“Rosamund, child, why were you so quiet today?” Veronica asked, crossing the threshold into Rosamund’s chamber.
Hilde was twisting Rosamund’s hair into a coronet wrapped with a thin string of pearls. Never shy, the maid offered her opinion. “You should be putting your best face on, my pretty. Lord Robert—ho, Lord, he’s a handsome one. He came all the way here to bring you to your new home, and that shows he’s got a kind heart. Protective, too. Doesn’t want anything to happen to his woman. And that is what you are, mistress. You are his now. Oh, to belong to a man like that.” Looking up at Veronica, she flashed the woman a grin of rapture at the thought of such a thing.
Softly Veronica said, “She understands this, Hilde.”
Hilde held her hands out to Rosamund’s stiff back. “This one here is like a frightened little doe, she is. Shyness is fine, in fact it is often pleasing to a man. But too much and the man will think she is simple. Honestly! She just sat there like a log, not doing anything to present herself in an attractive light to her future husband.”
Shooing the garrulous servant aside, Veronica took the brush out of her hand. “Allow me, please.” Her deft fingers loosened the weave of hair and smoothed away the artless bumps that marred the lines of the coif. “Is it true, child? Is it that you are shy?”
“Aye. I suppose.” Rosamund looked at Veronica through the glass. “He seemed rather…imposing.”
From behind Veronica, Hilde let out a small cry of denial. “Well, of course he is! He’s a fine figure of a man, I say.” She clapped her hands together with glee. “Oh, my lady, he is superb! Did you see his tunic, how rich it looked? And his hair, with just that touch of age in it to lend distinction. Ah!”
“Hilde,” Veronica said gently. “Please go to the kitchens and fetch your mistress sweet wine and something to eat. She was too overcome to eat earlier, and she will need her strength for tonight’s revelries.”
The thin ruse did not fool Hilde, but she could not argue with Veronica. No one in their right mind would dare. She muttered, “Aye, mistress,” and left with a resentful look cast over her shoulder.
“There, now we can speak without being interrupted.”
A wavering smile appeared on Rosamund’s face. “Hilde is a trial at times, but she is devoted.”
“No one can fault her for her lack of it, I agree. Rosamund, I sense a great unease in you. It has been there since I met you, but today it seemed…stronger. Is it Lord Robert? Does he frighten you?”
“Nay,” Rosamund said quickly.
“Child,” Veronica soothed. “Do not be too quick to deny it. I know ’tis intimidating to contemplate marriage to a man you have never met, but thank the good Lord in heaven that Robert is indeed a man of unsurpassed character. A finer husband you could not select. He is wealthy and, as Hilde is so apt at noticing, very pleasing to the eye. True, he is older than you, but still handsome and strong. He will give you many children….” Her voice trailed off and she considered the pale face staring at her through the mirror. “Ah, ’tis a foolish old woman, I am. Is it that which troubles you? The marriage bed?”
Rosamund was so startled, she actually jumped. “Oh, nay, my lady. My stepfather had his priest instruct me in the duties of a wife in that regard.”
“Oh, child.” Her voice was heavy with pity. “I daresay you were horribly misinformed. No doubt that little beast made it seem atrocious.”
The convulsive reflex in Rosamund’s throat confirmed Veronica’s suspicions. She laid her hands gently on Rosamund’s shoulders and spoke. “Robert will be kind to you. It is true you must submit, and the act will seem strange to you at first.”
Rosamund’s face flamed vivid scarlet.
“I know ’tis embarrassing,” Veronica continued, “but you must know that you will come, with the good grace of God, to view this part of marriage as more than just duty. It will bring you both pleasure, and not just from the act. The closeness you share, the tenderness and feeling, ’tis a mighty thing, and lovely. I hope you will find this pleasure, Rosamund.”
Rosamund merely nodded, biting her lips. How could what Veronica was saying be true? From what Father Leon had told her, the marriage act was the most vile depravity she could ever imagine. The fact that so many women allowed it was mind numbing. The way she saw it, this particular humiliation was just one more burden that women bore at the hands of their husbands. How could it bring pleasure?
