by Anne O'Brien
‘Lady…’
He had taken her by surprise. She turned, lips parted, eyes wide, almost he might have said with apprehension. ‘I did not hear you, my lord.’
‘I saw you watching the road. Waiting for Ralph? For your brothers to come and rescue you from my clutches?’
She flushed and looked away, unsettled, so that he wished he had not made the remark.
‘No, my lord.’
Without further thought, he leapt into the quagmire. ‘I have a proposition, lady.’ As she turned her direct gaze on him, her brows rose haughtily, beautifully. To ruffle her a little, and because he decided it would please him, he lifted her hand from where it lay clenched against the edge of the parapet and raised it to his lips, which made her fair skin tint even more becomingly. When she would have snatched her hand away, he held on, acutely aware of her slender fingers enclosed within his own. ‘Do you realise that we could solve the whole problem of this impasse between us without difficulty?’
The flush deepened to the heat of a fire, and for an instant she dropped her eyes. Then, ‘how would we do that, my lord, other than by you leaving Clifford?’
‘We could marry.’ Bald, unadorned. Had he truly intended to make it so brutal? Silence greeted his announcement. He was conscious of her whole body stiffening beside him, her fingers becoming rigid. ‘You need a husband to rescue you from the threat of Ralph,’ he continued bluntly. ‘I have no wife and have need of a chatelaine. It would solve the ownership of Clifford perfectly.’
It was astonishment he presumed that banished the colour from her cheeks so that she was as pale as her veil that lifted sluggishly in the breeze. A shadow flitted across her face. Something troubled her. Perhaps she simply did not believe him. And in that moment it mattered to him that she did. Turning her hand within his, he pressed his mouth to the soft palm, and then to her wrist, marvelling at the fragile femininity there at odds with her vibrant spirit. As he lifted his head, the fragile femininity vanished. Her fingers curled into a fist.
‘Will you wed me, Rosamund de Longspey?’ he asked again, ignoring the danger signs.
‘Wed you?’ she repeated through stiff lips.
‘A neat arrangement to settle the ownership.’
‘No.’
He had expected a more gracious reply. ‘Perhaps you would think about the advantages before you reject the offer out of hand.’
‘No!’
Her lips parted, as if she was about to say more. So focused were they that they had missed the distant beat of hooves. Until they were attracted by a call from the guard on the gatehouse.
‘Armed force. From the north.’
Small, compact, shining horseflesh, the glitter of weapons, a well-drilled escort approached. And pennons, their device gleaming in red and gold. Gervase slid his eyes from the defiant lady before him to that glittering evidence. If he was not mistaken…He glanced back at his companion. She was quite still, her attention as caught as his, but her eyes gleamed. Now why…? The smart troop pulled to a halt. Their leader stood up in his stirrups and hailed the gatehouse.
‘In the name of the King, I command you to open the gates!’
Breathing deep against the tightening of an unpleasant anticipation in his gut, Gervase raised an arm that Sir Thomas should comply. ‘We’ll continue this discussion later, lady,’ he remarked somewhat grimly as he strode down to meet the visitors, Hugh emerging from the keep to take up an interested stance at his shoulder.
‘An unexpected visit,’ Hugh observed thoughtfully, as the force clattered into the bailey. ‘And Sir Jasper Griffiths in all his pompous glory, I see. If you want my advice, Ger—keep your temper!’
‘Difficult. But I’ll make the effort,’ he responded drily. ‘I wonder…’ Gervase became aware that Rosamund too had come to join the welcoming party. He set his jaw, clamped his hands around his sword belt and steeled himself to receive some sort of royal pronouncement he suspected he would not enjoy.
‘My Lord Fitz Osbern!’ The royal official drew his glossy mount to a standstill before him, gave a curt inclination of his head. ‘His Majesty the King bids me give this to you.’ He held a document with the royal seal in his hand.
‘Welcome, Sir Jasper. What is it?’
