Rosamond turned and fled up the stairs to her chamber, her emotions in total disarray. She could not deny that she was secretly flattered that he had come, yet she was afraid of what he would do to her for taking refuge with the so-called enemy.
Eleanor de Montfort, with Sir Rickard de Burgh at her side, listened as Sir Rodger de Leyburn demanded to speak with his wife. "You may speak with her, but that is all, my lord. Leave your swords here in the hall; Sir Rickard will escort you."
The muscle in de Leyburn's jaw clenched like a lump of iron at the sight of Rickard de Burgh. Yet he knew he should not have been surprised to find the knight in residence at Kenilworth. The Irish warrior was pledged to Eleanor, not Earl Simon, and would naturally be in charge of the fortification of Kenilworth Castle.
Sir Rickard extended his arm to indicate that the two men should
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climb the stairs before him. He was trained never to turn his back on any man save a loyal squire. But in spite of his precaution, de Leyburn had a knife at his throat before he could take a breath.
"If you have designs upon my wife, you will have to kill me for her." De Leyburn's green gaze pierced de Burgh's soul. The Irish warrior's green eyes stared back; they showed no alarm.
"I have told Rosamond her fate lies with you, but she refuses to listen. You and I both know this conflict is not over; her survival depends upon your strength, de Leyburn."
Rod stared at him fiercely. "I intend to take her with me now."
Sir Rickard de Burgh took the man's measure. "Excuse me, I am patrolling the ramparts." He took the stone stairs that led to the castle roof, and Rod sheathed his knife beneath his mail shirt.
De Leyburn threw open the chamber door, motioned for Griffin to enter, then closed it firmly behind them. His green gaze swept Rosamond from head to toe. "Explain yourself."
Rosamond took the offensive immediately She lifted her chin and tossed her hair back over her shoulders. "My actions explain themselves. I refuse to live with a man who has no honor!"
"What of your own honor, Rosamond?" he asked silkily. "You vowed to love, honor, and obey me. You vowed it before God. I don't expect love, but I will have you honor and, above all, obey me, wife!"
"What an arrogant swine you are to come here and issue me orders. You changed sides and you lost because of it! Go, and leave me in peace, you cur!"
"Strip off your clothes and put on Griffin's," he said quietly.
"Are you mad?"
"Mad as a raging bull, madam; it would be wise to do as I say"
Rosamond watched wide-eyed as Griffin removed his helmet and breastplate. "If you don't leave immediately, I shall scream for the guard."
"For your knight in shining armor, Sir Rickard de Burgh?" Rodger taunted. "I have him gagged and trussed like a haunch of venison ready for the spit. If you have a tendresse for the man, you had best obey me, Rosamond, or I shall vent my spleen on him."
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For the first time she faltered, and fell back on the defensive. "I cannot wear chain mail and a breastplate."
"You can and you will. Remove the dress!"
She saw that Griffin stood naked, stripped even of chausses. Slowly her hands began to lift off her gown.
Rodger's tone lightened. "Chirk will be happy to see you; she is with pup."
Rosamond gasped, and her hand almost flew to her belly, except she remembered in time. There was no way she would reveal her secret to Devil de Leyburn!
After she pulled on the squire's chausses, Rodger helped her into the mail shirt and the breastplate. Then he pulled Griffin's helmet over her long blond hair. He saw that she staggered from the weight of the armor, and crushed down the urge to aid her. He pulled Griffin's knife from its sheath and handed it to his squire. "If she makes any outcry when we leave this chamber, go immediately to where I have de Burgh trussed and cut off his balls."
Rodger de Leyburn descended to the Great Hall, retrieved his sword, nodded curtly to Kenilworth's steward, and without a backward glance, strode to the two horses tethered in the bailey. He was acutely aware of the tall, slim figure that followed on his heels, yet no one else paid the slightest attention to the armor-clad squire, not even when he had difficulty mounting his destrier. The two riders thundered through the gate, and out along the causeway that provided the only access to Kenilworth Castle.
Finally, Rodger allowed himself to turn in the saddle, and he was just in time to see Rosamond topple from the big bay in a dead faint. He dismounted in a flash and knelt beside her, his heart pounding. The noseguard covered a good deal of her face, but he could see that her eyes were closed. Rod lifted off the helmet and was shocked to see how deathly pale Rosamond looked.
