Forbidden Night With The Warrior

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‘Now remember, if you are among the women chosen for the game, you may grant a cake as your favour, but nothing more. And Cecilia may not be chosen. Even if she begs it of you, tell her no.’ Agnes de Beaufort sent her a strong look of warning.

Rosamund mumbled her assent, though she had no idea what game her mother was speaking of. She was accustomed to games of skill like archery or swimming, but nothing involving a favour. It might be a game that was meant to kindle the courtship between Rhys de Laurent and his bride, Lianna MacKinnon. She knew that something had caused hatred between the pair of them, but could not imagine what it was.

‘You look beautiful,’ her mother pronounced, and took her by the hand to lead her from the chamber. ‘And by this time next summer, you will be celebrating your own wedding to Alan de Courcy. He will make a fine husband for you.’

Rosamund slowed her steps, startled by her mother’s words. Although her sister had mentioned it earlier, she hadn’t paid Cecilia much heed. ‘I have never met the man.’ And he isn’t the one I want. Her attention was caught by the stoic, handsome warrior who made her heartbeat quicken.

‘He is wealthy and is a strong ally of King Henry. That is all that should concern you.’ Agnes’s clipped tone brooked no discussion on the matter. ‘Trust that your father and I will choose an appropriate man.’ She touched Rosamund’s hair, adjusting the ribbon. ‘My father chose Harold as my husband, and I have never lacked for anything.’

Except love, Rosamund thought.

‘Was there never anyone else you wanted to wed?’ she asked her mother.

Agnes stiffened at the question before she shielded her response. ‘Of course not. I was content to be an obedient daughter. Just like you.’

But she questioned whether her mother had ever held any secret desire of her own. Or whether she had ever loved anyone else.

Rosamund fell silent and walked alongside her mother until they joined the other guests. Lord Montbrooke was seated at the high table upon a dais with his wife beside him. His eldest son Rhys sat with his betrothed wife Lianna MacKinnon, while Warrick sat on the far end, furthest from all of them. Lianna was tall and beautiful, with long red hair that curled to her shoulders. She wore a deep green kirtle and a circlet made of beaten silver. A simple cross hung around her throat. But it was the expression of grief and misery that caught Rosamund’s attention. The young woman appeared devastated at the prospect of this marriage, and she would not even look at Rhys.

Heaven help them both.

The thought of her own marriage troubled her, and she prayed her father would change his mind. She had no wish to marry Alan de Courcy, whether he was wealthy or not. And it felt as if she were becoming a pawn in a game she could not win.

Rosamund joined her parents at the table closest to the dais, fully aware of Warrick’s presence. Despite being at the high table, he appeared distracted and separated from all of them. It almost seemed that he would have preferred dining among the soldiers. Even his father never spoke to him at all. It was as if he were invisible.

Strange.

Men and women raised their drinks to toast the health of the betrothed couple, but the veiled enmity between Lianna and Rhys was undeniable. The young woman never spoke to him, only to Lord Montbrooke and his wife.

For a moment, Rosamund let herself imagine what it would be like if she were betrothed to Warrick, sitting in their places. The very thought warmed her, for she liked him very much. Not only was he a strong fighter and handsome, but she would never forget his words—I like listening to you.

The feasting continued, and her sister Cecilia leaned in. ‘Let him go, Rosamund. I don’t want to see you hurt.’

‘Why could they not arrange a betrothal with Warrick?’ she whispered. ‘He is the son of an earl and from a noble family.’

‘But he is the youngest. He will have no property of his own.’

‘Surely he has something,’ she argued. ‘They have vast holdings.’

‘Rhys has everything,’ Cecilia said. ‘And their sister Joan has the rest as part of her dowry. His father left him nothing at all.’

It made no sense at all. ‘How did you learn this?’

‘I eavesdropped when Mother was sewing with Lady Montbrooke. She told her everything. Did you know that Warrick didn’t speak for nearly two years, after his baby sister died?’

‘No, I didn’t.’ And yet, it didn’t surprise her. A grieving brother would have little to say. But she couldn’t understand why his own father had cut him off. When she lifted her gaze to his, Warrick met it with his own intense stare. In that moment, it was as if everything else disappeared and it was only the two of them.

It might only be infatuation, but she could not deny the feelings he conjured within her. She wished that she could sit beside him now and speak with him.

As the meal ended, Lord Montbrooke called for everyone to gather outside for evening stories, contests, and games. Rosamund followed the others and took her place beside her sister when Lady Montbrooke called her forward.

‘Will you join the other ladies in a game of stoolball?’ she enquired.

She had never played the game, but it sounded intriguing. ‘If you wish.’

