by Anne Herries
Raphael had never taken an unwilling woman.
‘Damn her,’ he muttered. He scrawled his signature then frowned as he saw he had used de Valmont, the name he’d chosen to take when he had been knighted by Richard. He was Lord Mornay now and Lady Angelina could not be expected to know that he was not his father. He should tell her the truth, explain that he had already set her father free and that she was at liberty to return to her home or stay here under his protection until Richard returned to the throne and her father could fetch her home.
* * *
Rosamunde glanced at herself in the handmirror of burnished silver; it had belonged to her mother and her father had insisted that she keep it, for otherwise it would be sold to pay his debts. The image was not clear but she knew that she looked as well as she could. A lock of her hair was plaited and curled about her head at the front, the rest hanging loose to the small of her back. She wore no cap or jewels for she had none,
but she was dressed in a dark-green tunic of fine wool that Angelina had given her because her own were too shabby.
She had been sent for some time ago, and she was ready, yet still she delayed, reluctant to face Lord Mornay again. For a moment in his arms she had wanted to melt into his body, to let him do as he would with her, her lips begging for kisses. How could she be lost to all modesty? To enjoy the caress of a monster such as he was to be lost to all sense or decency.
She had expected an older man, a man steeped in vice and depravity. Her first impression of the handsome, virile man had been that he could not possibly be the evil monster Fitzherbert had warned her of. Yet his behaviour subsequently had seemed to confirm it. No true knight would subject a lady to such a dishonourable display of temper. For he had been angry. She had felt the passion and fire in him, and for a moment she’d feared that he would take what he wanted, but he’d drawn back, giving her a chance to escape.
Why, if he was all that people said of him, had he allowed her to escape him with her modesty intact?
Rosamunde was puzzled. Had she built an unreal picture of her uncle’s enemy in her mind—or was there truly an evil monster beneath that handsome façade?
‘You should go down, lady,’ Maire told her. ‘If you do not the lord may be angry.’
‘He is already angry because I disobeyed him.’
‘Take care, lady. You are his prisoner here. He can do whatever he wishes with you. If you do not wish to lose your virtue, you must make him see that you are chaste and devout.’
‘I doubt that either chastity or devotion will win my freedom if he is determined to keep me here,’ Rosamunde replied. ‘Yet I must go down, for I am hungry, and if I disobey him he might starve me into submission.’
Leaving her chamber, Rosamunde began to walk down the spiral stairwell of worn stone. Her mouth felt dry and her steps were slow for she was apprehensive of her next meeting with Lord Mornay. She had disturbed him when he was busy but he might have more leisure to pay her attention this evening.
Lost in her thoughts, she did not hear the sound of soft-soled shoes as someone ascended the stairs, so when they met face to face midway she was suddenly breathless.
‘My lord. I was about to attend you, as you commanded.’
He was so tall and strong, his shoulders broad, the muscles rippling beneath the thin wool tunic he wore over dark hose that evening. He had changed since she’d last seen him and smelled of soap that was slightly perfumed with a woody essence which made her senses reel. His hair looked darker at the roots but he wore it long and the sun-bleached ends just brushed the braided neck of his white tunic. Yet he was somehow gentler, more of a knight and less the savage now.
‘Command? I sent you an invitation to dine with my people and me in the hall. You seem to imagine you are a prisoner, lady. What have I done to deserve your anger?’ he asked.
‘I…Nothing, except take my father captive and demand that I bring the ransom in person.’
He was standing so close to her, towering above her, so masculine and powerful. She caught her breath, her heart hammering against her ribs as if it were a caged bird seeking to escape the bars of its prison.
‘Please believe that I mean you no harm,’ he said. He held out his hand. ‘Come, lady. We shall go down together. Later, after we have dined, I shall explain much that you do not know. Until then I must ask you to trust me.’ He needed to be careful what he said and where he spoke to her. Apart from his steward Mellors, who had already proven his loyalty, he was not yet certain who amongst his inherited household staff he could trust.
