by Anne Herries
Chapter Thirteen
They left Baron Sigmund’s castle the next morning. Rosamunde did not know what had been said to him, but he begged her pardon before she mounted her horse and asked what recompense he could make for his ill-treatment of her.
‘You will forgive Griselda for what she did,’ Rosamunde said. ‘Let her live out her life in peace and comfort and ask her forgiveness so that the quarrel between you may be at an end.’
The baron’s eyes flickered, as if he disliked her request, but he merely inclined his head and murmured something she could not hear.
‘You need not be concerned for the old woman,’ Raphael said as he helped her to mount her palfrey. ‘I have arranged for her to be taken to Mornay, where she can sit by the kitchen fire and dream away her days.’
‘My lord is generous,’ Rosamunde said, her lips stiff.
She felt numbed all over. The night had been long and restless and she’d hardly slept.
Why must they always quarrel when all she wanted was to be his, to know the sweetness of his loving and surrender herself to his dominion?
‘I would be more so if you would let me,’ he said bitterly and moved away to mount his own horse.
For a while they rode in silence. Rosamunde did not dare to look at him, because she was afraid that she might weep. Why had she been so foolish? It was true that she wanted to visit her father, but she did not wish to stay with him. If Raphael rode away and she never saw him again it would break her heart. She could not bear to lose him now.
She wanted him to love her with all his heart but she knew that was impossible. However, he did care for her, and he wanted her. He had shown desire and caring too many times for her to believe him indifferent to her.
Surely it must be enough for her? Yet she wanted more, so much more. If she could not be satisfied with less she might lose all, and yet there was something within her that would not let go of her need and desire to be loved to distraction by him.
‘Richard bade me tell you he will give your father a pension of one-hundred silver crowns every six months. Do you think it will suffice?’ Raphael said quietly.
‘It is more than I had hoped,’ Rosamunde said and felt puzzled. ‘I did not think the King had money to spare. He spoke of debts and turmoil to be settled before he could think of such things.’
‘His Majesty received a substantial donation to his coffers,’ Raphael said evasively. ‘I dare say he decided to use some of it to reward men like your father who had done much for him in the past.’
‘Who made the donation to the King’s purse?’ she pressed.
‘I believe it may have been Baron Sigmund. We found a large amount of stolen gold and jewels in his stronghold. Shall we say that he was persuaded to part with a generous portion of his wealth?’ Raphael said with a grim smile.
‘You commanded him to make the gift! He will hate you even more,’ Rosamunde pointed out agitatedly. ‘You know he is your bitterest enemy now? He may be forced to accept you as his overlord, but he will be no true friend.’
‘Perhaps. It hardly matters. I have decided I may return to France and spend most of the year there. Jonathan has no land of his own and he is a true friend. He would protect Mornay and its people with his life.’ Raphael shrugged off her concerns. ‘I shall not lose sleep over the baron or any other man—but I must confess that I did not sleep well last night.’
Rosamunde stared at him in confusion. ‘Why was that, my lord?’
A teasing smile flickered in his eyes and he arched his right eyebrow. ‘You do not know? I fancied you too might have spent a restless night, but perhaps I was wrong. Perhaps you slept like a babe?’
Rosamunde blushed and looked down. She sensed that he was teasing her and the dark cloud that hung over her eased a little. This was the man she loved, the man she’d feared had gone for ever.
‘I think I spoke in haste, my lord. I was hurt and angry—too proud, as usual.’
‘Perhaps we have both been hasty. I too was hurt and my pride was touched, Rosamunde, but pride is one thing and affairs of the heart are another,’ he added, then spurred his horse and rode on to speak with one of his men.
Did that mean he was no longer angry with her? Rosamunde knew that she must find the courage to tell him that she loved him, and wanted nothing more than to be his wife as soon as possible, but it would not be easy unless she could put away her pride and accept whatever Raphael could give her.
