Forbidden Night with the Warrior Page 17

  His response was to seize her and pull her close. He reached for the edge of her gown, pulling it lower. Rosamund let out a cry of shock. ‘What are you doing, Alan?’

  He turned her body so her back was to his chest. Against her backside, she felt the ridge of his erection. ‘You are still my wife, Rosamund. If I want to lie with you, I will.’

  She fought to free herself from him, but he had regained some of his strength. Though he was not as tall as Warrick, and had been bedridden until a few days ago, he was not a weak man. Against her ear, he gritted out, ‘Perhaps you were not here because you went to his bed. You wanted to be with your lover.’

  Fury raged through her, and she finally found the strength to break free of him. ‘It was you who brought this upon us. I sat by your side, day after day, praying for your recovery. You were the one who sent for Warrick. You were the one who demanded that I lie with him, and you cared nothing at all about my feelings.’

  Rosamund straightened her bodice and glared at him. ‘How dare you demand that I give myself to you now, after all that you did? Why would I want you to touch me?’ She was beyond fury, and when he tried to seize her again, she picked up her eating knife from a nearby table. ‘Go back to your chamber and leave me alone, Alan.’

  His eyes glittered as he stared back at her. ‘I am sending him away. You will not see him again.’

  She met his anger with rage of her own. For all her life, she had been obedient and demure. She had accepted the orders of men, she had done first her father’s bidding and then her husband’s. But she was finished with all of it.

  ‘Go,’ she repeated softly.

  His glare held hatred, but there must have been a shred of honour remaining, for he did leave at last. When the passageway closed behind him, she shoved a heavy table in front of the entrance so he would not return.

  Then she sat down on her bed and wept. She cried for three years of marriage to a man she had never loved, a man who had wanted her desperately. And now she was trapped with him, unless she abandoned all honour and fled with Warrick. Owen would surely murder his brother, and with no heir for Alan, Owen would inherit everything.

  The heaviness of her pain weighed down upon her, and she did not know if she dared to reach for a different life. It defied the vows of marriage she had spoken, and she hardly knew what to do any more.

  A knock sounded upon her door, but she didn’t move from her bed. The last thing she wanted was another confrontation with her husband. But the knocking was louder this time, and she heard Warrick call out, ‘Rosamund! Are you unharmed?’

  She dried her tears and rose from the bed, not knowing how to answer him. At last, she crossed the room and murmured. ‘I am all right.’

  ‘Open the door,’ he commanded.

  She did, and the moment he saw her, his face transformed. ‘What happened? Tell me.’

  Her hands were shaking, but he closed the door behind him. He was still wearing his armour, but his blue eyes turned grim.

  ‘Alan came to my chamber,’ she managed to answer. Her voice held a tremor, and Warrick’s hands clenched.

  ‘I am going to kill him.’

  ‘Don’t.’ She touched her palm to his chest. ‘I—I made him leave me alone.’

  But his gaze settled upon her shaking hands, and his jaw tightened. ‘What did he do, Rosamund?’

  ‘Nothing,’ she said dully. Her stomach twisted, and she admitted, ‘He tried to touch me, but I sent him away.’

  Warrick pulled her into his arms, resting his chin upon her hair. She took comfort from his strong presence, trying not to think about what would happen now. Instead, she simply breathed in his masculine scent, closing her eyes.

  He stroked her hair back and held her. ‘You were right about the wall. It was Fitzwarren who broke through, and he brought men with him who are loyal to Owen. They imprisoned Bennett and Godfrey.’

  She tensed within his arms. ‘What will you do now?’

  He pulled back and regarded her. ‘I will do what is necessary to protect Pevensham. And you.’

  She held on to his hands, suddenly afraid. There was no way to know how many men would fight alongside Warrick or how many would try to betray him. ‘Be careful.’

  From nearby, there was a sudden noise, like a table falling over. She tightened her hands upon his, and Warrick assured her, ‘I will go and see what it is.’

