by The Raven
Jeffrey produced a ragged map, and the three of them pored over it for long minutes. Finally, after waiting for his decision, which didn’t come, Roseanna said, “We’ll stay at Welbeck Abbey the first night. That’s only twenty miles from here. That way we won’t have to go at first light. If we went very early, they would soon discover me gone and it would give them a full day to search for me. If we leave after the midday meal, they’ll think I’ve gone riding. By the time I have not returned, darkness will be nigh, and they won’t be able to search.”
The two young men exchanged glances. “You are marvelously devious, Roseanna,” said Jeffrey.
“Thank you,” she said, inordinately pleased with the compliment.
“If we can get to Selby Abbey by the next night, that’s only seventeen or eighteen miles from my home,” said Sir Bryan.
Jeffrey wore the doublet with the Black Bull badge of the Duke of Clarence on the sleeve. “When you take service with George, I will join you,” he reaffirmed to Bryan.
“Why don’t you come with us?” asked Roseanna.
“Nay—whoever heard of three on an elopement?” he teased. “I’ll help take suspicion off Bryan. I’ll tell them he’s gone to London; then they’ll search south instead of north.”
She looked up at Sir Bryan and thought for the hundredth time that he was almost beautiful. He looked so open and honest, so sweet and gentle. “I think we should go day after tomorrow, if we are all in agreement.” The two knights once again exchanged significant looks as if congratulating each other; then all three offered their hands in a silent pledge.
Roseanna in doublet and hose rode Zeus north and met Sir Bryan at Newark, as previously arranged. She had not worried unduly that she could bid no one goodbye, for she knew that once she was wed to Sir Bryan and it was a fait accompli, her family would forgive her and welcome her back into its bosom. Then she would pick up Mecca, the Arabian that the King had given her, and a few of the others that she had specially bred. It would be added income to keep on with the horse breeding.
Their hearts high with their daring adventure, they smiled into each other’s eyes every time they looked at each other. The pair of riders who looked like two youths from a distance caused no comment. They covered the twenty miles easily and arrived at Welbeck Abbey long before the gates were closed for the night. They saw to the feeding and watering of their own mounts and were given bread and cheese for their meal; then they were assigned two cell-like rooms that were very small. Each had whitewashed walls and an iron cot.
Roseanna knew Sir Bryan would not come to her. A monastery filled with monks was not conducive to romance. She fell asleep anticipating the adventure that would be theirs on the morrow. She could hardly wait!
As the steel-gray light of day dawned, her heart sank: it was raining. When she looked outside, she realized that raining was not the precise word for it. It was coming down in bucketfuls and the air was icy, making her shiver and shrink into her cloak.
Sir Bryan was hesitant. “Perhaps we shouldn’t venture out in such cursed weather.”
“Don’t say cursed Keep thinking luck is with us. Don’t worry about me,” she said on a cheerful note, “I’ll keep up.”
The day was as dismal as it had promised to be, and the whole of the landscape was the color of a drowned rat. The rain kept on against a sky of lead. Sir Bryan’s horse seemed to flag in the afternoon. Roseanna knew Zeus could stand a faster pace, but Bryan’s horse did not have the stamina, and she schooled Zeus to the slower speed.
The rain had soaked entirely through their clothing hours before and was now doing its damnedest to seep into their bones. The horses and the riders were all weary, hungry, and low in spirit when they finally rode into the yard of Selby Abbey. There was such a crush of men and horses there ahead of them that they were immediately alerted. They dismounted and sheltered their horses for a few minutes and saw that the travelers were mostly King’s men on their way to York.
Roseanna pulled the velvet cap low and kept her head down. Then she saw a badge with a raven on it and knew some of the men must be Ravenspur’s. “We cannot stay here,” she told Bryan desperately.
“’Tis filled anyway. I doubt if we’ll make it to York tonight. The gates would be closed even if my mount could make it.”
“Here’s money. You’ll have to buy it some food and let it rest a little. Then we’ll press on until we come to an inn. Zeus will have to wait. I don’t want any of these men to recognize me.”