Several other young ladies were gathered together, along with Lianna MacKinnon. Lady Montbrooke gave each of them a small tansy cake wrapped in linen, explaining, ‘I know we usually play this game at Easter, but it’s one of Rhys’s favourites. These are the prizes.’ Then she led them to an open clearing where six wooden stools were placed. On the opposite end, there were several wooden balls and a stick with a paddle on one end.

‘Go and choose a stool to stand upon,’ she directed the women.

Lianna hung back, unwilling to join them. ‘I have no wish to play. Let the others enjoy themselves.’ But after Lady Montbrooke spoke with her quietly, Lianna reluctantly chose the stool nearest to the men.

Rosamund didn’t understand what they were meant to do, but she followed what the other girls were doing. One of the women nearby was giggling, and Rosamund asked, ‘Why are you laughing?’

The girl stepped onto her stool and said, ‘Because the men can choose which prize they want. Either the tansy cake or a kiss.’

Rosamund felt her face burn with apprehension at the idea. Especially since Warrick was one of the men competing. Now her mother’s earlier warning made sense. She had no desire to be kissed by a stranger. But if Warrick wanted a kiss...she didn’t know what she should do.

At the far end, the men lined up for their turn. She soon realised that one man was attempting to throw a ball at the stool Lianna was standing upon. Another man defended her by striking the ball away with the stick. He ran hard around the line of stools, and his ball struck the base of it. After he had scored a point for his team, he returned to stand before one of the maidens. She offered him the cake, but instead, he took her face between his hands and brought her down for a deep kiss.

The men cheered, and the winner escorted the maiden away from the stools. Another young woman took her place.

Rosamund studied the crowd of men and women and saw Rhys pick up his ball. Warrick took his place with the bat and waited.

‘Don’t hit it, Brother,’ Rhys warned. His betrothed wife, Lianna, stood motionless while he prepared to aim the ball towards her stool. Rosamund almost pitied the woman for if Warrick did nothing, she would certainly be kissed in front of everyone. But Rhys’s anger made it an uncomfortable moment. It seemed that he wanted to humiliate Lianna, to force her to accept him.

Rosamund lifted her gaze to Warrick, hoping he would understand her unspoken message. He glanced at her and gave a single nod. The moment Rhys released the ball, Warrick struck it hard with his bat. It bounded across the grass and struck Rosamund’s stool hard.

She should have realised he would aim it towards her. It might have been luck that he’d hit it there, but she wasn’t certain. But as he ran past all the stools, she glimpsed a hard smile.

Would he try to kiss her in front of everyone? If he tried, her father would be furious. And yet, she wanted nothing more than to feel his mouth upon hers again. Her heart pounded when he approached the stool.

She remained frozen, feeling terrified that he might actually kiss her. But there was a way around this. In the barest whisper, she said, ‘At dawn, I will meet you by the stream for the kiss. For now, please accept the tansy cake.’

He made no effort to hide his interest. But when he took the tansy cake, he unwrapped the linen and broke off a piece. In front of everyone, he fed it to her, his thumb brushing against her lips. The gesture startled her, and she tasted the cake.

It was terrible, and she made a face at the herbs. With a laugh, she broke off a piece and fed it to him in return. ‘You try it. It’s awful.’

But his mouth closed over her thumb, gently kissing it as he ate the cake. There was no doubting that he wanted the kiss. ‘Tomorrow, Rosamund.’

She took his arm, and he guided her away from the others. With a soft smile, she answered, ‘I promise.’

Chapter Four (#ue2662df3-1048-5855-b3b7-9cef7e238597)

Warrick rode towards the forest, but Rosamund was not yet there. He sat upon a rock, waiting for her. Only a few moments later, he heard a rustling noise in the tree beside him. He glanced up and saw her sitting among the branches, a delighted smile upon her face.

‘Why are you in the tree, Rosamund?’ Though it wasn’t high above the ground, it must have been difficult to climb with her skirts. And he saw no sign of her horse anywhere.

‘I had to, else someone might find me.’ She beckoned for him to climb up with her. ‘Will you join me here?’

‘It would be easier to kiss you here on the ground,’ he pointed out. Her promise had haunted him all the night, as had the fleeting taste of her skin. He could not deny the effect she had on him. He would have walked through a pillar of fire to kiss her again.

‘No one will see us here,’ she said. And in that, she had a good point. Warrick wasn’t entirely certain how she had managed to get into the tree, but he seized a large branch above his head and swung one leg over. He was upside down for a moment and then righted himself. It was then that he saw her studying a bird’s nest between two smaller branches.