It seemed to Gervase that Griffiths, an arrogant individual even without the weight of royal authority, smirked as his bright eyes travelled from one to the other of those who awaited him. ‘It has come to His Grace’s attention that there is some dispute here. His Grace has given some thought to his judgement in the matter. His ruling is that the castle is properly in the ownership of the Lady of de Longspey as her dower from Earl William of Salisbury. Earl Gilbert confirms it. Your claim, my lord, is still unclear to the King. Therefore His Grace orders that you must take your troops and leave this place forthwith until the matter is settled. You must ride with me immediately to Ludlow to appear before the King, where he will make his final decision.’ He bowed gracefully. He definitely smirked. ‘I have here a writ from his Grace to confirm it.’
‘What?’
It was like the clap of a sword’s face against his ribcage, a vicious blow. That the King would hesitate in supporting the rightness of the Fitz Osbern claim was beyond belief. And yet here Henry had all but pronounced royal judgement against him, taking no account of the unprincipled thieving habits of the dead Lord William. Would the King order him out like a common robber, without a hearing? And he a Marcher lord who held the borders safe for a king with vast dominions to oversee. Gervase Fitz Osbern, a man of high reputation and service to Henry Plantagenet’s family. Had he not fought for the Plantagenet claim in the recent wars? Had he not supported Henry in his claim to the English crown?
Your claim is uncertain.
Was it, by God! He did not think so! Yet here was Henry dismissing his own claim to his family’s inheritance as if he were no better than a peasant. Which made it clear as spring water that the Earls of Salisbury had far more clout than a Marcher lord when it came to bending the King’s ear!
Fury built within him. That he would be twice robbed of his own property, Clifford Castle, and this time by the decision of a king who had barely held his throne much beyond four years. That his own father’s name should again be slighted with the loss of Clifford. And the gnawing suspicions of how this disaster might have come to pass lit a flame in his belly.
‘It’s in the document, my lord.’ Sir Jasper still held it out with insufferable self-importance and not a little impatience. ‘You can read it for yourself. You are to hand over this place immediately and ride with me.’
As he saw the man smile, as he saw out of the corner of his eye Rosamund give a faint nod of acceptance, the flame blazed into a conflagration. His temper snapped. Before anyone could read his intention and react to prevent it, he had leapt forward, grasped Sir Jasper’s mantle to pull him, together with the offending document, from his horse. He shook the man once, as a terrier would shake a rat, before depositing him heavily on his feet in the mud.
‘How dare you set hands on the King’s representative…!’ King Henry’s messenger spluttered with markedly less confidence than on his arrival.
‘I dare do more than you can imagine! Give up my birthright? By the order of an absent king who will not come himself to face me?’ Reaching forward again, the irate Fitz Osbern hefted the man by his furred collar so that they were eye to eye. ‘I’ve a mind to make you eat the writ. And the seals with it.’
‘My lord…!’ he croaked.
Gervase snatched the writ from the man’s hand, cracking the seal, running his eye rapidly down the legal order. ‘Does the King think no better of me than to order me out by a few words scrawled on a piece of parchment? No, by God. A woman can’t hold this place securely against the Welsh raiders, but I can. You can tell your royal master—’
‘No, my lord.’
A hand closed on his forearm. A cool voice speared through the hot mist in his mind. The fingers increased their pressure agains
t the taut muscles when he did not at first respond. And as he looked down into those green eyes, he was sure. She knew. Of course, she knew. She had probably been waiting on the battlements for this royal reply. How could she be capable of such deceit when she had promised her compliance? He had been right not to trust her. Yet she had such beautiful eyes…even when they contained a flash of warning, as they did now.
‘No, my lord,’ she repeated. ‘Release the courier. It will do no good. Let me answer this.’
