Forbidden Night with the Warrior Page 14

  ‘I will return soon.’ His voice was calm, but she detected a merciless air within it.

  ‘Where are you going?’

  He didn’t answer, but repeated, ‘Bolt the door.’ Then he slid his hand over her hair in a caress and departed.

  She obeyed him, feeling abandoned and alone after she closed the door. But then, she should have known she was not safe. She’d wanted to believe that her own people would defend her...but they, too, were afraid of Owen.

  It was now clear that she could not stay, and Alan could no longer protect her. Owen would find a way to hurt her, even if she imprisoned herself within her chamber.

  She stood from her chair and went to sit at her husband’s bedside. Alan was deathly pale, so weakened, it was a wonder he could draw breath. She had believed it was her duty to stay with him until the end, to hold vigil with every hour that passed.

  But now, she no longer knew what was right. It felt as if God were punishing her for falling in love with the wrong man. Alan had given her a life of comfort and kindness thus far, but she had been unable to give him more than friendship. And right now, she was frustrated and angry with him for what he had done.

  Did he truly need a child so badly that he would deceive her in that way? And when she had tried to protest, he had demanded her silence. She didn’t know how he had found the strength to come to her chamber last night and stay long enough to ensure that the deed was done. A weariness passed over her, and she didn’t know what to say to him.

  ‘Rosamund,’ he murmured, reaching a hand towards her. She couldn’t bring herself to take it...not just yet.

  ‘I am here.’ A restlessness brewed inside her, and she felt the tide of anger building up. Her jaw throbbed from Owen’s blow, and a part of her was resentful that she was caught in a war between brothers.

  ‘I am sorry for this,’ Alan murmured. ‘But I do not regret what had to be done.’ His voice was slurred, and he closed his eyes once again.

  She gripped her hands together, feeling lost and alone. It became clear that she had truly misunderstood her marriage to Alan. She had believed that he loved her, but she couldn’t imagine how he could give her over to another man if that were true. Her heart was bruised at the thought.

  Rosamund watched over him for a moment, and it suddenly occurred to her that there was a reason why some of the soldiers had turned their fealty towards Owen. She had remained at her husband’s bedside for so long, the people hardly knew who to turn to. She had believed it was the right thing to do, to watch over a dying man.

  But by doing so, she had left their people without a leader. They needed someone strong to handle disputes and to ensure that they were protected from enemies.

  Yet she had hidden herself away instead of taking her husband’s place.

  The realisation startled her, for she had allowed herself to become complacent, remaining in Alan’s shadow. It was no wonder Owen had tried to claim Pevensham. She could not merely stand aside and let him take command of this estate or their soldiers.

  ‘I will leave you to sleep,’ she told Alan, as she rose to go. Her cheek and jaw were aching, but she used the passageway between their rooms to go back to her chamber. There was no sign of her maid, Berta, but she washed her face and re-braided her hair. It was the best she could do for now.

  She straightened and eyed the fallen spear from the soldier who had entered her chamber earlier. Though she had never wielded such a weapon before, she picked it up and gripped the shaft.

  No longer would she be Owen’s victim. She refused to let him dictate her life or her husband’s. He had no right to be here, and she wanted him gone.

  * * *

  Warrick carried Owen’s unconscious form down the stone stairs and outside to the inner bailey. Several soldiers came forward, but backed down when they saw his expression. He did nothing to hide the raw hatred he felt towards de Courcy. The man had dared to attack Rosamund, and he would not allow Owen to remain at Pevensham.

  The possessive bearing Warrick felt towards Rosamund went beyond all else. His intention last night was to punish her with searing pleasure and damn the consequences. But she had known it was him from the first. She had every opportunity to refuse, but she had not denied him. Instead, she had welcomed him into her body—something he had never expected. She had met his thrusts with her hips, squeezing him so tightly, the intensity had shaken him to his very soul.

  He didn’t know what to think of it any more. Alan was dying, and he’d all but given Rosamund up, insisting that he take care of her.

