Free Virginia Henley by The Raven, the Rose

between love and hate. As long as he is not indifferent to you, all can yet be saved. Put that on.”
    “I will not!” hissed Roseanna.
    “Kendall, take her legs,” directed Joanna. Although Roseanna kicked and scratched and swore and cried, in the end she was locked into the maidenbelt.
    “Cry all you want. Roseanna, as your mother, I must take this action to protect you from your own foolishness. Damn it, do you think you invented infatuation? It has followed the same pattern for centuries. When a young boy and girl become infatuated, they hold hands and sigh. Then they kiss, and next comes a French kiss. If you return that kiss, you are saying, ‘I like it—carry on.’ You give him permission to develop twelve pairs ofhands, which he will instantly use to undress you and take possession of your body.”
    Roseanna was white-lipped with shock. “You are the slut, Mother, not I! Leave my chamber! I will never forgive you,” she whispered.
    “I think you’d best dine up here tonight. You are not fit company for the hall,” declared Joanna.
    “I will not leave this chamber until this
thing
is removed from my body. I will not eat one mouthful of food until this
thing
is removed from my body. I will not speak ever again until this
thing
is removed from my body!”
    Her mother ignored her and pushed the two servants ahead of her out of the room. The moment the door was closed, Roseanna turned the key in the lock with an ominous click, and heavy silence enfolded her.
    Roseanna lay on her bed and stared at the ceiling, but her mind was busy with a hundred little details. Her mother had designed this ridiculous maidenbelt in her workshop. It was made of two heavy silver chains that went around the waist and a flat piece of silver mesh, very like chain mail, that went between her legs. It had a small lock at the waist. She suddenly remembered a small lock and key that her mother had given her to secure her jewel casket. When she tried the key on the maidenbelt and it unlocked the contraption, she sighed with great relief.
    Next she gathered together a store of food. She had a bowl of apples; in one of her coffers she found a bag of walnuts and hazelnuts; and on her bedside table she had a large box of sweetmeats made from marzipan. She also had a jug of water, and a flask of wine; she could go for two or three days at least. She would make them all sorry!
    Her eyes fell on the cloak Ravenspur had given her. She snatched it up with the intention of rending it to shreds, but with the first tear came a subtle scent. She rubbed the cloth between her fingers reflectively and lifted it to her nose, wondering what its fragrance was. She picked up a little volume that always gave her pleasure on the language of flowers. Balsam was for impatience. As she read it, she could smell the balsam. She smiled as she read that broom was for neatness; how apt. The white lily stood for purity. Her mind wandered briefly to the maidenbelt. Dead leaves represented sadness, which was sensible when you thought about it. Jasmine … jasmine! That’s what his cloak smelled of. Quickly she ran her finger across the page to see what it meant. Sensuality! She shut the book with a little snap. She visualized his dark eyes and the thick black lashes and brows that intensified his gaze. She closed her eyes to dispel the image, but it only became sharper. His jaw was so aggressive, his mouth so frankly sensual, that she blushed at the memory. His naked body rose up before her, so real that she could almost reach out and touch him. Lord, why ever was she having such wicked thoughts? She could see him and smell him—aye, she could even taste his kiss upon her mouth. His rich, dark laughter came back to her, making her spine tingle; the very danger of the man filled the room, so tangible was her memory of him. Again she tasted his blood on her lips when she had bitten him, and she shivered with excitement.
Damn Ravenspur to hell,
she thought savagely. He