by His Ransom
“Of course you will,” said Sir Walter. “We will be married tomorrow. But tonight you will be mine.” He smiled as he reached out a hand to stroke her cheek, but she moved her head away from his touch.
“The day will come,” he snarled, “When you will want to please me.”
“Never!” The hand that slapped her moved so quickly that she did not even see it. The force of it threw her to the ground.
“You will not naysay me again,” said Sir Walter and there was no mistaking his meaning. He nodded to one of her captors and she was lifted back onto her feet. “Bring her inside,” ordered Sir Walter and, to her dismay, Rosamunde’s hands were left tied and two men, each holding one of her arms, led her inside the house.
Rosamunde had expected the house to be plain and functional and it was. Sir Walter had chosen not to spend the little money he had on providing decoration and comfort. The walls were strong, but bare. The furniture was of the most basic kind. But it was clean. Like him, Sir Walter’s people were plainly dressed. She saw few men and women and no children and guessed that the household itself was small. The men he had brought to besiege the castle must have been peasants from the farms. No wonder they had made so many mistakes and so many had been wounded or killed. She was taken through the hall where the household was finishing the evening meal.
“Stand in the presence of your new lady,” ordered Sir Walter and his command was obeyed immediately. Some of his people looked puzzled, but others grinned as they realised that this was Lady Rosamunde for whom Sir Walter had gone to such lengths to make his wife. Sir Walter ordered that food be brought for her in his bedchamber and one of the serving boys hurried off towards the kitchen. Rosamunde realised there would be no aid for her from these people when she tried to escape and she knew that she must try to escape. She could not rely on Guy arriving in time. No matter what Sir Walter did to her tonight she must escape before he could marry her tomorrow. Life in the convent would be preferable to that as Sir Walter’s wife. She knew that Guy would come after her, but unless the falconer arrived safely back at the castle, he would have no idea where she was and he might spend days searching before he thought to come to Sir Walter’s house. By then it would be too late. And now Rosamunde had Thomas’ death to hold against him, for she was certain that Thomas was dead, but she would not give way to her grief in this place. She dared not think about Richard. She had angered him this morning and then ignored his advice. Now he had been proven correct he might just leave her to her fate, despite his promise to her father. And she could not bear to think that he didn’t care about her.
She paid careful attention to every door she passed, every window that she saw. All around her was the promise of escape, or a way out, but she noticed with despair that all the men were armed. Sir Walter was not leaving much to chance. Rosamunde guessed that her only hope lay in attacking Sir Walter when they were alone together. She assumed that they would be alone together, although it was possible that he had decided to have someone witness him taking her maidenhead. It was, however, unlikely. Rosamunde knew that there was only a slim chance that she would be able to overpower Sir Walter. He was much bigger than her and a trained knight. She would not be able to defeat him with brute strength. She had her wits and everything that she had learned from Thomas and Guy and Richard about strategy, but she would need some kind of weapon. He was clever and she doubted that he would leave a weapon for her to use. Indeed, if he did not untie her hands, she would find it difficult to do anything at all.
For a brief moment she thought of Richard. If she had listened to him she would not be here and Thomas would still be alive. She wondered if he would accompany Guy, or if he would hold her loss of temper that morning against her. He had not shown himself to be petty, however, so she assumed he would come if Guy would let him.
She wanted him and not just for the hope of rescue that he offered. She had not realised how much she had grown to depend on him, how comfortable his presence had become. She did not want to be without him. She reminded herself that there would be plenty of time later for regrets. When she was safe she could tell Richard how sorry she was. For now she had to concentrate on getting out of this house.
Sir Walter’s bedchamber was cold and bare, containing nothing more than a large bed and a chest. Rosamunde was very cold although she still wore her cloak.
“Bring a chair for Lady Rosamunde,” ordered Sir Walter and the man on whose horse she had travelled left them. “You must be very hungry,” he said. And Rosamunde realised that she was, although fear might keep her from eating any food that was presented to her.
