by Anne Herries
‘My lord—’ she smiled at him ‘—most of your men are loyal. Now the traitors are unmasked, surely you need not fear for me? Are you indeed certain you wish to wed me?’
‘It is the only way I can keep you safe,’ he said. ‘As my betrothed wife I put my seal on you. Any man who tries to take you from me will know they become my mortal enemy.’
Rosamunde glanced away. Her heart was racing. She had agreed to wed him and she sensed, felt, the passion in him. He wanted her, but he had made it clear that he could never love her. He had obviously loved his wife greatly, but she was in her grave. He was only marrying Rosamunde to protect her. He considered it his duty to care for her and she knew he would keep her safe—but she wanted more from her marriage than that.
Her throat was tight, because she knew that she loved Raphael with all her heart. She had loved the youth that had rescued her kitten and now she understood how much she loved this fierce, stern man.
When she’d thought she would be given to Baron Sigmund and might never see Raphael again, she had realised how much she had come to love him. He did not love her in return, but he wanted her. It would be a marriage much as many others, for advantage and protection. Rosamunde knew that she wanted much more from him, but he had told her his terms plainly. She could only pray that he would find happiness in her arms. Perhaps then he might forgive himself for what happened to his wife—and one day he might come to love Rosamunde as he had Messalina. She could only pray that it would be so, because otherwise her heart might break.
* * *
‘Forgive me,’ Raphael said to his friend later. ‘When I gave you permission to court her if you would, I did not understand then that my feelings for her were engaged. I am not worthy of her but the lady hath consented to become my betrothed and when I return we shall be wed.’
‘I knew she would not look at me,’ Jonathan said with a wry smile. ‘I sincerely wish you joy, Raphael, but do not hurt her or you lose my friendship.’
‘That would give me grief,’ Raphael said and grimaced ruefully. ‘I think it will pain you to stay here now. I shall be loath to have you leave us, but if you wish to go—’
‘After you are wed I shall leave, but for the moment you still need my help,’ Jonathan interrupted. ‘You cannot yet be certain that your father’s knights are all now loyal to you. Two sought to murder and rob you; there may be others who wish you ill. I know you have work on Richard’s behalf. While you are gone I will make sure the castle and your lady are secure, then I shall see you wed and bid you farewell.’
‘I thank you for your friendship.’ Raphael frowned. ‘I am not certain what to do about Sir Edmund. Some of what was taken has been recovered, though Sir Ian must have taken a few of the more valuable items with him.’
‘The punishment for what he did is death,’ Sir Jonathan said bluntly. ‘What he did to the lady Rosamunde demands that he hang. Your knights expect it and it is the law.’
‘Yes, I believe he must be punished. Yet he should have his trial. He may languish in the dungeons and repent his sins; we will deal with him when I return,’ Raphael decided.
‘In my opinion you should make an example of him now,’ Jonathan urged. ‘A show of strength is what is needed, Raphael. If you shirk your duty now, the men may think you weak.’
‘Very well, bring the men together. He shall be judged by his peers and the sentence carried out immediately.’
‘You have made the right decision,’ Jonathan said, relieved. ‘He would have shown no mercy to you or the lady and therefore he deserves none himself.’
Raphael poured himself a glass of wine and sipped it thoughtfully. He had hoped to show clemency to Sir Edmund. On the occasion of a wedding it was sometimes possible to mitigate a punishment, perhaps exchange a hanging for banishment, but his friend was right. After what Roth had done to Rosamunde, he deserved no less. While Raphael had little stomach for such punishments, Jonathan was also correct in pointing out that his position here was still very uncertain. Raphael could not afford to show weakness or mercy to a man that had betrayed him so foully in more than one way. Had it been simply a matter of theft he might have brushed the crime aside and banished Sir Edmund, but he had laid hands on Rosamunde. He had intended her serious harm and had plotted to murder his lord. For those crimes, Raphael had no choice but to hang him.
* * *
‘You look beautiful,’ Elspeth said as she helped to fasten the necklace of large pearls and garnets about Rosamunde’s throat. ‘Your betrothal will bring a smile to the men’s faces.’
‘After the feasting my lord will leave us,’ Rosamunde said and sighed, for she knew she would miss him. ‘He says that he will return for the feast of Christ’s Mass if he can, but he is uncertain how long his mission will take. However, we shall have the wedding to look forward to when he returns.’
She was ready at last, dressed in the best gown she had and wearing the necklace that Raphael had sent up as a betrothal gift; her hair was left loose on her shoulders and held by a band of twisted velvet. Elspeth, Lilia and Maire followed behind as she went down to the hall where the betrothal ceremony was to be held that morning.
‘Are you sure you wish for this?’ Maire asked her as they saw the assembled men waiting to witness the ceremony. ‘You know so little of this man. Supposing he has deceived you? You think him generous and honest, but I do not trust him.’
‘You must learn to trust, as I do,’ Rosamunde said softly to the old woman and smiled as she saw Raphael standing with Sir Jonathan beside him. ‘I care for him and he will protect us—and my father.’
‘Be sure of your heart, Rosamunde. Once you are his wife he will own you. You can never be free of him,’ Maire warned.
