‘Your duties are to oversee the household, not to dispense justice. And furthermore, you were not to give commands to my soldiers regarding Owen.’
She stared at him in disbelief. ‘If our own guards allow Owen to strike me within these castle grounds, why should I permit that? I am tired of standing aside and letting our men do as they wish.’ The soldiers owed her their loyalty, as well as Alan. If she allowed disrespect among them, their conduct would only worsen.
‘It is not your place to interfere, Rosamund.’
‘Do you expect me to sit and sew or weave tapestries while our household crumbles around us? I will not.’
He reached for the food she had brought him and ate while speaking to her. ‘You enjoy sewing. I see no reason why you should not continue. I will speak to Warrick and ask him to command our forces. He will find those who are loyal and rid us of those who are not. And when we have only our most trusted men, I will give him leave to return to his family.’
He intended to use Warrick for his own means before sending him away. She did not think she could bear it. But she bit her tongue and offered, ‘I will send him to you.’
She left the room, feeling the rise of frustration. Her emotions were a tangled mess right now. Rosamund longed to escape, even if only for a moment. She walked down a narrow hallway to a door that led to the battlements.
The evening air was cool against her cheeks, and she let her thoughts drift as she stared across the grounds. The soldiers stood guard at regular intervals, and another man began lighting torches, setting them into iron sconces around the walls.
The door opened behind her, and she saw Warrick approach. He wore chainmail armour, and he held his helm beneath one arm.
‘You’re troubled,’ he said. ‘Is it only your maid or something more?’
It was indeed something far more. Not only Berta’s betrayal but also Rosamund’s feelings of uncertainty about the future. If Alan lived, then she had to return to the lonely marriage she had endured for three years.
And now that Warrick had loved her once again, she did not know if she could return quietly into the shadow of that life. His very presence ignited a desire within her veins until she wanted to feel his touch once again. But she could never admit it.
‘I feel so powerless in my own home,’ she said at last. The weight of guilt burdened her spirit. ‘And then Alan told me it was not my place to give orders to our men.’
‘If he is too weak to lead them, then who will?’
She retreated into the shadow of the battlements, feeling restless. ‘It has to be me. But he thinks you should lead our men until he gets better.’
Warrick’s expression remained stoic. He leaned against the stone wall and predicted, ‘You do not want me to take command, do you?’
Rosamund couldn’t find the right words to speak. She was frustrated with her husband and with herself. ‘I know he is trying to put you in a position of power.’
‘I am not undermining either of you.’ He set down his helm. ‘But it would allow me to offer my protection. I know how to train the men, and I know how to ensure your safety.’
She saw the sincerity in his eyes and acceded, ‘I suppose I have little choice. My own men do not obey me, and my husband believes I am incapable of leading them.’ She leaned against the stone beside him. ‘He was angry with me for punishing Berta. But he would have done the same in my place.’
‘Likely worse,’ Warrick agreed. He eyed her a moment and lowered his voice. ‘Has Alan mistreated you?’
She shook her head. ‘But he was angry with me. I have not seen him that way for a long time.’ It occurred to her that Alan was behaving like a jealous husband. But it was his fault. He had forced her into this situation by summoning Warrick. And now, they could not undo what had happened between them.
‘I should go,’ she told Warrick. ‘I just needed a moment to clear my head. Go and speak to our men if you wish.’
He caught her hand and held it lightly. ‘I care not if Alan is your husband, Rosamund. I will never let him harm you.’
‘He wouldn’t.’ But she understood his meaning. With a sigh, she squeezed his hand in return. ‘Thank you for helping us.’
The gesture was meant in friendship, but he would not release her hand. She grew conscious of the heat of his palm, the strength of his fingers. And she remembered how gently he had touched her, and the shocking sensation of his caress inside her.
His eyes burned into hers, but neither spoke of last night. It was as if their silent refusal to speak of it was a means of pushing back the terrible guilt. But he had played his part, and so had she. They could not undo that forbidden night.
And she didn’t want to.
‘I’m not here for Alan’s sake, Rosamund.’ Then he leaned in and kissed her forehead. ‘I am here for you.’
Chapter Nine
Warrick asked his own soldiers to accompany him, for their loyalty was unquestioned. ‘Guard my back,’ he murmured to Godfrey and Bennett under his breath. Although it was doubtful that the commander would initiate an attack, neither would the man welcome the changes he was about to impose.
He approached a tall stocky man with a brown beard, the same commander who had ordered Owen’s men to surround him. Warrick kept his hand upon his sword and began with, ‘I understand you are the commander of Lord Pevensham’s troops.’
‘I am.’ The man tried to straighten, but he saw eye to eye with Warrick and lacked a height advantage. ‘Aldred Fitzwarren is my name.’
‘You are relieved of your duties, Fitzwarren.’ Warrick regarded him and added, ‘I have replaced you, by order of Lord Pevensham. I was asked to oversee the troops and ensure that his men are loyal only to him.’
At that, Aldred unsheathed his sword. ‘You have no right to usurp my place.’
