Forbidden Night with the Warrior

by Michelle Willingham

  The bleak finality of their situation washed over her. She could not change her father’s mind, nor could she force him to accept her marriage.

  But she could save the man she loved. Even if it meant slashing her own heart in two. She would do whatever she must to save Warrick’s life.

  Rosamund pushed the door open and hurried outside. The sky was overcast, holding shadowed clouds. Her father was standing beside Ademar’s father, Rourke of Dolwyth. Both men appeared displeased with the sight before them.

  The soldiers had chained Warrick with both arms outstretched, while another man held a whip in his hand. He raised it, and a loud crack resounded as the lash bit through Warrick’s back, drawing blood. He flinched but never uttered a sound.

  Rosamund felt the blow as surely as if it had bitten into her own skin. She choked back a cry and rushed to her father’s side. ‘Please don’t! I will do what you ask.’

  His face was stony, as if he cared nothing for her plea for mercy. She didn’t know how to make him stop, and the lash struck over and over. Once, she heard Warrick let out a harsh grunt, and his knees sagged. His back was covered in blood, and she got down on her knees before Harold. ‘I beg of you. Let him go.’

  When he would not relent, she stared him in the eye. ‘If you do not release him, I swear, I will go and take the remainder of his punishment. I will bear the lash myself.’

  Rosamund started to walk towards Warrick, but her father seized her wrist and squeezed tightly. ‘You will stay here.’

  She tried to pull back, but his grip intensified until she feared he would break her hand. The soldier had struck the twentieth blow, and at last, Harold raised his hand. ‘Go to him. And end it.’

  Warrick’s head hung low, and he slumped to his knees. The wounds were deep, and she despised herself for bringing him such pain. She didn’t know if she would have the strength to say what her father had ordered. Slowly, she crossed the inner bailey and moved to stand before him. She could not stop her tears, but she bit her lip hard and forced herself to continue.

  He didn’t raise his head to look at her, and she knew he was in unbearable pain. At last, he spoke. ‘I would take every blow three times over for your sake, Rosamund.’

  She swiped the tears away and anguish filled her up. ‘I am sorry, Warrick. But I cannot be with you any more.’

  He stiffened as if her words were another whiplash. ‘You are my wife. You belong with me.’

  ‘No,’ she whispered. Though she tried to hold them back, her tears escaped. ‘I am not.’

  ‘Your father is forcing you to say this,’ he accused.

  She could not bring herself to lie, and instead she murmured, ‘I never wanted this to happen to you. I blame myself. I should not have defied him.’

  At last, he raised his head. Deep blue eyes regarded her with disbelief. ‘I never took you for a coward.’

  She wanted to tell him no, to insist that she loved him still. But if she dared to voice the words, she believed her father would kill him somehow.

  ‘I am going to marry Alan de Courcy.’

  ‘No. You won’t.’ His voice held an edge of a man barely containing his fury. ‘You are already wedded to me.’

  She ignored his statement and continued. ‘This is best for both of us. You’ll find someone else to marry.’ Her voice sounded thick, heavy with her own grief.

  ‘You’re speaking the words he told you to say.’

  She held his gaze, knowing that he would suffer if she dared to tell him the truth. ‘I am sorry,’ she repeated.

  Then she turned her back and walked away while her heart broke into a thousand pieces.

  Chapter Six

  One week later

  Rosamund needed to be alone. After all that had come to pass, she needed to engage in mindless activity that would take her mind off the tumultuous arrangement Alan wanted.

  She knelt down beside the herb garden, hardly caring about the dirt. She pulled weeds, ripping them out by the roots as she attacked the garden with her own private frustration.

  I won’t do this, she thought to herself. Alan cannot force me to commit adultery. The thought lent her comfort as she tore out another handful of weeds.

  From behind her, she heard horses approaching. Rosamund stood and brushed off the dirt, wondering who the guards had allowed to enter Pevensham. She strode past the garden and walked into the inner bailey. It was then that she saw Owen de Courcy riding towards the stables, accompanied by half-a-dozen armed men.