He wanted to throttle her for forcing him to subject her to such harsh treatment, yet at the same time a fierce protectiveness rose up in him, bringing a lump to his throat. He unfastened the straps of the breastplate and eased it from her body, then he removed the mail
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chainse and shook her gently until her eyes opened. "Rosamond, you fainted ... are you ill?"
"Nay," she said quickly, "the bloody armor was too heavy for me. Why did you play me such a devil's trick? If harm befalls Sir Rickard de Burgh, I will get even with you, so help me God!"
Rodger was so angry he wanted to strike her. It savaged his pride that she had obeyed him only because of the threats to the Irish knight. "I notice you have not the least concern for poor Griffin, who risked his life to help me rescue you."
"Rescue? It was an abduction, a kidnapping! Griffin deserves his fate."
Rodger smoothed her disheveled hair back from her brow. "I believe we all of us deserve our fate, Rosamond, even you." He fastened Griffin's armor to the bay's saddle, then tethered its reins to his own black stallion. He took his rolled-up cloak from his saddlebag and wrapped it around his shivering wife. Then he lifted her before him and set his spurs to Stygian's flanks.
It was now full dark, and Rodger de Leyburn knew Rosamond needed a bed. He headed to Daventry, where he knew Baron Bassing-bourne had a manor house. Rodger had no idea if the baron was a king's man or a de Montfort man, but he was ready to ask Bassingbourne's hospitality.
Warren de Bassingbourne was at home and offered Sir Rodger and his wife shelter for the night. The young baron had inherited his land and title just before the Welsh campaign, and though the elder Bassingbourne had been a staunch supporter of Earl Simon, Warren had not committed himself in the civil dispute. Rodger sensed that here was an opportunity to plant some seeds for the future, and after escorting Rosamond to a small bedchamber where the servants lit her a fire and served her food, he descended and supped with the young baron.
"You are Lord Edward Plantagenet's royal steward, Sir Rodger. I was surprised that he broke his ties with Simon de Montfort."
"It is against Edward Plantagenet's nature to be subordinate to an earl, even Earl Simon. He will be King Edward, the next rightful King of England, when Henry's rule is done. Both Simon de Montfort and King Henry are well up in years. The future belongs to men our age, Warren.
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Lord Edward will have need of ambitious men and is prepared to reward them well."
Warren de Bassingbourne knew he was being wooed, and de Ley-burn's words conjured pictures of lands and castles. "Do you believe that there will yet be civil war, Sir Rodger?"
"I do. I realize that Daventry lies in the shadow of both Kenilworth and Northampton and it may be easier to side with the de Montforts, but the rewards would not be as great. However, allow me to extend the hospitality of Windsor to you, Warren. Lord Edward will welcome you with open arms."
When Rodger retired for the night, he found Rosamond still wrapped in his cloak, sitting before the dying embers of the fire. "You should be abed; we have an exhausting journey tomorrow."
In reply, she turned away from him and stared into the last flickering flames.
Since she would have none of him, Rod, who was wise in the ways of women, l
eft her to her ruminations. He undressed, climbed into bed, and blew out the candles. He knew that the chamber would become increasingly cold once the fire was dead, and anticipated that soon Rosamond would be glad to slip into the warm bed.
Though she was exceedingly tired and cold, Rosamond sat before the fireplace without moving. She stubbornly decided to freeze to death rather than share a bed with de Leyburn. She did not know how much time passed, but when she awoke, she found herself pressed against the warm length of her husband's body. She realized that Rodger must have undressed her and carried her to bed once she had fallen asleep. Rosamond almost jumped up in anger, then thought better of it. The bed was soft and warm, and if she left it from willful pride, she would be the only one to suffer. Far better to pretend that she had not awakened.
Rosamond lay still, wondering if what he had said was true. Did she deserve her fate? Although she had used dragonwort to prevent conception, she was nevertheless with child. They had been intimate only that one night when she had not taken the herb. Surely that was fate. She did not want a child for fear of loving it and losing it, as happened to so many women. Why, oh why had Rodger de Leyburn come into her comfortable, secure life to turn it upside down?