Raphael was laughing with his men, riding ahead of her. Rosamunde let him go. She had learned that it was best to wait. In time he would tell her what was on his mind—and perhaps in his heart.
That night they made camp in the clearing of a wood. The servants put up a small pavilion for her so that she might rest on a soft mattress with pillows for her head. Raphael and his men were to sleep on the hard ground. She asked him why he did not have a pavilion of his own.
‘Surely the men could provide a pavilion for you?’ she asked before they said good night.
‘When in the open I prefer to sleep as my men do, on the ground,’ he said and smiled at her wickedly. ‘Unless you wish me to share your bed, Rosamunde?’
His words made her cheeks burn and she turned away without giving him an answer. Her heart was racing and she knew that she did wish him to lie with her. Had she been sure of his love for her, she would have shown her willingness to lie with him, but she was still uncertain.
Yet she lay there awake, listening to the sounds as the darkness deepened, wishing that she had found the courage to answer his teasing. It was so foolish to have this barrier between them. Soon she would be at Mornay and then perhaps they would be married, despite their quarrel. Why did she need to preserve her pride when her body cried out for his?
She toyed with the idea of going in search of him but still her pride would not let her beg.
When she heard the sound of a knife slitting the cloth of her pavilion, she tensed, alert and anxious. Who amongst Raphael’s men would do such a thing? The answer was that none would, and she threw off her covers and jumped up, ready for the attack she was sure would come. When the man put his head through the slit he had made and crawled in, she screamed and seized the nearest thing to hand, which was an iron peg that had been left lying inside the pavilion and not used to secure it. She struck the intruder on the back of the head.
He gave a shout of pain but the blow was not sufficient to knock him out and he climbed to his feet, albeit a trifle unsteadily. She saw it was Sir Ian. He had kidnapped her once before, but this time he was alone.
‘You little witch,’ he muttered and lunged at her. ‘I’ll make you pay for that!’
‘The baron locked you in his dungeons,’ Rosamunde gasped, staring at him in disbelief. ‘I thought you dead.’
‘Now you see that you are wrong.’ His fingers curled about her wrist and he started to drag her towards the entrance of the pavilion. ‘I dare say you have woken the entire camp with your screaming, but if they try to take you I’ll slit your throat.’ He thrust her through the entrance of the pavilion in front of him, still holding the fleshy part of her upper arm.
Rosamunde found herself grabbed by someone else and pushed out of the way. As Sir Ian followed, his arm was taken and he was wrestled to the ground, where he lay glaring up at a furious Raphael.
‘Damn you,’ he spat. ‘If the wench had not woken, I should have had her and been away with none the wiser.’
Raphael reached down and hauled the man roughly to his feet. ‘You speak of my lady, dog. Have some respect or I shall have you whipped to an inch of your life. Richard should have left you where he found you.’
‘The King freed me,’ Sir Ian whined. ‘I have the royal pardon. Kill me and he will punish you.’
‘Do you imagine I would waste my time on a runt like you?’ Raphael said through clenched teeth and forced the man to his knees once more. ‘I shall send you in chains to London. There you will await your fate in Richard’s dungeons. This time I
do not think you will find him so lenient. May God give you time to reflect on your sins before you die.’
At his signal some of his men came and led Sir Ian away. Raphael turned to Rosamunde, looking at her in concern.
‘Has that brute hurt you, my lady? I heard you scream but it took me a minute to reach you.’
‘I do not know what he meant to do but I heard him slit the cloth with his knife and was ready for him. When he entered, I hit him.’
‘Not hard enough, unfortunately,’ Raphael said with a grim look. ‘Thank God I was awake and close enough to hear your scream.’
‘Could you not sleep, my lord?’ she asked pertly.
Raphael looked at her, his mouth softening with amusement and something more—something that set her pulses racing. ‘No, I could not. Were you also sleepless, my Rosamunde?’
‘Yes, my lord.’
She moved towards him, a little smile on her lips. ‘Do you not think it strange that we were both restless this night, my lord?’