The chair and the food arrived together, although the chair was more of a stool. Before she could sit, Sir Walter took a knife from his belt. Rosamunde shrank back from him. He smiled grimly, “Do not fear, I shall not use it on you unless you give me cause.” Then he cut the bonds on her wrist. She tried not to show too much interest in where he put the knife, but he only sheathed it at his belt again. Now she sat and took the bowl and spoon that were offered to her. Like everything else in Sir Walter’s house the food was plain and simple, but nourishing and Rosamunde managed to eat half a bowlful. She would need to keep strong if she was to escape. When she had finished Sir Walter nodded at the page and the boy took away the bowl and the stool and left Rosamunde standing warily by the window, closely watched by Sir Walter and one of his men. Sir Walter, who had not taken his eyes from her since the moment he had met her in the courtyard, glanced briefly at the other man.
“William, you may leave us, but make sure that there are at least two men outside my door. They must be armed. I should not like Lady Rosamunde to think that she could leave us now that she has deigned to visit us. Take my knife.” He unsheathed his knife again and handed it to William. The man nodded and left them.
“And now we are alone,” said Sir Walter, needlessly.
“You will die for this,” said Rosamunde, shocked by her own anger, but certain that she was telling the truth. But it did not escape her notice that Sir Walter was now unarmed.
Sir Walter smiled. “Your father will accept me as your husband,” he said. “What other choice will he have?”
But Rosamunde said nothing. There was no more to say and she was afraid that he was right. Her father did not want her to marry Sir Walter, but if she were forced to marry him, what would the duke do? Her only hope was to escape this night and that was no hope at all. Even if she could get past Sir Walter, who was a strong and fit man, there were still two armed men outside his door. There was nothing in the room that she could use to attack Sir Walter. Even the bowl and the stool had been removed.
“And now, my dear,” said Sir Walter, “Let us set about making you my wife.” And reaching out a hand to her neck, he undid the clasp on her cloak and let it fall to the floor and Rosamunde began to scream.
Chapter Ten
Richard had spent the entire afternoon on the castle walls watching for Rosamunde’s return. He could not have expressed why it was that he was so worried for her, except that in the five months he had been in the castle, this was the longest she had been out of his sight apart from when she was asleep. She was too far away to call to him for help and he was sure that she would need his help. He could not tell what it was that made him so sure, but he was uneasy. He knew that Sir Walter was not a threat; Thomas had made sure that the duke’s guard was sufficient. He cursed himself for a fool for taking her harsh words that morning to heart. It was not, he could admit to himself, her fault that he was such a poor dancer. He had never bothered to learn properly and now he wanted to learn and his leg made him graceless. It was not a feeling he was used to. He had only admitted to himself recently that he had asked her to teach him in order to spend more time with Rosamunde. He was only interested in learning to dance so that he could dance with her, but he had not been able to admit this to himself, let alone to her. He tried hard to please her, to impress her, even, but she always found fault. She was not a good teacher and
did not encourage him as much as he thought he deserved. But now he was worried and he had no real reason to be worried. Yes, she was out of his sight, but Thomas was with her. There were outlaws who roamed the highways, but Thomas would make sure that they did not go near the highways. They would stick to the rivers and streams. He did not know what it was that worried him so.
Richard had considered taking a horse and going after Rosamunde when she had left that morning, but he had known that she would not have allowed it. It was not that he did not trust Thomas to protect her; it was that Thomas was just one man and could only do so much. Rosamunde, he knew, would put up a good fight, if necessary, but could easily be injured or killed in doing so. He had taught her well and she was spirited, but she was a woman and not strong enough to fight off several men. Unlike Rosamunde, he was aware of what people were capable of when they wanted something. He had defeated all opposition to get Louise and she, in turn, had trampled on and destroyed him to get what she wanted. He could understand a man like Sir Walter and the way he had pursued Rosamunde, even if he could not approve of what the man had done. Especially since he must be aware that neither Rosamunde nor her father wanted him. Then Richard knew why he was standing on the walls looking out for Rosamunde; he loved her. Intellectually, he had found Sir Walter’s obsession distasteful, now he saw it through the eyes of a man in love. Hot anger rushed through him. How could he have been foolish enough to think that anyone else could have Rosamunde but him? He almost turned and ran down the steps to the stables, then he realised that he had no idea where the hunt had taken Rosamunde. He would have to wait for her return, or something else before he could move.