She leaned against one of the abbey’s outbuildings, knowing she had never been so cold and miserable in her life. Was it only yesterday that running away had seemed such a high adventure? In less than twenty-four hours it had turned into a nightmare. The very elements were against them. She shook herself mentally. Thinking that way brought defeat. A thing could be savored all the more if it was hard won.
When they led their mounts from the abbey courtyard, the light that was left in the day was fading quickly. Roseanna wondered if Sir Bryan was feeling as dispirited as she herself was. They galloped the Great North Road in silence and occasionally other riders passed them by at a faster gallop. Just outside York was a large hostelry known as The Fighting Cocks. They stabled their horses and paid for feed, then gave them a good rubdown before they even thought of themselves. The stables were filled to capacity, and they knew the inn would be crowded. The innkeeper shook his head at their request for rooms but took pity on their drenched and sorry condition and told them they could get warm in the common room and probably get a bite to eat. The common room was busy with men eating and drinking, dicing, and laughing. The atmosphere was thick with smoke and cooking odors, but it was dry and warm.
“Are you all right, love?” asked Bryan, his face pale with dark circles beneath his eyes.
She nodded her head, too weary to speak.
“I’ll go and get food for us. I’ll try to push my way to the front of the crowd.”
“I’ll sit here in the corner,” she murmured wearily, hoping no one would notice that she was a female. Her eyelids began to close in the smoky warmth. Suddenly an outside door was thrown open, and half a dozen fully armed men strode into the room. The tallest man swept off his cloak. The rain ran from it and pooled onto the floor. Roseanna shrank back in alarm. It was Ravenspur!
Six men-at-arms surrounded Sir Bryan as he approached her with a steaming dish of mutton stew.
“Sir Bryan,” boomed Ravenspur, “I thank you for escorting Lady Roseanna to me. I see you have kept her safe.”
Sir Bryan opened his mouth, saw the mailed fists of the men-at-arms poised over their sword hilts, and stammered, “Y-yes, my lord.”
Roseanna, looking for all the world like a small drowned cat, took a defiant step forward. “He was not escorting me to you, Ravenspur!”
“Really?” he asked in a deceptively mild tone, his heavy brows slanting upward. “What other explanation could there be, pray? Think well on your answer, for his life may depend on it.”
Her mind flew about for an answer that would absolve Bryan from Ravenspur’s vengeance. “He was escorting me to the King at York. I am going to beg Edward to dissolve our betrothal,” she said triumphantly, pleased at her own quick thinking.
He bowed so low, it was a mockery. “I shall escort you to Edward myself.” He saw her fatigue. “I think tomorrow will be soon enough. We’ll take rooms here.”
“There are none left, my lord,” ventured Sir Bryan, swallowing hard.
“Nonsense,” said Roger affably. “Thank you again for escorting my bride. I will look after her now. Innkeeper, I’ll need three of your better rooms.” He turned to Sir Bryan. “You don’t mind sharing with my men?”
The young knight swallowed hard again and murmured, “Thank you, my lord.”
They were ushered upstairs by the innkeeper’s wife. The men-at-arms went into one room, and Ravenspur entered Roseanna’s room with her. He swept the room with a critical eye, then fished a gold coin from his belt and
gave it to the woman.
“My lady will need a hot bath. Build up the fire, and I’d be obliged if you could find her a warm bedgown and a girl to help her dry her hair. When you bring supper, fetch us each a bottle of your best wine.”
“Yes, my lord.” She bobbed as if it were her great privilege to serve him.
Roseanna resented his high rank that made innkeepers fawn over him. Yet in truth she was grateful for the warmth. A burly servant entered and dragged a wooden tub into the room; then a serving maid brought a flannelette bedgown and a pile of towels. Roseanna stood silently while the tub was filled with buckets of hot water. She longed to sink down before the blazing fire, but her pride would not allow her to unbend before Ravenspur.
He glanced at her stiff figure and admonished, “Get out of those wet clothes.”
Her eyes blazed. “I am not witless, Lord Ravenspur. When you have removed your unwanted presence, I shall do so.”
