Charming the Prince by Teresa Medeiros Page A

realizing even before Bannor murmured "Checkmate" that he'd surrendered his queen to the rapacious white knight and left his king helpless before the onslaught of one of Bannor's craftier pawns.
      Although Bannor seized his prize without hesitation, caressing the delicately carved queen between his thumb and forefinger, he found it impossible to take his usual satisfaction in his victory.
      Because, unlike Hollis, he knew the game hadn't ended.
    It had only just begun.

Nine
    Bannor was free.
      Free to joust and spar with his knights in autumn sunshine so bright it stung his eyes. Free to train his garrison of soldiers beneath the cottony clouds floating across the crisp blue sky. Free to gallop across the stubble of his shorn fields on his mighty white destrier and praise his grinning villeins for reaping such a plentiful harvest. Free to sup each night at the head of the high table in the great hall, surrounded by the angelic faces of his children.
    He'd never been so miserable.
      He might have been able to savor his freedom had Willow not been required to pay the price for it. Now that his children had discovered a more gratifying target for their mischief, they hastened to obey his every command, murmuring, "Aye, Papa," "Nay, Papa," and "As you wish, Papa" with all the humble piety of saints, all the while packing Willow's cupboard, bed, and bath with enough bugs, rodents, and reptiles to rival any plague Moses had cast on the Egyptians.
      Bannor forced himself to turn a blind eye to their devilish doings, promising himself that every humiliation Willow endured at their hands would only serve to spare her pride when she was finally goaded into spurning him.
      When they dumped enough pepper in her stew to make her sneeze a dozen times in rapid succession, he commented upon its savory tang and handed her a kerchief to wipe her streaming eyes. When they loosed Mary Margaret's favorite pig in her bedchamber, he behaved as if deaf to its shrill squeals, even going so far as to step absently over the beast as Willow and her scowling little maidservant herded it through the great hall. When they tossed a stinkpot down her chimney, he ignored the pungent odor of sulfur that clung to her mane of silky curls for days.
      After that first night, there were no more screams. Unable to bear the strained silence, Bannor would find himself standing in the shadows of the courtyard, waiting for the moment when Willow would throw open the shutters, her delicate nostrils pinched between thumb and forefinger, and calmly toss out the rancid eggs Desmond had stuffed in the toes of her shoes. Once or twice, he would have almost sworn he felt her accusing eyes searching the darkness, as if she sensed his presence.
    Bannor's desperation grew as the fortnight approached its close without Willow making so much as a whisper of complaint. The winter snows would soon be upon them. If he was forced to spend the long, dark winter nights in her company, he knew a babe would come as surely as the spring.
      He was breaking his fast one cold, sunny morning, ringed by the bland faces of his impeccably behaved children, when Fiona marched into the great hall and slammed his trencher down on the table. "I'm afraid there isn't any honey this morn, m'lord. Ye'll have to eat yer bread dry." She glowered at him from beneath her scraggly brows. "I hope ye don't choke on it."
    As Fiona stomped back into the kitchen, Bannor exchanged a wry glance with Hollis. He'd been forced to confide in his steward, but all the other denizens of the castle remained baffled by his thoughtless behavior toward his bride. Even his knights and men-at-arms, who would have never dared question his authority on the battlefield, had taken to muttering among themselves and casting him disapproving glances. If Willow didn't spurn him soon, he might very well have a full-scale rebellion on his hands.
      Bannor had just taken a hearty bite of bread when Willow appeared on the