Brought back to his surroundings, he released the official, who staggered to regain his balance, attempting to straighten his clothes. Hugh, an awestruck observer through all this, thoughtfully retrieved his jewelled hat from where it had fallen in the mud. If Gervase had never been quite so angry as he was at this royal intervention, Hugh decided that he had never been quite so entertained. He worked to keep his face in solemn lines. It might just do his autocratic friend some good to be undermined by this clever woman. Not that Gervase would see it in that light. Not yet, at any rate. The blaze in his eyes was awesome. Hugh attempted to wipe the worst of the mud from the foolishly stylish cap, handed it back to Sir Jasper, as Rosamund stepped forward.
‘Thank his Grace, King Henry, for his ruling, sir.’ Still with a grasp of Fitz Osbern’s sleeve, Rosamund drew herself to her full height and addressed the man as if there had been no altercation. ‘Say that Lady Rosamund de Longspey is grateful.’
‘You are grateful…!’ Fitz Osbern snarled, shrugging off her hand.
‘Tell his Grace that his wishes will be acted upon. And that he will always be welcome here in my home.’
Gervase could listen no more. ‘Tell King Henry from me that this castle will be held by a Fitz Osbern as long as the name lives! I have no intention of meeting him in Ludlow to allow him to decide against me. Tell him…’ He stalked away toward the keep, trying to hold together the shredded remains of his temper. It was, as he was usually the first to admit—but not on this occasion—a blight on a man. He had learnt to control it over the years, but in the face of such back-stabbing, it had almost slipped beyond his control. He was not proud of it, but it seemed to him that the provocation had been overwhelming.
It was all the de Longspey hellcat’s fault.
Sir Jasper departed back to Ludlow, somewhat soothed by the lady’s gracious acceptance, leaving Rosamund to pick up the crumpled writ with its broken seal from the mud of the bailey. She had got what she wanted, hadn’t she? So why did she feel so uncomfortable? As if, in a cowardly attack, she had personally buried the point of a dagger between Fitz Osbern’s shoulder blades.
What she had done had been prompted by sheer common sense. Who better to back her claim against Fitz Osbern than the King himself, a young man with a reputation for law and order and a heavy hand against any lord who was foolhardy enough to resist him? Was he not in Ludlow even now? It had been the simplest of solutions. There was no need to feel guilty at petitioning the King on her own behalf. None at all. Fitz Osbern deserved all he got if he were summarily driven from her door.
She recalled the letter she had dispatched, dramatic and to the point. All she had done was state her case.
To his Grace, King Henry II
Sire,
I throw myself at your feet in my quest for justice. The border fortress of Clifford is mine, my dower by right of inheritance. I have the documents and seals of Earl William of Salisbury as proof. My authority has been stolen from me by the Lord Fitz Osbern, who now occupies the castle. I beg your ruling in this matter. I am living at Clifford with my mother, the Dowager Countess of Salisbury, under the control of Fitz Osbern who has no sense of the rightness of the case.
I beg that you will give your ruling in my favour with all speed.
From your loyal and most obedient subject,
Rosamund de Longspey
The result of her demand for justice could not have been bettered, and within the week. She smoothed the document with her hand. It seemed from Sir Jasper’s words that the King would decide in her favour. So why should she now experience a sense of foreboding, a heavy weight that squeezed her heart and robbed her of her victory?
Fitz Osbern had offered her marriage!
That was the problem, she supposed. It was so far from what she had ever expected from him. How could she have anticipated such an eventuality? Rosamund recalled her moment of sheer delight when his mouth had burned a brand on her palm. When her heart had leapt to her throat to steal her breath. Before common sense took over, of course. Before she remembered that she detested him because he had once rejected her, because he had snatched her inheritance, and—with a slick of guilt—that she had invited the King’s authority to step in and defeat him where she could not.
Marriage with him was out of the question. Even though she had once more been forced into some re-evaluation of this man who presented himself as nothing more than an uneducated soldier. Whatever he had pretended, he could read perfectly well, as he proved when he ran his eye down the document. He had understood its content all right. Sir Jasper had only just escaped from a particularly unappetising meal.
Rosamund squared her shoulders. Now she had some explaining to do to an impossibly irate Marcher lord.
‘You appealed to the King against me. You stabbed me in the back.’
