April Munday

by His Ransom

  “A cripple would be a poor support,” he said sharply and she snatched her hand away.

  “Then perhaps you will walk beside me.” She smiled up at him innocently.

  Richard nodded. He knew what was in Berthe’s mind, had known since his first night in the hall, but he was surprised that she had chosen to act so quickly and with no encouragement from him at all. Not that he had any intention of encouraging her; married women were of no interest to him. Had she been unmarried it would have been a different matter entirely, but she could be of no interest to him.

  “I hope you are beginning to feel at home here,” she said.

  “I have no home,” he said grimly.

  “And your wife does not join you?”

  “I have no wife.”

  “What a waste,” she said sadly. “I’m sure any woman would find you pleasing.”

  “I think very few women have found me pleasing. I have no wish to be pleasing to women.” He lied and she would know that he lied, but she would not know why. One day he would meet the woman he wished to please, but there was no one here that he thought worth the effort. But Berthe could not have heard and walked closer to him, taking his hand in hers. He pulled his away. “Your husband does not mind that you go unchaperoned through the castle?”

  She scowled at him, then smiled. “What my husband does not know will not hurt him.”

  “And if he did know?”

  She faltered, as if afraid. “Then he will be unhappy.”

  Richard scowled at her, “Then I suggest it would be better if it does not happen again.”

  Berthe pulled away from him, turning down a passageway and Richard continued his journey alone.

  After the meal he sought Rosamunde out in her father’s solar. She was going through the accounts with her steward. “You wish to speak to me?” she asked when she saw him in the doorway.

  “Yes, but I can wait until you finish.” He made to move back into the passage, but Rosamunde stopped him. She might be a woman, but since she stood in the duke’s place, she was his lord.

  “There is no need. This will take some time as we are trying to organise supplies for the siege.”

  Now Richard felt awkward, for he had hoped to talk to Rosamunde when she was alone, accompanied only by Margaret. He did not want rumours of her ladies’ bad behaviour to spread among the servants. “It is a matter of some delicacy, my lady,” he began.

  She understood and asked the steward to leave them for a moment. “I am afraid Margaret will have to hear whatever you have to say.”

  Richard gave a small bow to Margaret. “I think Margaret should hear.” Then he told her quickly what had happened in the passage. To his surprise Rosamunde showed no shock or surprise only dismay. “They are bored,” she said, “With the men away it is hard to keep them occupied and you, of course, are something new and exciting. Still, it was wrong and I will talk to the women.” She looked at him carefully. “My father is very conscious of the safety of the women in his care. And they do not normally walk around the castle alone.”

  Richard decided that this was a warning to him. “I am glad to hear it,” he said. And he was truly glad and relieved; it seemed that Rosamunde was not failing in her duties as he had feared. He recalled now that Berthe was the only woman he had seen on her own since he had arrived, apart from Margaret in the still-room that morning. Rosamunde sighed.

  “My father did not know what he was doing when he sent you to us.”

  Richard smiled. He knew women found him attractive and he had used it to his advantage many times. He smiled at her. “All virtuous women are safe with me.”

  “And women who are not virtuous?” she asked quickly.

  “They are lost already,” he said, surprised that she had understood him so readily.

  Rosamunde’s face became hard. “You will treat all the women in this castle and in the town as virtuous, whether you believe them to be or not. Is that understood?”

  He stopped smiling and wondered whether this was something on which he could give his word. Rosamunde waited as if she understood his dilemma and did not ask again.

  “Yes,” he said at last.

  “And you understand that your word given to me is your word given to my father?”

  “Yes,” he said again. He had understood that very clearly. On his first day he had asked Thomas why he had shown such subservience to a woman and Thomas had laughed and explained that while the duke was away she was his representative in everything. He was not showing subservience to a woman, but to her father, his lord. Richard understood that giving his word to Rosamunde was not the same as giving his word to a foolish woman. She stood in her father’s place. And he wondered at her desire to protect all the women from him. Surely the virtuous women were protected by their own virtue and the others could not be protected. He wondered briefly how firm Rosamunde’s own resolve was, but it would not be fair to test it, since she was still grieving for Simon. And he had given his word.

  Rosamunde was angry when Richard had left. Though whether with him, herself or Berthe she could not tell. She had not shirked from any of the responsibilities her father had left to her, but she found it difficult to guide the behaviour of older, more experienced women. She was annoyed to discover that Richard’s opinion was important to her. He had seemed to think that she had encouraged Berthe in her wrongdoing. It was true that she rather envied the other woman’s boldness in approaching him, but she could not approve the other woman’s action. Rosamunde knew that she would never do anything of that kind herself. She had been betrothed to Simon and he had kissed her three times; once at their betrothal, once on a hunt and once when he had said goodbye before he went to France. She had loved Simon, yet she had never longed for his touch or just to hear his voice as she did with Richard. Did that mean that she loved Richard? Was her heart so fickle that she could hear of the death of the man she loved on one day and a few days later be in love with another man? It was true that she had not seen Simon for more than a year and had spent much of that year thinking that he might not return. But above all else there was the threat of siege. Whether or not she loved Richard would be unimportant if Sir Walter took her and she needed to think and plan for the siege, because she did not want to be Sir Walter’s wife.