Rosamunde took his hand and allowed him to lead her down the last few steps and through the great hall. The trestles and boards had all been set up now and were laid with wooden trenchers. At the high table there was a huge silver salt and either silver or pewter goblets stood at intervals down the board. Dishes of fruit, dates and nuts brought from overseas were set along the centre of the board for the guests to nibble at between courses, and the platters of pewter shone like dull silver.
She was conscious that all eyes were on her as she was led to a place of honour beside him. He waited until she was seated, then turned to the expectant gathering.
‘As you see, my friends, we have a special guest this evening. I ask you to lift your cups to toast the lady Angelina.’
The men stood, lifting an assortment of horn, pewter or wooden drinking vessels according to their status. Having drunk her health, they sat down and the meal began. Fresh bread, soups, messes of meat and worts, neats’ tongues, roasted boar and a great carp covered in rich sauce and onions were brought in succession to the table.
Rosamunde ate sparingly of the dishes presented to her. Neither her uncle nor her father had kept a table like this other than when entertaining important guests; she thought Lord Mornay must be rich. How much of his wealth had come from robbing his neighbours?
She sipped her wine and found it sweet, much more pleasant on the tongue than the rough vintage she was accustomed to. She tasted the pigeon in red wine and ate a little roasted capon followed by stewed plums and a junket of wine and curds.
‘You hardly eat, lady. Is the food not to your taste?’
‘I am not used to such rich fare, sir. I have eaten sufficient, thank you.’
‘You must try a peach. I insist.’ Lord Mornay reached for a succulent peach and began to peel it for her. He handed a slice to her on his knife. ‘I had these brought from Normandy. I have inherited an estate there and if the fruit is picked before it is quite ripe it travels well enough to be pleasing at table.’
Rosamunde stared at him, because to send for fruit from his estate in Normandy was such an extravagant thing to do, and she could not imagine what it must have cost to bring the fruit to a ship and then across the channel. She tasted the slice he had cut for her and smiled.
‘That is truly delicious. My uncle had peaches growing in his garden in Normandy but they were not as sweet as these.’
‘Your uncle?’ Raphael’s eyes narrowed.
‘Yes,’ Rosamunde dropped her gaze because she’d spoken without thinking. ‘My uncle of Saxenburg—my father’s brother.’
‘Ah, yes, I see. I know little of your family, lady. Do you have brothers, sisters, cousins?’
She could not look at him as she replied, ‘My uncle of Saxenburg has two sons. I have also a cousin on my mother’s side; her name is Rosamunde Meldreth.’
‘Then she must be the very beautiful lady I saw you with at the harbour in France.’
‘Yes, my cousin is very beautiful.’ Her heart was beating wildly and she dared not look at him.
‘You are beautiful too,’ he said. ‘In a different way.’
‘I do not think I am beautiful,’ she contradicted him flatly.
‘You should leave such judgments to others.’
Rosamunde could feel her cheeks burning. She reached for her wine and sipped it. Her hand was trembling and she had to hold the cup with both hands to steady it.
‘Why
do you tremble? Are you afraid of me?’
Rosamunde raised her eyes to his. ‘I—I’m not sure. Should I fear you, Lord Mornay?’
‘Will you not call me by my name? I am Raphael to my friends. I travelled home with them but only one remains; the others have gone on a mission of importance. Sir Jonathan is here and you shall meet him later.’
Raphael? Her heart jerked because it was the name her hero had given her all those years ago. Could it be him after all? No, the youth who had so gallantly saved her kitten could not be the evil man of whom she had been told.
Her mouth was dry as she said, ‘You ask me to use your given name but I do not know you, sir. I am here as your hostage for my father but I beg you will treat me with the honour due to a lady of good virtue.’
‘Supposing I told you that I had already set your father free?’ he murmured in a low voice that did not carry.
Rosamunde’s eyes flew to his face. ‘Why would you do that when the ransom has not been fully paid? What is it you want of me, sir? I beg you, tell me so that I may prepare myself.’