Then she thought of Agravar.
What if she were to lie with him? That way. To have his hands on her, his rod between her thighs as she was told it was to be.
A shudder went through her, but it was not one of revulsion. The thought of him touching her body—of touching his, feeling the firm masculine contours she had once glimpsed—slammed her with a startling, sudden heat that made her weak, stealing her breath for an instant.
The ragged flutters that winnowed down her spine were stunningly delicious. She felt confused. When Father Leon had taught her of the “sins of the flesh,” she had never, ever imagined that she might feel this way.
But then, she was so very different from the girl who had left Hallscroft months ago. Almost unrecognizable.
The face staring back at her from the glass looked the same. Dark eyes, strong nose, a mouth formed of two shapely lips that tended to look pouty in repose. In truth, the outside of herself hadn’t changed, but inside, but she would never be the same, never be as she had been before coming here.
Before him.
Veronica stroked her hair in a gesture of affection. “You are such a lost lamb.”
“I…I am merely overwhelmed,” Rosamund muttered. She glanced down, not wanting her friend to see the questions in her eyes.
Veronica sighed. “There, your hair is finished. Now, I want you to eat what Hilde brings you, and no arguments, please.”
Rosamund offered her benefactress a weak smile. Veronica continued to look stern, but her eyes were soft. “And I want to see a cheerful girl at the supper table. And definitely no cringing!”
Rosamund’s lips twitched. “Yes, my lady.”
“All right, then. I shall see you down in the hall.”
And when Hilde came with the tray, Rosamund forced every morsel down her dry throat.
Chapter Fourteen
Rosamund did her best to appear brighter and more pleasant during the meal that evening, she truly did, but every time Lord Robert bestowed his dignified attentions her way, she could do nothing but stammer out some incoherent reply. She had no idea if any of the garbled statements she made were even sensible. He was kind in not calling attention to her inane presentation, although his puzzlement was apparent. Finally the man stopped trying, though from pity or disgust, she was unsure.
She knew she was disappointing Lady Veronica, who for some reason was most anxious Rosamund make a good impression on her future husband. When it was apparent this hope was fruitless, the good lady kept the conversation flowing by diverting Lord Robert with her own lively discussion. This left Rosamund free to contemplate her misery and examine in morbid detail the utter idiot she was making of herself.
And Agravar’s blue eyes stayed on her every moment. He saw too much. Sometimes, it felt as though he saw everything.
Her earlier conversation with Veronica kept running through her mind, unleashing a myriad of questions to taunt her.
What would it be like to belong to Agravar? She tried not to dwell on the enticing prospect. It did no good to crave what one could never have. Cyrus had taught her that. Her stepfather had been excellent at crushing tender hopes that might have spurred rebellious thoughts, or worse.
She dared not look again at Agravar, but she knew he was there, and that his gaze never strayed. She fixed her gaze over the heads of the crowd down at the trestles. It was then a face caught her notice. It was Davey.
He was off in a corner of the hall, seated at a table with a rowdy bunch of soldiers. Still dressed as a friar, the shiny top of his tonsure was slick with swe
at and gleaming in the light cast off from the torches. He stood as soon as her gaze fell to him. He had obviously been trying to get her attention and was in motion the moment he succeeded. Inclining his head to the corridor leading to the kitchen, he headed out that way.
Rosamund remembered to breathe. She put her head down, feeling heat creep up from her neck to set the tips of her ears on fire.
Had anyone seen? Had he?
Glancing slyly to the side, she saw Agravar seemed at that particular moment to be otherwise occupied in conversation with a knight. Was she safe, then? He hadn’t seen her reaction when Davey signaled her?
Rising, she waited silently at her place. Lucien looked over first, a bit taken aback by her just standing there. Robert said, “Rosamund, is something the matter?”
“Your pardon, my lord. May I be excused?”
There was a silence. She saw people were staring at her. Then Lord Robert cleared his throat and replied, “Of course, Rosamund. You need not ask my permission.”
