His Lady's Ransom. Merline Lovelace

      He strolled forward, his spurs scraping the rushes. Madeline fought the urge to shrink back against the far rim of the tub. Shivers raced down her spine, caused in equal part by the cold air wafting on her back and the fury that sizzled in her veins. Angrily she flung her hair over her shoulder and glared at him.

      He seemed to find her defiance amusing. “A woman who defies her lord is not entitled to privacy. If he so wished, he could strip her before all and inflict what punishment he would upon her.”

      “You took one too many sword blows to your helm this day, sir. You are not my lord, nor have you any say in what punishments I may or may not incur. I am in the king’s keeping.”

      “No longer, lady.”

      The flat assertion made her clutch her towel in suddenly tight fingers. “Wh—what? What say you?”

      “You are mine now, as are your lands and revenues. To hold and to use as I will, until I decide where to settle you.”

      Her voice sank to a disbelieving croak. “Yours?”

      “Aye. I won you in the tourney.” A sardonic gleam flared in the blue eyes hovering over her. “You, my lady Madeline, are the Lord John’s ransom.”