  No. She nearly groaned aloud. The last thing she wanted was Alan’s younger brother intruding right now.

  Owen’s expression grew sly when he saw her. He dismounted and gave the reins over to a stable lad. Then he motioned for his men to stay back as he walked across the castle grounds, already behaving as if he were Lord of Pevensham. Rosamund remained in place, knowing that it was safer to remain standing here with her guards nearby than to retreat inside the donjon.

  ‘My brother, it is good to see you,’ she lied, extending her hands in greeting. She was well aware that it annoyed him to hear her call him that. ‘I apologise that you caught me working in the garden.’

  ‘Rosamund,’ he said warmly. Owen took her soiled hands and squeezed them. In his smile, she saw a man who believed himself superior to everyone. His gaze lingered too long upon her body, and she pulled her hands free.

  ‘Forgive me, but I should go and tell Cook to prepare more food for you and your men. And I will let Alan know you are here.’

  ‘You needn’t bother. I should like to surprise my brother.’ His gaze shifted behind her and hardened. A sense of warning crossed over her, and when Rosamund turned, Warrick de Laurent was standing there, his hand upon his sword. His blue eyes narrowed upon Owen, though his expression remained neutral. Even so, she didn’t miss the subtle challenge between them.

  ‘And who is this, Rosamund?’ Owen behaved as if Warrick were a stranger. ‘He appears familiar somehow.’

  Such a liar he was, when Warrick had already revealed Owen’s intentions. She didn’t doubt for a moment that he wanted Alan dead and would use any means necessary to achieve that purpose.

  She veiled her thoughts and answered, ‘This is Warrick de Laurent. I believe you met him at my wedding. He was one of the guests.’

  A thin smile spread over Owen’s face. ‘You were betrothed to him once, were you not?’

  Married, more like. But she refused to play cat and mouse with this man. It was easier to sweep aside his assumptions. ‘Alan summoned him to Pevensham.’ She dusted off her hands and nodded to the men. ‘Now if you will excuse me, I must—’

  ‘Not yet.’ Owen blocked her path, probing further. ‘Why is he here, Rosamund?’

  ‘That is between my husband and Warrick. I have no part in it.’ She forced herself to look up at him.

  His expression was knowing, as if he was aware of her deceit. Warrick took a step closer, silently offering his protection. For a moment, the two men locked gazes in a stare.

  Then Owen changed tactics, asking, ‘How is Alan? I came to see if my brother is improving.’

  Which wasn’t at all true, but Rosamund let it go. She simply murmured, ‘He is the same as ever.’ Only God knew how much time her husband had remaining. But every instinct within her warned that Owen was here to hurt Alan. She could never allow that to happen. Warrick ought to guard her husband at all times, for she did trust him as a fighter. Without thinking, she took a step towards de Laurent.

  The faint smile upon Owen’s face unnerved her. ‘Do I frighten you, Rosamund?’

  ‘Of course not.’ It was a lie, and he knew it.

  He touched her cheek, stroking her chin. Owen’s touch made her skin crawl, for it was not at all brotherly in nature. ‘Would that I could take away your fear. Perhaps we should g
o riding, and I could convince you that I am harmless.’

  The thought filled her with revulsion. ‘I have no time for riding.’

  This time, she pushed her way past him, wishing she could run from the man. She had always known he wanted everything that belonged to Alan. And yet, she had not truly understood the depths of his jealousy.

  He truly might kill his own brother. And worse, she knew she could do nothing to stop him.

  She hurried as far away from the men as she dared, moving towards the kitchens. Only when she was free of both men did she look back.

  Warrick’s hand was firmly upon the hilt of his sword. He was speaking quietly to Owen, and she had no idea what they were talking about. Was he warning the man to stay away from her? The thought should have been reassuring, but she didn’t want Warrick provoking a fight.

  It was better to leave now, to ensure that she had no part in this. Just as she was about to retreat inside, her maid, Berta, caught up to her. ‘My lady, are you all right?’