‘You think I mean to disparage you and send you back to your family in shame.’ His gaze narrowed and his voice remained soft. ‘I believe it is time…’
What he meant to say was lost as a commotion was heard from the door and a struggle ensued as his men tried to stop someone entering. Raphael rose to his feet.
‘Who demands entrance here?’
A tall man stepped forward, at least ten armed men at his back. ‘I am Lord Danforth and here on Prince John’s business to see Lord Mornay.’
‘May your business not wait? Come, sir, bring your men and join us. You see that we are at table and there is a lady present.’
‘My business is urgent,’ Henry Danforth said. ‘I have travelled at some speed to bring you the prince’s commands, my lord.’
‘Yet I would ask you to wait, sir. I dare say your errand is important, but I am the master here.’
‘And I am your prince. Will you defy me, sir? I am come to call the traitor Count Torrs to account.’ A sudden hush fell as a man stepped from amongst the cluster of men at Danforth’s back, throwing back the cloak that had hidden his rich clothes and the jewels of state that proclaimed his rank as Prince John himself.
‘The count is not a traitor. He is loyal to the King.’
The words left Rosamunde’s lips before she realised, and brought a sharp look from Prince John.
‘He is a traitor, lady, and you would do well to mind your manners in the presence of your prince.’
‘Be quiet, lady,’ Raphael reiterated urgently in a low-toned voice and left his place. ‘You are welcome, sire.’ He walked towards the man, who was a head shorter and seemed almost puny beside him. Making an elegant bow, he apologised. ‘Had I known you were come in person, I should of course have acquiesced to your wishes immediately. Yet even so I would offer you food and wine.’
‘In private, sir.’
‘Yes, of course. I shall have food and wine brought to my solar.’ He turned his head, ‘Master steward, conduct His Highness to my solar and arrange for food and wine. His men can be accommodated here.’ The steward came hurrying forward, bowing his head. ‘I shall join you in a moment, Highness. I must speak with someone first.’
Raphael returned to his place at board amidst the sound of shuffling as the men closed up to allow the newcomers to find seats. One of the men sitting at the high table got up and offered his place to Lord Danforth, who took it with a word of thanks. Servants hurried to bring him a cup of pewter and a trencher of bread to which was added a mess of meat, worts and rich sauce.
Raphael looked at Rosamunde and his voice dropped to a whisper. ‘I believe you should return to your chamber now, lady. Stay there and do not leave it unless I send for you.’
‘My lord? I do not understand. What is happening here? Why has the prince come? Why does he call my father a traitor?’
Raphael’s hand gripped her wrist. ‘Do not ask questions. Go to your chamber and await my coming. Trust no one else if you value your honour and your life.’
Rosamunde’s heart jerked. She inclined her head. There was something about the sudden arrival of Prince John and his escort that frightened her. Her fear of Lord Mornay had lessened as they had eaten their supper. His warning seemed to imply that she was in danger—
a danger that came from somewhere beyond the walls of his castle.
Leaving the hall with her head held high, Rosamunde wondered what had brought Prince John here—and what Lord Mornay might have said to her had they not been interrupted.
Upstairs in her chamber, Maire was waiting to help her prepare for bed, but she dismissed her, sending her to her own blankets.
‘I shall not retire just yet. I should not sleep if I did and…’ She shook her head as Maire’s brows rose in enquiry. ‘Do not ask for I cannot answer you. I know only that something has happened and I may be in more danger than I was before.’
* * *
‘May I ask what brings you here, Highness?’ Raphael said once they were alone. ‘I have prepared a letter informing you of my father’s death and my return and was about to send it to the court in London.’
‘I learned of your father’s death as I travelled from Nottingham and thought it best to speak with you in person. You have here a dangerous enemy of the state—a man I require you to hand over to me immediately.’
‘I do not believe I understand you, Highness. Of whom do you speak? There is no one in my service that would seek to harm England. We are loyal to the crown.’
