Forbidden Night with the Warrior Page 12

  With her cloak around her, she savoured the morning stillness. This was the time of day that she loved the most, for many of the castle folk were still abed. She could take solace in being alone.

  Rosamund awakened one of the stable boys and ordered her horse to be saddled. The same soldier who had opened the door stepped forward once again. He signalled for the stable boy to bring his own horse, and now, she recognised him and understood why he had followed her. Warrick had kept his identity shielded, and he meant to guard her, as he had promised last night. So be it.

  When the horses were ready, she took the lead, and he followed. She rode across her lands, skirting the village and keeping to the open meadow. Nearby, she saw the fields of barley swaying in the morning breeze. She kept her pace steady, feeling her apprehension slowly beginning to lift.

  The morning dawn transformed the sky from grey to shades of rose. The light eased her mood, softening the hard edges of sleeplessness. When she reached the edge of her lands, she was slightly out of breath but felt better. She dismounted and led her horse towards the banks of a large lake, letting him drink. Warrick kept his distance, for which she was grateful. She understood why he had accompanied her, but she had no desire to speak to him at this moment.

  She chose a flat rock near the edge of the water, spreading her skirts around her. From inside the bundle at her waist, she pulled out her embroidery and several lengths of thread. He remained behind her, but she was fully conscious of his presence.

  There was now enough light to see the design she had begun. Blue, brown, and grey threads intertwined to form the pattern of water. Upon the surface of it, she began stitching small threads of gold. She drank in the sight of the sunrise, adding threads of pink and soft grey as she recreated the sunrise before her.

  Only in this did she possess the power to form beauty. Though her life was a tangled snarl of threads, some nearly ready to break, it was in her work that she found peace. She gave herself up to the artistry, feeling the rest of the world slip away.

  Warrick did not interrupt, but stood behind her, a quiet sentry. Only after she had finished did she turn back to him. He had already removed his helm, revealing his face.

  She was grateful that he had not asked her to speak, nor had he revealed his identity to anyone else.

  ‘Thank you for watching over me,’ she said quietly. ‘I needed this moment.’

  He gave a single nod. Though he was armed only with a sword, she felt entirely safe with him.

  ‘Did you sleep at all last night?’ she asked. He shook his head, but she saw the faint upward turn of his mouth.

  ‘Neither did I.’ She stood up from the large stone and removed her shoes. Then she tucked up her skirts and stepped into the cool water. ‘I suppose you think I am mad to go riding at a time like this, only to sit and sew.’

  ‘It’s what you’ve always done when you are troubled,’ he said quietly.

  ‘I fear for what lies ahead,’ she said. ‘I don’t want Alan to die. And I’m afraid of what Owen will do when he does.’ She walked along the water’s edge, wishing she could tell him everything. But he would not understand the guilt she held in her heart. Every time she had made her own choices, defying the commands of others, it had resulted in tragedy.

  ‘I will not let anyone harm you,’ he stated. And she knew he meant it. This fierce warrior would guard her from any foe, no matter how many enemies might threaten her.

  ‘You cannot guard me from myself.’ She would not look at him now. ‘If I were a different woman, perhaps I could put aside my feelings, obey my husband’s wishes and conceive a child to save Pevensham. But I can’t. I won’t.’

  ‘Are you afraid of me?’ he asked quietly.

  ‘I am afraid of the way I feel when you kiss me.’ But more than that, she was afraid to become pregnant again. Deep inside, she believed that any child she conceived would not live. Many women miscarried, time after time. And what reason was there to betray her honour for the sake of a child who might die? ‘You made me remember.’

  And God help her, it had hurt her deeply. Warrick had always known how to touch her, how to tempt her. No longer did she trust herself. This time, she did turn to face him. She stared into his deep blue eyes. ‘I need you to leave Pevensham. Go back to your family, go back to your home. I beg this of you.’

  ‘Why?’ He spoke the words with a gruffness that revealed his own frustration.

  ‘Because my husband deserves a better death than this. How can I betray him and then watch him die? It’s not right.’

