Rosamunde awakened in Ravensmuir’s solar, well content. She did not open her eyes immediately, for it suited her to savor the comfort that surrounded her. Tynan’s bed was wide, its mattress plump, its draperies rich enough even to satisfy Rosamunde’s discerning tastes. His solar was warm, as so few chambers were in this cursedly northern clime, and she smiled at the possibility that he had stoked the fire particularly for her.
It was not so bad a wager she had made, in trading her life on the seas for a life with Tynan. Though she would miss the journeys to foreign ports, it was a relief to sleep fully, knowing that none came to assault her in the night.
Rosamunde stretched a toe across the expanse of the bed, prepared to celebrate their mutual agreement again, but only found cold linens. She shivered, then opened one eye.
Though she was alone in bed, she was not alone in the chamber. Tynan was fully dressed, in deepest indigo as was his custom. His hair was damp, his back toward her. He faced the leaping flames in the fireplace, arms folded across his chest, his handsome features cast into profile. She saw the silver at his temples, the lines from laughter beside his eyes, and her heart softened with the certainty that he was her love and her mate.
“You should return to bed, that we might finish what was begun.” Rosamunde spoke softly, but Tynan jumped all the same.
Almost as if he felt guilt about some matter.
Rosamunde was immediately awake. She sat up, not troubling to cover her bare breasts, and could not fail to note how Tynan simply frowned into the fire.
He cleared his throat, as he oft did when he knew his words would not be welcomed. “If you would be so kind, I would not have you found here when the household awakens.”
A chill slipped down Rosamunde’s spine, but she feigned misunderstanding. “Oh, there is no reason to worry.” She abandoned the warm bed with reluctance, then stretched like a cat. She shook her hair over her shoulders, knowing that he watched her covertly. The desire between them was impossible to ignore, after all. “All know by this time that we are not half-cousins. It is the talk of all that I share no blood with the Lammergeier family who raised me.” She laughed under her breath as she donned a gossamer chemise, then a silken robe rich with embroidery. “If only because it rouses such astonishment that Gawain Lammergeier could have shown such compassion as to raise an unknown babe as his own.”
“So it is,” he agreed coolly. “But I would still have you return to the women’s chamber.”
Rosamunde held his gaze, hoping she hid her newfound fear from him well. “Of what import if I am found in your bed? Most know that I have shared it many a time in the past twelve years.” Rosamunde paused, then named the crux of the matter. “And all will know as soon as our nuptials are announced.”
Tynan pivoted to face the fire again, his shoulders stiff, and Rosamunde knew, she knew what he would say.
“There will be no nuptials between the two of us.”
Her anger surprised her only by its vehemence. “What is this? All these years we have loved, and understood that the sole obstacle between us was my trade in relics!”
“True.”
“And now I have agreed to surrender that trade, to sate you. We will auction the best of the remaining relics, by this agreement.”
“True.”
“I released my crew. I sold my ship! I relinquished all of the elements of my trade that I might settle at Ravensmuir. With you.”
Tynan looked ill at ease. “You have misunderstood my intent. We have no future together, here or elsewhere.”
“You cur! You might have mentioned as much last evening!” Rosamunde crossed the floor and seized his shoulder, compelling him to face her. “You might have recalled such a choice afore seeking your pleasure anew!”
He had the grace to color, but she knew from his eyes that he would not change his thinking. “It is true that I served you poorly, Rosamunde.” His tenderness took the sting from her temper, and she hated that he possessed this much power over her.
Tynan lifted a tendril of her golden red hair between his finger and thumb and rubbed it. He met her gaze. “You are a madness in my very veins. I could not resist one last night together.”
“And you knew I would not grant it to you, had you been man enough to tell me the truth.” Rosamunde did not hide her bitterness as she snatched the curl of her hair from his grasp. “We had an agreement!”
He shook his head once. “I never vowed to wed you.”
