Forbidden Night with the Warrior Read online

  One wicked night for an heir!

  Rosamund de Courcy has always loved Warrick de Laurent, but was forced to marry another. Now her husband’s dying command is that she must provide him with an heir. To do so, she will have to spend one sinful night...with Warrick!

  The powerful warrior was wounded by Rosamund’s abandonment years ago, and Warrick refuses to let her touch his heart again. But this illicit night is impossible to resist, and soon he is determined—he will not only possess her, but reclaim her for his own!

  Warriors of the Night

  Surrender to seduction...

  Let Michelle Willingham sweep you away with her brand-new, thrillingly passionate Warriors of the Night miniseries. Be entranced by these darkly sexy warrior heroes and follow them as they face their biggest challenge yet—falling in love!

  Forbidden Night with the Warrior

  Available now

  Forbidden Night with the Highlander

  Coming soon

  Author Note

  Forbidden Night with the Warrior is the first in a new series inspired by Indecent Proposal. When Rosamund de Beaufort falls in love with Warrick de Laurent as a maiden, her father forbids a union between them. The star-crossed lovers try to wed in secret, but Rosamund is forced to marry another man.

  In this book, I wanted to explore the idea of what would happen if a dying lord desperately needed an heir and offered a night with his wife to the man she’d always loved. It’s a story about second chances and wanting to right the wrongs of the past. And then, too, there is the question of which marriage was real.

  Look for the second book in this series, Forbidden Night with the Highlander, which tells the story of Rhys de Laurent and Lianna MacKinnon. If you’d like me to email you when I have a new book out, please visit my website at michellewillingham.com to sign up for my newsletter. As a bonus, you’ll receive a free story just for subscribing!

  MICHELLE

  WILLINGHAM

  Forbidden Night

  with the Warrior

  RITA® Award finalist Michelle Willingham has written over twenty historical romances, novellas and short stories. Currently she lives in southeastern Virginia with her husband and children. When she’s not writing, Michelle enjoys reading, baking and avoiding exercise at all costs. Visit her website at michellewillingham.com.

  Books by Michelle Willingham

  Harlequin Historical Romance

  and Harlequin Historical Undone! ebook

  Warriors of the Night

  Forbidden Night with the Warrior

  Warriors of Ireland

  (linked to The MacEgan Brothers)

  Warrior of Ice

  Warrior of Fire

  Forbidden Vikings

  To Sin with a Viking

  To Tempt a Viking

  The MacKinloch Clan

  Claimed by the Highland Warrior

  Seduced by Her Highland Warrior

  Craving the Highlander’s Touch (Undone!)

  Tempted by the Highland Warrior

  The MacEgan Brothers

  Her Irish Warrior

  The Warrior’s Touch

  Her Warrior King

  Her Warrior Slave (prequel)

  Taming Her Irish Warrior

  Surrender to an Irish Warrior

  Warriors in Winter

  Visit the Author Profile page at Harlequin.com for more titles.

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  To Barb Massabrook, a bright spirit with a ready smile and a love for Scotland and gorgeous men in kilts. You are one of the nicest women I’ve ever met, and I am so glad to call you my friend. As you fight this battle, know that we are with you always.

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Epilogue

  Excerpt from The Foundling Bride by Helen Dickson

  Chapter One

  England—1174

  ‘You cannot ask this of me.’ Rosamund de Courcy stared at her husband in disbelieving shock. ‘It is a sin.’

  Alan de Courcy, the Baron of Pevensham, leaned back against the pillow of their bed. His brown hair hung limply against his face, and his grey eyes were shielded with unending pain. He had grown weaker over the past three months, and though Rosamund prayed each night for his recovery, the shadow of death lingered over him. It terrified her to imagine him gone, for he had been a true friend through her darkest nightmares.

  Now he wanted her to lie with another man to conceive the child they so desperately needed. The very idea was unthinkable.

  ‘We need an heir, ma petite. And I am incapable of giving you one.’ Her husband spoke of the proposition as if it were a business arrangement. ‘I will not let my brother inherit everything I have built. Owen would ruin Pevensham within a year.’

  Rosamund paced before the hearth, her heart racing at the very thought of Alan’s command. How could he even imagine she would betray him in that way? She was a woman of honour, not an unfaithful wife.

  Whispers of guilt pulled at her conscience, reminding her of the mistakes she had made as a young woman. But Alan knew nothing of them, and she had always been true to him during their marriage. She had paid the price for her sins, but the heartbreak haunted her still.

  ‘I have been nothing but loyal to you,’ she insisted to Alan. ‘For three years, I have obeyed you. Why would you ask this of me?’

  ‘Because you do not want Owen to inherit, either. You know what he would do to you when I am gone.’ His voice held a trace of ice, and she understood his unspoken words. If Owen took possession of Pevensham, he would force his unwanted attentions upon her. She suppressed a shiver of revulsion.

