Forbidden Night with the Warrior Page 3

  She didn’t quite understand his amusement, and Alan’s expression narrowed. ‘How do you know about my lands in Ireland?’

  Warrick crossed his arms and regarded her husband. ‘Because Owen de Courcy offered the same bargain to me, along with your wife. As payment for killing you.’

  Chapter Two

  Warrick wasn’t surprised when Rosamund stood up from the bed and glared at him. ‘Get out.’ Fury burned upon her reddened cheeks. ‘I will not let you harm my husband.’

  She looked like an avenging soldier, ready to gut him if he dared to lay a hand on Alan. Her determination only provoked his interest, for her green eyes seethed with anger and her lips tightened. Her hand rested upon her eating knife, and he didn’t doubt she would use it if necessary.

  ‘Calm yourself, my dear,’ Alan intervened. ‘If de Laurent intended to kill me, he wouldn’t have told me this first. He could have done so already, and neither of us is strong enough to stop him.’

  ‘Indeed.’ But Warrick’s attention was fixed upon Rosamund. ‘Do you intend to stab me with that blade?’

  ‘I might.’

  He didn’t miss the fury on her face. Rosamund might appear to be a soft, demure lady, but she had a spine of steel.

  ‘I presume you have no intention of murdering me in my bed, de Laurent?’ Alan mused softly.

  ‘No. But I thought I should come and warn you of your brother’s intent. He is no friend to you.’

  ‘I am aware of this.’ Alan’s expression turned grim. ‘Although he has his own property at Northleigh, Owen has fallen deeply into debt. I suspect the vultures are circling him for repayment, even now. He has coveted my lands and castle since our father died four years ago. I will do all that I can to prevent him from inheriting Pevensham.’

  His voice took on a different tone and strangely, Rosamund took a step away from her husband’s bedside. She looked pained at what he was about to say, as if she wanted to shrink back and retreat within the walls.

  ‘You had another reason for summoning me here, didn’t you?’ Warrick predicted. He kept his gaze fixed upon Rosamund, knowing that she held the answers.

  Alan gave a nod. ‘It is a most...unusual request. But one that is necessary to protect my wife and my lands.’ He gestured towards the chamber walls as if they were not there. ‘If you agree, then all of this would belong to you.’

  Lord Pevensham’s offer made little sense. Warrick was no blood relative, nor was there any means of him inheriting a place like Pevensham.

  ‘It’s not possible,’ he said. But his gaze passed over Alan and then Rosamund as he wondered what the pair of them had plotted.

  ‘You understand why I do not wish for my brother to inherit,’ Alan continued. ‘He is a cruel man who would threaten my serfs, bring my estates to the brink of destruction, and harm my wife. I have worked all my life, alongside my father, to make Pevensham prosperous.’ The sincerity upon the man’s face made it clear that de Courcy was indeed the sort of lord who wanted to protect his people. ‘When I am gone, I can arrange to give Pevensham into your hands, with Rosamund at your side.’

  The offer struck him speechless. Why would Alan de Courcy consider such a thing? They were virtually strangers. It made no sense at all.

  ‘If I were to marry Rosamund, Pevensham still would not be mine,’ he argued. ‘She might have a dower portion, but—’

  ‘You would govern Pevensham until her son comes of age,’ Alan said quietly. ‘And you would live here as his guardian.’

  ‘But she could bear a daughter,’ he pointed out. ‘What would happen then?’

  Alan’s expression turned cool. ‘I leave that in God’s hands. For now, Rosamund is not yet with child. That is our first priority.’

  The revelation confused him. ‘But you said it was your hope that she would bear a son. Is she not already—?’

  ‘Not yet,’ Alan said. From the narrowed gaze upon the baron’s face, Warrick could not understand what this conversation was about. Was he intending to have Warrick command the forces of Pevensham until Rosamund became pregnant?

  Alan hesitated, and Warrick noticed that Rosamund had gone pale, her eyes downcast. ‘I want you to give her a child.’

