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His hands moved down her spine, and with the heat of his skin, she felt herself awakening beneath his touch.
‘I want you to know what you’ve been missing during these three years. You chose the wrong man, Rosamund. And when I touch you, you’ll wish to God you had stayed with me instead.’
‘Don’t do this.’ She would not stand for his threats, not now. In one motion, she unsheathed her knife and held it to his heart. ‘I may be Alan’s property, but I am not yours.’
‘Not yet,’ he murmured.
And when he released her, leaving her behind, the blade clattered from her fingertips.
She was shaking so badly, she could hardly stand. God help her now.
* * *
Warrick returned to de Courcy’s bedchamber, his mood grim. An honourable man would refuse this bargain and walk away—he knew that. But in three years, he hadn’t forgotten the fury at watching the woman he loved marry someone else. He had endured countless lashes for her sake, believing she would remain true to him. And after it was done, his father had watched him bleed.
‘She was never going to wed a man like you. Rosamund de Beaufort is too high-born.’
The agony of his wounds was so harsh, he could say nothing. But his father’s words cut deeper than any lash.
‘I should have ordered them to kill you instead. Your life is worth nothing.’
He had grown accustomed to his father’s hatred, after all these years. Edward de Laurent believed the lies of his wife, not the truth. Warrick had long ago given up the idea that his father would ever see him as a man of worth.
But he had been mistaken in thinking that Rosamund would be different.
She claimed she had married Alan to save Warrick’s life...and that might have held some truth, but why had she not fought to stay with him? This beautiful maiden, who had met with him in stolen moments, promising to love him for the rest of her life, had suddenly grown cold. She had turned from him, leaving him to spend years with only a sword for company.
And now Alan wanted him to sire a child upon her? It was the strangest turn of fate he’d ever imagined.
He had wanted to ignore this summons to Pevensham, truthfully. He had no place upon an estate such as this. Although he was of noble birth, he would never be anything more than a warrior. There were no estates he could inherit, no lands for him to rule. He was expected to marry and live with his brother Rhys.
Or die in battle, if his father had his way.
Over the years, his stepmother Analise had convinced Edward de Laurent that Warrick was simple-minded and incapable of leadership. Absently, he rubbed at the scar upon his wrist. His gut tightened at the memory of the woman, and he pushed back the darkness. She was dead now, and his father had taken a third wife.
But the fact remained—Edward de Laurent had believed Analise’s claims, hardly giving any attention to Warrick. The need to prove his father wrong had drawn him into the king’s service and into countless battles.
Now, he had been given an opportunity to control lands that spanned even greater a distance than his family’s. No longer would Edward de Laurent look upon him as the spare son who would live at home, possessing no estates of his own. Warrick could command of his own castle, and be equal in status to his brother Rhys.
All he had to do was murder an innocent man...or sleep with the man’s wife, he thought wryly. Neither was an honourable choice.
And yet, Alan was right. His brother Owen fully intended to take possession of Pevensham, and it was possible that he could harm Rosamund. Certainly, the man wouldn’t hesitate to kill an unborn child if it threatened his inheritance.
Warrick reached for his sword, and he clenched the familiar hilt. If he agreed to sire a son with Rosamund, there were endless risks. She might not conceive, and all would be for naught. Or if she did, others might question the child’s legitimacy. Even if it came to pass as Alan desired, it meant that the child would grow up believing that another man was his father.
There were no clear answers, yet he stood at Alan’s bedside. It was best to speak the truth. ‘I have spoken to Rosamund, and she does not wish to dishonour her marriage vows.’
‘She will do it if I command it of her.’
Warrick had no intention of forcing any woman. Even the woman he had once desired beyond all else. ‘I will not take Rosamund against her wishes.’
‘She understands what is necessary to protect Pevensham. This is her home, and she has no desire for Owen to inherit.’ Despite his physical weakness, Alan possessed a will of iron. ‘Rosamund is a woman who is loyal and virtuous. She does not understand the greater need. I want her to be protected and cherished when I am gone. You could do this, and you would receive wealth and lands in return. Any man would welcome this opportunity.’