  ‘No, it isn’t. But he wants to know that you will be protected after he is gone. Were I in his place, I would want the same.’

  ‘Alan is a good man,’ she admitted, her eyes filling up with tears. ‘He deserved a wife so much better than me. I wish, sometimes, that I could have been the woman he wanted.’

  ‘You are that woman.’

  He didn’t seem to understand what she meant. Rosamund stepped out of the shallow water. Her bare feet were cool against the flat stone, but she faced him. ‘I cannot simply stand back and let others command my life. With or without Alan.’ Pevensham would fall into Owen’s hands by right of succession, but she would still have her dower portion, according to the law. The only question was whether Owen would leave her alone.

  She could ask to live in Ireland, but it would mean leaving behind the people of Pevensham.

  ‘What do you want to do?’ Warrick asked.

  She sat down upon the rock, folded up her sewing, and put it away. ‘I will need someone to protect me from Owen after Alan is gone.’

  He adjusted his sword belt and sat down beside her. There was tension in his shoulders as he stared at the water. ‘And you want me to be your hired sword.’

  ‘I would pay you,’ she started to say, but he stared hard at her.

  ‘I don’t want your silver, Rosamund. And I won’t be under your command, to go or stay as it pleases you.’

  The stone beneath her palms felt cold and damp from the water, but the chill inside her went deeper. ‘What is it you want?’

  ‘I want you as my wife, just as you were before.’ He reached out to trace the curve of her cheek. ‘I want your bare skin beneath me when I bury myself inside you. I want to touch you until you cry out with mindless need. The way it was, years ago.’

  Her body seemed to come alive at his words. She bit her lip, trying to push away the unwanted feelings.

  ‘I won’t stand by and let another man take you from me again, Rosamund. When Alan dies, I intend to claim you.’

  He spoke like a barbaric conqueror, bent upon taking her captive. And despite her attempt to remain calm, her heart beat faster.

  ‘And what if I refuse?’ she whispered.

  ‘You won’t want to.’ His hand moved lower, down her throat. She was intensely aware of his masculine scent, and he slid his fingers beneath the chain of her necklace. It hung above her bodice, and he leaned in to steal a kiss.

  She tried not to move, tried not to respond to him. But his hand moved lower still, to the soft curve of her breast. He kissed her deeply, his tongue sliding within her mouth as his thumbs found her erect nipples.

  She gasped when he stroked her aroused breasts, and the sensation echoed between her thighs. She understood what he was doing, that he was still angry about her refusal to wed him. This was his vengeance, and by making her feel desire, it was an invisible weapon.

  ‘You still have feelings for me,’ he said darkly, moving his hands down to her waist. ‘And I won’t let any man touch you ever again. You are still my wife in the eyes of God, Rosamund, just as you have always been.’

  She touched her bruised lips, feeling the shame wash over her. Alan had never made her feel this way, and her treacherous body craved more of Warrick’s touch.

  ‘Why would you
do this?’ she demanded. ‘You know this isn’t honourable.’ She stared back into his blue eyes and read the jealousy there. This man had claimed her innocence and now, he wanted her back.

  ‘It was a mistake to wed him, and you know this. He commanded you to wed me after he dies. And you will.’

  * * *

  Warrick took her back to the castle later that morning, and spent the remainder of the time watching Owen de Courcy. He let himself slip into the role of a silent soldier, listening for any threats towards Rosamund and ordered his friends to do the same. No one spoke of her or of Alan, but he sensed the vultures’ circling presence.

  When he hung behind the group of men, Owen spied him at last. He walked alongside him, keeping his face neutral.

  ‘I saw you escort Lady Pevensham earlier. My brother tells me she is with child.’ He spoke with an air of indifference, but Warrick sensed the sharp edge beneath his words.

  ‘I do not know if she is or not.’

  Owen slowed his pace until the soldiers were further away. Then he dropped his voice to the barest whisper. ‘Why is my brother still alive?’

  ‘I told you I would not be your assassin. I came at his summons.’