‘When you allow Lady Pevensham to be attacked within her own home and prevent her from visiting her husband, you lack the leadership to ensure that your men obey commands.’ Warrick unsheathed his own weapon. ‘There will be no men at Pevensham who are loyal to Owen de Courcy. Only those who have sworn fealty to Lord Pevensham will remain.’
‘I must speak with him,’ Fitzwarren demanded. ‘I will not believe this until I have heard it for myself.’
Of course the man wouldn’t believe it. Warrick hardly expected otherwise. ‘I will escort you to Lord Pevensham’s chamber. But first, sheathe your sword.’
Fitzwarren behaved as if he had not heard him. In a curt voice, he ordered, ‘Warrick de Laurent, take your men and go. Before I have you removed by Lord Pevensham’s soldiers.’
‘It appears he wants to do this the hard way,’ Warrick muttered to his men. He detected a smirk from his man-at-arms. ‘I think we should go and speak to Pevensham,’ he offered quietly to Fitzwarren. ‘It is not my wish to humiliate you before your own men.’
‘You couldn’t if you wanted to, de Laurent. I have trained for over ten years, and I—’
Warrick seized a shield from Bennett and backhanded the commander’s face with it. The man went reeling, and three soldiers charged forward.
Warrick held out his sword. ‘No. This is between us. I am obeying orders from Alan de Courcy. Go and ask him yourself.’ He nodded towards the castle and one of the men departed, likely intending to find out the truth. So be it.
He kept his sword extended as the commander staggered to his feet. Blood dripped from the corner of his lip, and fury blazed in his eyes. He let out a battle roar and charged with his sword. Warrick faced him and deflected the blow with his shield. His shoulder flexed, and he held steady while the man wielded his sword. He was well aware that every man was watching this battle.
He had spent three years training among the strongest of the king’s fighters in Normandy, and while Fitzwarren might have experience, Warrick had learne
d how to break the rules. He toyed with the commander, deflecting each blow and causing the man to become tired. Every move was defensive, but he did nothing to end the fight. He needed to gain the respect of every soldier, and that could only happen if it was a sound defeat.
Sweat poured down the commander’s face, and he grunted as he swung his sword. Warrick raised his shield and used his strength to push back against the Fitzwarren. With his full body weight, he pressed the man back and saw him struggle to hold up the sword.
Time to end the fight. Warrick spun abruptly, causing his opponent to stumble forward. He tripped the man hard and then drove him to the ground, his sword pointed against the man’s throat.
‘Yield,’ he said quietly.
The commander’s expression held regret, but he muttered, ‘I yield.’
Warrick kept his sword blade in place while one of the soldiers hurried down the steps leading from the donjon. When he reached the men, he was out of breath. ‘It is as he says. Lord Pevensham has placed de Laurent in command of our forces.’
Warrick met their gazes and one by one, he saw the grudging respect in their eyes. Then he sheathed his sword and helped the commander up from the ground.
Three days later
Rosamund waited until early evening to return to Alan’s chamber. With each day, he seemed to grow stronger and more alert. He sat up when she arrived and remarked, ‘I heard that Warrick has done well commanding my soldiers.’
‘He has, my lord. And I believe he spent most of the day overseeing them train.’ She kept her attention fixed upon her hands, so as not to betray her thoughts. She had distanced herself from Warrick, but she would not easily forget his strength and power while fighting. It had never been an even match, and every man here now knew that he was in command.
Memory flooded through her, of Warrick’s mouth upon her skin. The vision slid deep inside, heating the very blood within her veins. God help her, she yearned for this man. The walls of honour had fallen, breaking apart her willpower.
‘Good.’ Alan studied her for a time, and said at last, ‘I am feeling better now. I intend to leave this bed to regain the rest of my health.’
She managed to nod and smile. ‘It pleases me to hear it.’
‘Does it?’ There was a hard tone in his voice, as if he didn’t quite believe her. ‘I suppose when a man is being poisoned within his own home, it would be difficult to recover. Were it not for your maid, I would never have fallen ill.’
There was an invisible finger of accusation pointed at her, and it took Rosamund aback. ‘I never had any idea Berta would do such a thing. I trusted her.’
Alan’s gaze held little trust at all. ‘And yet, you allowed her to live.’
The bitterness in his voice bothered her. ‘Do you truly believe Owen will let her son live?’ She shook her head. ‘I could have ordered her slain, but there is no greater punishment for her than to lose her only child. All I did was give her a chance, because of the woman she used to be. I have known her all my life.’
He sobered at that. ‘I suppose we all trusted her.’
His words were likely meant as a slight apology, but she stared him in the eyes. ‘Believe me when I say that I do not think she meant for you to die. She was trying to save her son.’
‘And by poisoning me for so long, she made us all believe that I was dying. She took away my strength so I could not sire a child.’ Alan moved closer, sitting beside her on the bed. Rosamund felt the urge to move away but forced herself to remain. He reached out to touch her cheek, but the coolness of his fingers kindled no desire whatsoever. Instead, she wanted to flinch.
You are his wife, she reminded herself. He has every right to touch you.
But the thought of returning to her old life, sending Warrick away, was like drowning. She closed her eyes, trying to force away the guilt.
And yet, he saw it on her face.