It was late in the afternoon when he saw the horseman leading a second horse down the valley towards the castle. Even though he could not see clearly, he knew immediately that it was what remained of the hunting party. The body must be Rosamunde’s; the falconer would have left Thomas behind to bring Rosamunde home. Pushing aside the need to vomit, he ran down into the castle shouting for Guy as he went and they were both at the gatehouse when the falconer rode in leading Thomas’ horse. Much as he liked Thomas, he couldn’t suppress a feeling of joy that it was his body that Edward had brought back and not Rosamunde’s. Thomas was tied across the saddle of his horse to stop him falling off. The falconer had made some attempt at binding his wounds, but had decided that returning to the castle was more important than caring for the duke’s most trusted follower. At first Richard thought Thomas must be dead, he was so still and pale and there was so much blood, but Thomas spoke. “Sir Walter’s men,” he groaned.
“They took Lady Rosamunde,” the falconer explained, as he dismounted. “She was not harmed, not then. But she didn’t go without a fight.” For a moment Richard could not move or think. Everything stopped and he heard nothing. Again there was the desire to vomit, which he barely controlled.
“Thomas!” Richard was pushed roughly aside as Margaret ran towards her husband and everything started moving again. Rosamunde was taken and there was very little time left to prevent her from becoming Sir Walter’s wife. He should have forced her to take him hunting with her or tied her up and kept her in the castle, for that was surely what it would have taken to stop her going on her foolhardy hunt. He should have risked her disapproval to ensure her safety.
Richard and Guy, under Margaret’s critical direction, carefully carried Thomas to his bedchamber, where Margaret began to remove his clothes and called out orders to the servants to bring her things. She turned to Richard and asked him to bring her various lotions, salves and ingredients from the still-room, removing the key from her belt as she did so, but Richard knew he could not stay.
“I must go after her,” he said to Guy, when he had returned with the items that Margaret had requested and returned the key. The men he had seen that morning must have been scouts for Sir Walter, who had surely been keeping a group of men nearby in the hope that Rosamunde would leave the castle without adequate protection. Now they had attacked and taken her and he and Thomas had not even considered the possibility that that was what he might do. He had failed the duke badly – and Rosamunde. And now she would pay the price for his failure.
“No,” said Guy, “We must raise a force large enough to attack him.”
Richard shook his head impatiently. “No, he will be expecting a large force and will be well-protected. One man could get into his manor house and bring Rosamunde back.” He stated this firmly, although he had never seen the manor house. “And we only have tonight.”
Guy hesitated. They had grown close during the siege, but Richard knew that Guy still did not trust him. He did not hold that against him, in the same position he would have behaved in the same way. Guy now had the choice of going after Rosamunde himself and leaving Richard behind in a castle almost emptied of its garrison, from which he could escape, or letting Richard go after Rosamunde alone, once again risking his escape. If he had not been so worried about Rosamunde, Richard would have felt sorry for the younger man.
Richard reconsidered his plan one last time. He had to convince Guy to let him go; it was Rosamunde’s only chance of avoiding marriage to Sir Walter.
“And if I give you a horse,” asked Guy, before Richard could speak again. “What is to stop you running away?”
“My word,” lied Richard, “I gave my word to the duke that I would protect Rosamunde.” But it wasn’t his word that would bring him back, he knew. He had realised that day as he watched for her return that, despite all his efforts, he loved Rosamunde and that was why he would go and take her from Sir Walter and that was why he would bring her back to the safety of her father’s castle. “If you still do not trust me, or if you think I will fail, gather your army but you will meet me on the way back … with Rosamunde.”
Guy put out his hand and Richard grasped his wrist.
“God speed,” said Guy. “I will follow with as many men as I can gather; you may need help. Take my horse,” he added. “It is the best in the stable.”
Richard left at a run. Guy’s horse was indeed the best in the stable. Guy looked after it and spent time training it and grooming it. It was fast and Richard knew that it would be easier to control than any other horse available. Guy was right to be concerned about his chances of success. Even if Richard managed to get into the house and remove Rosamunde there was the chance that his leg would let him down and he would struggle to return. He did not have much time. It was half a day’s journey to Sir Walter’s manor even on a fast horse and it would be dark before he got there. He would have to find Rosamunde in a strange building and then remove her without being noticed and then ride back in the dark with her on a tired horse. She might even be injured and unable to ride. It was a terrible thought, but he forced himself to consider the possibility.