  She suspected that her husband was angry with her, and hesitated. ‘If you do, Alan may attack. He is...not himself right now.’

  ‘We have an intruder among us,’ he cautioned. ‘I will ensure that there is no threat to you or to him.’

  She inclined her head, even though she had no wish for him to go. ‘So be it.’

  He departed her room, and she grew aware of the silence all around her. She sat down upon her bed, drawing her knees up. A strange coldness washed over her, a chill she could not dispel. She couldn’t understand where it had come from or why, but her hands would not stop shaking.

  From deep within, came the undeniable urge to go to her husband’s chamber. Something was wrong—she knew it in her bones. Although Rosamund told herself it was foolish to feel this way, she picked up her cloak and covered herself before opening her door and walking out into the hallway.

  The door to Alan’s bedchamber was open. As if under a spell, she crossed the threshold and saw Warrick kneeling upon the floor beside Alan’s fallen body.

  ‘Someone strangled him,’ he said at last. ‘Your husband is dead.’

  Chapter Ten

  For a moment, she didn’t seem to have heard him. Her face had gone deathly pale, and Rosamund took a tentative step into the bedchamber.

  ‘H-how did this happen?’ she managed. Her hands were shaking, but she continued towards Alan’s body lying upon the bed. His throat was reddened and bruised, with the tell-tale mark of a knotted rope. Alan had clawed at his neck with his fingernails, and now he lay motionless on the bed.

  Warrick kept his distance, knowing she needed to see it for herself. ‘I assume Fitzwarren was responsible. Or another assassin hired by Owen, possibly. But I promise you, we will find the man who did this.’

  It infuriated him that their own soldiers had failed to protect their overlord. Were this his estate, he would have removed most of the soldiers and brought in his own men. There was no loyalty to Rosamund, only fealty to a murderer. For that was what Owen de Courcy was.

  It was not safe here any more. Rosamund needed to leave immediately, else she risked being imprisoned by Owen. His mind spun off with a thousand things that needed to be done. A Mass would have to be said for Alan and his body buried. Warrick needed to marry Rosamund to bring her under his protection.

  And it was still possible for a pregnancy to happen and complete Alan’s plan, if she had not yet conceived.

  But the greatest problem was that he trusted no one at Pevensham. At any moment, the men and women could turn on them. He had originally thought about taking Rosamund to Ireland, but now he needed to take her somewhere closer, perhaps to her father’s estate. He doubted she would want to go, but Harold de Beaufort would not allow his daughter’s future to be threatened.

  She was kneeling beside Alan now, straightening his hair and adjusting his clothing. ‘Send for Father Francis. He will know what to do now.’

  He could see the fear and devastation upon her face. Whatever marriage she had made with Alan, she would grieve his death.

  ‘I will command him to come,’ he answered her. With the intruder still on the grounds of Pevensham, he would not leave Rosamund alone for a single moment. Her life was in danger, whether she knew it or not.

  Warrick summoned one of the servants and gave orders for the priest to be brought to Alan’s chamber. He said nothing about Lord Pevensham’s death. For now, he intended to keep this a
secret until they learned who the intruder was.

  Rosamund was pacing within the chamber, her hands tightly squeezed together. ‘I don’t know what to do, Warrick. I feel responsible for this. I should have been with him.’

  ‘You would be dead, if you were.’

  ‘Even so, I cannot believe this has happened. I am certain that Owen is involved in his death. But I worry that someone will think I wanted Alan dead.’ She paused in her walking and met his gaze. ‘No matter what my feelings are for you, I never wanted him to die like this.’

  Neither did he. The assailant had slipped past their defences while he had been distracted with Rosamund. He blamed himself for Alan’s death, though he had done nothing wrong. A hollow emptiness filled him, along with the sense that he should have been more alert towards danger.

  Rosamund was trembling, her arms crossed over her body. Warrick crossed the bedchamber and took her into his arms. ‘We cannot stay at Pevensham. It’s not safe for either of us.’

  ‘I know. But I am afraid if we leave, it makes us look responsible for what happened.’