Gervase prowled along the edge of the dais in the Great Hall waiting for her. His accusations mirrored the very doubts that had shaken her own confidence. When she entered the vast room, he came to a halt. Legs braced, hands fisted at his side, head thrown back and a harsh sneer on his face, he watched her approach down the length of the room. Rosamund forced herself to walk calmly forward, to stop and look up, into his hawk-like stare, where she saw the imminent storm. It descended on her immediately, a thunderclap, as harsh and damning as anything she could have anticipated.
‘You betrayed me!’
‘I did not!’ she flung back. ‘You were going to make me leave with you when you went to Monmouth.’
‘When—if I went to Monmouth! Only if the threat materialised.’
‘You said you would leave and take me with you. Send me back to Salisbury. Escort me to Hereford…’
‘I asked you to marry me.’ His voice dropped to a disbelieving murmur, all the more intimidating.
‘But you talked of leaving. You said you would not leave me here alone. I must leave with you.’
‘I said…I said…Have you no sense, woman? What could possibly drive you to bring Henry’s law down on our heads? And now you expect me to pack up my baggage wagons and get out.’
‘At the King’s orders, yes, I do. At least until he has made his decision.’
He spread his arms wide in disgust. ‘And what is so wrong with your going back to Salisbury? I know about de Morgan, but surely your family will treat your objections with sympathy.’
Rosamund shuddered at the onslaught. ‘No, they won’t. I dare not go, dare not risk it. So, yes. If it was a betrayal, then I am guilty. I could see no other way. I had no one to stand for me. Do you not see?’ Silently she begged for understanding. It suddenly mattered so much that he should not think of her as treacherous. ‘I had to go to Henry. He was the only one who would uphold my claim.’
She forced herself to meet and hold his eyes. She had expected the blazing fire she had seen in them only minutes before when he had hauled Sir Jasper to his toes. Instead they were the deep grey of a winter river, flat and dangerous. It was like dealing with a caged wolf. He had regained control, his anger icily cold, but he was as taut as a bowstring, ready to loose lethal arrows at any moment. There was no understanding.
‘Then you must be rejoicing in your victory, my lady. I was right not to trust you.’
‘There was no other way,’ Rosamund repeated, breathing in his anger in despair. She could even taste it, flat and metallic as blood. ‘You would not move and I could not face Ralph de Morgan. You gave no consideration to my position…’
‘No consideration? I offered you
marriage. Is that not consideration enough?’ He took a step forward to the very edge of the dais, forcing her to look up. ‘I would have rescued you from a situation you found distasteful. Your claim on Clifford would have been assured, your authority without question. You refused me, knowing the course of events that your deceit had put in motion. You refused me and all the time you were waiting for King Henry to come knocking at the gate with an army to force my compliance. You would rather bring the King’s judgement down on my head then consider a more acceptable and permanent compromise between us.’
Rosamund listened to the hard voice and the harder words. The accusations were driven home and they hurt. She had rebuffed and tricked him, yes, but only because…She took a breath because she dare not retreat, then found herself uttering the words she had never intended.
‘Yes, I rejected you. Are you surprised? You once rejected me, without a second look. You did not even recognise me when we met again here! Because you refused to give me the courtesy of actually looking at me before you refused the offer of me as a bride.’ It still burned, still shamed her after all these years. She had not meant to say it, but the words tumbled out before she could stop them.
‘I rejected you? What’s this?’
It helped to stoke the flames. ‘You see? That proves my point. When Earl William offered you a de Longspey connection. You refused my hand in marriage.’
‘I refused your late stepfather’s unsubtle attempts to bind me into the chains of an alliance I did not want.’ The reply came back, swift as an arrow. ‘Was it you he paraded before me? I don’t remember. No. I admit it. I wasn’t interested—a Fitz Osbern to take a de Longspey bride? My father would have turned in his shroud to see me so shackled. I wanted the land back that was stolen from me, not to be saddled with a wife who would demand my obedience to her father.’