She smiled at her old nurse. ‘Today is merely a betrothal, but I long for the day when I am his wife.’
‘I can say no more,’ Maire said. ‘But remember that I warned you.’
Rosamunde did not heed her warning. She walked towards Raphael, her head high and a smile on her lips.
He did not love her, but he wanted her and he would care for her and her father. It was more than many young women could expect when they were married. Many were given in loveless unions in exchange for land. Rosamunde had nothing to offer but herself, and she had vowed that she would be everything her husband wanted in his wife. She would care for his home and his people, and she would bear his children. What more she gave would be up to him.
She was trembling inside but gave no sign of it as she took her place at Raphael’s side. The priest asked her if she was willing to give her promise to marry and she said that she was. Raphael was asked the same question; he answered in a strong, clear voice and then took her hand, slipping a heavy gold band onto her finger.
‘With this ring I plight my troth. I shall wed thee in all honour and protect thee with my life,’ he vowed.
Rosamunde tingled with anticipation as he bent his head and kissed her to the accompaniment of roars of approval from the men.
‘May I wish you future happiness,’ Sir Jonathan said, taking her hand to kiss it. There was an oddly wistful expression in his eyes but she hardly noticed; all her being was focused on Raphael. ‘My lord is entrusting you to my care while he is gone and I swear to protect you with my life.’
‘Thank you, sir.’ Rosamunde smiled, her cheeks a little warm. ‘I pray I shall have no need of your protection, but I thank you just the same.’
‘Come, we shall eat and drink with the men, and then I must leave you,’ Raphael said. ‘I have delayed too long already, but now you will be safe until I return. My friend Jonathan will take good care of you, as will all my men. You are their lady now and they honour you.’
Rosamunde made no reply. Her heart was thudding in her chest because the look in his eyes seemed to promise so much. She wished that this was her wedding day rather than just a betrothal—and she wished that her husband would be with her that night rather than leaving, but she knew that he must go. His work was i
mportant to him and she would never seek to bind him to her when he wished to be free.
As the men found places at table, Rosamunde saw a small party of men-at-arms enter the hall. One of them went up to Sir Jonathan and whispered something to him.
‘Take your place as usual, Rosamunde,’ Raphael said. ‘There is something I must see to; it will not take a moment.’
Rosamunde did as she was asked. She saw that Raphael spent a moment or two in conversation with his friend before coming to her. His expression was grim and she wondered what had made him angry.
‘Is something the matter, my lord?’ she enquired.
‘Nothing that need concern you, Rosamunde. It was necessary business—unpleasant but unavoidable.’
Rosamunde did not press for details, but as her gaze travelled about the hall she sensed that a strange atmosphere ensued, almost as if the happy, carefree attitude that had prevailed had been overshadowed. Something had happened that made the men uneasy and she wondered what it could be.
A toast was proposed to her health and the men rose to raise their cups but the cheer was forced and muted. A cold finger trailed down her spine as she saw something new in the faces of the servants: fear.
Why were the servants afraid? She had seen nothing but pleasure in the return of their lord from the Holy Land before this. Now it seemed as if they felt that a dark shadow hung over them, as if they waited for something to happen. What had happened to change things in an instant?
‘Something is wrong,’ she said and touched Raphael’s arm. ‘This should be a joyous occasion but the men and the servants—they are uneasy.’
Raphael frowned. ‘I did not wish you to know. As you say, this should be a joyous occasion, but Sir Edmund had to be punished. I had to make an example.’
Rosamunde stared at him, feeling suddenly chilled. ‘You punished him…how?’ she whispered.
‘He was tried by his peers and received the lawful punishment,’ he said evasively.
‘Tell me, please.’ Her nails curled into the palms of her hands.
Raphael’s lips were tightly compressed as he met her gaze. ‘He was condemned to hang and the punishment has been carried out.’
‘No!’ Rosamunde gasped, shocked and distressed.
‘Surely you could have just banished him for life? Hanging is so cruel.’
Raphael’s gaze hardened. ‘Do not speak of what you do not understand, lady. Sir Edmund was a thief and much worse. Have you no idea of what he planned for you? While he lived, your life would have been in constant danger. His punishment was a warning to others. I protect what is mine.’
Rosamunde felt the gorge rise in her throat. She was simply Raphael’s property, like his silver and gold. Her pleasure in the occasion was entirely lost; she could neither eat nor drink for the food would taste of ashes.
‘Excuse me, my lord,’ she said and rose from the table. ‘I—I have a headache and must go to my chamber.’
She walked swiftly from the hall and, when she had left it, ran up to her chamber. Her chest felt tight and she wanted to weep for something precious that had been taken from her. How could he do such a thing on this day of all days? Had it meant anything to him at all, he would have shown leniency to Sir Edmund.
‘Rosamunde!’ The door of her chamber was thrown back and Raphael entered. He was frowning fiercely, his mouth set in a grim line. ‘Why did you leave like that? The men will think it strange that you take no part in the feasting.’
‘Tell them I am unwell.’ She turned away from him, fighting her tears. Her chest felt tight and she could scarce breathe for her distress. ‘I cannot eat. It would make me vomit.’
