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‘No, but I may have.’ Angelina’s eyes glittered. ‘I cannot tell you just yet, but soon I shall ask a service of you and, if you please me, I may arrange something for you.’
‘What kind of a service, cousin?’
‘I cannot tell you yet—but it is important to me and my father.’
‘I am always willing to serve you and my uncle if I can, Angelina.’
Rosamunde could not help but be suspicious. Angelina always had a reason for what she did. If she was giving Rosamunde such a costly gift it must mean she wanted something from her in return.
‘Yes, perhaps. See to your packing. We leave within the hour.’
Rosamunde took her leave of the lord and lady of Saxenburg, thanking them for their hospitality, and then went up the twisting stair to her cousin’s chamber at the top of the tower. The door was open and as she paused she heard voices—Angelina and Sir Thomas. Without meaning to eavesdrop, she heard their words clearly.
‘What are we to do? My father is a prisoner of his enemy, Lord Mornay, and he demands one thousand gold pieces as a ransom to release him …’
‘It is an iniquitous sum. But the ransom must be paid or Mornay will not release his hostage. I have heard of this man, and I fear for Count Torrs if Mornay’s demands are not met.’
‘But you do not know it all,’ Angelina cried in a wailing tone. ‘He is not content with ruining my father by demanding this huge sum—he also wants me to take him the ransom myself.’
‘You cannot. I shall not allow it. You are promised to me, Angelina. Had your father not been captured in England we should have been wed before this,’ the man responded.
‘My uncle says that I must go to England and take the ransom, for if my father is not released his lands will be forfeit and he will have nothing left—and that means we cannot marry, Thomas, unless our plan works,’ Angelina said.
‘Your cousin suspects nothing?’
‘She is a fool and will do as I tell her,’ Angelina said scornfully. ‘But I still do not see how sending Rosamunde in my place will help us to recover my dowry.’
‘Listen and I shall explain once more …’
Shocked to the core at what she had heard, Rosamunde turned away, sick to the stomach and unwilling to hear more. Now she understood the reasons for the new gowns: her cousin meant to send her to this Lord Mornay in Angelina’s place.
Trembling, she ran back down to her own chamber.
What was she to do? She had no money of her own and there was no way that she could return to England without her cousin.
How could Angelina plan such a terrible thing? She had always known her cousin was selfish but this was beyond anything. Rosamunde was distressed and angry. She would not go to this man in her cousin’s place—but for the moment she had no choice but to hold her peace. Perhaps when she was in England she could go to her father and ask for his protection.
It was some ten minutes later that she followed her cousin down to the waiting horses. Angelina was to ride her own white palfrey, but Rosamunde had ridden pillion behind one of her uncle’s men-at-arms when they had come here and expected to ride that way once more. However, to her surprise, Sir Thomas led a lovely chestnut mare forward.
‘I believe you can ride, lady?’ ‘Yes, sir. Is this fine mare for my use?’ ‘Yes, if you can manage her.’ He smiled but something in his manner caused a shiver at Rosamunde’s nape. Had she not overheard their plan, she would have wondered why she was being so favoured. Now she understood why she was being given new clothes and a horse to ride. She must look the part of the count’s real daughter to fool the evil Lord Mornay.
Rosamunde longed to tell them that she knew what they planned, but her only chance was to reach England and her father. If he knew that she was being sacrificed to save her cousin from shame, he would surely not allow it. So, steeling herself not to flinch, she took Sir Thomas’s hand and allowed him to help her mount.
Rosamunde took the reins. Despite her anger, she felt a surge of pleasure at being able to ride independently. Not since her mother’s death had she had the joy of riding her own horse. Until that unhappy day her father had kept horses for both Rosamunde and her mother’s use, but afterwards he had sold them in an effort to stave off ruin.
Rosamunde took her place amongst Sir Thomas’s train. She saw that Angelina’s maid, Margaret, was riding pillion behind one of the grooms. The men-at-arms rode at the head and tail of the small procession, guarding their lord and his promised bride. Rosamunde followed just behind her cousin. It was a lovely warm afternoon and pleasant for riding. A few hours in the saddle would bring them to the coast where the ship would be waiting. How much she would have enjoyed the prospect, had she not understood what awaited her when they reached England.
Somehow she must find a way to get away from them once they reached England. Surely her father would be pleased to see her and would protect her?