It was true. Rosamunde cast her memory over their discussions and her innards went cold. He had never made such a pledge—she had simply assumed that such a man as he would not continue their torrid lovemaking without the formality of nuptial vows. Neither had she imagined that he would forgo the pleasure they granted each other.
Clearly, she had erred. It was as had oft been said of her—she might be able to see into the future, to see what others could not, but on occasion, she did not discern what was evident to all.
“Then I shall have my part of the legacy in Ravensmuir’s caverns,” she insisted. “I will withdraw a part of the store offered for auction, afore it is sold this day.”
Tynan shook his head. “You have no legacy here at Ravensmuir.” His gaze filled with chilly resolve. “You are not kin to the Lammergeier.”
Rosamunde gaped at him for a long moment in silence, so great was her fury. “You wretch! How dare you demand the surrender of all of value in my life, then cast me from your gates like so much rubbish?”
“You will fend well enough for yourself. We both know the truth of that.” He turned away, and Rosamunde resisted the urge to spit upon him for his faithlessness. “Make haste. Someone will arrive shortly to light the fires.”
“You might at least tell me why. What has changed?”
Tynan glanced over his shoulder. His gaze danced over her and Rosamunde took some satisfaction from the fact that he could not hide the admiration in his gaze. Tynan always regarded her as if she were a rare marvel, and she felt like one beneath his caress.
She had felt like one, at least, afore this morning.
“You can never be Lady of Ravensmuir, Rosamunde. It would not be fitting.” He turned and walked away from her then, and she wondered if he did not trust himself to keep from touching her.
“Whyever not?”
His quick glance was impatient. “Marriages are made for alliance, not for pleasure. Wedding you would not secure my borders or bind my neighbors to me.”
“And now that the relics will be sold that stain your repute by their very presence, I will not bring you wealth.” She spoke with heat, letting him see how his decision stung.
“Rosamunde...”
She backed away from him, for he knew too well how to make her forget her anger. “Do not try to soften your cruelty with sweet words!” She spoke then on impulse, naming her fear, hoping she was mistaken. “Doubtless your thinking would be different, were I young enough to offer you the prospect of a son.”
There was silence between them, silence that told Rosamunde she had guessed aright. She felt sickened then, but she would show him no weakness.
She had been cheated, by no fault of her own, cheated of love by a tale told for her own protection. That it was a false tale, one revealed too late for her to offer children to her lover, and withheld out of kindness by her beloved foster parents, made the revelation no more easily borne.
Tynan caught his breath and halted his pursuit of her. He stared at the floor, as if fighting to find the words, then met her gaze anew. His voice was taut, and though she saw that this choice cost him dearly, she would not make matters easier for him. “You should know that I do not mean only to train my nephew Malcolm: I will raise him as my son and make him heir of Ravensmuir.”
“So you have no need of a wife at all, let alone one of such sorry repute as me.”
Tynan threw out his hands. “Can you not see that it is your own history at root? You admitted Rhys FitzHenry to the auction for Madeline’s h
and! What seized your wits?”
“I would wager that she will be happier wed to him than to one of those pathetic fools invited by Alexander.”
“My niece is to be wed to a man charged with treason! You must appreciate the damage to her reputation, and her very welfare may be endangered.” Tynan shoved a hand through his hair and paced the chamber. “I have considered this all the night long...”
“Not all the night long.”
He glared at her. “Most of the night, then. I cannot let this wedding proceed. Alexander must return the coin of this Rhys...”
“Rhys FitzHenry.” Rosamunde’s blood simmered. How dare Tynan not ask for her opinion of Rhys? How dare he not ask what she knew of this man, or even why she had admitted him after he had begged a word with her upon his arrival at Ravensmuir? She was the sole person in this hall who knew Rhys. How dare Tynan assume that Rosamunde would willingly endanger her own god-daughter, by tethering the girl to a rogue of no repute?
She stubbornly held her tongue, knowing that Tynan did not deserve to know that his conclusions were incorrect. Let him make a fool of himself!