He refused to be goaded by her tone and said pleasantly enough, “Remember, I am just next door if I can be of any service, my lady.”
“Yes. You may serve me by seeing what is delaying my dinner.” She paused for emphasis, then said, “Be sure to have them knock when they bring it, for I shall bar the door the moment you are through it!”
He bowed mockingly, his eyes dancing as if they held secret knowlege of which she was ignorant. He admired her defiant spirit, yet at the same time he was determined to give her a lesson this night that she would not soon forget. She flouted all the rules and dared much with him. Although this amused him, he decided to show her he was the master here.
A great sigh escaped her lips as she lowered the bar into place. For a weary moment she leaned against the heavy doorjamb with weak legs. Finally she rallied the last of her strength to move to the fire and strip off her wet clothes. Damn the man to hell for thwarting her and Bryan’s plans! Ravenspur was the author of all her misery, she concluded as she peeled off her damp stockings and climbed into the wooden tub.
The water felt like heaven as it closed over her shivery, aching body. Roseanna unbraided her long hair and shook it out to hang over the side of the tub closest to the fire. She lay back, languorously allowing warmth to seep into her limbs. Her eyes closed, and she began to float in that delicious limbo before sleep descended. A sudden noise caused her eyes to fly open.
Ravenspur entered her room through an adjoining door with a steaming platter of food in one hand and a goblet of wine in the other.
“Mm, you must try a mouthful. It’s not half bad,” he said with aplomb.
She gasped. “I thought that heavy curtain concealed a window, not a door,” she said with dismay as he approached the tub and held the plate beneath her nose. He towered above her, clad only in a velvet robe.
I am naked, and so is he beneath the robe! she thought wildly. He was the only man she had ever encountered who made her afraid.
“You are a horrible man. Get out!” she cried.
He ignored her. Seating himself on the edge of the tub, he selected a succulent piece of veal and lifted it to her mouth. “Open wide,” he tempted.
His nearness had an instant effect on her. Her pulse raced and her heartbeat quickened with anger and, yes, fear of his intentions. When she clamped her lips tightly, he ordered, “Eat!” His command left no room for disobedience, so she took the proffered food and almost melted at the delicious taste of it. He put the plate and goblet on a coffer beside the tub within easy reach. “I’d like to bathe with you.”
She gasped. His words sent a scalding sensation curling inside her. Shocked, she read the wicked intention clearly visible in his dark, savage face.
“Never!” she said with cold finality.
“Selfish little wench. By not sharing with me, you deprive me of a bath.”
“Horse piss!” she said angrily. “All you need do is order one, and the servants will grovel at your slightest desire.”
His dark eyes flashed the reflection of the fire. “You are no lady to use such language. I think your arse needs a spanking.”
“And you, sir, are no gentleman to suggest such a thing!”
He looked upon her with admiration. She was only one step from exhaustion, yet still she stood her ground with him and parried his every thrust. He plunged his hand into the water. She cried out with alarm, then put her hand to her mouth to stifle the sound, mindful that if Sir Bryan heard her cry, he might come to her rescue, and there could be murder done this night.
Roger’s brown hand emerged from the water and held out a large sponge. Her breasts rose and fell with her labored breathing; her hands flew to them in an effort to conceal herself from his night-black eyes.
He laughed mockingly. “Don’t bother to hide your charms from me, Roseanna. I am to be your husband, and you forget, I’ve already had you in my bed.”
Feeling totally vulnerable, she knew her only weapon against him was her sharp tongue. “Then why are you staring at my breasts?” she demanded.
He leered wickedly. “I’m debating which one to wash first.” His hand swooped down, and the sponge encircled first one breast, then the other. Threads of fire shot from her nipples to down between her legs. He was a beast! She was afraid to cry for help. He had her exactly where he wanted her, and they both knew it. He tossed the sponge aside, picked up the large towel, and reached toward her. For a moment she thought he was handing her the towel so she might at last conceal her body from his gaze, but he deftly wrapped the towel around her and lifted her from the tub.