‘Why me?’ he shot back. ‘You could choose any unmarried man in England, and all would be willing to do this.’
‘Because I want a man who will take care of her after I am gone. Someone who will put her needs first. If all I wanted was someone to get a child on her that would be naught of concern.’ Alan’s face grew tight with his own frustration. ‘I care about Rosamund, and I will not let my brother hurt her.’
‘Do you not trust your guards to keep her safe?’
‘My men cannot protect her when she is alone in her chamber at night. Owen will find a way, and I will be unable to stop him after I am dead.’
Warrick said nothing. The man’s behaviour seemed impossibly selfless. He didn’t understand how anyone could make such an offer—especially wedded to a woman like Rosamund. If he were in Alan’s place, he would die before giving her to someone else. He would hire a hundred men to defend her, if needed.
‘There are a dozen ways you could protect her,’ he said. ‘If you truly loved her, you would never force her to lie with someone else to conceive a child.’
At that accusation, Alan’s face hardened. ‘I love her enough to give her what she truly wants, above all else.’ He sat up straighter in his bed. ‘She might have spoken her vows, but her heart was never mine. She obeyed her father and married me.’ Alan’s tone turned dark. ‘I wanted her—I won’t lie. But it broke her heart to wed me. She is a dutiful, faithful wife, but she does not love me the way I love her. I thought time would change it, but now my life grows short.
‘And because of the sacrifices she made, I want to give her back what she desires most of all. The life she wanted to have with you.’
There was no doubting the sincerity of Alan’s words, but Warrick didn’t believe that Rosamund would agree to marry him now. She had made her intentions clear enough when she had obeyed her father’s command. And though Warrick had come to the wedding, she had never looked at him once.
‘She made her choice years ago.’ He understood that Pevensham wanted him to protect Rosamund after he was gone, but Warrick didn’t delude himself into thinking Rosamund still held feelings towards him.
‘I may be dying, but I am not blind,’ Alan countered. ‘I saw her misery on our wedding day, and I saw her reaction when you answered my summons. Once she recognises the necessity, I believe she will do what is necessary to protect our lands.’
But Warrick disagreed. ‘Rosamund has no intention of dishonouring her marriage vows, no matter what she told you.’
‘There must be a child,’ Alan insisted. His frustrated anger was evident in the planes of his face, and his hands clenched. ‘It is the only way to ensure that Pevensham does not fall into Owen’s hands. And once she conceives, I want you to take her to my estate in Ireland. My steward will grant you both sanctuary until she gives birth.’
But Warrick was uncertain it was the best course of action. If he removed Rosamund from her home, it would only invite Owen de Courcy to pursue her.
Alan met Warrick’s gaze evenly. ‘Will you do this for us? For her?’
He had not yet decided whether to accept Alan’s proposition. Not only was Rosamund adamant that she would not break her vows, there was no telling whether the plan would work, even if she did change her mind. At the moment, she believed that a simple lie would pacify her husband, and she had no intention of attempting to conceive.
‘I will think about it,’ he said at last. It was the best answer he could give. If Rosamund wanted his help, he would not deny her. But until then, he would bide his time.
The door to Alan’s bedchamber swung open, and Rosamund entered the room. She had gathered her composure and took a seat upon a low stool beside the hearth. Then she picked up her sewing and began to embroider the linen. Nothing in her demeanour suggested the rebellion within her heart.
When Warrick studied her more closely, Rosamund’s green eyes revealed a stubborn nature. She had unyielding loyalty and was not about to obey this command meekly.
Alan was asking him to lay siege to this woman’s body and heart, with a child and a castle as the prizes to be won. But it was far more complicated than that.
‘Rosamund, Warrick tells me that you have changed your mind about our agreement.’ His expression held annoyance. ‘I thought you understood the necessity of this arrangement.’