‘I do not think it strange at all.’ He took two steps towards her, reaching out to draw her hard against him. ‘Sweet jade. You have kept me awake these many nights. I have burned for you. Do you truly not understand what you mean to me, my love?’
She hesitated, eyes wide with wonder. Her heart began to beat faster, her lips parted on a shuddering breath of need. ‘I thought you felt something—but I thought you still in love with your first wife.’
‘Although I did care for her, I never truly gave her my heart,’ he admitted. ‘It was only when they told me you were taken by the baron I finally understood what love truly was, and now I know that without you my life means nothing. You have brought light to my darkness and made an empty house live again. I do not believe that I could bear to lose you again, Rosamunde,’ he said tenderly. ‘I would have told you this in your chamber at the baron’s castle, but I was hurt and angered by your wish to break your vow to wed me and was not thinking clearly. I was stupidly proud in leaving you without telling you how I truly felt about you.’
‘Say it,’ she whispered, leaning into him, looking up into his face. Her whole body cried out for his, and she felt an answering need in him, but still she wanted more. ‘Say the words I need to hear, my dearest one. Tell me that you love me—as I love you with all my heart.’
‘I love you with my heart, my body, with every breath I take,’ he murmured fervently and bent his head. Softly, he caressed her lips and, as her mouth parted, he explored it, the tip of his tongue touching hers.
Rosamunde moaned softly, her body melding with his as she seemed to melt into him, on fire with desire and need. She was trembling, heat pooling low in her abdomen as she felt the moistness between her thighs and understood the raging need within. She wanted to be his, to belong to the man she loved so completely.
‘I do not think I shall rest alone this night,’ she whispered, her lips soft and moist as they parted on a sighing breath. ‘Will you not stay with me to protect me?’
‘Is it only my protection that you want?’ he asked gruffly, his brows arched. She shook her head, reaching up to touch his cheek and run her thumb over his sensuous mouth.
‘No, I want you to love me,’ she said honestly. ‘I want you to lie by my side and teach me all the things I must know to please my husband. Show me how to make you happy, Raphael, how to be the woman you want in your bed.’
‘You please me just by being here,’ Raphael replied with a groan and held her close. She could feel the hardness of his need through her fine gown, and the throbbing urgency of his desire. He wanted her as much as she wanted him. He laughed softly in his throat. ‘Yes, my beloved. I shall lie with you this night. We shall be man and wife before the priest gives his blessing and no one shall ever part us again.’
‘Yes.’ Rosamunde gave him her hand. ‘I would have no more misunderstandings between us.’
They walked into the pavilion and let the flap fall. Taking his hand, Rosamunde led him towards her pallet. She knelt down on the softness and he knelt with her. They kissed tenderly and then he helped her to lift her fine tunic over her head. Beneath her shift, her breasts were peaked and pouting, evidence of her own arousal. As he bent his head to push away the silk and gently stroke them with his tongue she shivered and moaned, her body pliant and inviting.
They lay down together at last, naked, flesh to silken flesh, warm despite the bitter night, wrapped in the heat of sweet desire.
Afterwards, they lay side by side, their limbs entwined. Raphael’s hand stroked the satin arch of her back as he held her close.
‘I never believed that I could find such happiness,’ he said softly. He held her close, his breath warm against her throat. ‘You have chased away the shadows, my dear one. I am whole again.’
She snuggled up to the smooth firmness of his body, her fingers moving through the cluster of hair on his chest, stroking him gently.
‘I did not know loving could be so beautiful,’ Rosamunde sighed. ‘I have heard the servants speak of their lovers when they did not know I listened, but I did not know that I could feel this way.’
‘You are more than my lover; you are my soul,’ he murmured and kissed the side of her neck. He nibbled at her, inhaling her perfume as his hand move idly over her silky thighs. ‘I have never been this close to a woman before, I swear it. You are so brave and beautiful, my Rosamunde. When you attacked the baron, I feared you might be killed and I lost my head.’
