He had no interest in whatever ‘task’ Alan de Courcy desired him to complete. Ever since Rosamund had married de Courcy, Warrick had not spoken to either of them.
‘You will see to it that Alan does not survive this fortnight. Rosamund will be isolated from him until I can be certain she is not with child. He must not have an heir,’ Owen said.
‘Why now?’ He could not understand why the man was determined to see his brother dead so soon—especially within a short time. It made him wonder if Owen was facing a threat of his own.
‘King Henry will be returning from Normandy soon. We must be ready to prove our alliance.’
The pieces started to fall into place. If Owen commanded two estates, he would be a valuable ally to the king. Or perhaps he intended to side with the rebellious sons of Henry, in the hopes of securing a higher place for himself.
‘And you want to cast no blame upon yourself. If I am caught, I would be executed for murder, not you.’
The man seemed unconcerned. ‘I would suggest that you do not get caught. Let them believe Alan’s death occurred from a natural means.’ Owen studied him a moment. ‘You could kill him in his sleep, and no one would know the truth.’
Warrick still wanted nothing to do with this man. ‘I do not kill innocent men.’
Owen eyed him with a sly expression. ‘You’ve done it many times in the service of your king. How many have you slaughtered in battle? They call you the Blood Lord, do they not?’
Tension knotted within him, but he betrayed no emotions. ‘I am no lord.’
‘Indeed you are not. And that is why you will help me—because you possess nothing at all. I will give you land in Ireland where your poverty will not matter. You can begin again as the lord you always wanted to be.’
It was true that he did want land. The desire for his own demesne burned through his blood. As the youngest son, he possessed hardly anything, and he had no wish to live with his father or his older brother Rhys.
But Warrick wasn’t about to reveal this to de Courcy. His hand returned to his sword. ‘If land was all I wanted, I could take it for myself.’
‘You haven’t enough men to lay siege to a fortress,’ Owen pointed out. ‘And it isn’t only land that you want. You want vengeance against Rosamund and the man who stole her from you. I am giving you the chance to take her back. Punish her if it makes you feel better.’
He did still harbour anger towards Rosamund, after the night she had turned her back on him. But he could not help but wonder why Alan de Courcy had summoned him. What did the man want? Undoubtedly, it was connected to Rosamund.
Warrick knew that the moment he set eyes upon her again, it would only rub salt in his wounded pride. He had tried to spend time with other women, attempting to forge a life without Rosamund. And yet, he could never forget the way she had smiled at him with love, pressing her hands against his heart. He had wound his hand around her long black hair, kissing her until she made soft sounds of yearning. Those green eyes had looked upon him as if no other man in the world existed.
A part of him was still furious that she had chosen someone else. Her father had forbidden them to be together, since Warrick had nothing to offer her. But he’d believed that Rosamund would defy her family and stay with him. He had suffered a brutal whipping on her behalf after her father had caught them fleeing together. But instead of holding fast to the promises they had made on holy ground, she had denied everything and had chosen Alan de Courcy.
Warrick needed to look into those treacherous green eyes and understand why she had done it. Rosamund was married to a man of wealth, yet she had no children and now her husband was dying. Did she regret her choice after all these years?
‘Find out what my brother wants,’ Owen said. He tossed a heavy bag towards Warrick. ‘Take this as proof of my offer.’
He opened it and found it full of silver—rather appropriate for blood money. Warrick placed the bag back on a nearby table and shook his head. ‘I will not kill on your behalf.’
‘Not even for her?’ Owen ventured. ‘Not even if it meant she would belong to you after her husband is dead?’
Warrick had already made up his mind to find out what Alan de Courcy wanted. But he had no interest in becoming Owen de Courcy’s assassin.
‘I will go to Pevensham,’ he said. ‘But only to satisfy my own curiosity. If you want your brother dead, it will not be by my hand.’