  She nodded. ‘I am.’ She knew she ought to reassure her maid that Owen de Courcy would not dare to harm them. But she couldn’t quite bring herself to lie. ‘We have guests, and we must prepare for them.’

  Rosamund entered the kitchen and told the cook of Owen’s arrival, instructing the servants to prepare more food. Amid the bustling noise and cooking, she took solace in a corner of the room, breathing in the scent of rosemary and sage.

  Warrick claimed that Owen had hired him to kill Alan. She was grateful that he had refused, but her husband was still in danger. It might be best to ask several men to stand guard outside Alan’s room. Only then could she be certain he was safe.

  All around her, the invisible web seemed to tighten. She no longer knew how she could keep everyone protected within Pevensham—her husband, her people, and especially herself.

  But she could not remain passive and allow Owen to take command of Pevensham. Her husband lacked the strength to fight for his estate, so she would have to do so. There was still time to add reinforcements to her soldiers. If she could learn who was loyal to Alan and which men supported Owen, then she could make the right decisions.

  Rosamund straightened as she stared outside the window at their property. Why was she allowing others to pull her life in directions she didn’t want to go? This was her home now, and she was entitled to live here for the rest of her days. She had no desire ever to return home to her parents—not after all that had happened years ago.

  But in spite of the inauspicious beginning, Pevensham had become hers. She loved the people who dwelled upon the land, and she felt protective of them. Owen could not be allowed to destroy this place.

  He will never leave you alone, a voice inside whispered. Even if he takes a wife.

  She knew that Owen coveted her, and the thought strengthened her resolve to fight her own battles.

  Her husband’s solution—to conceive a child—appeared simple upon the surface, but it was fraught with danger. Every memory of the pregnancy was a knife buried into her heart. She had loved her daughter, though the baby had never taken a single breath. She had cradled the cold infant against her breast, shattered by grief.

  And Alan wanted her to face that fear once again.

  No. She would find another way to protect the estate, even if it meant surrounding herself with guards at all times. Nothing could convince her to attempt another child.

  Not even with Warrick, the man who had fathered her daughter and knew nothing of it.

  * * *

  ‘Will we return to Montbrooke in the morning?’ his man-at-arms, Bennett, asked. Both Bennett and Godfrey had been his companions since they’d fought together in Normandy.

  Warrick accepted a cup of ale from a serving maid and shook his head. ‘Our task here is not yet finished.’ He eyed Owen de Courcy, who had seated himself upon the dais beside Rosamund. The man was entirely too comfortable giving orders, and Warrick tensed when he saw Owen touching Rosamund in subtle ways. The man’s hand brushed against hers when he reached for salt, and he tried to feed her a portion of cold meat and cheese.

  From across the room, Warrick saw her pleading look for help. She was trying to be courteous, but had barely touched her food. He kept eye contact with her and stood from his table among the men. ‘This has to stop.’

  ‘Where are you going?’ Bennett asked.

  ‘Lady Pevensham summoned me.’ He clapped a hand on the man’s shoulder. ‘She wishes me to escort her to her husband’s chamber.’

  Godfrey eyed him with a doubtful look. ‘She is still eating. Are you certain?’

  Warrick took a cloth and wrapped up his own portion of bread and cheese, tucking it away in a fold of his cloak. ‘I am.’ He nodded to the men and walked away.

  He strode across the rows of trestle tables until he reached the dais. Then he bowed before Lady Pevensham, letting Owen believe that he was also paying tribute to him.

  ‘My lady, I received a message that your lord husband desires your presence in his chamber.’ When Owen started to rise, Warrick added, ‘I will escort you there, for your safety.’

  The man stared hard at him, and Warrick kept his hand upon the hilt of his sword. Let him believe that he was trying to infiltrate the castle with the intent of murdering Alan. It was the furthest thing from the truth.

  ‘Shall I come with you, Lady Pevensham?’ Owen suggested. His hand moved to her shoulder, and Rosamund stood to extricate herself from his touch.

  ‘That won’t be necessary. If my husband wishes to speak with you, I will send word.’