  Of course, it was not her place to want anything. It was her place to obey her father. Since he did not want her to be Sir Walter’s wife, it was acceptable for her to find it unacceptable. But she could have no desires of her own. As much as she might find Richard attractive, and she did, she could not go down that path without her father’s permission. Yet she still came back to it. Richard was a cripple, he was poor and he was French, but he was the most attractive man she had ever met. She had to admit to herself that he was more alive than Simon had ever been. He was unlike Simon. He talked little and smiled less, but there was an intensity to him that Rosamunde found intoxicating. He was aloof, but his eyes seemed to pierce her soul. When he spoke she had to listen to him; his voice was commanding and it seemed to communicate with her very soul. But she dared not examine the roots of her attraction, for she already knew that it was lust. That he was her intellectual equal, she was ready to acknowledge. Even Simon had not been her equal. His one failing had been that he had assumed that he was her better in everything. Rosamunde knew that it was wicked of her to assume that she could be the equal of any man, but she knew that she had bettered Simon in wit and intelligence, although he had denied it. Richard seemed to accept that she could be his equal in intelligence and it was exhilarating. She tried to tell herself that he was her prisoner and he would try to appease her, but she knew that he did not. He was aloof in many ways, but his acceptance of her as an equal in this regard was complete and unforced.

  Chapter Four

  Rosamunde willingly gave permission for Richard to study with Margaret, but despite his promise, she insisted on the presence of someone else for the sake of propriety and this in turn induced Thomas to give his per
mission. Richard was slightly disturbed that Thomas had not given his permission freely and was even more disturbed when he realised that the woman Rosamunde intended to chaperone Margaret was herself. He had found himself enjoying her company more and more and frequently forgot that he was her prisoner when he was with her. Her beauty brought light each day to the castle that was every bit as cold and damp as he had feared. But he could not afford to forget what she was and who he was. She was his gaoler and no matter how pleasant she was making his imprisonment and no matter how much she relied on him, and he was coming to believe that she relied on him as much as she did on Thomas and Guy, he could not forget that she was not the woman he was looking for, could not be the woman and he could not allow himself to imagine that she might be. At least her presence should keep the other women away. That would make it easier to keep his promise to her. It had not taken him long to realises that none of the women was suitable, even for a temporary mistress. He had not regretted giving his word, but still they found ways to brush past him in passageways, to stand closer than was necessary in the hall after the evening meal. And always there was Berthe, following him with her scheming little eyes. It seemed to him that every time he looked around she was there. Threatening her with the wrath of her husband had failed and he was now trying indifference, ignoring her presence and only speaking to her when she addressed him directly, which she did infrequently. Whatever Rosamunde had said to her had had more effect than his own words.

  He knew that Rosamunde had spoken to the women and expressed her displeasure at their behaviour. They would not risk her further wrath by venturing to the still-room when she was there. Although he could spare little attention from his exertions whilst training in the morning, he had noticed that some of the windows that overlooked the courtyard were full of women and they were watching. He knew from the comments of the other men that the women were watching him. It gave him no pleasure to be such a focus of attention. Eventually, he had found himself scanning their faces and he realised that he was looking for Rosamunde, although he knew that she would not be there. Whilst he was glad that she set her women a good example, the vain man in him had wanted her to see him doing what he did best, although he had to admit that at the moment he wasn’t doing it particularly well. It was as well, he realised, that she did not, if he was to keep his distance from her. He sensed that she held him in high regard and he did not want to encourage any further closeness between them, much as he enjoyed her company. It was rare for him to enjoy the company of a woman. He usually found them weak and their conversation inconsequential, but Rosamunde was witty and intelligent and even had a good grasp of politics, better, Richard suspected, than his own. Spending even more time with her could only make him appreciate her more.

  Richard learned a lot from Margaret. She was as knowledgeable as he had suspected and happy to share her knowledge with someone with knowledge and enthusiasm of his own. He felt that Rosamunde struggled to keep up with them, but he did not worry about that. It was always good for a woman to learn more about salves and potions. It Rosamunde’s case it was knowledge that she might have to put into practice sooner rather than later. Although they did not go beyond the castle walls to see the wild herbs where they grew, Margaret’s descriptions were precise. She also showed him pictures that she had drawn on bits of parchment. She did take him out to the castle’s herb garden on a number of occasions. Although there were a few herbs that he recognised, many were new to him. He knew that Margaret was impressed with his knowledge, although little of it would come in useful this far north. The plants were so different and the growing season for many of them was so short.

  “Why are you so interested in herbs?” asked Rosamunde one afternoon as she stood beside him grinding something in a bowl.