Sir Raphael de Valmont sat his horse and looked out to sea. The ship that was to have taken him and his companions from France to England had been battered by a storm in mid-ocean and its mainmast was now being repaired. Unless he could find another vessel with space for five passengers, he might be forced to linger here another week.
‘The Southern Star sails with the morning tide,’ a voice said to his left and he turned to look at his friend Broderick. ‘But her captain says he has been asked to take a knight and his entourage to England and there is no room for us.’
‘Would he not let us find a corner of the deck on which to sit?’
‘He says that if we wait until the knight comes he will enquire how many there are in his party. Should there be room he might allow us to sleep on deck.’
Raphael nodded, his gaze brooding as he saw a party of horsemen arriving. His journey had become urgent ever since the news of his father’s illness had reached him as he had journeyed through France.
‘I believe the knight has arrived,’ Raphael said, his eyes narrowed, intent. ‘There are three ladies, a knight and ten men-at-arms, besides some five servants. The Southern Star is not large enough to take us all as well. We should search elsewhere.’
‘I’ve been told there is a cove just down the coast and two merchant ships are in port,’ Jonathan de Vere said as he rode up to them. ‘It will take us no more than thirty minutes to ride there. If we cannot find a berth for us all there, you must go on alone, Raphael.’
‘We vowed we would stay together until we reached England.’ Raphael’s mouth was unsmiling as he looked at his four friends: Sir Broderick, Sir Jonathan de Vere, Sir Michael Borthwick and Janquil. He had been some months on the journey from the Holy Land to Normandy, for it had now been a year since Messalina’s death. His friends had pledged to journey with him so that he might place his claim to recover from the goldsmith what should now have been his. In return, Raphael had promised that he would take them all into his service if he became rich.
They had eventually found the wealthy but elusive goldsmith. Markoff had at first been reluctant to part with the money and jewels lodged with him, but after verifying Raphael’s proof of marriage and the subsequent death of the whole family had admitted that he was the rightful owner. Raphael had considered making his home in Normandy, where he had purchased an estate, but then a message had reached him: his father was very ill and wished to see his son as soon as possible.
‘I have no intention of leaving you behind, my friends,’ Raphael continued. ‘My father may even be dead for all I know. The messenger told me that he had been searching for us for several weeks.’
‘Your father may have yet recovered. Tis a pity the ship did not wait here for you as was promised.’
‘The captain returned to England with a cargo. No doubt he intended to meet us here on time in the Broken Vows but the weather was against him.’
‘Shall we ride in search of these other ships?’
‘I shall speak to Captain Middleton and advise him of our intention.’ Raphael dismounted, giving the reins of his horse to his squire. ‘Wait here, Janquil. I shall not be long.’
Approaching the captain of the Broken Vows, Raphael told him of his intention to seek a berth elsewhere.
‘I shall be ready to sail in two days, sir, once the mainmast is mended,’ the captain said. ‘If you do not return before then, I shall seek another cargo and sail for England.’
‘Yes, you should do so. We shall return in good time if we fail to find berths elsewhere.’
Raphael turned away, intending to rejoin his friends. As he did so, he saw that the ladies had dismounted and were waiting to go aboard their ship. One of them was very beautiful with golden hair and a proud bearing; one was clearly a serving woman, but the other was less easy to place. She was very lovely but in a quieter way, her hair hanging down her back in a thick plait and the colour of burnished copper. Her eyes were green, her mouth soft and generous, and there was something about her that made him wonder if he’d seen her before. Her tunic was more modest than the proud lady’s and yet she had the bearing and look of nobility. Perhaps she was a relation rather than a serving woman.
The knight’s party was moving towards the ship as Raphael left the water’s edge. Just as they were about to pass one another, the woman with red hair seemed to stumble. Instinctively, Raphael reached out his hand to steady her.
‘I caught my heel.’ Her cheeks were flushed as she looked down at her boot, the heel of which had wrenched from its socket and was hanging loose. ‘Forgive me, sir.’
‘It was nothing. That boot will need mending,’ he commented.
‘Yes, I should have worn my others …’ She glanced up, her eyes widening, as if shocked. For a moment she seemed to hesitate and he thought there was a look of appeal in her eyes, but then her gaze dropped. ‘Excuse me, I must join my friends.’
‘Yes, of course—as must I.’