  The words stunned him. How could any man ever contemplate an arrangement like this?

  The baron’s voice was quiet, filled with reluctance. ‘If you agree to this, Rosamund will share your bed until she conceives. And your son will inherit Pevensham under the pretence of my name.’

  * * *

  Rosamund expected Warrick to refuse the proposal and leave Alan’s bedchamber. Instead, his silence terrified her. Dear God, did this mean he was considering it? He—he couldn’t. Not after all that had happened between them.

  She stared down at her hands, praying for him to deny the request. But she felt the intensity of his stare upon her and the unspoken question.

  When at last she looked at him, his blue eyes held a flare of desire. He was watching her, and his gaze moved down her body. ‘You knew of this proposition, Rosamund?’

  What was there to say? That she understood her husband’s desire for a child and his willingness to sacrifice everything to save Pevensham? She couldn’t bring herself to speak, but nodded. Every part of her wanted to protest, for this was a bargain she had never desired.

  She had voiced her agreement to her husband, though it had never been her choice. Alan had been relieved at her assent, and she had seen a visible change in him, like a man who was confident that all would be well. And perhaps that was what he needed—reassurance that after he was gone, someone would take care of her.

  Warrick regarded her with an unreadable expression. ‘I would like to speak alone with Rosamund.’

  No. She didn’t want that at all. She’d rather walk barefoot across shards of broken glass than answer the questions he would pose.

  But Alan had no such qualms. ‘Of course.’ He appeared eager to allow it, almost glad that Warrick had not made an outright refusal.

  She sent her husband a pleading look, which he ignored, nodding for her to follow Warrick outside the bedchamber.

  She gritted her teeth and obeyed. It occurred to her that she could be truthful with Warrick, making him understand why she had gone along with Alan’s plan. Then, at least, he would know not to hold any expectations.

  He continued walking down the hallway until she led him into the solar. His powerful stride revealed his impatience, and she sensed that he had a great deal to say to her.

  Rosamund dismissed her maid, Berta, who was inside, and afterwards, Warrick closed the door behind him. He studied her for a moment, and then said, ‘Was this your idea, Rosamund? Do you want a child that badly?’

  Her frustration roared back. How could he possibly believe such a thing? ‘No, not at all.’ She took a deep breath, trying to force away her anger and calm herself. ‘I understand what Alan wants. Pevensham means everything to him. Even more than me.’ She couldn’t quite hide the bitterness in her voice. ‘He thinks a child will save his estate from Owen. But it will not happen.’

  Warrick studied her a moment, and then his gaze passed over her body. ‘Have you ever conceived a child before?’

  His question caught her unawares, and she clenched her hands to keep them from trembling. This was not a question she wanted to face, especially from him. The shadow of grief had never left her heart, and she had wanted to keep that part of her buried, along with her baby.

  She didn’t want to tell him anything at all. If she spoke a single word, her fragile control would shatter. But she feared he would continue to demand answers, and she couldn’t bear that. Instead, she gathered her composure and tried to hide the gleam of tears. ‘I had a stillborn babe once.’

  She was grateful when he didn’t press her for more. He rested his hand upon her shou
lder and offered, ‘I am sorry for your loss.’

  The kindness undid her, and she let the tears fall in silence. Warrick moved his hand from her shoulder, and she wished she could lean against him, taking solace in an embrace. But she didn’t want to reveal weakness in front of him. Not now. Instead, she wiped her tears away, trying to push away the empty devastation.

  Lifting her chin, she admitted, ‘I don’t want to have another child. There’s a part of my heart that is gone forever.’ She bit her lip and blurted out, ‘I know Alan wants an heir, but... I don’t know if I can do this again.’

  He stared at her, betraying none of his thoughts. His blue eyes were like river stones, and she could not understand what he wanted from her.

  Then he took a step nearer. ‘If you were my wife, I would never give you to another man. I would slaughter him where he stood.’

