Charming the Prince (29 page)

His instincts were proved sound when Fiona reappeared a moment later, cradling a ragged bundle to her chest. As she shuffled toward him with her burden, a hush fell over the hall. The tumblers crept back to their benches, and even the children lapsed into an awkward silence. Bannor's spirits sank as he realized that it was no longer him everyone was struggling not to look at, but his bride.

He dared not look at her himself. But he could feel her. He knew when she drew in a shuddering breath, and painstakingly measured each second before she released it.

Fiona held out the bundle, giving him no choice but to take it. "One o' the guards found it outside the portcullis, m'lord. The poor wee thing's near blue from the cold."

Bannor drew back a fold of swaddling too threadbare to be called anything but a rag. The creature within was so tiny it hardly looked human. Its skin seemed too loose for its bones. Although it was too weak to do anything more than mewl like a half-starved kitten, its cloudy blue eyes told Bannor it had only recently been born, perhaps even this very night. 'Twas a pity, he thought savagely, that the child had to be born into such a cold, merciless world.

"There was a note," Fiona said. Since Bannor's hands were already occupied, she handed the crumpled scrap of parchment to Sir Hollis.

The knight squinted at the crude lettering. He had to clear his throat twice before he could rasp out the words, " 'Care for him, m'lord. He is yours.' "

Bannor cast Willow a stricken look. She was staring straight ahead, her face as pale as a bolt of Egyptian linen.

He returned his gaze to the helpless creature in his arms. The child was too weak to even clutch at the finger Bannor used to stroke his tiny palm.

"Of course, he's mine," he said firmly, thrusting the babe back into Fiona's arms. "Warm him up before the fire, won't you, before his wee nose falls off. And send Bea to fetch Mags's wet nurse. The woman should have enough milk to satisfy the both of them."

He swept the same penetrating gaze that had been known to send his enemies scurrying for cover across the silent hall. "Why are you all looking so somber?" he demanded, splashing a fresh stream of wine into his goblet and lifting it high in the air. " 'Tis not every day your lord welcomes a new son to Elsinore!"

Taking their cue from him, his men-at-arms hefted their own goblets and sent up a rousing cheer. The musicians struck up a round dance while the children spilled off their benches and crowded around Fiona, eager to steal a peek at their new brother.

A fresh-faced knight slapped Bannor on the back with a familiarity he wouldn't have dared only a few minutes ago. "The war may be over, my lord, but 'tis gratifying to know your lance has lost none of its thrust."

"Pay no mind to the impudent whelp," Sir Darrin said, an impish grin wreathing his grizzled face. "I've heard he's so eager to drive home his own lance, he misses the target more often than not."

"Better an overeager lance than a withered one," the young knight shot back, his ears flaming.

The rest of Bannor's knights roared with laughter.

They crowded around him, eager to add their own ribald jests
 
to
 
the speculation about his
 
legendary prowess. It took Bannor several minutes to escape their jovial clutches. By the time he did, Willow's chair was empty. She was gone.

******

 
Willow lay rigid in her bed, watching downy feathers of snow drift past the window and listening to the chapel bells chime midnight. 'Twas all she could do not to flinch at each of their crystalline peals. They went on forever, yet seemed to cease too soon, leaving her in a silence broken only by her stepsister's less than delicate snores. She wondered if Bannor was prowling his tower, waiting for her to come to him.

 
She rested with her back to Beatrix, her icy hands folded beneath her cheek. She had feigned sleep when the girl had crawled into the bed, knowing she could not bear to listen to Beatrix prattle on and on about the dramatic arrival of Lord Bannor's bastard babe.

 
She supposed she ought to be grateful that the babe had arrived before she could humble herself beyond redemption. Before she could blurt out those three words that would have left her heart defenseless against every blow.

 
Willow squeezed her eyes tightly shut as Bannor's voice echoed through her mind, rich with affection and amusement.
The little fellow is quite the charmer, isn't he, princess?

 
She might have been able to resist the sweet seduction of being wrapped in his embrace, of gazing at the shining faces of his children and feeling as if she belonged to a family for the very first time in her life. But his casual endearment had been her undoing, reducing her to that same pathetic little girl who had been too proud to believe that anyone could not love her. It had set her mind to spinning a tapestry of the future in shimmering threads of silver and gold. A future where Elsinore became the home she had always dreamed of having.

 
The minute Fiona had come marching into the hall with the babe Bannor had sired on another woman cradled in her arms, that tapestry had began to unravel. Willow had realized that the home she thought she'd found was naught but a castle of dreams built on a foundation of clouds.

 
Willow buried her face in her damp pillow, stricken by a wave of self-loathing. She remained that way for a long time, not even stirring when the chapel bells tolled a single melancholy note, heavy with doom.

That note was still hanging in the air when the tower door came crashing open, and she scrambled to her knees to meet the smoldering eyes of her husband.

Twenty Four

Beatrix sat bolt upright in bed and let out an ear-splitting shriek. Willow had never truly pitied Bannor's enemies until that moment. His sulky-sweet mouth was set in a grim line, and his eyes had gone as dark as a cloudless midnight. They glinted with ferocious determination, warning her that no barricade of splintered furniture or vat of boiling pitch would have kept him from her side on this night.

 
She was almost relieved when he shifted those eyes to Beatrix. "Out," he said, the flat command more damning than a bellow.

 
"B-b-but, my lord," Beatrix stammered, clutching the bedclothes to her chin without even a hint of her usual coquettishness, " 'tis my habit to sleep in naught but my skin."