  Warrick cared not what others thought—for now, he wanted Rosamund away from the danger. He would sort out the rest, even if it meant involving the king.

  ‘You did nothing wrong.’ He held her tightly and stroked her hair. ‘But we are leaving as soon as the priest arrives. There is no other choice.’

  She gripped him in an embrace. ‘And what if Owen arrives? Please do not let him enter the gates, I beg of you.’

  He agreed with her silent belief that Owen de Courcy was somehow responsible for his brother’s death. And yet, they both knew that the man was now the heir to Pevensham. They had no choice but to allow him to enter.

  ‘I will delay it for as long as possible.’ It was the only promise he could make. He drew back from her, and she went to sit beside her husband’s body.

  * * *

  Within the hour, Father Francis arrived. He crossed himself when he saw Alan de Courcy and murmured a cry of dismay.

  ‘I feared the worst when you sent for me, my lady.’ He bowed and withdrew a small vial of chrism. ‘I thought I might have to administer Last Rites. But now I see I was too late. I will pray for the soul of Lord Pevensham.’

  Rosamund rose from her husband’s side, and tears streamed down her face. ‘Father, I do not know what to do. I heard a noise and came to see what had happened. When I arrived, I saw this.’ She revealed Alan’s bruised throat. ‘My husband was murdered.’

  Father Francis’s glance flickered towards Warrick, and he moved forward. The priest wore a rosary around one wrist, and Warrick knelt down before him. He took the cross and kissed it. ‘I swear by the Blood of Christ that I had nothing to do with Alan de Courcy’s death. I came when my lady summoned me, and we found him like this.’ He explained their suspicions about an intruder and finished with, ‘She is not safe here.’

  The priest was silent for a time. ‘I agree with you. Though I do not wish to imagine why this happened, Lord Pevensham gave orders that her unborn child must be protected at all costs. He told me he wanted you to take Lady Pevensham away for her protection.’

  Warrick stilled, and Rosamund lifted her gaze to his. ‘I agree. If Rosamund stays here, the intruder will find a way to get to her. And I cannot stand aside and let that happen.’

  The priest paused for a moment and thought. ‘It was Lord Pevensham’s wish that his wife should marry you upon his death, for that very purpose of protection. He spoke with me about it already.’

  Rosamund’s expression was stricken, as if she could not believe what was happening. ‘Do you honestly expect me to marry when my husband was alive, just an hour ago?’

  The priest hesitated. ‘Were this an ordinary situation, I would say no. We would want to say a Mass for your husband’s soul and honour his life. But Lord Pevensham was quite clear that he did not want you to remain here when Owen takes possession of this estate. He insisted that you marry Warrick de Laurent as soon as possible. That is, if you give your consent.’

  Warrick saw the knotted emotions on her face. She closed her eyes as if trying to shut out the world and all that had happened. ‘And do you agree with this, Father?’

  The priest’s face was grim. ‘If Lord Pevensham’s brother was involved in this murder, I believe you should obey your husband’s command and marry swiftly.’

  ‘Not like this,’ she whispered. And on that point, Warrick agreed. No woman should be expected to remarry with her former husband’s body still in the room. He would take her away from here first. Arrangements needed to be made, and there were only two men he trusted within the walls of this estate.

  ‘Stay here with Father Francis,’ Warrick told Rosamund. ‘Let no one enter until I return.’ To the priest, he added, ‘You may administer the final rites for Lord Pevensham and pray for his soul, while I summon my men and make arrangements for our departure.’ He studied Rosamund and added, ‘I will ensure that they pack up your belongings. And when I return, we will leave this place.’

  * * *

  Rosamund felt like an autumn leaf, torn from its branch and battered by the winds in every direction. She was numb to Alan’s death, and the longer she sat beside his body, the guiltier she felt.

  The priest prayed in Latin, his voice soothing her wounded spirits. She let the tears fall freely, for she had never wanted it to end like this. Alan’s sickness had prepared her for the possibility of his death but not his murder.