At that, she set aside her sewing and stood from her stool. ‘My lord husband, I told him that I am a woman of honour, and I—’
‘You promised,’ Alan repeated. He extended his hand to his wife, and she went to his bedside. ‘This is not about your desires or mine, or even his. This is about protecting everything we have built. If I could give you a child, I would have done so by now, Rosamund.’ His complexion had gone grey, and he leaned back against the pillows. ‘If you wait until I am gone, it will be too late. The child’s parentage will be questioned, and I cannot risk this.’
Warrick remained in place, feeling like an outsider while Alan stroked his wife’s hand. She leaned in, murmuring to him, and the man closed his eyes for a moment.
‘Rosamund, does Warrick de Laurent frighten you?’
‘Yes,’ she admitted. But the look on her face was enigmatic, as if something else troubled her.
‘Do you believe he would harm you?’ Alan continued. ‘Would you rather I chose another man?’
‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘I could not imagine lying with anyone else.’ The moment she spoke the words, her face reddened when she realised what she’d said.
Warrick remained silent, but he could see that she was not entirely immune to him. ‘Lord Pevensham, I propose that we give Rosamund more time to think about this. And in the meantime, I will remain here with my men until she has made her decision.’
Alan didn’t look pleased with his suggestion, but he had little alternative. Warrick wanted to speak with her again and learn whether it was honour that kept Rosamund from fulfilling her husband’s desires—or fear of the feelings she had buried over the last three years.
Chapter Three (#ue2662df3-1048-5855-b3b7-9cef7e238597)
Three years earlier
Rosamund stared up at the Montbrooke donjon with wonder. The keep had a large rectangular tower and stood atop a hillside. The outer wall was three feet thick and stretched from the base of the mound nearly twenty feet high. Another tower stretched above the main gate with sentries posted.
The earl had invited her family here to witness the betrothal of his oldest son Rhys to Lianna MacKinnon, a Scottish heiress. Rosamund didn’t know either of them, but her father was friends with Edward de Laurent. The betrothed couple would marry soon, which would help secure their lands at Eiloch.
She rode alongside her parents and sister across the drawbridge which spanned a deep moat filled with water. The portcullis was made of iron, and she saw dozens of sentries standing guard.
When they reached the inner bailey, several stable boys took their horses and helped them dismount. Rosamund stood with her sister while her father and mother went forward to greet Lord Montbrooke. Edward de Laurent had three children—a daughter Joan who was slightly older than Rosamund, his eldest son Rhys, and another son, Warrick.
It was Warrick who caught her attention from the first. He had dark hair and blue eyes that watched her with interest. He wore leather armour and had a sword at his belt, as if he had just come from the training field. She guessed he was twenty, and the longer he stared at her, the more her cheeks flushed. Never before had a handsome young man shown interest in her, and she wondered if he would speak with her later.
‘Do not even consider it,’ her younger sister Cecilia warned in a hard whisper. ‘Father would never allow it.’
‘Allow what?’
‘Don’t be coy. I saw the way you were looking at Warrick de Laurent.’ Her sister reached out and gripped her hand. ‘Father plans to betroth you to Alan de Courcy. I heard he was already negotiating the marriage contract.’
The thought soured her stomach. Though she knew her marriage would be arranged, she had hoped to have a choice in it.
‘So soon?’ She couldn’t hide the dismay in her voice.
‘Within a year, so I’ve heard.’ Cecilia spoke as if it had already happened. ‘So do not imagine that he would settle for the youngest son of an earl—not when you could have a baron to wed.’
Rosamund ignored her younger sister and straightened her shoulders. Instead, when her parents brought them forward to be introduced, she kept a smile on her face when Warrick took her hand. He gave her fingers a slight squeeze, and her nerves twisted with a rush of giddiness.
Later, his eyes seemed to promise.
I will wait, she answered.