  “Because when you’re fighting there’s not always a physician or a surgeon nearby and after a battle there is always illness. It is useful to have someone who understands about herbs.”

  “So you make poultices and healing draughts for the sick and wounded.”

  “And I can stitch too,” he said grimly, “And set bones.”

  Apparently satisfied, Rosamunde asked no further questions, concentrating instead on the potion she was making and Richard was grateful for the silence. Margaret, who did like to chatter and talk, followed her lady’s lead and Richard learned to enjoy the silence that they shared in the small still-room. Even though he was never alone there, it had become his place of solitude and reflection.

  The more he learned about Rosamunde, the more he valued her company and the more he came to believe that she was not like other women. She was not foolish and her head was not full of men. She did not look hungrily after the men when they were together in the hall in the evenings. When she spoke to him she looked him in the eye as if she were a man and he could see no desire in her eyes. When they were working together in the still-room, she did not touch him as if accidentally and there were many opportunities for such touching. Once, he touched her to see what her reaction would be. She merely apologised and stepped away from him. It was his own reaction that surprised him, a sudden burning desire of which he was ashamed. He felt that such desire could only tarnish the increasing esteem in which he held her. But he found that desire grew hand in hand with respect and he was constantly looking for opportunities to touch her. He refused to give in to the temptation, however, realising that he would be no better than the foolish women who tried to touch him.

  He was no stranger to desire or the sating of that desire, but it seemed wrong to desire Rosamunde in that way when she treated him so well and relied on his advice. It was becoming clear that Rosamunde was not like other women, but he knew that he was all too much like other men. He had not been surprised to hear that Sir Walter lusted after her enough to kill to get her. It was easy to lust after a woman such as Rosamunde, perhaps even to fall in love with her.

  And he had sworn that he would not go that way again. He had gone that way once before and it had cost him everything. But he did not think Rosamunde would want anything from him. Although he was the son of a count, he had nothing. He had no money to provide for the duke’s daughter and since he was a prisoner and could not fight, he had no means of gaining any money. There was nothing about him that would make him an attractive husband to Rosamunde and he suspected that she would not have him on any other basis and he was not sure that he would be satisfied to have her just as a mistress. So he tried not to notice her beauty.

  He was coming to respect her. She was his equal in intelligence and education. She commanded the men around her with ease and the townspeople went in awe of her. He did not understand this need to find a fault in her, save that she was impossibly perfect. She was a woman and would surely betray him just as Louise and every woman since had betrayed him.

  “Why were you not at Poitiers?” Rosamunde asked Richard one night as they sat by the fire in the hall playing merelles. Although most of the household was also in the hall, they had a measure of privacy. Thomas and Margaret had left for their bed some time before and Guy’s horse was ill, so he was looking after it in the stables. The other members of the household kept their distance and they could talk without being overheard.

  “My leg,” Richard answered, as if that was the whole story. Rosamunde waited, looking at him expectantly and he sighed.

  “I was patrolling villages some distance from the English army and we stumbled across an English raiding band. My horse was injured and rolled onto my leg. We managed to defeat the English …” he paused and bit back the epithet that sprung to his lips. He could curse fluently enough, but he did not think Rosamunde would appreciate what he wanted to say. “I was still recovering when the battle took place.”

  He looked deep into the fire and Rosamunde knew he did not want to tell her the rest of the story, but she wanted to know how this man came to be here and why her father had entrusted her life to him.

  “You were not caught in the raid. Yet you are my father�
��s prisoner.”

  The silence hung heavy between them and neither pretended to play.

  “Please tell me why.” She spoke gently, but she was determined to get an answer.

  He turned his face back to her and his expression scared her. She had understood that he did not want to talk, but it seemed that even thinking about it pained him greatly.

  “You ask me to talk of something shameful.”

  She placed a hand on his arm. “I do not think you could do something shameful.” It was true. Everything she knew about him indicated that he was honourable, at least as far as men and war were concerned. She was beginning to have her doubts with regard to his behaviour towards women. He treated every woman in the castle except her and Margaret with a distant disdain as if they were not worthy of his notice. She did not know whether this was the Frenchman in him, or whether he just did not like women. And that way lay more questions for another quiet evening, but first she had to know this.

  “Rosamunde, you do not know me, but in this you are correct. My father and brothers fought in the battle and my father was captured by your father. We had to pay ransom for my brother Philippe a few years ago, so there was no money to pay for my father, but he claimed that there was. He gave the duke his word that he would return to his lands in the south and send back the ransom. The duke let him go; he is an honourable man and believes that other men are also honourable. On their way south my father and brothers stopped to take me with them, but my father told me what they were doing. He and my brothers were proud that they had fooled your father and I was angry. He told me that his word given to the English did not count, since you are the enemy. I told him that his word was the same whether given to a prince or a thief, since it depended on him and not on the person to whom he gave it. Then I told them that I would hand myself over in his place. My father said that I was a fool and there would be no ransom for me.”