  And so he would. No man would ever touch her again. Somehow, he would find a way to give her the life she deserved, even if it meant hiring his sword as a mercenary. Her father might intervene again, but Warrick would not lose her a second time. He would do all that was needed to be her husband once again and be worthy of her.

  Warrick strode across the space with Owen slung over one shoulder, and when they spied him, the men began to gather together. He ordered a horse for Owen, and then faced the soldiers. A dozen of Owen’s own men held spears and swords, encircling him.

  ‘Your lord attacked Lady Pevensham,’ he said quietly. ‘She has ordered him to leave the estate. I will leave you to take him back to Northleigh.’

  But the men never moved. Instead, Lord Pevensham’s commander said quietly, ‘Seize him.’

  When the men closed in, Warrick had no choice but to grip de Courcy’s unconscious body and raise a blade to the man’s throat. ‘Stand down.’ He couldn’t believe that the leader of Alan’s men would turn against them.

  Owen stirred when his feet touched the ground, and he blinked. Warrick kept the weapon steady, but then he felt the pressure of a spear against his back. It was a silent warning to release his prisoner.

  But if he did, they would surely kill him where he stood. He pressed the blade until a thin line of blood welled up on Owen de Courcy’s throat. It was a silent message that he meant what he’d said. He would have no qualms about killing the man who had hurt Rosamund—and they knew it.

  ‘Tell them to back away,’ he ordered Owen. The man was now standing on his own, though weakened from the beating.

  ‘Stop this, all of you,’ called out a woman’s voice. Warrick turned and saw Rosamund approaching. She carried herself like a queen and moved across the space. In one hand, she carried a spear, and she reminded him of a female warrior, despite her bruised and swollen jaw.

  The soldiers on sentry duty appeared surprised to see her. Several of them approached at her signal to come forward. When fifteen men gathered, she said, ‘My husband may be dying, but he is still alive. As Lady of Pevensham, I hold the right to command our soldiers in his stead.’

  She walked forward until she stood nearer to Owen’s men. ‘Lower your weapons.’

  The soldier whose spear rested at Warrick’s back did not move. ‘My lady, this man—’

  ‘Warrick de Laurent witnessed Owen de Courcy strike me within my own home. I will not tolerate such disrespect.’ At that, she beckoned to her own soldiers, who outnumbered Owen’s forces. The men stood in front of the soldiers who surrounded Warrick, making their silent threat known. ‘I command you to take Owen de Courcy back to Northleigh,’ she continued. Then to her own soldiers she added, ‘I want every last one of his men gone from Pevensham. And if your loyalty lies with him, you are free to go. But if you leave, you will never hold a place here, so long as I am Lady.’

  She turned her attention to Warrick at last. In her eyes, he saw a fierce strength and determination. Her shoulders were squared back, and she ordered, ‘Let him go so that his own men can escort him back home.’

  To her soldiers she commanded, ‘See to it that they leave with their horses. And then I want all of you to gather here in the bailey. I have a great deal to say to you.’

  Warrick waited until Owe
n’s men dropped back, before he lowered his blade. But when he sensed a sudden movement, he spun and deflected the spear shaft with his arm, seizing it and jerking it away from the man who had tried to kill him. He knocked the soldier hard across the head, and the man sank to the ground, blood pooling beneath him.

  After that, the others obeyed Rosamund’s command and stepped back. She remained standing with her own spear, until they mounted their horses. Warrick dragged Owen atop a horse and gave him back to his own men. Then he stood guard until all the men were gone.

  They would come back, he knew. But for now, Rosamund had regained control of Pevensham. He remained a short distance behind her for her own protection. She distanced herself from him, moving towards the stairs. When the soldiers had gathered around her, she regarded each one of them.

  ‘My husband, Lord Pevensham, is your overlord, just as I am your Lady. Your fealty belongs to us, not to his younger brother.’ Her eyes were icy cool as she stared back at the soldiers. ‘I do not care if he is the heir to Pevensham and his brother’s estates. He has no right to strike me—not in my own home.’