“I am sorry, my lord. I shan’t trouble you again.”
On her way off the dais, she saw Agravar was scowling.
She sensed she had done something to shock them all. What? Had she offended, as well? Had she embarrassed Lord Robert?
And what would he do to her if she had?
She rounded the corner and entered the corridor. A hand gripping her upper arm brought her swiftly into the shadows.
“Where have you been?” Davey whispered harshly. “I have been trying to get you to come for the past hour, but you refused to look at me.”
They stole together along the darkened corridor. Rosamund glanced behind to make certain they were not seen. Once she was certain they were safely out of sight, she whirled on Davey. “First, I did not spy you until just now,” she said, snapping her arm out of his grasp. “I came as soon as I did. And second, though I am in your debt for the efforts you have made on my behalf, I am still your mistress. I do not take orders from you, Davey.”
“Who do you take them from them? Your Viking?”
“What? What has he to do with anything? And he is certainly not my Viking, as if it is any concern of yours.”
“You will not take orders from me, you say? You dawdle in the woods and laugh sweet enough to make the birds jealous while I scrape and plot to make you free? You cannot toy with me this way, Rosamund!”
She was incredulous. “Davey, what has happened to you? You have no right to address me in such a manner.”
He seemed to catch himself. Checking his burst of anger, he hung his head, the tip of his shoe scuffing restlessly in the scented rushes. “That is because I have never felt like this. I have never been through what I have in these last weeks.” His head shot up, his eyes feverish. “I wait. I watch every day, my lady, and I see you grow more and more content and forget that your own disaster lies just ahead. Why, ’tis here—Lord Robert is here and your time of peace is nearly done.” He sneered. “You think that Viking will save you. You think he will protect you.”
“I do not!”
Davey was vehement. “He can do nothing for you. A giant he may be, and mighty, I’ll grant. But he cannot help you, Rosamund. He serves Lucien and neither one of them will go against the law. Only I can win you your freedom. Can you not see? He is your enemy. Only I am your friend.”
“Do not scold me,” Rosamund said firmly, but inside she was trembling. “I know well that Agravar cannot save me, for all his kindness and sympathy. I would not ask it of him. He might pity me, but he serves Lucien.” She paused, considering what she knew of Alayna’s husband. “And Lucien would never stray from the ranks of what men of his position deem right and honorable. He of all of them terrifies me the most, with his dark looks and terrible scowls. I know he is gentle with Alayna, but he has never liked me. I do not believe he would ever be made to feel sympathy for my plight.”
She swallowed against the lump rising in her throat. Her voice grew harsh. “I am depending on you, Davey.”
Davey fished in the folds of his monk’s robes and brought out a pouch of a size that might carry three or four pears. And then he told her what to do. “I shall await you at the postern gate,” he said finally.
Rosamund nodded. His plan was good. Daring, with no small degree of risk, but it just might succeed.
And yet she wasn’t certain she could do it.
A deep sadness settled inside her breast. How difficult it would be to say goodbye to her pleasant days at Gastonbury and the good companionship of the kind folk who dwelled here, who had welcomed her and made her feel loved.
Silly thought! The happy existence she had found here was lost to her, whether she went on to Berendsfore or made good her escape with Davey.
And yet she had found a home here, a home like no other she had ever known. Friends were here. And Agravar. In some ways—in so many ways—it was he who was the hardest to leave. He had shown her parts of herself she hadn’t known existed. And he had looked at her with something tender and fiery in his eyes. She did not fully understand it, but her body responded every time it happened. And she liked it. She wanted it.
She wanted him.
She did not want to leave, she realized suddenly. Not him, not any of them. But she could not stay, either.
Someone was coming! Rosamund stuffed the pouch behind the front panel of her surcoat as Davey ducked away into the shadows.
“Rosamund? What are you doing?” It was Agravar, of course. He was ever on her heels, ever watching.
He looked troubled, a slight frown of concern on his hard-featured face. Her hand itched to reach out to those furrows between his brows and smooth them away with soft words and a light caress. But of course, even if she dared, what comfort would she offer when those lines were caused by his suspecting only what was true?