  ‘And what did he want from you?’

  Warrick paused a moment and then said, ‘He wanted protection for his wife after he dies. He wants me to marry Rosamund.’

  Owen shrugged. ‘Pevensham will belong to me, soon enough. And if you prove your loyalty, I have no objection to your marriage.’ He stopped walking and regarded him. ‘But I will not allow an infant to threaten what is rightfully mine. She lost her first child, and she will lose this one, too. I promise you that.’

  A sudden flare of rage washed over him at the words. Warrick took a step closer and met the man’s threat with one of his own. ‘You will not lay a hand upon her.’

  Owen only smiled. ‘You can do nothing, de Laurent. For if you try to interfere, I will see to it that you are blamed for my brother’s death.’

  Warrick remained motionless after the man left, his mind seething with rage. The snare of Owen’s plans was tightening all around them, and he needed to free Rosamund and himself. She could not remain here with such a ruthless man.

  The urge came over him, to take her away and flee to Ireland. But if he abducted her—even willingly—he had nothing to offer, not even a home. And she would come to despise him for it.

  He decided to speak with Alan. Although the man believed himself to be safe, nothing could be further from the truth.

  As he crossed the courtyard, he saw Rosamund’s maid pass by. The young woman looked as if she had been weeping, and her expression held worry. He wondered if Alan de Courcy’s condition had worsened, and he stopped her.

  ‘How is Lord Pevensham?’

  The maid paled and shook her head. ‘He is gravely weak, but still living.’ With that, she excused herself and hurried away.

  Warrick’s instincts rose on alert. Something had happened, and though he suspected Alan’s death was imminent, he could not stand back and do nothing. He entered the donjon and went up the spiral stairs leading to de Courcy’s bedchamber. Two guards stood outside the man’s door, and Warrick said, ‘Let me pass. I must speak with Lord Pevensham.’

  ‘We have our orders not to let anyone pass,’ the first guard said. ‘Our lord is resting.’ He wore chainmail armour and held a spear. The other guard was heavier, and his grim expression revealed a trace of concern.

  ‘And who gave these orders?’

  ‘Owen de Courcy,’ the first said.

  It didn’t surprise him to hear it. But it did seem that Owen was intensifying his efforts to ensure his inheritance. For all he knew, Alan could be alone and suffering.

  ‘Let me pass,’ he insisted. Before he could force his way through, another voice interrupted.

  ‘Step aside.’ It was Rosamund approaching, and her voice was soft and commanding. ‘My lord husband summoned this man.’ She stepped forward, and her presence seemed to confuse the men. ‘I am the Lady of Pevensham. Put your weapons away.’

  The soldiers did not obey her orders. ‘My lady, we were given the command that Lord Pevensham should not be disturbed.’

  Rosamund’s expression grew strained. ‘My husband is alive, and so am I. You obey orders from us, not from any other man.’ Her tone was firm and icy. ‘Now let me pass.’ She stepped between them and Warrick pushed their spears aside.

  Inside, Alan was lying upon the bed, coughing. His shoulders shook with exertion, and Rosamund fetched a cup of wine. ‘My lord, drink this. It may help.’ She tilted the goblet and held it to his lips.

  Warrick hung back, studying the room. Upon a low table rested the contents of Alan’s meal. The bread and cheese didn’t surprise him, but when he drew closer, he saw that there was a fine grain sprinkled over the plate. It appeared to be a powder of some kind, though he could not say what it was. While Rosamund tended to her husband, Warrick touched a damp fingertip to the granules and tasted them. The bitterness was faint, and his suspicions darkened as he poured wine into a glass. He rinsed his mouth and spat it out.

  He wouldn’t put it past Owen to attempt poison. Perhaps one of the soldiers had put it there. And more and more, he was convinced that Owen would accuse anyone of Alan’s death, including Rosamund. While she had done everything to extend her husband’s life, she was not safe here any longer.

  When Alan had fallen back asleep, Warrick beckoned for Rosamund to come closer. ‘For the next few weeks, watch his food and drink. Be certain that he eats only what you have prepared for him.’