  She raised her voice and in it, there was a quiet power. ‘Any man among you who does not honour his oath to my husband will face punishment or be forced to leave.’

  There was an uneasy silence that descended over the men. There was a gleam of defiance in the commander’s eyes and Warrick answered it with a warning look. Then he picked up a spear and began to pound it against the ground in a gesture of respect. One by one, the others did the same, until the entire bailey was filled with soldiers offering up their support.

  Rosamund stared at the faces of each man, her expression hard like an iron blade. Then she turned her back and returned to the steps of the donjon. No longer was she a fearful young woman in her husband’s shadow. Instead, she reminded him of a fierce warrior maiden who had faced her battle and won.

  He waited until the men returned to their duties before he mounted the stairs and followed. Inside the Great Hall, Rosamund had claimed her place at the dais. She dined at the high table, and Warrick moved to the closer end of the room, keeping beside the wall to watch over her. Though she ate in silence, when he studied her closely, he saw that her hands were shaking. He doubted if she had ever addressed her soldiers before.

  Owen was gone for now, but he would return. And when he did, Rosamund would have to fight back to protect herself and those she loved.

  * * *

  Rosamund forced herself to dine in front of her people, but every bite was like dirt within her mouth. Never before had she confronted so many men, and it took great effort to appear calm and composed before them.

  For now, she was safe. She had given orders that Owen de Courcy not be allowed within the gates, as long as Alan was alive. It was enough for now. But her fears had multiplied inside her, and she knew that safety at Pevensham was only an illusion.

  Her maid Berta walked past her table, carrying a tray of food for Alan, but Rosamund stopped her. ‘My husband is resting now. I will take the food to him.’

  She studied her maid closely, remembering Warrick’s warning about the food. Berta had been her maid for so long, she trusted the woman with her own life. Surely she was no threat to Alan.

  But Rosamund had to be certain.

  She gestured for the maid to come forward with the tray. Berta obeyed, but Rosamund spied a trace of fear. It might be because of Owen, but she wondered if aught was amiss.

  ‘Is something wrong?’ she asked the maid.

  ‘No, my lady.’

  Rosamund lifted her gaze to the men and saw Warrick rise from his place, bringing his own two men with him. They walked towards the dais, surrounding Berta.

  Warrick moved to stand beside the woman. ‘You have been a trusted servant for years. And you have been bringing your lord his food and drink, have you not?’

  The maid nodded, her expression stricken. But the fear in her eyes suggested something worse.

  ‘Eat the food upon the tray,’ Warrick ordered. ‘If you are loyal, as you say, then prove it to your lady.’

  The woman’s face whitened. ‘I am not hungry.’

  Dear God, Rosamund thought. It suddenly became clear that Warrick’s suspicions had merit. She stood from her seat, an icy fury pouring through her. ‘I care not if you are hungry. You must eat everything you intended to serve to my husband.’

  The maid dropped the tray, sobbing. ‘I am sorry, my lady. Owen de Courcy forced me. He said he would kill my son if I did not do as he commanded.’

  Her anger deepened at the maid’s betrayal. ‘And you never thought to come to me for help? After all the years you served us, you never once spoke to Alan or to me.’

  The maid only continued sobbing her apologies. Deep inside, Rosamund felt her emotions grow numb. Berta had tried to kill her overlord, and there was only one consequence for such a deed.

  She knew it—and yet, she also knew Berta could have killed Alan with a single dose of poison. Why had she delayed it for so long?

  ‘Force her to eat the food!’ one of the soldiers urged. The crowd was growing angry on behalf of their lord, and she knew they would tear Berta apart if she did not intervene.

  ‘Seize her and bring her to me in the solar,’ Rosamund commanded. Then she strode away from the others. She kept her posture rigid and tried to keep all emotion from her face. But inwardly, she wanted to weep at the thought of her maid’s treachery. And how many other men and women in this castle were under orders from Owen?