 
Bannor took a step toward the bed, as if he had every intention of tossing her out of it himself. Snatching up one of the pelts, Beatrix lunged across Willow and off the opposite side of the bed. She all but flew past Bannor and out the door, flashing her naked backside. When the frantic slap-slap of her bare feet had faded, he shut the door with deliberate care, betraying just how badly he wanted to slam it.

 
For some reason, that glimpse of the raw emotion seething just beneath his icy control gave Willow courage. If he expected her to stammer and cower beneath the blankets as Beatrix had done, he was doomed to be sorely disappointed.

She tossed back the pelts and rose to stand beside the bed, wearing the chemise she had found in the cupboard her very first night at Elsinore. The night she had feared that her new husband might be naught but a rutting satyr, intent upon making her a slave to his lusts.

 
As Bannor's bold gaze raked up and down her, taking in every inch of her with a thoroughness that raised gooseflesh on her skin, she had to admit that he bore more than a passing resemblance to that creature. His shirt was unlaced at the throat and his hair was tousled, as if he had dragged his fingers through it more than once. Since Willow could do nothing to hide the way the sheer sendal clung to her rosy nipples or pooled between her thighs, she refused to even try.

 
As she had expected, Bannor did not waste time on pleasantries. "What would you have had me do, Willow? Toss the child back into the snow?"

 
"Of course not! Is that the kind of woman you believe me to be?"

 
"I almost wish I did." He paced to the window and back again, raking a hand through his hair. "All of this would be much easier then, wouldn't it? I could marvel that your flesh could be so warm and sweet, when naught but a lump of ice beats within your breast. I could justify my own sins by condemning yours." He swung around to gaze at her, the hoarse passion in his voice belying his words. "Perhaps I could even learn to hate you."

 
"I'm sorry to disappoint you, my lord, but 'twas not your charity toward that unfortunate child that cut me to the heart. 'Twas the pity in the eyes of Sir Hollis. Fiona. Your men." Her voice faded to a ragged whisper as she struggled to swallow around the lump in her throat. "Your children."

 
He shook his head. " 'Twas never my intention to make you an object of pity or ridicule to any of them. I would have spared you that if I could have."

 
"How? By denying the child? A child you sired on another woman, when you've made it painfully clear you have no desire to sire one on me."

 
Willow had not meant to blurt out the words, but there they were, lying like a carelessly tossed gauntlet on the floor between them.

 
Bannor trampled her invisible challenge as he closed the distance between them in two strides. "I thought we were in accord on that, my lady. If I was mistaken, then I can assure you that I am more than willing to fulfill my husbandly duties. If 'tis a child of your own that you want, 'tis a child I shall give you. The first of many, I can assure you." His hands went to his hips, preparing to unfasten the chain of braided silver that rested low upon them.

 
A flare of panic made Willow reach out and close her hand over his. She thought only to stop him from drawing off the belt, but as the backs of her fingers brushed the thin skein of his hose, she realized he was not only more than willing to give her a child, but more than able as well.

 
His eyes met hers without a hint of shame. She was the one to blush.

 
She jerked her hand back, wrapping it around the bedpost to hide its trembling, and tilted her chin to a defiant angle. "I'm not one of your knights, my lord, to be impressed by the size and vigor of your lance. Nor am I one of your many paramours, to be pacified with a hasty cuddle and a babe in my belly for nine months out of every year."

 
He barked out a helpless laugh. "Surely you must realize that the babe who was brought to the castle tonight was conceived months before I even considered taking a wife." Bannor feathered his fingers across her cheek, both his touch and his voice gentling. "Months before I ever saw your face."

 
Willow held herself stiffly, terrified her pride would shatter beneath his caress. "Can you promise me 'twill never happen again? Can you swear an oath here and now that there will be no more babies delivered to your doorstep after we've been wed nine months? A year? Five years?"

Bannor gazed at her, his face more haunted than she had ever seen it. After a moment, he withdrew his hand from her cheek and bowed his head. "I have yet to swear an oath that I could not keep."

 
Willow pressed her cheek to the bedpost, no longer able to hide the tears that were trickling down it. "Then I am afraid I shall have to claim the freedom you so generously offered me."

 
Bannor jerked up his head, anger sparking in his eyes. "And where will you go, my lady? Will you return to your father's household?" He took her hands, forcing her fists open. He stroked the calluses that still scarred her palms with his powerful thumbs. It would take more than a few weeks of leisure to erase a lifetime of toil. "Is being treated as less than the lowliest of servants preferable to being my wife?"

 
Willow tried to twist out of his grasp, but he held her fast. "I don't have to return to Bedlington. Was it not you who suggested I seek shelter in a convent?"

 
Bannor's harsh laugh held little humor. "And you accused me of trying to lock you away so you could die a dried-up old virgin." He cupped her face in his hands, his hungry eyes searching her face. "Is that what you want, Willow? To lie awake on a hard, narrow cot every night, dreaming of me? Dreaming of this?"

 
Had he seized her lips as roughly as he had seized her hands, she might have been able to resist him. But his mouth closed over hers with such unspeakable tenderness, she feared she might already be dreaming. A kiss so enchanting should have broken every curse, granted every wish, given even the saddest story a happy ending. As he explored the moist warmth of her mouth with his tongue, Willow knew she would not die a dried-up old virgin. When she lay upon her hard, narrow cot in the convent, gazing out the window at the falling snow and dreaming of this moment, her body would weep for him just as it was weeping now.

 
Bannor wrapped his arms around her, crushing his beard-shadowed cheek to the softness of her curls. "Stay with me, Willow," he said hoarsely. "Be my wife. You'll lack for naught, I swear it."

 
Even as she clung to his waist as if she would never let him go, Willow knew she had no choice but to leavehim. If she stayed, she would lack the one thing she could not live without.