Owen’s expression turned thoughtful. ‘We shall see, de Laurent. We shall see.’
* * *
Rosamund had never been more uneasy in all her life, save her wedding night. She had prayed that Alan would change his mind about this reckless plan, but her husband was steadfast in his wishes. A part of her wished she had the courage to stand up to him and refuse his wishes. The lie weighed upon her conscience, but silence was easier than confrontation. Adultery was a graver sin than breaking a promise, and since her husband had put her in an impossible position, it was one or the other.
She had stared out of her window for hours, days, waiting for Warrick to arrive. It was evening when she saw him riding through the gates. From the tower, she could hardly see his face, but his posture made it evident that this was indeed the proud man she had once loved. His gaze lingered upon the inner bailey for a moment before he turned to stare at the tower. She froze, fully aware of the moment he locked eyes upon her. There was no doubt that he had seen her.
From the tower window, her blue kirtle was as visible as a banner flying above a troop of soldiers. She had chosen her best gown with long tapered sleeves and a silver girdle studded with sapphires. Around her throat she wore a silver chain with another sapphire hanging upon it. Her maidservant had braided her dark hair and coiled it on to her head like a crown.
Did Warrick know why he had been summoned? Her skin tightened with fear, for she had not forgotten the look of hatred in his eyes on the day she had married Alan. He had wanted her to walk away from the wedding, to leave behind her family and all she had known, for his sake.
Sometimes she wished she had. But it was too late to change it now.
Rosamund’s fingers dug into the wooden window frame. Did he despise her still after all these years?
Her heart was beating rapidly in her chest, but she tried to calm her nerves. He would refuse Alan’s proposition, she was certain. All she had to do was remain quiet and obedient, and Warrick would go away.
If only she could silence the doubts and fears roiling within her. But Warrick was a proud warrior, a man who would not forget the wrongs done to him. It didn’t matter that she had agreed to wed Alan as a means of saving his life. Or that she’d had no choice in the matter. He remembered only that she had given promises to him and then broken them. Warrick was not the sort of man who would forgive her for it.
A knock sounded at the door and when her maid answered it, the steward bowed. ‘My lady, Lord Pevensham wishes you to greet his guest in the Great Hall, since he is unable to leave his bed.’
‘Of course,’ Rosamund murmured. Inwardly, she wanted to curse Alan. He had done this on purpose, forcing her to face the man who frightened her most.
But with every step she took towards the stairs, she thought of her husband’s unholy command. It reawakened her anger and frustration. She didn’t want to obey Alan’s wishes, despite his need for an heir. It was far better for her to remain a loyal wife, shielding herself from the heartache it would conjure.
I cannot betray him, she thought. Even if Alan demands it of me.
For she could not trust herself in this. The slightest touch would evoke all the years of buried desire. Warrick’s very presence shook her to the core.
Rosamund entered the Hall, and from the moment she stepped inside, she could feel the warrior’s gaze upon her. The air was charged with tension, but she walked to the dais as if nothing w
ere wrong. Her heart was beating so fast, her knees were shaking beneath her skirts.
Calm down. He is only a man.
She focused her attention upon the clean rushes, steadying herself until she dared to look up. With her shoulders squared and a serene expression upon her face, Warrick would not see the fear beneath the surface.
‘My lady,’ he greeted her, bowing low. But even with the courtesy, she could feel his veiled anger. It was there in his blue eyes, in the fierce bearing of his stance. His dark hair was cut short, and he carried his helm beneath one arm as if ready for battle.
He remembers everything, she realised. The taut lines of his muscles were filled with a rigid cast, as if he still blamed her for refusing his offer of marriage. Did he honestly believe she’d had a choice?
‘It has been a long time, my lord.’ She tried to muster a smile but couldn’t quite manage it. I never meant for it to end with you hating me, she wanted to say.
It never should have ended, he seemed to answer. His blue eyes held an unnamed emotion, and he studied her as if trying to discern her feelings. She saw the edge of anger in his eyes, but there was something more.