  She felt his penetrating gaze like an invisible touch. And from the heat of his stare, she knew that he still wanted her, even after all these years. Whether he spoke with jealousy or anger at the choice she had made, the result was the same. ‘Alan is only trying to protect Pevensham,’ she murmured. ‘And me. He knows he is incapable of giving me a child.’ She rubbed at her arms, feeling the chill of the room. ‘I understand why he asked this of me, but what he wants is wrong.’

  His expression grew shielded, and she could not tell what he was thinking now. His blue eyes never strayed from her face. ‘What do you want, Rosamund?’

  ‘I told Alan I would agree to his wishes...but I lied.’ Her face burned with humiliation, but she forced herself to finish. ‘I cannot betray my marriage vows. Not even with you.’

  He didn’t seem at all surprised. ‘And what if Alan dies? Where will you go?’

  She couldn’t let herself think that far ahead. ‘I intend to stay by his side, until the very last moment. I hope to remain here, but with Owen, I don’t know...’ Her words trailed off and she took a steadying breath. ‘I don’t want Alan to die, Warrick. I owe him my loyalty. He has always been good to me.’

  He moved closer then, so close that she sensed the heat of his body. ‘I know you want me to go away and leave you alone.’

  His voice was sensual, flooding her mind with visions of the past. Her heartbeat quickened with fear of what he would do. She swallowed and tried to take a step backwards. But Warrick’s hands moved to her waist, holding her in place.

  ‘I am not the man I once was, Rosamund.’ The heat of his hands burned through her kirtle, making her remember what it was to have his touch upon her skin. ‘I watched you marry another man, and it changed me.’

  He drew his hands up her spine in a soft caress. ‘Do you remember what it was like between us? You used to press yourself close to me, kissing me until we could hardly breathe.

  ‘You spoke words of love, and I believed them.’ His hands stroked down again, moving towards her hips. ‘Or have you forgotten the promises you made? That I would be your husband and no other man.’

  The words came to her lips, the truths she was too afraid to speak. When her father had learned that she had given her innocence to Warrick, his rage had been so strong, she had no doubt at all that Harold would have killed him. She had never seen him so furious, and she saw that same anger mirrored in Warrick’s eyes now.

  ‘I was there on the day you married Alan. I stood and watched while de Courcy claimed you as his wife. I joined the guests at the wedding feast, and every bite was like dust in my mouth. And when they took you away to share his bed—’ Warrick’s voice broke off, and it was filled with such frustration and rage, it frightened her.

  But then his expression turned sensual. ‘I know full well that you do not want me.’ His hands encircled her waist and he held her closer, making her aware of his desire. ‘But I do not believe it has anything to do with honour. You are afraid of remembering what it was like between us.’

  She was shocked at the response of her own body to the pressure of his hips. His sinful words brought back memories of the forbidden, of skin upon skin. She ached at the sensation of his hard body pressed to hers, and it made her heart beat faster. Her breasts grew tight against her gown, yearning for his touch.

  Alan had never made her feel anything at all in their marriage bed. She had endured her husband’s attentions but never had he made her feel alive—only guilty. And during her pregnancy, she had given excuses for him not to share her bed.

  Warrick traced his finger over her cheek and down her throat. In a low voice he said, ‘I find myself wanting to say yes to your husband’s proposition. For you are bound to obey, are you not? Especially when it means saving this castle.’

  ‘I don’t want you,’ she gritted out. ‘Not like this.’

  But the words were a lie. Her blood was coursing through her body, making her remember the fierce response that only he could conjure. In the past, his kiss had echoed within her skin, arousing her until she had cried out with desire. He knew just how to draw out her response, though she tried to force back the feelings.

  Warrick threaded his hands in her hair, leaning in so close, she felt the planes of his hard body against hers. ‘I would have Alan’s full permission to claim you, in the hopes of conceiving a child. But he would never know what truly happens between us.’

  His hands moved down her spine, and with the heat of his skin, she felt herself awakening beneath his touch.

  ‘I want you to know what you’ve been missing during these three years. You chose the wrong man, Rosamund. And when I touch you, you’ll wish to God you had stayed with me instead.’

