Prisoner of My Desire Read Online Free PDF Page A

her in it. “Where are you, you silly child? Must I needs call my man, John, to find you? You will meet him soon enough. If I do not have you breeding within the month, I will give you to John to have it done. I am too old to go through this again. You are the last, and I will have a son from you one way or another. What say you to that?”
    Was he trying to shock her? Had she even heard him aright?
    “What I say, my lord, is that you sound like a desperate man, unless—Do I understand youcorrectly? You would give me to this man John to get me with child if you cannot?”
    “Aye, I would. I have a fondness for John. I would not mind calling his son my own. Better that than have my brother get what is mine, a man I despise more than any other.”
    “Why do you not just claim John as your own?”
    “Do not be stupid, girl. No one would believe he is mine. But it will not be doubted that your child is mine.”
    Would it not? The man was worse than she had thought. She was his wife, yet he meant to breed her just like his cows and pigs. If he could not see it done, he would let another, nay, insist another do it. Gilbert would not protest either, she realized, for he wanted the same end, a child.
    God’s mercy, did she really have to go through with this? He was so feeble and fleshless, she knew she could fight him off without half trying. But what would happen to her mother if she did? And he was her husband now. A husband was all-powerful. Her very life was now hers by his whim alone, for if he chose to take it, no one would bring him to task for it.
    “Have I made a bad bargain here?” His voice rose with the possibility. “Come you here and ready me, wife, and do it now!”
    That was a direct order, not to be gainsaid, but Rowena was positive she would faint if she had to touch him. “I cannot,” she said, loud enough so she would not have to repeat it. “If you mean to take me, do so. I will not help you.”
    His face turned so furiously red, she was certain not one of his ten other wives had ever dared to refuse him. Would he have her beaten for doing so? ’Twas obvious he was not strong enough to beat her himself.
    “You—you—”
    He got no further than that. And it looked as if his eyes were about to pop out of his head. His color darkened still more. He swayed on the step, one of his hands pressed so hard to his chest, she thought his ribs might cave in. It was on the tip of her tongue to say something conciliatory, merely to calm him down, but before she could, he swayed backward, right off the steps without a sound.
    She scrambled to the edge of the bed to look over the side. He was not moving. He lay there in the rushes, his hand still clutching his chest, his eyes still bulging. No breath moved his chest.
    Rowena continued to stare at him. Dead? Could she be that lucky? A laugh bubbled up in her throat, but it came out in a soft wail. What would Gilbert do now? This was not her fault. Was it? If she had not refused…If it was her fault, she exonerated herself, feeling no guilt. How could she know a little defiance would kill the man?
    But was he truly dead? She would not touch him to find out. Even now the thought of touching him was repugnant to her. But someone had to find out.
    She leaped off the bed and ran for the door, then out into the hall—and right into Gilbert’s arms.
    “Aye, ’tis as I thought,” he said with markeddispleasure. “You intended all along to run away. But there will be none of that. You will go back in there and—”
    “He is dead, Gilbert!” she blurted out.
    His hands squeezed her arms painfully before he released one and dragged her back into the chamber with the other. He went right to the old man and bent to put his head to his chest. When he looked up at her, his expression was dark with fury.
    “How did you do it?”
    She stepped back from the blast of that accusation. “Nay, I touched him not, and there was only your wine in the room, which he did not