  ‘But...to lie with another man when I am married to you? You ask too much of me. I could never do such a thing.’ She closed her eyes, gripping the edges of her skirt. The union between a man and a woman was not painful, but she had never enjoyed it with Alan. He had been so careful, treating her with such gentleness. But there was no thrill of passion between them, hardly more than a gesture of marital comfort.

  Alan had tried to please her, though he’d sensed her distance when he had claimed her body. Because of it, he had not asked that she share his bed often. And in the half-year since he’d fallen ill, she had not lain with him once.

  ‘I have asked Warrick de Laurent to come to Pevensham. He will be here within a sennight.’

  An icy chill suffused her skin, and she felt light-headed for a moment. Warrick was the man she had loved since she was a maiden. Tall and strong, with dark hair and piercing blue eyes, she had wanted him desperately. Never had she forgotten the fierce warrior who had haunted her dreams. Or the way his kiss had awakened her body, arousing her blood.

  ‘I cannot lie with him,’ Rosamund insisted. For if she did, it would threaten the very foundation of her marriage. Her throat constricted with a flood of memories she
couldn’t face. She had closed off her heart to what would never be, accepting Alan and becoming a proper wife.

  For him to ask this of her evoked such a fury, she could hardly speak.

  Alan knew what this would mean. He knew it, and yet he was forcing her to confront the past.

  If she let Warrick touch her, she would no longer be able to trust herself. It would be impossible to guard her feelings and behave as if the union meant nothing. Even the memory of his touch made her pulse quicken and her body tremble.

  For a time, Alan was silent. She heard only the sound of his laboured breathing and the rustle of sheets. ‘I know you did not want to marry me, ma petite. I was never the man you wanted.’

  No, he wasn’t. Everyone had known it, though she had obeyed her father’s command and married the man of his choosing. There had been no other way.

  The pain in Alan’s voice weighed upon her, cooling the anger. She remained beside the hearth, closing her eyes as she chose her words carefully. ‘You have always been kind to me. I could not have asked for a better husband.’

  But the arranged marriage had forced her to put aside the broken dreams and start anew. Warrick had joined the king’s forces, fighting in Normandy, and she had not seen him again. Instead, Rosamund had accepted this new life with a man who cared for her, and it should have been enough.

  He expelled a sigh. ‘The words do not make it true, Rosamund. I know you wanted to wed Warrick de Laurent.’

  It was far more than that, she thought, but didn’t say so.

  ‘That was a long time ago,’ she said quietly. She couldn’t understand why Alan was bringing up the ghosts of the past. ‘When you took me as your wife, I tried to be everything you wanted.’

  ‘And you have been, Rosamund. But I was never what you wanted.’ His voice was quiet, rimmed with sadness.

  She hated to hear it, for this man had become her friend as well as her husband. Alan had never raised a hand against her, and he had given her dominion over the castle and household. ‘You have always been good to me.’

  ‘But we have no children,’ he said softly. ‘And now, we will find another way. There must be a child to keep Owen from inheriting Pevensham.’

  She didn’t stop the tears now, for it had been nearly three years since she had delivered a babe that was stillborn. It was a resounding ache in her heart, and time had never diminished the emptiness. Perhaps the loss might have faded if she had carried a child to term, but after the death of her daughter, she had never conceived again. It was as if God were punishing her for her disobedience as a young maiden.

  A part of her was grateful that she had not become pregnant again. The idea of bearing another child terrified her, for she had given birth too soon. All the pain and blood had resulted in nothing but death.

  ‘Look at me, Rosamund,’ Alan demanded. When she turned, his expression held apology. ‘It was my fault, never yours. I was not a virtuous man before we wed. I had my share of women, maids, and willing serving girls. Not once did any of the women bear a bastard child. And there were many opportunities.’

  He was trying to blame himself, and she didn’t want that. ‘Both of us share the failure.’

  ‘You have already conceived a child once before, and you will do so again. But I know that the only man you would take into your bed is Warrick de Laurent.’

  The blood roared in her ears, and she turned away again. Battered emotions poured across her soul at the thought of letting him touch her. ‘I cannot. And he will not agree to this, either.’ She couldn’t imagine that a man as proud as Warrick would let himself be used in that way.

  ‘I will ask him,’ Alan said quietly. ‘He may agree to it with adequate compensation. I want him to marry you when I am gone. He will defend Pevensham from our enemies, and he can protect you from Owen.’

  Rosamund gripped her shaking hands together. He had everything planned out, didn’t he? One wicked night of sin, a man to take his place, and a child who would inherit everything under the pretence of being a true-born heir.

  Tears of anger and frustration burned in her eyes at the thought of this deception. ‘Alan, no.’

  ‘I am going to die, Rosamund. Both of us know it.’

  She didn’t want to face it, though she feared the worst. It was easier to imagine that it wouldn’t happen. She could bind herself with this life and shut out harsh reality.