‘Look at the blue eggs,’ she murmured. ‘They will hatch any day now.’

‘Don’t touch the nest,’ he warned. ‘Else the mother will abandon them.’

She nodded, her face alight with wonder. It was something he would never tire of seeing—her reaction to the world around her. Rosamund saw beauty in the most ordinary things, and it pleased him to see her smile. He had brought her a gift this day, one that he hoped she would like.

‘I have something for you,’ he said. ‘First, the sewing you left on the stairs.’

Her face relaxed into a smile and she accepted the folded linen. ‘Thank you. I was hoping you would bring it to me.’

‘But I also wanted to give you this.’ He pulled out a small pouch and handed it to her. It pleased him to see the delighted expression on her face. But when she opened the pouch and withdrew skeins of dyed thread, her smile faded. Instead, she appeared upset, and he had no notion of what he’d done wrong.

‘Don’t you like it?’

Her eyes welled up with tears, and she nodded. ‘No one has ever given me such a gift. I adore it.’ And yet, she appeared miserable.

An awkward silence spread between them. He had thought she would be overjoyed, that she would smile and embrace him. Instead, she appeared devastated by the gift, regardless of her words.

‘Why do you weep?’ he ventured. He wasn’t entirely certain he wanted to know the answer.

Rosamund tucked away the pouch of threads, swiping at the tears. A pained expression came over her face as she gathered her composure. Then she took his hands in hers, swallowing hard. ‘Because my mother told me I am to be married to Alan de Courcy. And I would rather be married to a man like you. Someone who understands me.’ She lifted her gaze to his, and in her green eyes, he saw the yearning.

In that moment, time seemed to stop moving. He understood that he was not worthy of her, but he needed to show her how much she meant to him. This exquisite woman was so far beyond his reach, but he could not deny the need to touch her. He touched the edge of her cheek with his knuckle, and she covered his hand with her own.

‘I want the kiss you promised.’ His voice came out ragged, and he wanted to lose himself in that mouth, to show her how much he wanted her.

Rosamund pressed her lips to his hand, kissing it softly. With a wry smile, he remarked, ‘That isn’t where I wanted you to kiss me, Rosamund.’

Her expression held amusement, and she lifted her face to his. Her lips were soft, moulding against his. Rosamund wound her arms around his neck, and he was careful to keep her safely balanced upon the wide tree branch. He couldn’t get enough of her, and the kiss turned wilder, hotter. Warrick felt the primal needs rising, and he moved her so that her back was against the tree trunk. He straddled the branch and brought her close so that her legs were around his waist. Then he wrapped his arms around the tree trunk, nestling their bodies close.

And yet, it wasn’t close enough.

She let out a gasp when he slid his tongue inside her mouth. Though she was an innocent, she pressed her hips close so that the ridge of his arousal lay between her legs.

Her eyes widened, and Rosamund pulled back a moment. Her lips were swollen, and she framed his face with her hands. Then she traced a path down to his shoulders. ‘I know I should not kiss you like this. But it doesn’t feel wrong.’

She moved against him, and he could imagine the sweet wetness between her legs. He wanted to touch her intimately, to move her skirts aside and bury himself within her depths. It took an act of the greatest concentration not to move.

‘Do you want me to stop?’ he asked. His tone balanced on the razor edge of unfulfilled desire. Did she understand what she was doing to him when she moved against him? He tried to hold her with one arm, to keep her still.

Rosamund shook her head. ‘I feel as if you are the only man in the world for me. And it breaks my heart to know that my father chose differently.’

She closed her eyes, and he saw the shadow of pain. Though he wasn’t surprised at the betrothal, it was her response that startled him. She genuinely appeared upset.

He held her close, breathing in the scent of this woman. Nothing in the world would please him more than to have Rosamund de Beaufort at his side. He would have slain a thousand demons if it meant awakening beside her each day.

But he lacked everything her father wanted. He was not the heir, and though he was of noble birth, his wealth paled beside a man like Alan de Courcy.

Her green eyes held dismay, but he leaned in and kissed her. ‘I would want nothing more than to marry you, Rosamund.’

But both of them knew it was impossible.

He tasted the salt of her tears, and she kissed him as if she never wanted it to end. The embrace shifted until he couldn’t stop his own response. He needed to be closer to this woman, and he pulled her onto his lap with her legs around him. She let out a soft moan, trembling in his arms.

‘Warrick,’ she whispered. And then she moved herself against him, mimicking the sexual act. She let out a soft gasp, and her fingers dug into his arms.

He gritted his teeth, trying to hold back his body’s needs. This was about her, about pleasuring this woman and stealing a forbidden moment.