‘Is that why you were so angry with me?’ she asked incredulously.
He looked down at her, stroking her face with the tips of his fingers. ‘Did you not realise that he might have killed you? In his bloodlust he might easily have thrust his sword through you.’
‘I did not stop to think,’ she said and gazed up into his face. ‘All I thought of was my love for you. If he had killed you, then I should have wanted to die too.’
‘Promise me you will never do such a thing again?’ Raphael begged seriously.
‘I did not mean to make you look foolish before your men. Janquil explained that my actions had caused you to lose face,’ she went on, when he raised a brow in query at her.
‘Janquil is my trusted servant and friend, but he cannot know my heart. Only you will ever know that, Rosamunde. My anger was not due to hurt pride, or because I felt humiliated, but simply a reflection of my fear of losing you,’ he explained.
‘I thought…’ She shook her head as the tears trickled down her cheek. ‘I was foolish and I too am proud, my lord. I shall never doubt your love again.’
He kissed her and drew her close, desire raging between them once more. They kissed, touched and sought each other, discovering the pleasures of true love, her body arching beneath his as he thrust into her warmth again and again. She moaned with pleasure as her inner self reached out to him, and he groaned in response and spilled himself inside her.
After a while they began to talk again.
‘We shall visit your father together—and I wish to speak with your cousin too. Then we shall be married and you will always be protected. No man shall ever threaten you again while I live,’ he said sternly.
‘Do not talk of these things now,’ Rosamunde whispered. ‘I know that we cannot wrap ourselves in silk and be protected from the harshness of a world that is often cruel. I am strong enough to face whatever life brings if I have you at my side.’
‘I shall never leave you,’ he vowed. ‘Until death do us part.’
Afterword
‘So, daughter, this is finally your wedding day,’ Sir Randolph said. He had risen from his bed that morning in March and looked better than when she’d visited him before, though still a little frail. ‘I shall be glad to see you wed to a good man who will care for you and love you.’
‘Raphael does truly love me,’ she said with satisfaction and took his arm as they walked towards the chapel where she was to become her lover’s bride. ‘I am happier than I ever expected to be, Father.’
�
�You know that I would never have sent you to your cousin had I known how she would treat you. Everything has turned out well, but it might have been very different. Her father is angry with her, and he has told her that she must apologise to you, for he owes Lord Mornay a debt. Had Sir Raphael not given Count Torrs his freedom, the prince might have taken his life,’ her father said.
‘Angelina was selfish but she wanted to marry Sir Thomas. I know she loves him and I understand why she could not bear to take the ransom herself. Besides, I had to pay the debt you owed her family.’
‘She lied to you, Rosamunde. There was no debt. It was cruel and despicable and I for one shall not forgive her—or myself, for placing you in such danger,’ he said.
‘You were ill, Father. You did not know that I was in danger, and in the end I was not. Had it not been for my cousin, I might never have seen Raphael again. I forgive her because I am happy,’ she replied honestly.
Her father leaned down to kiss her cheek. ‘You look beautiful, Rosamunde. Your mother would be proud of you. Take my arm. We do not want to keep Lord Mornay waiting.’
‘I am ready,’ she said and smiled.
‘So you are wed to him.’ Angelina looked at Rosamunde, a glint of envy in her eyes when they met in the hall as the guests mingled for the wedding breakfast. ‘You know that you owe your good fortune to me. Had I not sent you to him, you would still be my servant.’
‘I know that I owe my good fortune to the bargain we made,’ Rosamunde said, looking her cousin directly in the eye. ‘But do not pretend that you did it for my sake. You believed that Lord Mornay was an evil man and sent me to pay the price he demanded in your stead.’
Angelina looked uncomfortable. ‘Had I known the old Lord Mornay was dead, I should have gone myself. You do not know how fortunate you are, cousin. Your husband is rich, while mine…’ She stopped and pulled a wry face. ‘You still owe me money. You had the other half of the ransom money and my horses.’