“I shall insist that the wedding be halted. Madeline will wed, but not to a man wanted for treason. I owe more than this to my brother, Roland. I owe more to his children than to make such a mockery of their nuptials and futures.” Tynan shook his head. “I cannot imagine how you persuaded me to participate in such madness. No man of dignity would auction a niece!”
“Because the neighbors might not approve?”
He turned on her then, furious as he had not been yet. “Do not mock me, Rosamunde! I must live among these people and rely upon their alliances in times of woe.”
“You have no such obligation to remain. You only say as much because you love Ravensmuir more than any living soul!”
“I cannot merely sail away to a more friendly port. I cannot treat every challenge of life as a jest. I cannot make my own rules, discarding the law of the land when it does not suit my desires.”
“Is that how you believe I live?”
“Is it not evident that you do?”
“At least I am alive! At least I can yet take a risk, or a wager that might result in my favor. Do you claim Ravensmuir or does it claim you?”
“I will never leave Ravensmuir.”
“But you will cast away everything and everyone else, if necessary. Who is the fool in this, Tynan?”
He said nothing, which was answer enough.
Rosamunde advanced upon Tynan. “I thought you more than this, Tynan. I thought you a man who did not care for the whispering of his neighbors.” She glared at him. “I thought you were your father’s son.”
Their gazes locked, each knowing well enough that Tynan’s father had claimed an unconventional bride, for the sake of love alone.
Then Tynan sighed and looked away. He looked so discouraged that Rosamunde was tempted to reach for him, to lay a hand upon his shoulder.
“I am a man who learned the price of his father’s choices, and do not welcome their burden upon my own shoulders,” he said, sounding a thousand years old.
Rosamunde hardened her heart against him. Let Tynan bear his own burdens from this day forth. That, after all, was the choice he had made.
Some sorry soul knocked then upon the portal.
Chapter Five
Tynan gave Rosamunde a sharp look, but she held her ground.
“I am here, Laird of Ravensmuir, and I will remain here,” she said, scoffing at his evident disapproval. “You are less than I had imagined you to be, if you care so much for rumor in your own hall.”
“Rosamunde,” he growled, but she did not let him continue.
“You and your expectation that I should shirk from the truth of what I have done are welcome to find the way to hell.” She cast herself into the fine chair that he favored. She dangled her legs over one side of it, fairly daring Tynan to comment upon the visibility of her bare shins and feet. The chair was in a beam of sunlight and Rosamunde knew the light would make her hair look afire. “I intend to remain here, in full view of whosoever troubles his lord so early in the day. Let them guess what deeds have been done in this chamber and bed in hours past.”
“You cannot.”
“I will, unless you forcibly remove me.”
“It is sorely tempting,” Tynan said, sparing a significant glance to the window.
Rosamunde smiled, her heart as cold as ice. “Be assured, my lord, that dead courtesans arouse more gossip than live ones.”
There was a cup of wine left within reach. Rosamunde picked it up with a cavalier gesture, held Tynan’s furious gaze, and drank of it lustily. She licked her lips, opened the neckline of her robe so that the curve of her breast was visible, and fluttered her eyelashes at the very vexed man before her. “Do you not mean to answer the door, my lord?”
Tynan’s jaw set, and he raised a finger toward her. His eyes flashed and she was glad to see that some fire yet lurked in his veins. But it was not enough for her, not anymore. She wanted all of him, she wanted to be acknowledged openly as his mate, she wanted the security of a permanent abode.
Tynan had offered as much, and he knew full well what she had read between the lines of their agreement. He had offered her heart’s desire, then snatched it away for the sake of convention.
Rosamunde would have her vengeance, to be sure. She might not share blood with her foster father, Gawain, but she alone had claimed the legacy of the man who had been the greatest thief in Christendom. She alone had begged Gawain to teach her his cunning tricks, his means of deception, his art of thievery.
Tynan might believe that his legacy was secure, but Rosamunde knew that legacies were as oft stolen as inherited by law.
