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The Knight's Conquest

In medieval England, the wife of the fallen lord is a prize every conqueror seeks to claim for his own. When her husband’s castle is captured by the darkly handsome Sir Adam, Rosalind finds herself at his mercy - and she soon realises there is no place she would rather be. But with the ghosts of her past threatening to stand between them, she will have to learn how to trust their conqueror and surrender to the lust that binds them together… ~ “Good morrow, fair lady,” the man said as he rounded the corner. It wasn’t any of the men who fetched all the other women. Rosalind was certain of that, for despite hearing it only once, she recognised this man’s voice. If she wasn’t mistaken, Sir Adam himself had come for her. Her breath grew shallow as she stumbled backwards, her wide eyes fixed on the dungeon door. All she could see in the gloom was one hand deftly unfastening the lock, but the moment it fell away and the door swung open, she saw that she was right. It was Sir Adam, and his dark eyes were locked onto her as he rapidly closed the distance between them. “I wanted to fetch you myself,” he said as she backed up towards the rear of the cell. “What say you to that, I wonder?” Nothing at all, was the answer to his question. Rosalind knew she was trapped and entirely at his mercy, but whatever game he was playing, she refused to be a willing participant in it. Despite her grim determination though, she found she couldn’t tear her eyes away from him. He filled the cell, his vast physical presence so masculine and dominant that he consumed her in every way. She couldn’t deny that he was attractive. Now they were alone, her pulse quickened and her face slowly began to flame. Deeply grateful for the gloom that would hide those tiny betrayals from the lord’s watchful stare, she forced herself to look down at the floor and pretend she was wholly untroubled by his arrival. Out of the corner of her eye she saw his face darken ominously, but she made no move to acknowledge him - until he spoke one solitary word that smashed her hard-won composure to pieces. His thumb slowly stroked across his thin lips. “Disrobe,” he said quietly.