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Her hand slid over her belly. Already she loved the babe fiercely. She had sworn that she would never love anyone again, for to love something was to lose it. And slowly it dawned upon her that sometimes emotions could not be controlled, no matter how many vows and pledges were made. Rosamond sighed deeply and moved closer to the warm, powerful body of Rodger de Leyburn.
"I am so glad you are awake, chérie." Rod's voice, smooth and dark as black velvet, insinuated itself inside her. His fingers lifted her chin and he dipped his head to kiss her, thoroughly. "I once told you I'd never let you go. Mayhap now you believe me." He threaded his fingers into her heavy mass of curls. "Next time, I'll drag you back by your beautiful hair, you willful little bitch, and if you run to Rickard de Burgh, I shall kill him!"
Rosamond could hear the savage jealousy in his voice, and the thrill of it spiraled inside her in a delicious frisson of pleasure. She knew he was in a mood to possess her, knew he was about to put his brand of ownership on her. She wanted it, and yet she did not want it, and turned away from him to make his possession of her more difficult. Now all the most vulnerable, intimate places on her body were open to his wicked hands, and she knew instantly that she wanted him to touch her. His nearness made her conscious of every pulse of her heart.
From behind, his teasing hand came between her legs to stroke the satin of her inner thighs with feathery light strokes. He caressed her warm flesh from her knees to her cleft, over and over, before his fingers separated the curls upon her mons and slipped inside her. She knew she was hot and tight, and his playful fingers soon had her wet and slippery. His other hand captured one of her breasts, to toy with the nipple, and Rosamond found it unbelievably sensitive. She drew in a swift breath and his possessive touch turned gentle as he stroked her nipple with his fingertips. Now he stroked two buds, one above, the other below. She cried out his name, using the diminutive he liked best when they made love. "Rod ... Rod!"
It was all the encouragement he needed. In a heartbeat, he curved his long body about hers and plunged into her from behind, holding her to him with hands that were clasped possessively about her breasts. When she cried out from the strange fullness, he whispered against her ear, "Sweetheart, open, take all of me." 216
Rosamond took a deep breath and yielded to him. When he began to thrust, it aroused her to a higher pitch than she had ever achieved before. He kept stroking her, plunging into her until she was ready to scream with pleasure. She grabbed fistfuls of the sheet beneath her, and arched her bottom high, wanting to draw out the incredible throbbing that was building inside her.
She heard Rod groan with pleasure, then both of them erupted like a volcano, and she screamed as the hot lava scalded her. Rosamond felt the intense shudder of pleasure reach the tips of her breasts and quiver down the entire length of her legs. She collapsed beneath him and loved the feel of his weight full upon her. She hadn't known it, but her need had been as great as his. Dreamily she realized that Rod had known how much she needed the loving, even if she hadn't.
Twenty
At Westminster, Alyce de Clare paced the luxurious apartment that had been furnished for her father, the king's half-brother, before the barons had forced greedy Guy de Lusignan from England. She felt so caged, she was ready to scream and smash things. Edward had not visited her once; moreover, her father-in-law, Richard de Clare, had summoned her husband, Gilbert, from Gloucester. The young firebrand had opened the gates of Gloucester to Simon de Montfort, and his hot-tempered father was ready to give him a tongue-lashing.
Alyce hated her husband with a passion, and had managed to avoid him by coming to London. Now, however, Gilbert would share her chambers and the Earl of Gloucester would no doubt tell his son that it was time he produced an heir. Alyce, who longed to rid herself of the fiery-tempered Gilbert, knew she was shackled to him until death parted them, and as she paced the room a simple solution to her problem presented itself.
Alyce went to her dressing table and opened the drawer that held her cosmetics. She opened the box that contained her hellebore seeds, which she used crushed up in a paste with cowslips to remove spots and wrinkles from her porcelain skin. Alyce knew that when hellebore was ingested, it was deadly poisonous. She took out four long, black seeds and pulverized them with the heel of her shoe, then she sprinkled the powder into the flagon of red Gascon wine that sat on a table close by the fireplace in her sitting room.