  Rosamund chose foods from her own plate and took them with her above stairs as she walked to the solar.

  Why are you hesitating? her brain demanded. She is guilty of poisoning Alan.

  But she didn’t kill him, another voice reasoned.

  And therein lay her doubts. Berta had admitted that Owen had taken her son. No one had seen Martin in days, and undoubtedly Owen was using the boy to control his mother.

  I should have her killed, she thought to herself. She deserves no mercy.

  She sat down, trying to govern her own emotions and think clearly. There was hardly any time, for when Warrick brought her maid to the solar, Berta was weeping uncontrollably. She threw herself at Rosamund’s feet, begging, ‘Forgive me, my lady. I never meant to harm my lord. But Martin is just a boy. He’s only nine, and Owen swore he would slit his throat if I didn’t obey. What could I do?’

  It took effort to remain cool and poised, but Rosamund refused to let her own emotions interfere. ‘When did you begin poisoning Alan?’

  Berta sank to her knees. ‘Only a few months ago. I never meant for my lord to die. I thought if he grew a little sick, it would protect my boy and convince Owen de Courcy that I was doing as he bade me.’ Her maid covered her face with her hands. ‘I knew Lord Pevensham would get well, the moment I stopped.’

  ‘How can I ease his pain?’

  ‘Give him milk,’ the maid said. ‘It will stop the effects of the poison.’

  Rosamund eyed Warrick, wondering what to do. If she ordered Berta killed, Owen would learn of it and would murder her child. He met her gaze steadily, letting her know the decision was hers to make.

  ‘I do not deserve your mercy, Lady Pevensham.’ Berta was weeping. ‘But I beg you to find my son and take him away from Owen. He is an innocent.’

  There were no clear answers to this dilemma. Rosamund’s stomach clenched with guilt and a sense of helplessness. She simply didn’t know what was right.

  But the fact remained, Berta could easily have killed Alan at any moment during these past few months, and no one would have known differently. She had given him a thread of mercy. Perhaps she deserved the same.

  To Warrick, she ordered, ‘Have your men take Berta a few miles outside Northleigh and leave her there.’ To her maid, she said in a dark tone, ‘We both know I should
have you slain right now. But you did not take Alan’s life when you had the chance. For that reason, I will have you brought to Northleigh where you may attempt to take your son back from Owen. If you fail and die in the effort, your blood will not be on my hands. But you must never show your face at Pevensham again.’

  At that, Berta cried harder. ‘God bless you, my lady, for your mercy.’

  It was hardly any mercy at all, she knew. It was unlikely that Berta would save her son or even find a way to survive.

  But it was a chance.

  * * *

  Rosamund entered Alan’s chamber and found him awake. He frowned the moment he saw her. ‘What happened to your face? Did someone strike you?’

  She explained everything, ending with Berta’s role in attempting to poison him. Alan’s expression held rage, followed by a sudden transformation of his thoughts. ‘Then this illness may lift from my shoulders. I may grow stronger and live.’

  There was a glimmer of hope in his tone, but Rosamund could not share in his joy. If Alan recovered and reclaimed his place as Lord Pevensham, Warrick would have no choice but to leave. She could not go with him and bear his child.

  Once again, she would be alone, trapped in a marriage she had never wanted. Colour had returned to her husband’s face, as if the knowledge had renewed his desire to survive.

  ‘I am glad for your sake, Alan,’ she murmured. But the words were a lie. Tears burned in her eyes with the knowledge that she would never see Warrick again. God help her, it seemed they were destined to remain apart for always. Perhaps this was her punishment for daring to betray her vows. The wrenching pain broke her heart at the thought of losing Warrick.

  Her husband’s mouth tightened, as if he could read her thoughts. But he only said, ‘Banishment is too good for Berta. You should have allowed me to pass judgement. It was not your place to decide.’

  His chastisement caught her unawares. ‘And why not? I am Lady of Pevensham.’ She could see no reason why she should not be allowed to decide her maid’s fate.