‘I received your husband’s missive, asking me to come. But he never said why.’ Warrick regarded her with open displeasure, waiting for her explanation.
‘I will take you to my lord husband, and he will tell you.’ She beckoned for him to follow, and two of his men-at-arms started to accompany them.
‘Your men should remain here,’ she advised. ‘What my husband wishes to tell you is not for others to hear.’
He raised an eyebrow at that, but gave the order for his soldiers to stay back. Rosamund turned and led the way towards the stairs. From behind her, she heard his footsteps. She grasped her skirts and began walking up the spiral stairs. Just when she had reached the halfway point, he caught her hand and forced her to stop.
‘Why am I here, Rosamund?’ His voice resonated with shielded anger, and his grip tightened upon her palm.
‘As I said before, my husband—’
‘I care naught about de Courcy. I came for you.’
A ripple of fear crossed her spine at that. His words reminded her of the sensuality that had once been between them. Years ago, he had touched her like a starving man, as if she were his reason for being alive. Right now, she was fully aware of his closeness. His grasp softened upon her palm, and his thumb traced the veins on her wrist. The sudden tenderness undid her senses, and she felt as if he were caressing other parts of her bare skin. In the shadowed darkness of the stairs, she was caught up in memories of his kiss. Rosamund leaned back against the wall, and the cool stones were a stark contrast to his touch.
She had a terrible feeling that this proposition would not end well for either of them. Time had done nothing to diminish the feelings she had once held.
‘Why did you turn from me?’ He rested both hands on either side of her, trapping her against the wall. ‘All these years I’ve wanted to know.’
She stiffened her spine and faced him. ‘My father forced me to deny everything as the price for your life.’ There was no doubt in her mind that Harold de Beaufort had wanted to kill Warrick for claiming her innocence.
Her heart bled at the memory of the day she had left him. There were even more secrets she had kept from him, and God willing, he would never learn them.
But he pressed further. ‘He would not have killed me, and you know it. But then, Alan had all this to offer you, whereas I had nothing.’ He lifted his hands from the wall and gestured towards the castle. ‘A castle of your own and lands that rival King Henry’s holdings.’ His blue eyes grew frosted. ‘Was it worth it?’
He made it sound as if she had married Alan out of greed. There was so much he didn’t know, and she could never, ever tell him what had happened.
Instead, she murmured, ‘What’s done is done.’
‘Is it?’ He drew his hand to her cheek, cupping her face. She could almost imagine the touch of his mouth against her throat, his hands upon her skin. And the guilt flooded through her for even envisioning it.
‘Please let me go.’ She straightened her shoulders and pulled herself back. Yet there was no mistaking the invisible bindings that drew her to him. Even now, she found it difficult to walk away.
But Warrick released her and followed her up the stairs. Rosamund led him to her husband’s bedchamber, though it felt as though she were walking towards her own demise. Before she opened the door, she paused and faced him.
‘My husband is dying,’ she said in a low voice. ‘But he is a good man. What he asks of you, please know that it was none of my doing. Refuse him, for my sake.’
He eyed her with undisguised curiosity. ‘Really?’
She nodded. ‘I am sorry that you have wasted a journey here. But I will compensate you and your men for your trouble.’ Without giving him a chance to answer, she opened the door and motioned for him to stay behind.
Her husband was seated in bed with several cushions propping him up. Alan’s expression was tired. Beside him, she saw food he’d barely touched and a cup of wine he hadn’t even tasted. It pained her to see him suffering, hardly able to eat.
But she moved forward and greeted him with a kiss upon his cheek. ‘My lord husband, Warrick de Laurent is here at your summons.’ She turned back and motioned for their guest to enter the room. There was a dark cast to Warrick’s face, as if he resented being here. Rosamund decided it was best to leave, since she did not want to witness his reaction to this unholy proposition. She had nearly reached the door, when Alan stopped her.