When Gilbert the Red arrived, Alyce made a pretense of welcoming him. His father had gone with Richard of Cornwall to the Tower of London to deliberate with the king about the Parliament that Simon de Montfort had called for the following month. Alyce ordered a
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hot meal for her young husband and poured him a goblet of wine. Gilbert ate the food, but dispatched his squire for ale. When his squire returned, he informed Gilbert that his father had just arrived at Westminster and wished to see him immediately.
Gilbert ignored the summons, dismissed his squire, and proceeded to consume the entire gallon jug of ale that sat before him. He stretched his legs to the fire and inwardly filmed that his father still treated him as a child. When the door burst open, Gilbert was well primed for a fight. When Alyce saw her father-in-law's purple face, she hurriedly withdrew to the bedchamber.
"You ass-licking, brainless young dolt! When that cocksucking de Montfort marched on my city of Gloucester, you opened the fucking gates and welcomed the bastard inside. 'Tis a wonder you didn't open our coffers and let the son of a bitch help himself!"
"Simon de Montfort is the chosen leader of the barons. I rejoice that he won the war! He is on the side of justice, and so am I. King Henry is a spineless, craven weakling who has broken every promise he ever made!"
"I, Richard of Gloucester, am the leading peer in this realm! Have you the least notion of the humiliation I suffered when my own flesh and blood aided de Montfort to take over my city?" He cuffed Gilbert across the head. "Christ-all-fucking-mighty, I should hang you for treason!" Gloucester, sweating profusely with choler, snatched up the goblet of wine and drained it. "It's time you stopped playing soldier and got a son on your wife!"
"That faithless French slut you saddled me with isn't fit to be the mother of my children!" Gilbert screamed, now more red in the face than his father.
Richard of Gloucester suddenly wrapped his arms about his belly and fell to the floor in a convulsion. He kicked his heels as his eyes rolled back in his head and agonized groans were torn from his throat.
"Father!" Gilbert dropped to his knees, his fury rapidly evaporating as it was replaced by concern. He grabbed his wrists to hold him still, but Richard of Gloucester suddenly went rigid, his arms and legs jerked one last time, and the last breath left his body. "Help! Help me!" Gilbert the R
ed cried in alarm.
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Gilbert's squire rushed into the room, and Alyce came running from the bedchamber. Her eyes, black as obsidian, widened in horror. "What happened?"
"My father... drank the wine ... then grabbed his belly...."
Alyce retrieved the fallen goblet just as two more servants stepped across the threshold, followed by Richard of Cornwall.
"Splendor of God, what has happened here?" Richard of Cornwall said.
Alyce told him, "Gilbert and his father were having a terrible quarrel, when suddenly he grabbed his chest as if he were in great pain. I think his heart must have burst. Oh dear Lord in heaven, you know what violent tempers the de Clares have!" Alyce wrung her hands and began to cry. She was surprised to realize that her tears were genuine. Her dear father-in-law lay dead, while her flame-haired swine of a husband was still very much alive.
Richard of Cornwall tried desperately to revive his firstborn son, but his efforts were in vain. He knew the violent temper came from being a Plantagenet, not a de Clare! Within the hour, all Westminster was in mourning, then messages were dispatched to King Henry at the Tower of London and to Lord Edward at Windsor. Gilbert also sent a secret message to Simon de Montfort in residence at Durham House, telling him that he was still his ally. Gilbert was covered with guilt and grief over his sire's death and refused to be comforted by his wife.
"Get you out of my sight," he ground out between clenched teeth. "I don't want you under the same roof, madam. You may have been able to pull the wool over my poor father's eyes, but I have known what you were since I was fourteen!" Gilbert searched his mind for a place to send her; he certainly didn't want her back in Gloucester. "You may pack your things and remove yourself to my castle of Tonbridge."
Alyce did not give him an argument; she was quite happy to leave the scene of her crime. Gilbert was the new Earl of Gloucester, and the title made him the leading peer in the realm. Though her plan had gone alarmingly awry, at the same time there was consolation: She was now the Countess of Gloucester, which was the sole reason she had agreed to marry the boy Gilbert de Clare five long years ago. She decided that she
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