The prospect of throttling Rosamunde offered more pleasure to Tynan than many responsibilities he had faced of late.
The sole exception was the night they had just spent entangled together. He had known himself to be a knave of the worst order in deceiving her, but Rosamunde was a madness within his very veins. He could not sleep, even knowing that she was within the walls of Ravensmuir.
He dared not let her guess how close he had come to swearing off Ravensmuir simply to have her by his side. Had she not invited that traitor to the auction, he might have lost his wits utterly.
The solution was clear: Rosamunde had to leave. Tynan had to think clearly, for matters grew complicated. The Red Douglas family and the Black Douglas family grew ever more aggressive in their pursuit of power—and Ravensmuir was directly in the middle of their ancestral lands. He would have to choose sides soon, and he would probably have to secure that choice with a marriage.
It would best be his own.
Tynan did not have to like the truth of it. Even then, Ravensmuir would likely be assaulted by the side he had not chosen, but at least he would have allies to aid in its defense. He could not permit the destruction of his family abode—Rosamunde would never understand his commitment to what she oft called a pile of old stones, but Tynan could not deny it.
Nor could he deny his sense of responsibility to his forebears. It was not sweet to forgo the desires of his heart. There was a heavy stone in his chest that seemed to grow larger the more vehemently he pushed Rosamunde away from his side.
It would be easier for both of them if she left Ravensmuir and never returned.
The knock came again. Tynan swore, then shouted. “Enter!”
The portal opened slowly. Tynan crossed the floor and hauled open the door so abruptly that Alexander fairly tumbled into the chamber.
The young man’s gaze flew from Tynan to Rosamunde, who had indeed displayed herself like a courtesan, and he flushed scarlet. He stammered in the attempt to say whatsoever he had come to say, his gaze remaining fixed upon Tynan’s face as his own face grew more ruddy.
Curse Rosamunde!
“What is it? What ails you, Alexander?” Tynan forced himself to recall that Alexander had seen five-and-twenty summers. He seemed so much yo
unger than he was only because Roland had indulged him overmuch.
But then, what man could guess that he would die young?
“It is James. He is here!”
Tynan did not recognize the name. “James? Who is James?”
“Madeline’s betrothed,” Rosamunde said tartly. “How like you to forget such a bond.”
Alexander glanced to his aunt and nodded. “James is returned from France and comes to claim Madeline’s hand. His father accompanies him, and there is much hustle to make arrangements for the steeds and squires, seeing as the stables are so full.”
“It seems matters resolve themselves well.” Tynan granted Rosamunde an arch glance, not hiding that he was pleased indeed with these tidings.
“Indeed, what need to worry what Madeline desires,” Rosamunde said bitterly, then strolled to the women’s chamber. The scent of her perfume lingered in his chamber, tempting Tynan and doubtless informing any who might enter of her presence the previous night. There was not a soul with perfume as exotic as Rosamunde.
“But what of the coin, Uncle Tynan?” Alexander demanded with some anxiety. “I shall have to return Rhys FitzHenry’s coin to him if he does not wed Madeline, and the castellan yet insists that Kinfairlie’s harvest will be poor.”
“You will have one less to feed in the hall next winter, if nothing else,” Tynan said. “And James’ family might be persuaded to pay a bride price. He has, after all, taken overlong to return to wed Madeline and some compense could well be expected for the insult.” He laid a hand upon Alexander’s shoulder. “I shall see what can be done.”
Of course, Tynan should have guessed that with Rosamunde involved, nothing would be simply resolved. She returned slowly, swinging her hips as she strolled down the corridor and he had a feeling that she brought unwelcome news.
“Madeline is gone,” she said with no small pleasure.
Tynan almost made an accusation he would have regretted, for Rosamunde had appointed herself to guard the maidenly virtues of her nieces the night before. Rosamunde’s sharp glance reminded him that he alone was responsible for her abandoning her vigil.
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