  Owen and Alan had already met, following his arrival earlier in the day. Owen had claimed that he only wanted his brother to be well, filling the man’s ears with lies. Warrick had remained nearby, though a part of him wondered if he had any right to be here. This was not his battle to fight.

  But Rosamund was caught in the middle of the two men, and he had no intention of allowing her to fall prey to Owen’s desires, unholy as they were.

  He allowed her to leave first, keeping a short distance behind. Before he left, he sent a dark look towards Owen, making it clear that the man should not follow.

  Rosamund walked up the spiral stone stairs and Warrick shadowed her. Before she reached her husband’s room, he said quietly, ‘A moment, if you will.’

  She leaned back against the wall. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Your husband has said that he does not trust his men to keep you safe after he dies. He fears they will turn against you.’ He paused a moment. ‘Do you agree with this?’

  ‘They would see no reason to defend Pevensham from a family member. Especially if Owen is the heir.’ She lifted her face to meet his gaze. ‘They would not see it as being disloyal at all.’

  That was the answer he had suspected. In a low voice, he said, ‘You will need to find a sanctuary after Alan is gone. If Owen believes that you are a threat to him—especially if he fears a pregnancy—your life will be endangered. You need an ally who will protect you.’

  ‘There is no child,’ she argued. Her face flushed, and she added, ‘And even if I did agree to my husband’s plan, it might not be possible for me to conceive another.’

  ‘Do you intend to stay here, then? Do you believe Owen would leave you alone?’ In the dim light, he saw the fear upon her face.

  ‘No. But there are many of my people who are loyal to me.’

  ‘Owen could send them away.’ Warrick nodded towards the bedchamber. ‘But more likely, he would try to manipulate you. You are aware that he desires you.’

  She nodded. ‘He behaves in that way. But it seems more that he covets me as Alan’s wife. He treats me like a jewel, an adornment to his rank, not as a person.’

  ‘What about your family? Could you return to your father’s house?’

  ‘I could, but I wi
ll not.’ Not after everything my father did, she thought. ‘I am entitled to a dower portion, according to the law. Owen cannot take that from me.’

  ‘He is a man who will do as he pleases. And he will take whatever he wants.’ He hoped she understood that and would take the necessary precautions. Yet, it seemed that Rosamund was stubborn enough to fight for her own inheritance.

  But after he had seen the way Owen stared at her, Warrick wasn’t about to walk away. Not now.

  Alan wasn’t strong enough to protect her—but he was. He could also take Rosamund away to Pevensham’s property in Ireland. It was far enough away that Owen might not bother pursuing her.

  God’s blood, why was he allowing himself to become entangled in this? It wasn’t his battle to face.

  And yet, when he looked at Rosamund, a tightness seized in his gut. Her soft face, framed by silken dark hair, held him spellbound. He wanted to cross the space and wrap her hair around his wrist, bringing her mouth to his in a bruising kiss.

  He could do more than that, if he agreed to Alan’s bargain. The thought awakened a darkness inside him, for he had desired Rosamund from the first moment he’d seen her. He didn’t care if she conceived a child or not. All he wanted was to touch her, to show her what a mistake she had made. He knew he could bring her to fulfilment, making her cry out in ecstasy. And her husband had given full permission for this sin.

  ‘What do you want to do?’ he asked quietly.

  ‘I want you to find out which guards are loyal to me, instead of Owen. I am willing to pay you if you will ask your men-at-arms to watch and listen.’ She folded her hands in front of her, trying to behave as if she were unafraid. ‘I will stay here for whatever time Alan has remaining.’ Her expression faltered. ‘And when he is gone, I will surround myself with guards.’ She hoped to visit the serfs and ensure that they had enough to eat and were content, even when Owen took possession of the land.

  Warrick’s face twisted with doubt. ‘Owen intends to remain at Pevensham until your husband is dead. He will take you prisoner and ensure that you do not have an heir. And after he has claimed Alan’s lands, he will claim you.’ He studied her closely, adding, ‘Unless you want my help.’