He wore a look on his face Willow hadn't seen since her papa had last ruffled her hair and called her "his princess"—part yearning and part pain over some loss he could anticipate, but was powerless to prevent.

 
Willow took one step toward him, then another. Then she threw back her head and began to laugh.

Bannor was both baffled and enchanted by Willow's laughter. It wasn't sweet and tinkling as he'd expected, but deep and rusty, like the sound an iron portcullis might make if it hadn't been raised for a very long time.

 
"I knew you'd want revenge on me," she said, her throaty chuckle making him ache with desire, "but this is truly a jest more cruel and petty than any Desmond could have devised."

 
Bannor shook his head in bewilderment. "The jest must be on me, dear lady, for I am well and truly ignorant of it."

 
"Do you think me an utter lackwit? We may not have lived in splendor at Bedlington as you do here at Elsinore, but we did have mirrors." She gave the soft, dark curls that framed her face a cruel yank. "My hair is the color of soot. My skin is as swarthy and coarse as a troll's. My arms and legs are as knobby as the limbs of a willow. And my breasts!" She cupped the offending objects in her open palms. "Just look at them!"

 
Bannor cleared his throat with a great deal of difficulty. 'Twas impossible
not
to look, with the small, plump globes hefted so alluringly in her hands.

 
She let them fall, then gazed despairingly down at her chest. "They're naught to speak of. Barely half the size of Bea's." Her face brightened with a curious mixture of anguish and pride. "Now Bea is beautiful. She has big blue eyes, long flaxen hair, and skin like fresh-poured cream. If you were to tell me you couldn't resist a temptation as sweet as Bea, I would believe you."

"She's only a child!" Bannor protested. "And I really don't mean to be unkind, but isn't she just a little bit... plump?"

Willow gaped at him for a long moment before saying softly, "I do believe that's the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me."

 
"Yet," Bannor said, moving resolutely toward her. She stood her ground, her expression wary, but intrigued.

 
There might have been a thousand mirrors at Bedlington, but Bannor suspected Willow had never truly seen herself. She had seen only her warped reflection in the spiteful eyes of those who sought to belittle her. Anger surged through him. Perhaps he should rethink his decision not to burn her father's keep to the ground.

Willow would have been alarmed by Bannor's fierce expression if she hadn't been mesmerized by the tender glow in his eyes. She stood as still as a marble statue, waiting to be brought to life by his touch.

 
It did not disappoint. His hand brushed against her hair. As he twined one curl around his finger, then stroked her scalp with his broad, blunt fingertips, she had to turn her face away to keep from sighing with delight.

 
"Your hair," he whispered, the spicy-sweet warmth of his breath caressing her ear, "is a cloud of the softest sable. Any man would long to bury his face in it. Your skin..." he murmured, sliding his hand around to cup her cheek, "is as gold and sweet as nectar warmed by the sun. Your limbs ..." he stroked his hands down her arms until they were palm to palm, then laced his fingers through hers, holding her hostage to the gentle press of his body against hers, "are delicate, yet strong enough to bind me to your heart."

 
Willow was beginning to rue her frankness. He wouldn't, she thought breathlessly. He couldn't...

But he did.

 
Bannor claimed her breasts as boldly as he had claimed the rest of her, first kneading them through the coarse linen of her tunic, then supporting their weight with his palms while his thumbs stroked her rigid nipples. Willow gasped, no more prepared for the raw throb of pleasure than she was for the thick, sweet surge of liquid desire between her thighs.

 
"And your breasts . . ." Bannor's hoarse rasp deepened to a wordless groan that was more eloquent than any tribute ever composed by a poet or minstrel. He inclined his head to press a reverent kiss upon each gentle swell.

 
Willow twined her fingers in his hair, coaxing his head back up. "I've always thought my mouth was rather . . . plain," she confessed, daring to give him a provocative look.

 
"Well, you were wrong," he said gravely, touching his fingertips to her lips. " Tis a thing of uncommon beauty."

 
Her eyes fluttered shut as he lowered his head to graze her lips with his own. This time, he took his pleasure in tender sips, molding his mouth to hers, then gently nibbling her upper lip until she was the one hungering for the fulsome sweetness of his tongue in her mouth. He did not leave her wanting for long. She moaned her delight as he seized the prize of her mouth with rough, lavish strokes that charmed her own shy tongue into joining the fray. She cupped the nape of his neck in her small hand, coaxing him closer, urging him deeper.

Bannor accepted her invitation with a growl of satisfaction, bearing her back against the wall. There was no need for his body to ripen against hers. It already had. For Willow, not even the foreign shock of that discovery could compare to the sheer wonder of realizing that this magnificent man—this warrior prince—truly wanted her.

 
He wrapped his arms around her, lifting her until the undeniable proof of everything he'd said nudged at the juncture between her legs. Her thighs parted instinctively, welcoming him as eagerly and artlessly as her mouth had welcomed his tongue. The coarse wool of her breeches created an exquisite friction as he cupped her bottom in his hands, lifted her hips high, and ground himself against her.

 
Fearful that he was in danger of spilling his seed in his braies like some callow squire, Bannor began to tug Willow's breeches down her slim hips. They wouldn't be slim for long once her body began to swell with his child. The image should have panicked him. Instead, he felt a savage rush of pride.

 
Biting off an oath, he broke away from her, leaving her to collapse against the wall in a bewildered heap. He staggered to the window, flexing his hands on the stone sill. The night's wintry breath failed to cool his fevered brow.

 
If he turned around in that moment, he knew he wouldn't be able to resist Willow's moist, parted lips or the luminous invitation in her misty gray eyes. Perhaps 'twas not too late to make her believe his attentions had been naught but a twisted game of revenge. But even as he considered the ploy, he knew she would not believe him. If his body didn't betray him, his eyes would. Fiona had always said he was a wretched liar.

 
He gazed up at a distant star, stripped of every defense except the truth. "I wasn't trying to drive you from Elsinore because I did not want you, my lady, but because I feared I would never stop wanting you."

 
"And that would be bad?" Willow squeaked, still reeling from the wonder of being wanted at all.

 
" 'Twould be terrible," he replied, his profile bleaker than the winter sky. "Because every time I touched you, your body would quicken with my child."

 
Willow's breath caught as she realized for the first time just how sorely she had misjudged him. She crossed to the window, drawn toward him by a tide of tenderness, and rested her hand on his forearm. "You mustn't allow your grief and guilt to rob you of all future happiness," she said softly. "After all, any man would be reluctant to bed his bride after his first two wives had lost their lives bearing his children."