‘You will remain here, Rosamund.’ He motioned for his servant to go, and soon enough, the three of them were alone.
Her skin tightened with raw nerves. This was the last place she wanted to be, and she wished with all her being that Alan had allowed her to leave.
‘Pour our guest some wine,’ Alan instructed. ‘Warrick, would you come and sit beside me? I fear I lack the strength to greet you properly.’ He motioned for the man to be seated in the chair next to the bed.
Rosamund poured wine into two goblets and offered one to Warrick and another to her husband. Then she retreated to the furthest corner of the room, hoping for an opportunity to disappear. She picked up her embroidery, but her hands were shaking so badly, she could hardly thread the needle.
Her husband began with pleasantries, asking about his journey. Then he continued with, ‘I suppose you wish to know why I asked you to come to Pevensham.’ To his credit, Warrick only met his gaze and waited. ‘It was because of my wife.’ He beckoned for her to come forward. ‘Sit beside me, Rosamund.’
She felt ill inside, her skin frigid with fear. Her husband took her hand in his, as if to soothe her. But his touch did nothing to allay her anxiety. She wished she could run from the room and leave them to plot with one another.
‘I know that I am dying, de Laurent. I know not how much time I have remaining, but I want someone to take care of my wife when I am gone.’
Warrick’s silence stretched across the space, and she didn’t dare look at him. Alan seemed unconcerned by his lack of a response. ‘As it stands, my brother will inherit Pevensham when I am dead. Owen is eager for my death, and I have no doubt that he will slaughter any child Rosamund bears if it means protecting his own interests.’
That brought a response. ‘She is with child, then?’ His voice was flat, as if he cared nothing for her.
Alan avoided a direct answer, saying, ‘It is my hope that she will one day bear a son. However, I do not think Rosamund will be safe here, even with those who have sworn to guard her. I need someone I can trust to escort her from Pevensham and ensure that she and her unborn child are under protection. I want you to take her away before Owen arrives at Pevensham.’
Alan reached out and took Warrick’s hand, placing it on top of
Rosamund’s. ‘And I want you to marry her after I am gone.’
Her hands trembled at his words, and the weight of Warrick’s fingers lay heavy upon hers. Emotions welled up within her, not only sorrow at the thought of Alan’s death, but also the understanding of what he was trying to do.
A sudden thought occurred to her, and she met his gaze. Was it possible that Alan knew she had not been a virgin on their wedding night? Her cheeks burned, but all she saw was a weary look upon his face.
For a moment, Warrick seemed to consider the proposition. She was aware of the subtle caress of his thumb against her palm, and the barest touch sent a yearning through her body. Her skin prickled beneath her kirtle, though she tried to force back the feelings.
His blue eyes stared into hers, and for a moment, she caught a glimpse of the young man she had once known. Her heart stumbled a moment as she tried to gather her composure. But the reassuring weight of his hand upon hers brought back a flood of sensual memories. A grim expression shielded his face, and he pulled his hand free. ‘There is nothing between Rosamund and me. She made her choice years ago.’
Alan tried to sit up, and she helped arrange the pillows to support him. ‘I suspected you might say this. But you also know that I was never the man she wanted.’
Rosamund closed her eyes, guilt sliding over her that she could not love him in the same way. She’d wanted to push aside her feelings for Warrick, but it had never come to pass.
‘We will find another way,’ she told her husband. ‘Warrick has a life of his own now, and I expected this.’
But Alan ignored her. ‘You wanted her enough to run away with her, de Laurent. She will not be safe with my brother, and you know this.’
‘She is not my responsibility.’ His words were cool, but she detected the bitterness within them.
‘No. But if you protect her, I will grant you the land you always wanted.’
A faint smile came over his face, and he asked, ‘In Ireland, I suppose?’
Forbidden Night with the Warrior Page 2
