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He stood that close to her now. Too close, yet she refused to back down. He felt Smoke slide against his leg. Rowan passed a calming stroke over the wolf’s long, lean back. The beast bristled under his palm.
He tried to recall seeing her at Bartholomew’s feasts and tourneys. She’d been a girl then. A beautiful woman stood before him now. Blanchette Winslowe had a smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose as if some fairy had placed them there on a whim. Large, expressive eyes, with lashes as golden as her hair, filled her face. She’d been raised behind the walls of her father’s castle since birth, under the strict instruction of her governesses; the glow of untapped and untouched innocence stirred something dark in him… a hunger for something he didn’t know he craved.
As a commander and a lifelong soldier, Rowan had a way of recognizing strength and perseverance at a glance. There was a fineness in her, a loyalty and courage that commanded his instant respect and attention. She’d not be disregarded or controlled as easily as he’d believed.
And he enjoyed a challenge.
“What do you plan to do with Jonathan and his child?” she suddenly asked, her voice cutting off his focus. Her tone sounded accusatory, and her eyes echoed the sentiment. He saw that fire stir there, simmering, simmering, simmering, melting away the frosty blue of her eyes. The warrior in him marveled at its heat.
“What would you have me do? He’s committed treason.”
“Will he get a traitor’s death, then?”
Rowan hesitated, understanding that his following words would shape their dynamic indefinitely. He’d need her as an ally, however impossible that might be. Executing a man who’d risked his life and his family’s for her wouldn’t likely win any affection.
“Tell me… what would your father have done?”
He saw she had a retort ready but bit it back. Her gaze lowered, and she inhaled a long breath. The exhale steamed in the cold air. Meddling idly with the sleeves of her dress, she finally admitted, “He would have executed him and made a show of it. He’d be drawn and quartered, pieces of him rotting in gibbets outside the castle as we speak.”
Rowan rubbed his chin thoughtfully, calculating his following words, his next move, his best forward strategy. He paced to the desk and filled a glass to the brim. He drank deeply from his goblet, perhaps to drown his shame.
“You ought to drink with me, Princess. It can bring you some peace,” he said, drinking from his goblet with a shrug. “For a little while, anyway.”
Reluctantly, she reached for her goblet. Slender fingers wrapped around the silver cup, her signet ring flashing in the hearth’s glow. She drank deep as her eyes never parted from his. Impressively, she drained half of the goblet. Rowan felt a smile crawl across his lips.
Her eyes flashed, unamused. “There is only one thing that could bring me peace.”
Rowan felt a shudder move through his body. Her gaze held firm on his, full of dark loathing and bitter heartache.
He knew those feelings all too well.
He’d seen that look every time he glanced in a looking glass.
“And what is that?”
Blanchette looked away and closed her eyes. Rowan took the chance to admire her without restraint. The way her long fan of lashes rested against her porcelain skin and the dusting of freckles that covered her high cheekbones—one which was scarred quite badly.
Her pert features drew tight, and she visibly cringed at the pull of the scar on her cheek. Her eyes snapped open again, and that anger returned in full force. “You owe me more debts than I care to name. But let’s start with Jonathan, shall we?”
“He will stay my prisoner for the time being. And he shall remain unharmed. You have my word.”
The word of a traitor, her eyes said. But she nodded, the gesture not reaching her gaze. “And… and what about me? Shall I be kept as your prisoner in my own home?”
He’d never be the lord of Winslowe Castle as long as she lived. Not truly.
He gazed down at her, transfixed by the forwardness of her stare, watching the rise and fall of her breasts as she awaited his reply. The longer that silence stretched, the more her resolve appeared to weaken. Something visibly snapped in her. Her chin lowered, and her long, honey-dipped lashes veiled her eyes. Rowan set two fingers under her chin and tilted her head back. Her eyes slowly opened again, and tears glittered there. His heart churned at the sight.
But his anger also awakened.
“You are too valuable,” he said, the tips of his fingers lingering on her chin. That small patch of flesh felt as warm and smooth as fresh-spun silk. “And I’m no murderer. You shall remain under my protection if you don’t give me or my men reason to subdue you.”
“Your captain,” she said. “The man who brought me here. He is a monster. I told you what he did to my lady. Why do you have him at your side?”
She lies. Rowan stared at her for a long silence. “He’s been with me since the beginning… nay, before that. He is hard, cold steel. This is true… but I’ve seen the good in him. The loyalty.”
“Loyalty?” She spat the word like it was an obscenity.
“Yes, loyalty. I’ve always fought to see the light in others, to see the good. It’s why he’s by my side and why I was by your father’s for so many years. But as the seasons turn… well, seeing that good is getting more difficult as the world grows darker.”