She moved away towards the ship but Raphael stood where he was, staring after her as she boarded the ship.
She seemed to become aware of him staring at her and for a moment she turned towards him. Their eyes met and another delicate flush touched her cheeks but she did not immediately glance away. Raphael felt a stirring of interest; he crushed it immediately. She was not a whore to be taken to his bed and dismissed the next morning, and he would never allow himself to care again.
As memories of his dead wife stirred, his expression hardened and he averted his gaze. The woman was lovely but she could never be anything to him. The memory of that night when he’d found the family home burned to the ground and his wife’s body lying in the yard was so strong and so sharp that he actually felt a stabbing pain in his chest.
Raphael realised that he had been staring at the English knight’s party without really seeing them. The women were being taken belowdecks now. Raphael felt a sudden sense of loss. He did not even know her name—the woman with the plait—yet it could not matter. They would never meet again. As her turn came to go below, she looked back and he sensed that she was searching for him. For a brief moment a smile touched her mouth, almost as if she knew him. Once again he felt that she wanted to speak to him, perhaps to ask for help, then her companion spoke to her and she walked onto the ship and was lost to his view.
Raphael crushed the urge to go after her, sweep her up and carry her off with him. For a moment he had seen something in her that he’d believed long forgotten, the spirit and joy he’d felt when he had first set out for the Crusades. No, that was ridiculous. She was nothing to him and never could be. He had built up a barrier, shutting out the pain of grief and loss. To allow softer feelings in would be to relive the pain that had almost destroyed him.
As he remounted his horse, Raphael put the red-haired woman from his mind. She was lovely, but he would not seek beauty or sweetness again. If he married for a second time it would be purely to get himself an heir.
‘What are you thinking of?’ Angelina’s sharp voice cut into Rosamunde’s thoughts. ‘I was speaking to you, cousin. Why did you not answer me?’
‘Forgive me. I did not hear you, cousin. What was it you wished me to do for you?’
‘I have a headache,’ Angelina said. ‘There must be something in my baggage to ease it. You are skilled with herbs—pray attend to it this instant.’
‘Yes, cousin,’ Rosamunde said. ‘I am sorry that you are feeling unwell. I shall make a soothing drink for you at once.’
Leaving her cousin to harangue her maid, Rosamunde went to find the herbs and beg some water from the ship’s quartermaster. She had been so lost in her thoughts that she had not heard Angelina speaking to her. The knight who had saved her from a tumble and then had stared at her—surely it could not be Raphael?
No, she was letting her imagination run away with her. The youth she’d remembered all these years had had such a merry smile, but this man looked harsh—and weighed down with sorrow.
She had been tempted to beg for his help but then, as she had seen him frown, had known she must be mistaken. He could not be the young knight she had met so many years before at her father’s castle. And even if he was, he had not known her. True, he had stared at her, but even when he had touched her there had been no recognition in his eyes.
This knight was a stranger and she had not dared to approach him for help. She must simply wait for her chance to slip away to her father’s house.
Chapter Two
‘I am not sure I understand you, cousin.’ Despite having overheard her cousin plotting with Sir Thomas, Rosamunde still found it difficult to believe that Angelina intended to go through with what she had just told her. ‘You wish me to lie to Lord Mornay—to pretend to be you. Why would you expect me to do such a thing?’
‘Because the ransom must be paid,’ Angelina said, a flash of temper in her eyes. ‘If I take it myself, Lord Mornay might decide he wants me as well as the money. He will accept it from you. You are not beautiful enough to arouse his interest and he is bound to let you go. Just give him the gold and then you may go home. I will give you fifty talents as your dowry, as I promised—though whether anyone will marry you for that sum I do not know.’
‘What makes you think Lord Mornay wishes to wed you? Does he know you?’
‘No, of course not. If he did I could not send you in my place,’ Angelina replied. ‘It was a condition of the ransom that I must take the gold myself—but Sir Thomas wants me to go to his home where we shall be married. After all, what can it matter to you? You have no prospect of marriage, even if I give you the money.’
‘No, but he may discover the truth and then he might refuse to release Count Torrs. Do you not think you should do as Lord Mornay demands?’
‘No, I shall not,’ Angelina said sulkily. ‘You must do this for me, Rosamunde. It is not so very much to ask considering what your father owes mine. If you oblige me, the debt will be cancelled. If you refuse, I shall ask for it to be repaid at once.’