* * *
The opportunity came that afternoon when her family was invited to go riding across Lord Montbrooke’s estate. Rosamund mounted her horse with the help of a groom and joined her sister, Cecilia. They waited with their parents and then began riding across the drawbridge. Her family was in the middle of the riders while Warrick de Laurent rode with his father and sister. After a few minutes, she noticed that he had begun to drop back, slowing his pace to join her. When he risked a glance behind him, he nodded towards the rear of the travelling party, as if he wanted her to join him. But how could she do so without her sister’s interference? Cecilia would never allow him to speak to her.
Fate intervened when her father brought Cecilia forward to introduce her to another member of the group. Rosamund seized the opportunity and slowed her horse even more. In time, Warrick drew his horse alongside hers, and they kept slowing down until they reached the last members of the group.
For a moment, they rode in silence, as if Warrick couldn’t quite think of what to say. He had the demeanour of a soldier, Rosamund decided. Rather fierce and forbidding. She waited a little longer, and when finally she could bear it no longer, she asked, ‘Is everything all right?’
He glanced at her and said, ‘It is.’
‘You look angry with me.’ And he truly did. His blue eyes were glaring as he stared straight ahead at the travelling party.
‘I’m not angry,’ he gritted out.
She bit her lip, wondering if she had misread his intentions. But when she studied him more closely, she saw that his cheeks were reddened. Was he...nervous?
He was one of the most handsome men she had ever seen. With his dark brown hair cropped short and his deep blue eyes, she felt her pulse race just by looking at him.
‘Was there something you wanted?’ she blurted out. ‘Or shall I leave you in peace and rejoin my family?’
‘Don’t.’ His words were clipped, and when she studied him more closely, she realised that he was struggling for words. In a way, he seemed frustrated with his inability to converse. It seemed to be an invisible shield of awkwardness between them.
‘If you are not angry with me, was I wrong to join you? I mistakenly thought you wanted to speak with me.’ She waited a moment, trying not to stare. His arms were corded with muscles, as if he spent hours training with the other men. Even his chainmail armour moulded against his body like another skin.
‘I did want to speak with you,’ he admitted, but he kept his attention fixed upon the horses ahead.
She waited a little longer, and when the silence stretched again, she couldn’t help her smile. ‘Do you not know how to talk to women?’
Warrick turned back as if to snap at her, but when he saw that she was teasing, he shrugged. ‘I’ve little experience with women.’
‘Well, then, we should start with names. I am Rosamund de Beaufort.’
‘I know who you are.’
‘Of course you do, but it’s a way of talking to a woman for the first time. Now tell me your name once more.’
His expression remained a block of granite. ‘I am Warrick de Laurent.’
‘There. That wasn’t so hard, was it?’ She brightened and was rewarded when he glanced back at her. His face still appeared uneasy, and she tried to start a conversation. ‘Your lands are quite beautiful. I do love the forest here. Such tall trees. And look at the way the sunlight glimmers through the leaves. It’s like the fairies cast a spell over them.’ She continued to talk about whatever came into her mind, understanding that conversation was not easy for him. But then, when he still didn’t say anything, she wondered if she was simply irritating him.
‘Shall I stop talking?’
His blue eyes softened, and he shook his head. ‘I like listening to you.’
The confession warmed her in ways she hadn’t expected. There was more to this quiet man than she had realised.
Warrick reached out and took the reins of her horse. ‘There’s a forest path that cuts through the land over here, if you want to see it better. It ends along the same path as the others.’
She hesitated, wondering if she dared to part ways from her family with a man she barely knew. Though she wanted to explore the woods, she was uncertain whether it was wise.
‘Or if you would rather stay with the others, it’s all the same to me.’ His tone was matter of fact, but she wondered what effort it had taken for him to voice the suggestion. Warrick truly was a man who didn’t say a great deal.
‘Only for a short while,’ she said at last. ‘My family will be angry with me if they discover I’m missing. And I cannot go far.’