“Put me down!” she hissed furiously. Obeying her command, he laid her upon the bed and began to rub her body with the soft towel. Her limbs were weak as he awakened sensations in her that felt as delicious as sin. At last she realized that, in his mind at least, she was his bride-to-be and that he could do with her as he wished.
“Why are you compromising me like this? How can you take advantage of my predicament?” she pleaded as the last of her strength melted away.
“To teach you a lesson, my lady. If you had traveled with your parents, properly chaperoned, this predicament would never have occurred. Instead, you chose to run around the countryside like a wild thing. A young woman can get into all kinds of trouble when she allows herself to be alone with a man. What kind of trouble, you ask?” he teased. “Well, he could do this to you, for instance.” His hand cupped her breast, and he caressed its silky fullness. As she opened her mouth to protest, his head dipped down to take the kiss he lusted for. The strong physical power he had over her awakened her sleeping sensuality. As he plunged his tongue into her sweetness, she found herself actually wanting him to do forbidden things to her. As if reading her mind, he obliged.
“Then, of course, he would be free to do this to you.” He ran his long fingers down her abdomen and caressed her between her thighs, slowly tormenting her with exquisite, overpowering sensations. A moan escaped her lips, “Please, please.”
“Are you begging me to stop or to continue, Roseanna?” he asked. Looking at her beautiful body writhing on the bed, he began to caress her more forcefully.
Suddenly she knew she would let him do anything to her. Later, she would hate herself; later, she would hate him; later … later.
When he stood up and his expression changed to one of seriousness, she gasped and almost begged him to come back to her.
“Yesterday I dispatched men to escort your family to York. Your mother will be with you soon. I bid you sweet dreams, my lady.”
Her eyes widened for a moment. My God, did he know she dreamed of him? Nay, she was exhausted and was not thinking straight. She lay weak with relief after he left. Her body still tingled where he had touched her; her hatred for him hardened. “Too much,” she whispered. “Too big. Too strong. Too dark. Too many wives.”
Her thoughts drifted to Bryan, and she worried for his welfare. If Ravenspur harmed one hair on his head, she would kill him. Then she laughed at herself. Surely Sir Bryan did not need a maid to defend him. He was a knight
, wasn’t he? What could he have done differently under the circumstances? she asked herself. He couldn’t throw down the gauntlet and challenge Ravenspur. The chivalric law did not allow a man of noble blood to be challenged by a man below his rank. And yet … and yet. Roseanna was asleep before she finished the thought.
York was built on the site of an ancient Roman town. It sat in the vale of York; the dark hump of the North York Moors rose beyond it.
The landscape lifted its rainy veil and let the pale sun finger the light-colored Yorkshire limestone buildings and glint on all the church weathervanes in the crystal-clear air. York’s walls stood strongly against any enemy. The spires of its magnificent cathedral soared high above the other buildings and could be seen from miles away.
The party of eight clattered through the gates onto the cobbled streets that led toward the Royal Palace. Roseanna wore the only dress she had brought with her. It was of rose-colored wool with a square neckline and long sleeves edged with soft gray squirrel. Her cloak was the color of deep wine, with a high collar of the same gray fur. Ravenspur also was cloaked in wine, which irritated Roseanna, for on his black stallion that so closely resembled Zeus, they looked like a matched pair.
King Edward was in the great dining hall for the midday meal The room was filled with trestle tables to accommodate his Court and the men-at-arms who traveled with him. Edward knew everyone by name, down to the lowest scullion, and it endeared people to him. Always informal, anyone could approach him. He even allowed children and dogs to take advantage of him, never fussing over their messy pawing.
Roseanna stood coolly by the entrance, trying not to let the large gathering of men and dogs intimidate her. Ravenspur strode in without hesitation. When the King saw him, his face lit up with a welcome grin and he cried, “Roger!” and held out his arms. Roseanna watched in amazement as Edward, grinning like a lunatic, picked up Roger and lifted him rafter-high. Not to be outdone, Roger then hauled the King up with arms so strong, she couldn’t believe the bulge of the muscles. Even from a distance she could see that their right wrists were almost twice as thick as their left wrists from practice with the heavy sword.