Now that he had acknowledged his love for Rosamunde to himself, he did not understand how he had been so blind to it for so long. She was the woman of virtue for whom he had been searching all this time. She was beautiful and clever and virtuous. He could want for nothing else, except perhaps the knowledge that she loved him, too. He would court her and win her heart and win her father over, for he knew he must marry her. Nothing else would do. Surely her father could not turn him down if he rescued her from Sir Walter. He was the son of a count, so there could be no problem with his rank. It would not matter that he had nothing; Rosamunde’s dowry would be sufficient. Neither of them had extravagant tastes. And if the war with France continued, he could fight on behalf of his new lord and gain prize money. Satisfied that he could win Rosamunde’s hand as well as her heart, he pressed on towards Sir Walter’s land, knowing he had to rescue her first.
He came to the house just after it finally became fully dark. It had been a difficult journey, despite the ease of following the tracks that Rosamunde’s attackers had left in the snow. At this time of year there was little activity outside and very few horses had crossed their path. His leg had started to pain him early into the journey, but he fo
rced himself to ignore it: he would be of no use to Rosamunde if he gave in to the pain. Everything he had been told about the house seemed to be an understatement. It was more a small castle than a house, built of stone with extensive fortifications and a moat. It stood on top of a small hill. He knew that he had been right to come alone. The entire garrison from Corchester would take days to force their way into such a place once it was shut against them. It was well-guarded against such an attack, but Richard hoped that there would be a way for a single man to enter and leave without attracting attention.
The village was some distance from the manor house and the area around the house was open, so that it would be impossible for a large force to get close to the house unseen. It might be impossible for one man, but he had to try. His life had been forfeit since he had handed himself over to the duke, but he had never hoped so much to be able to hold on to it. A dead man could not save Rosamunde.
Richard left his horse in a clearing just inside the woods in front of the house. He had decided to swim the moat and enter through the gatehouse. He wanted to get Rosamunde out quickly, so would need to have the horse close at hand.
He crossed the space between the wood and the house slowly and quietly, crawling the last few yards on his belly. At least there was little snow here, so he was not as visible as he had feared. Once by the edge of the moat he carefully examined the bank on which he lay. It would not do to get Rosamunde into the moat only to discover that he could not get her out on the other side. Satisfied with his escape route, he eased himself into the water. He was a good swimmer and made little noise as he crossed the moat. Pulling himself up out of the water under the gatehouse was straightforward. Richard was surprised that the drawbridge was still down and the gate open. Sir Walter must surely expect that Guy would send a force out to rescue Rosamunde. Perhaps he had reasoned that they could not be there until the morning. But then it would be too late for Rosamunde. Richard had learned enough of English customs to know that if an unprotected woman spent one night under a man’s roof, regardless of whether anything happened or not, she was regarded as having been bedded by the man. He suspected that Sir Walter would take no chances. It would not be sufficient for people to assume he had bedded Rosamunde. A man who was prepared to lay siege to a strong castle for her would make sure there was no doubt that he had bedded her. And Richard was just as sure that Rosamunde would fight back. Even if she was not guided by her own virtuous nature, her father had said that she should not marry Sir Walter and as his obedient daughter she would have no choice but to defend herself from him. She was brave and she would be injured in the fight. For the first time he considered that he might be too late to save Rosamunde from that fate. What would that do to the love he now felt for her. To his surprise, it made no difference to him. He would still love her. Whatever Sir Walter did to her it would be against her will and he knew that she would fight. He smiled as he thought of Sir Walter’s surprise that not only was Lady Rosamunde able to withstand a siege to her father’s castle, but she would also fight him to the last possible moment. Richard’s heart warmed; he knew that she would fight. She would not give in. She was not Louise who had given in when everything had seemed to be against her. Rosamunde would fight to the death to avoid being raped by Sir Walter. The thought sobered him and reminded him that only speed would save her.