‘You did what I asked, didn’t you?’ he murmured. ‘You let him claim you that night.’
She said nothing at all, for they both knew the truth. And yet, she could not understand the expression upon his face. It almost seemed like...jealousy. A flash of annoyance struck her, for this had been his idea. She had never intended to be unfaithful to Alan. But now, he appeared angry at his own scheme.
‘You may be with child, as I demanded of you,’ he continued.
She could not give an answer, for she did not trust herself to speak. Alan touched her chin, and he leaned in to kiss her lips in his own mark of ownership.
Once again, she felt nothing. She told herself that she ought to be thankful that her husband was feeling better. But she could not bring herself to kiss him back. Instead, she wanted it to be Warrick’s mouth upon hers, not Alan’s. God help her, what had she done?
A deep emptiness seemed to fill up her spirit, pushing away the companionship she had once shared with her husband. Now, she resented him for forcing the temptation of Warrick’s touch upon her, rekindling the forbidden feelings she had silenced for three years.
‘Go to your chamber,’ he commanded. ‘And later this night, I will come to you. We will try again for a child.’
Alan’s demand startled her, and he must have recognised the shock on her face. Rosamund blinked and asked, ‘Are you...well enough for that?’
‘I am, now that I am no longer being poisoned.’ His expression turned grim, and he added, ‘If you do bear a son, I want to imagine that I was the one who fathered him.’
She forced herself to nod, but she could not suppress the coldness that encircled her heart or the tears that rose up. Once again, he wanted her to lie with him, as if the physical act meant nothing at all. He wanted her to go from Warrick’s bed back into his.
No. She could not do it.
She turned her back and departed his chamber, closing the door softly behind her. Her mind was torn apart with fear and guilt between the two men...one she desired with her heart and body...and another who was bound to her by the Church and her own vows. She refused to think of another set of vows, made to Warrick, on holy ground.
God help her, Alan was going to recover. He would resume his leadership of Pevensham and believe that everything would go back to the way it was. Why shouldn’t he?
Her sin weighed heavily upon her spirits. This was her punishment, to have her heart’s desire and then let it be taken away as soon as she surrendered to temptation. Her eyes burned with unshed tears as she tried to gather control of her emotions.
Rosamund walked slowly down the hall, letting her thoughts wander. She tried to tell herself that it was an answered prayer that Alan’s illness was gone. It didn’t matter what she wanted any more. Marriage was a sacrament she would have to endure, for she had spoken the vows.
She had tried to protect her heart from feelings of the past, but it was no use. The man she wanted was Warrick de Laurent, but Fate had decreed otherwise.
Rosamund stopped walking and leaned against the stone wall inside the hallway, allowing herself to weep for what would never be. The knowledge blistered within her heart that she was trapped within a loveless marriage and would not see Warrick again, once Alan sent him away. The sobs choked up within her, and she doubled over in physical anguish. Why did it have to be this way? Why did she have to fall in love again, and yet be left feeling so alone?
She had tried so hard to shield herself from any feelings at all, but the night with Warrick had only reminded her that she was living within the shell of a marriage. And now that his illness had receded, Alan wanted her back.
She was so blinded by her tears, she never saw the man who seized her waist. His hand clamped over her mouth, and he murmured in her ear, ‘Alan de Courcy will not live beyond this month, Lady Pevensham.’
Rosamund froze in shock, struggling to escape his grip. She now recognised the man as their former comma
nder, Aldred Fitzwarren. The man’s face was rigid with fury. ‘Owen de Courcy is the rightful leader of Pevensham. Warrick de Laurent will never claim what belongs to my lord. I’ll see him dead first.’
She fought to free herself from his grasp, but Fitzwarren tightened his grip. ‘The men will stay loyal to me. Remember that, my lady. De Laurent may have taken my place, but I am still their leader.’
With that, his fist struck a hard blow against her temple, and she saw nothing more.
* * *
Warrick found Rosamund lying motionless in the hall, and his heart nearly stopped. He rushed towards her and turned her over, thankful to see that she was still breathing.
‘Rosamund,’ he said, touching her cheek. He saw the swollen place upon her temple where she’d been struck, and she moaned as she began to regain consciousness. He was going to kill whoever had done this to her.
Swiftly, Warrick lifted her into his arms and brought her back to her chamber, laying her down upon her bed. Then he bolted the door and went to pour cool water into a basin. He dipped a piece of linen into the water and wrung it out, bringing it to her. The moment he touched the cool cloth to her forehead, she started to awaken.
‘Who did this to you?’ he demanded. Then he softened his voice, realising that it sounded as if he were blaming her for the attack. ‘Are you all right?’
She winced and managed a nod. ‘I seem to be in the habit of men striking me down, as of late. Fitzwarren did this. He said that Pevensham belongs to Owen, and that Alan would not live through the end of the month.’
An iron rage burned through Warrick that the soldiers had not done their duty and escorted the former commander outside the gates. Fitzwarren should never have been permitted to escape. But Bennett and Godfrey had warned him that most of Alan’s soldiers had been threatened by Owen. They were too afraid to act against him, knowing that he would one day take command of Pevensham.
Forbidden Night with the Warrior Page 15