  You tried to make our marriage a good one, she thought inwardly. I am sorry that I could not be the wife you needed.

  Her sadness held regret, more than grief. She understood now that earlier, Alan had been angry with himself and jealous of Warrick. And once he believed he would live again, he could not forgive either of them for what had happened, or himself for what he had brought about. Her emotions were battered by the storm of the past few days, and worst of all was the guilt assailing her conscience. It almost felt as if she had no right to reach for her own happiness—not now.

  The candles burned lower, and at last Warrick returned, accompanied by Godfrey and Bennett. He pulled Rosamund aside and murmured, ‘Fitzwarren was caught trying to flee the castle. He confessed to the murder, and our men killed him.’

  She could hardly grasp any of it, but she didn’t delude herself into believing she was safe now. Fitzwarren had been hired by Owen, and her brother-in-law was the greater danger. One murderer was dead, but another still lived.

  Father Francis stood up from Alan’s body and approached them. ‘I will remain in prayer for Lord Pevensham throughout the night, and you must take Lady Pevensham with you. He was most insistent that she be guarded and kept from Owen de Courcy until her child is born.’

  Rosamund said nothing, for she understood that the priest was only following her husband’s orders. Alan had known of the danger and had prepared them for this. She was grateful for his forethought, and she spoke a silent prayer of thanks in her heart.

  ‘I will take her to her father’s house,’ Warrick said. ‘She will be safe there.’

  She did not want to seek sanctuary with her father, not after all that had happened. Even after these past few years, she had not forgiven him for his interference.

  ‘Not there,’ she said quietly, raising her eyes to Warrick’s.

  But he met her gaze and admitted, ‘It’s closer than Ireland. And I have no doubt your father will keep you safe. Especially if you are carrying an heir.’

  His words were meant for the benefit of the priest, but she could not suppress the shudder that rolled over her. There was no denying that there needed to be a child, but in her heart, she did not believe she was pregnant. Father Francis trusted in Alan’s confession, however, and he would do everything possible to protect her. Despite the lies, she needed that.

  She took a deep breat
h and nodded. ‘I suppose I must do whatever is necessary to protect Alan’s heir.’ With a rueful look, she added, ‘Since I hold little faith in my own soldiers, it seems I have no choice but to leave.’

  ‘Only for a short while,’ Warrick reassured her. ‘We will return to Pevensham, in time.’

  He held out his hand to escort her from the room, but she hesitated. Slowly, Rosamund walked towards her husband’s body. Despite all that had happened between them, she wanted to look upon him one last time.

  His face held the startled expression of a man who had not anticipated death. And although they had planned for it, neither had expected it to end this way. She reached down and touched his cold hand. ‘Farewell, Alan.’

  Forgive me.

  Her heart was heavy as she left him behind. Warrick waited for her near the door and gave her a dark cloak to wear. She couldn’t seem to gather her thoughts together, but followed him silently into the hall. Bennett and Godfrey accompanied them, and she tiptoed down the spiral steps. A sinking feeling caught her heart, and she feared that all their plans would come to naught.

  Warrick moved silently among the sleeping men and women, leading her towards the heavy oak doors. Their horses were waiting, and she saw bundles of her belongings tied to the saddle. Warrick helped her onto the mare before mounting his own destrier.

  Rosamund approached the main gates with Warrick following behind. She recognised the two men guarding their post and motioned for them to step aside. When they did not, she commanded, ‘Let us pass.’

  Neither moved until Warrick repeated her order. ‘Lady Pevensham has commanded you to move.’

  The soldier hesitated, but recognised that he could not possibly defend against a mounted warrior. He stepped aside, still keeping his spear raised. The other guard did the same, and Rosamund urged her horse faster into the darkness. She had no idea where Warrick intended for them to stay the night, but for now, she knew the necessity of fleeing Pevensham.

  He had spoken of taking her to her father’s holdings, but she doubted if Harold de Beaufort would be a true ally, after all that had happened. She had not seen her father or spoken to him since her wedding day.