‘You are angry because of what has happened. Believe me, it was not by my desire this was done. I am recently returned from the Crusades, Rosamunde. Sir Edmund robbed me; he planned to kill me and abduct you. He had to be punished severely. If I had only banished him, it would have looked as if I were weak. In my position I have to be strong so that my men understand they must keep my law,’ Raphael explained, one hand held out to her as though entreating her to understand.
‘Your father was a strong man—would you have the people fear you as they feared him? Surely it takes more courage to show mercy than to lash out in revenge?’ Rosamunde said pointedly.
Raphael recoiled as if she had struck him, a nerve flickering at his temple. ‘My father did things of which I am ashamed. I have neither ravished an innocent woman nor killed a man in anger. Sir Edmund received a fair trial and the judgment of his peers.’
‘You kept me here when I wished to return to my father.’ She slung the accusation back at him, her head high, manner haughty.
‘For your own sake,’ he ground out, his hands now clenched by his sides. ‘Surely what happened here showed you the danger you stand in, Rosamunde? You had no one to protect you. Now you are my betrothed and the men know what will happen to them if they try to take you from me. It is the only way to keep you safe.’
‘You did that horrible thing for my sake?’ She put her hands to her face in distress. ‘I would not have had it so. Had you asked me, I would have shown clemency.’
‘You are but a woman and have a woman’s weakness,’ he said harshly. ‘Come down and join in the feasting. Let my men see that you are pleased to be my betrothed.’
‘I cannot smile when I feel so shamed,’ she refused hotly. ‘You are as bad as the man you condemned to a cruel death. I thought you different, above such petty vengeance—but you are not the man I thought you.’
Raphael was silent for a moment, then said, ‘Very well, I shall tell the men you are unwell. I am leaving in an hour; it may be many weeks before I return. When I do, I shall take you home.’
‘But we are betrothed…’ she breathed shakily.
‘I dare say a way may be found to break the vows we took,’ he said coolly. ‘You will remain here until I return and then we shall see what can be done to set us both free from an unwelcome bond.’
With that, he turned and left her. Rosamunde stared after him in despair and then sank to her knees as the tears began to fall.
‘No,’ she whispered, heartbroken, as she covered her face with her hands. ‘I did not mean that—I do not wish to break the vows we took.’
How easily he had agreed to part from her. She was right to think that she was not important to him. He would have wed her had she been meek and acquiesced to his will, but now he would send her away.
It was her own fault for defying him. She had quarrelled with him once too often and he no longer found her desirable. He wanted to break his betrothal vows. They had meant nothing to him.
Chapter Eight
Raphael did not look back as he rode out of the castle with six of his most trusted men at his back. He was angry because Rosamunde had questioned his actions in the matter of Sir Edmund. Damn the woman, had she no idea of what kind of a villain he’d been? Faced by a jury of his peers, Roth had confessed to the crimes he’d committed—not only those she knew of but also many others committed in the late Lord Mornay’s name. He was a thief, rapist and murderer, and had remained unrepentant even when he was taken to be hanged. He had died with a curse on his lips.
The whole incident had left a bad taste in Raphael’s mouth. He knew that he had done what was expected of him and no more than was justice under the laws of England. Sir Edmund had thoroughly deserved to be punished. Even had he never tried to abduct Rosamunde, he would still have been given a severe penalty,
but she had chosen to feel his death as a stain on her own conscience and there was nothing Raphael could say or do that would ease her burden. God knows, he had felt sick to his stomach as he’d given the order to execute a fellow knight. It was something he would have avoided had it been at all possible, but in this case there were no mitigating circumstances, nothing to excuse the behaviour of a knight whose crimes would sicken any decent man.
He’d had no choice. Raphael forced the shadow from his mind. He was a just man and pu
nished transgressions as lightly as possible, but there were times when there was no alternative. Rosamunde had showed her disgust of him plainly. If she had felt more for him than a passing fancy he had surely killed it. He should have sent her straight back to her cousin with the ransom and forgotten her.
Caring made a man weak. Raphael knew that the struggle for England was only just beginning. Prince John would not give up the power he had abused lightly and, if he could, would see his brother dead rather than restored to the throne.
Raphael had heard of men who felt as he did, that every effort must be made to bring Richard back before it was too late. He could not be swayed from his task by the reproachful look in her beautiful eyes.
* * *
Raphael had left the castle. Rosamunde’s throat tightened as Maire brought her the news. Until the last moment she’d hoped that he might return and take her in his arms. It was her fault they’d parted on bad terms. She knew that she’d said terrible things to him; she had regretted them almost as soon as they had left her lips. Raphael was not like his father and she knew it. It had just been such a shock to her that he could order the execution on a day that was meant to be joyous. Also, the fact that Sir Edmund had been hanged because of what he’d done to her made her feel guilty, as if in some way she’d caused his death.
After a restless night, Rosamunde rose and went down to the courtyard. She saw that some of the men were already training; the craftsmen were at their benches intent on their work, and the servants were carrying water and baskets of food up to the men on the ramparts. It seemed that life went on as usual now that Raphael was gone, except that her heart felt as if it had been torn apart.