‘I speak of Count Torrs. Your father had him captured on my behalf, and a ransom was demanded from his family, but I have since learned that he plots with others to murder me and bring havoc to the land while my brother rots in prison.’
‘Where did you learn such a thing, Highness?’
‘From my friend the Shire Reeve of Nottingham. He has served me well on more than one occasion, though as yet he fails to bring the notorious outlaw Rob-in-Hood to heel. That rogue defies my laws and robs my tax collectors. I believe Count Torrs to be in league with outlaws and robbers.’
Raphael’s mind worked swiftly. If the prince learned that he had set free a man he considered his enemy, he might send his army against them. If the King was to have friends when he returned, there must be someone prepared to rally support in secret. Robin of Loxley, a man Raphael had known slightly in the Holy Land, was now an outlaw and lived by his wits; alone he could not rally the noblemen of England to support their king, but perhaps Raphael might. First, he must convince the prince that he was a friend rather than an enemy.
‘Then you have solved a mystery for me, sire. On my arrival I discovered that some rogues had bluffed their way into the castle and rescued an important prisoner. I did not know then that he was held on your behalf.’
A look of anger flared in the prince’s eyes.
‘You tell me the count has escaped? This is outrageous. Your steward has been neglectful and you should punish him and others for this man’s escape.’
‘My steward was in a difficult position, Highness. He did not know when I would return—nor could he have known that my father held the prisoner on your behalf.
He understood it was purely a matter of a ransom. Indeed, I am not certain of the count’s crime or the nature of your agreement with my father,’ Raphael said calmly.
‘He would have kept half the ransom and the count would have been recaptured as he tried to reach a ship. Your father has contributed to my funds on more than one occasion and I have been grateful to him; because of this, I ignored the demands from his neighbours that he should be punished for his crimes against them,’ Prince John replied.
Raphael inclined his head, because the underlying threat was clear. The prince could if he wished charge Raphael with some crime of his father’s and the estate might be forfeit. John’s treachery towards those that displeased him was well known, which was why Raphael had taken care to leave his fo
rtune with the French goldsmith. His father’s estate meant little to him, and he might return to Normandy in time, but if he had a power base in England he might help Richard regain his throne.
‘I believe my father became a bitter man in his last years. It is my hope to make amends and live on good terms with my neighbours. If it cannot be done, I may decide to leave England and live abroad,’ Raphael commented.
The prince’s eyes narrowed. ‘The lady at your board—is she the count’s daughter?’
‘What makes you ask that, sire?’
‘Your father demanded that she bring the ransom in person for reasons of his own. If you have her, then keep her under close guard for we may yet gain something from this business.’
‘Do you speak of a ransom?’ Raphael enquired.
‘It is expensive to hold court and keep the loyalty of fickle nobles,’ the prince said. ‘My purse has too many demands on it and I would take half the ransom, as your father agreed—but it might be that we could use the lady as bait to bring her father back. If he believes his daughter’s life forfeit, he might return and offer his life for hers.’
Raphael’s hands balled at his side and it was all he could do to keep them from the prince’s throat.
‘You would surely not murder an innocent lady, Highness? This is not the justice your barons expect in England.’
‘If you wish to keep your own head you will obey me. If the lady has a ransom you will hand half to me—and she is to remain here as your prisoner,’ Prince John demanded.
‘I am sorry to disappoint you, Highness, but the lady is a kinswoman who has come to me for protection. As yet there has been no sign of the count’s daughter, but I shall of course obey your orders if she does arrive with the ransom,’ Raphael assured him smoothly.
The prince’s eyes narrowed in suspicion but at that moment a succession of servants arrived with food and wine, which they offered to him.
‘Taste them,’ he said, glaring at the servant who had offered a dish of lampreys.
‘You need not suspect poison in this house, sire,’ Raphael said and tasted a portion of each dish set before the prince himself. ‘You may eat and drink without fear.’