  ‘Don’t do this.’ She would not stand for his threats, not now. In one motion, she unsheathed her knife and held it to his heart. ‘I may be Alan’s property, but I am not yours.’

  ‘Not yet,’ he murmured.

  And when he released her, leaving her behind, the blade clattered from her fingertips.

  She was shaking so badly, she could hardly stand. God help her now.

  * * *

  Warrick returned to de Courcy’s bedchamber, his mood grim. An honourable man would refuse this bargain and walk away—he knew that. But in three years, he hadn’t forgotten the fury at watching the woman he loved marry someone else. He had endured countless lashes for her sake, believing she would remain true to him. And after it was done, his father had watched him bleed.

  ‘She was never going to wed a man like you. Rosamund de Beaufort is too high-born.’

  The agony of his wounds was so harsh, he could say nothing. But his father’s words cut deeper than any lash.

  ‘I should have ordered them to kill you instead. Your life is worth nothing.’

  He had grown accustomed to his father’s hatred, after all these years. Edward de Laurent believed the lies of his wife, not the truth. Warrick had long ago given up the idea that his father would ever see him as a man of worth.

  But he had been mistaken in thinking that Rosamund would be different.

  She claimed she had married Alan to save Warrick’s life...and that might have held some truth, but why had she not fought to stay with him? This beautiful maiden, who had met with him in stolen moments, promising to love him for the rest of her life, had suddenly grown cold. She had turned from him, leaving him to spend years with only a sword for company.

  And now Alan wanted him to sire a child upon her? It was the strangest turn of fate he’d ever imagined.

  He had wanted to ignore this summons to Pevensham, truthfully. He had no place upon an estate such as this. Although he was of noble birth, he would never be anything more than a warrior. There were no estates he could inherit, no lands for him to rule. He was expected to marry and live with his brother Rhys.

  Or die in battle, if his father had his way.

  Over the years, his stepmother Analise had convinced Edward de Laurent that Warrick was simple-minded and
incapable of leadership. Absently, he rubbed at the scar upon his wrist. His gut tightened at the memory of the woman, and he pushed back the darkness. She was dead now, and his father had taken a third wife.

  But the fact remained—Edward de Laurent had believed Analise’s claims, hardly giving any attention to Warrick. The need to prove his father wrong had drawn him into the king’s service and into countless battles.

  Now, he had been given an opportunity to control lands that spanned even greater a distance than his family’s. No longer would Edward de Laurent look upon him as the spare son who would live at home, possessing no estates of his own. Warrick could command of his own castle, and be equal in status to his brother Rhys.

  All he had to do was murder an innocent man...or sleep with the man’s wife, he thought wryly. Neither was an honourable choice.

  And yet, Alan was right. His brother Owen fully intended to take possession of Pevensham, and it was possible that he could harm Rosamund. Certainly, the man wouldn’t hesitate to kill an unborn child if it threatened his inheritance.

  Warrick reached for his sword, and he clenched the familiar hilt. If he agreed to sire a son with Rosamund, there were endless risks. She might not conceive, and all would be for naught. Or if she did, others might question the child’s legitimacy. Even if it came to pass as Alan desired, it meant that the child would grow up believing that another man was his father.

  There were no clear answers, yet he stood at Alan’s bedside. It was best to speak the truth. ‘I have spoken to Rosamund, and she does not wish to dishonour her marriage vows.’

  ‘She will do it if I command it of her.’

  Warrick had no intention of forcing any woman. Even the woman he had once desired beyond all else. ‘I will not take Rosamund against her wishes.’

  ‘She understands what is necessary to protect Pevensham. This is her home, and she has no desire for Owen to inherit.’ Despite his physical weakness, Alan possessed a will of iron. ‘Rosamund is a woman who is loyal and virtuous. She does not understand the greater need. I want her to be protected and cherished when I am gone. You could do this, and you would receive wealth and lands in return. Any man would welcome this opportunity.’