She stared mutely, all too aware of the pouch she had secreted in her dress.
“Why are you hiding?”
What would he say if she told him, Help me, Agravar, I need to run away?
The insanity of her thoughts troubled her. She refused to look at him. “I…” Her own words came back to her. He would have no patience for my intrigues…I could never depend on him. “I got lost. The castle is still unfamiliar to me and I got all turned around on my way back from the guarderobes.”
His eyes narrowed, then darted a quick survey of the darkness around them. Head cocked, he listened, but no sound betrayed her lie. Davey was swift and already gone.
She looked at him in profile, taking in the strong chin, the high, narrow cheekbones, the hawklike nose. His blond hair, loose and looking like a skein of silk—if one could imagine such a delicate thing a part of such a rugged man—fell past his shoulders.
His head whipped back to hers, his golden-lashed eyes still suspicious. “I thought I heard voices.”
“’Twas me. I was singing.”
A doubtful scowl was her reply.
She said, “I must return to the—”
“I will speak to you a moment, lady. I would like some answers.”
“To what questions?”
“So many they confuse my brain.” He crossed his arms over his massive chest. “Let us start with why you have been behaving as if Robert is your executioner instead of your intended husband?”
“That is not true. Lord Robert is a good man.” She said it like a catechism.
“Indeed, I have seen it to be true. So why are you reacting as if he were a demon sent from hell to claim your soul?”
Her voice trembled. “You are ridiculous.”
“Am I? I find your behavior too peculiar, my lady, to be explained by your feeble excuses.”
“I need not explain myself to you.”
“’Tis true enough. I am of no account. Perhaps, then, I should go to Lord Robert with my concerns. You certainly have to explain yourself to him.”
“Nay!” She grabbed at him with her free hand. “I beg you do not.”
Agravar shook his head in amazement.
“I should think you would be grateful to be wedded to a husband like him. I cannot imagine your life at Hallscroft was anything you shall miss.”
She recoiled. “You know nothing about my past.”
“Recollect, dear lady, that I met the priest who was sent by your stepfather. ’Twas I who sat while he regaled me of his particular beliefs that I must admit was singularly disgusting to me—and I have, in my years, seen and heard a goodly amount to sour any man’s stomach. I ask you to recall, fickle lady, that ’twas me who sent the repellent cad bouncing home like so much baggage.”
The mental picture evoked by his words was accurate. She paused, savoring the image. Despite herself, the corners of her mouth began to curl. “’Twas only what he deserved. He was rude to you and Lady Veronica.”
“’Twas for what he said to you that I did it.” His voice was soft.
“I did not ask you to do it.”
“You ask nothing of no one, and yet we clamor for the privilege to give. Have you noticed? Lady Veronica, Alayna, myself, even poor Lucien does his pathetic best to be cheerful for your sake. Why do you resist it, Rosamund, when all around you is naught but kindness? ’Twas not a man, woman or child in this castle who didn’t despise that priest once they realized what he was about.” Agravar grinned. “Did you see how his heels dangled down so far they scraped two furrows in the dirt?”
“’Twas a very undignified exit,” she agreed with a quick giggle. Her heart felt full and light. How easy it was to forget herself in his presence.
He was doing it again—making the impossible happen. Making her feel like another woman altogether, with other choices.
He stepped closer, his blue eyes clouding to a darker shade. When he spoke, his voice was husky. “I nearly killed him. I wanted to. ’Twas the first time I had felt the urge like that, outside of battle. He had hurt you.”
Fighting the draw of his words, she tried to breathe normally.
He touched his fingers to her chin and tiny darts of pleasure crawled over her skin. Did he know what he did to her with his touch? “I hate that,” he murmured. “I hate to think of those things being said to you, taught to you all your life. It is horrid to have lies fed you. When you are raised with them, you get so confused. Right and wrong get turned upside down and you do not know what is real anymore.”
The Viking's Heart Page 10