Rosamunde felt coldness at her nape. Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. ‘I did not know my father owed yours money.’
‘Why else would he send you to me? You were to serve me until the debt was paid—but if you will not oblige me I shall send you home and demand payment at once.’
She was lying! Surely she was lying? Rosamunde could not believe that her father owed so much money to his brother-in-law and had not told her. If it were true, it would make her little better than a bondswoman.
‘My father never spoke of his debt. You said I could see him when we pass my home. I beg you to allow me to speak with him before I give you my answer.’
‘Are you accusing me of lying?’ Angelina glared at her furiously.
‘I am not accusing you of anything—but I must speak to my father before I give you my promise.’
‘If he agrees there is a debt, will you do as I ask?’
‘If I do, the debt will be paid?’
Rosamunde felt as if she were suffocating. She had meant to escape from her cousin and beg her father’s protection, but if he owed his brother-in-law a great deal of money she was honour-bound to serve her cousin in whatever way she demanded. Indeed, she would be a bondservant and tied to Angelina until the other woman gave her leave to go. Serving her cousin as one of her ladies was one thing but to be bonded through a debt was very different.
‘Yes, of course. Have I not said so?’
‘Then I shall do what you want—providing my father admits there is a debt,’ Rosamunde reiterated.
Angelina glanced at Sir Thomas. He inclined his head and she did the same.
‘You may see your father—but remember that he is old and sick and his mind may play tricks on him. However, I have a deed that proves he owes my father more than he could ever pay.’
‘May I see it?’
‘Yes, if you wish.’ Angelina turned to Sir Thomas. He handed her a small wooden coffer bound with iron. She lifted the lid and took out a roll of parchment, handing it to Rosamunde. ‘There, look at the signature on the bottom—is that not your father’s?’
Rosamunde looked and her heart sank. It was indeed her father’s hand and the sum of money mentioned was five-hundred gold talents, far more than his land and keep were worth.
‘Yes, this is my father’s hand,’ she said, her throat dry. ‘It seems you have proof. However, I still wish to see my father.’
‘Remember what I’ve told you. If you refuse me, I shall demand payment of the debt.’
Rosamunde returned the parchment. Her eyes pricked with tears she refused to shed. ‘I shall visit my father and then I will give you my answer.’
‘Your father lies on his bed sick to the heart,’ Maire told her when she kissed her old nurse and asked for him. ‘We’ve done our best to care for him, my lady, but he eats hardly anything and will not leave his bed.’
‘I shall go up to his chamber and see him,’ Rosamunde said. ‘If he is truly ill, we must have the physician.’
‘There’s no money for such things. I bought a cure in the village from the wise woman but he refused to take it. ‘Tis my belief that he wants to die.’
Rosamunde nodded, her throat tight with tears. It seemed that her father’s financial situation had not improved while she had been away, but at least he still had a bed to lie on. If Angelina demanded the return of the loan, he would be forced to lie under the hedgerow. How long would he live then?
She saw the signs of neglect everywhere. The servants might care for her father but no repairs had been done. The yard had not been swept and it looked as though no one had changed the rushes in weeks.
The room was dark and smelled of stale urine when she entered. Rosamunde felt angry. The servants had little enough to do; they could at least keep her father clean and his room smelling sweet.
‘Who is it?’ he asked as she approached the bed. ‘I want nothing. Leave me be. How many times must I tell you to leave me in peace?’
‘It is I, Father,’ Rosamunde replied. ‘Angelina has returned to England and she gave me permission to visit you while she rests at the inn this night.’
‘Rosamunde?’ His eyes opened and he looked at her. ‘You should not be here. There is nothing left for you, child. I have wasted my fortune and there is nothing but debt. Make your life elsewhere and leave me to die.’
‘I do not wish you to die, Father. Before I leave I shall see to your bed and have the room cleaned.’
Her father pushed himself up against the pillows, looking at her warily. ‘If you’ve come to me for money I’ve none to give you. I can hardly feed the servants, let alone pay my taxes. Next time Prince John’s collector comes, he will take what little we have left, but I shall not see it. I shall be in my grave.’
‘Are you in pain, Father?’ Rosamunde bent to plump up his pillows. He shook his head. ‘Then you should try to get up and come down for your supper. It will be easier for the servants to clean if you are not here.’