  She paled. ‘You think someone is poisoning him, then.’

  ‘Possibly. Or trying to hasten his death.’ There was no way to know for certain. Then he said quietly, ‘Rosamund, it is not safe for you here. Owen will find a way to harm you.’

  ‘Don’t ask me to leave my husband when he is dying. Alan needs me.’

  He understood her wishes, but this was about her protection, not her husband’s. ‘I fear for your safety.’ He took her hand in his, gripping her palm. ‘Rosamund, Owen has threatened to hurt you and any unborn child you might bear.’

  ‘I will not run away like a frightened deer,’ she argued back. ‘I am lady of this castle, and I see no reason to leave my home.’

  Her voice had grown louder, and Alan stirred. The man shifted against his bed, and in a weak voice, he added, ‘I may be weak, but I have not lost my hearing.’

  Rosamund stood and returned to his bedside. Warrick remained back, keeping his distance. ‘Do you need anything, my lord?’

  ‘Is it true what he says, that Owen is threatening you?’

  ‘Not directly, no.’

  ‘He threatened to ensure that she never bore any child,’ Warrick interrupted. ‘And he is giving orders to your men, trying to undermine her.’

  Alan’s fists gripped the sheets. ‘Then you are right. Rosamund must leave Pevensham, in order to keep her and the child safe.’

  ‘And how will that look to our people?’ Rosamund demanded. ‘If I go with Warrick, they will believe that I have abandoned you.’

  ‘He will not go with you. Instead, he will remain here, as one of my guards.’

  Warrick detected a faint note of disapproval in Alan’s tone. But he couldn’t imagine leaving Rosamund among other soldiers who might be loyal to Owen. He far preferred to protect her himself.

  Alan reached out his hand, and she took it. ‘Once we believe you are with child, I will send you to Ireland. You will remain there until the child is born. I will ensure that your son’s inheritance is protected.’

  Dismay creased Rosamund’s face. ‘You ask me to leave whilst you are dying. It’s not right.’

  Alan brought her hand to his lips. ‘I have ordered Father Francis to write down my orders upon my death. All will
believe that this child is legitimate, and you will be safe.’

  Rosamund looked as if she wanted to protest but held her tongue instead. But her husband did not miss her reluctance.

  ‘If you hold any affection towards me at all, then you will wed Warrick, as I have commanded. It is best for you, and you know this.’ Alan studied her a moment, then said, ‘Tonight, you must lie with him again and conceive. There can be no further delay.’

  She said nothing, and guilt was written upon her face. Warrick came forward and added, ‘And then you must send her away where she will be safe.’ His expression hardened into stone. ‘I will wait a day or two and then follow her. I do not trust your men.’

  Alan met his gaze and then inclined his head in silent agreement. He studied his wife, and in his eyes, Warrick saw the rigid jealousy.

  He could not have done the same, were he in Alan’s place. Heir or not, he would flay any man alive who dared to touch Rosamund.

  It was dangerous to think of her in this way. The years were falling away, and it was as if Fate had given him a second chance with this woman. He knew her all too well, and he craved the joining she was avoiding.

  ‘I can feel my strength waning,’ Alan said. ‘I know not how much time God will grant me, but I will have an heir.’

  Rosamund’s eyes turned the colour of storm clouds. ‘And what if God grants me a daughter again? She cannot inherit, and I will have betrayed you for naught.’

  ‘It is a chance we must take.’

  She stood, her face bright with anger. He could tell she was itching to lash back at her husband, but she bit back the words. Instead, she turned her back on both of them and fled.

  ‘Go through the passageway between our chambers and follow her,’ Alan commanded him. ‘No one will see you.’

  But Warrick’s own anger tightened beneath his skin. Despite his desire, Rosamund did not deserve to be treated like this. It was clear that Alan had made her into a pawn, manipulating her into a game she did not wish to play.

  ‘She said no. Does that not mean anything to you?’ His voice held a feral edge, and he held himself back from the violence rising.