  ‘I have prayed for you—’

  ‘Prayers will not change it. But before I go, I can ensure that Owen never inherits my property. I will provide someone to protect you, someone who would give his life for yours.’

  She moved to sit beside him on his bed. Fear gripped her hard, even as she took his hand in hers. ‘Do not ask me to betray you, Alan. I will not. You deserve better than this.’

  ‘So did you.’ In his tone, she heard compassion and love. ‘I wanted to marry you, Rosamund, and God help me I did everything to make you love me.’

  ‘I do,’ she whispered.

  ‘Not in the way you loved him.’

  Rosamund bit her lip so hard she tasted blood. He was right, though she wanted to deny it. She had loved Alan like a brother, and their marriage rested upon pillars of friendship and affection, but not love. For the past three years, she had tried to make the best of her marriage and forget about Warrick.

  Alan squeezed her palm, and before she could protest, he touched a finger to his lips. ‘I know you care for me, Rosamund, and I will take that with me to my grave. But before I die, you must obey me in this.’ His face hardened. ‘You will do everything possible to ensure that we have a child to inherit. Swear to me that you will lie with him.’

  She said nothing, not wanting any part of this devil’s arrangement. It was unthinkable, and if the adultery were discovered, she could lose everything.

  ‘Swear it,’ he demanded. ‘If you have any loyalty or obedience towards me, I demand this of you.’

  She bit her lip, wanting to lash back at him. But despite his rigid tone, she sensed the regret behind his words. This was about more than conceiving a son to inherit. He was trying to right the wrong, to give her back the man she had wanted to wed. And the arrangement would irrevocably bind her to Warrick.

  With all her heart, she wanted to refuse him. But when she looked into his pain-filled grey eyes, she realised that her words held the power to give a dying man peace. He loved her enough to make this sacrifice, even knowing the Pandora’s box it would open.

  If she refused his proposition, it would intensify his worries and weigh down upon his spirit. But if she lied and voiced her agreement, it would soften his fears. What harm was there in speaking a lie? He need never know whether she had kept her vows.

  She pushed back her apprehension, knowing that she held the power to refuse his request. If words would grant him comfort, then she could give him that much.

  ‘All right,’ she said softly. ‘I will allow him to claim me.’

  * * *

  ‘Why would I kill a man for your sake?’

  Warrick de Laurent gripped the hilt of his sword while staring at Owen de Courcy. The man had summoned him to his settlement at Northleigh, a rotting fortress that reeked of old rushes and neglect. Owen was a younger man with cold grey eyes and dark brown hair cut short to his ears. His beard had not fully grown in, and his lips were pursed like a pouting child.

  ‘Because I will give you land in return,’ Owen said. ‘And because you may take Rosamund de Courcy as your battle prize.’

  Warrick was careful not to reveal any reaction to the mention of Rosamund. For three years, he’d tried to forget her, but the memory of her beautiful face still haunted him at night.

  She made her choice, and it wasn’t you, his mind taunted.

  ‘I have no need of a woman.’ He spoke the words without emotion, as if she meant not
hing to him.

  Owen appeared dismissive. ‘As you will. I am certain I can find another of my men who will...take care of her.’

  The barb struck true, and his instincts rose up in warning. No, he didn’t want to see Rosamund again, but that didn’t mean he would let another man harm her. Before he could snarl at Owen, the man continued. ‘Kill my brother, and you shall have everything you’ve ever wanted. You have killed many men in battle already. Why would one more matter?’

  It didn’t surprise Warrick to learn that Owen wanted his brother dead, for he would inherit Pevensham and vast holdings across south-west England. Although Owen already possessed the small estate at Northleigh, it was clear that it was falling into disrepair. All around, he saw the signs of a man who lacked wealth of his own.

  ‘Your brother is already dying,’ he told Owen. ‘Everyone knows it. You need only wait, and you will have what you want.’

  ‘I have debts that must be paid.’ His expression narrowed with distaste. ‘And I grow weary of living like a swine in this place. If Alan’s wife bears a child, I inherit nothing.’

  A sudden flare of possessiveness washed over him at the mention of Rosamund. Warrick didn’t want to imagine her giving birth to another man’s son. His fists clenched and blood roared through him when he thought of Alan de Courcy touching her. Three years had done nothing to diminish his fury.

  ‘What if she has already conceived?’ he asked. Even as he spoke the words, Warrick suspected Owen would ensure that she lost the child. This was a man who was determined to get what he wanted, no matter the cost.

  At his question, a slow smile spread over Owen’s face. ‘She will not give birth to an heir. I will see to it.’ His servant returned and handed him a message. Owen poured a cup of ale and handed it to Warrick. ‘My servants intercepted this missive a few days ago. My brother has invited you to Pevensham as his guest. While you are there, you will have every opportunity to take his life.’

  Warrick accepted the parchment, and saw that the broken wax held Alan de Courcy’s seal. Within the message, de Courcy mentioned that he had a special task for Warrick, one that would bring him a vast sum.