Forbidden Night with the Warrior

by Michelle Willingham

  They might have driven Owen out temporarily, but the man would return. And when he did, the danger would intensify until fighting would break out among the soldiers. He needed to get Rosamund away from Pevensham before that happened.

  ‘I’m going to take you some place safe,’ he said. ‘Somewhere Owen can never touch you.’

  She sat up, holding the linen to her swollen temple. ‘Would that were possible. But I cannot go with you, Warrick. My place is here.’

  He was about to argue with her, but something stopped him. There was a deep sadness within her eyes, and it raised up a warning inside. ‘What has happened?’

  ‘Alan is getting stronger. I know I should be glad of it, but—’ A tear escaped her, and he brushed it away. She covered his hand with her own and whispered, ‘He wants to come to me tonight. To try again for a child.’

  ‘No.’ The very thought was a dagger within his heart. He cared nothing for Alan de Courcy—but Rosamund belonged to him. Warrick drew his arms around her waist. ‘I will not allow it.’

  ‘He is my husband,’ she murmured. ‘It is his right.’

  His anger and jealousy seared him to the bone. ‘Do you expect me to stand back and let you go from my arms back into his? I let you go once before, Rosamund. It won’t happen again.’ He leaned down and captured her mouth, kissing her hard. He needed her to understand that this went beyond honour and vows. They were meant to be together, and he would die before letting her return to Alan’s bed.

  He realised that he no longer cared if he lacked wealth or status. His father would never accept him, and there was little point in seeking the man’s approval. The only person whose approval mattered was Rosamund.

  Her hands were trembling, but she kissed him back. He tasted the salt of her tears and leaned her back against her pillow. ‘You never should have married Alan, Rosamund. We belong together.’

  He lowered his mouth to her throat, and her hands gripped his hair. Her green eyes filled up with sorrow and guilt. ‘I believed my father would have killed you. And I would have wed Lucifer himself if it meant saving your life.’

  ‘I survived the punishment.’ He sat back and removed his tunic. Then he took her hands and drew them over the scars on his back. ‘I will bear these marks for the rest of my life. And I would suffer them twice over for you.’

  She traced the scars with her fingertips, and the softness of her touch aroused him deeply. He burned for this woman, and he loosened the laces of her gown, needing her to feel what he was feeling. Without asking permission, he slid his hand beneath her bodice and touched her breast. He caressed her nipple, feeling it harden against his thumb. ‘You knew it was me that night, didn’t you?’

  ‘I knew.’ She closed her eyes, her face holding weariness. ‘I should not have allowed it. But I was so angry with Alan, I could not think clearly.’

  Her face flushed as he exposed her bare breast. The white globe was soft within his hand, and he leaned down to kiss her nipple. A gasp escaped her, and she arched against him.

  ‘Warrick, no. I can’t.’

  But he was beyond any protests. He wanted her to regret leaving him, to know what he had suffered every hour without her. His hand moved beneath her skirts, to the warm wetness between her thighs. And when he touched her intimately, she cried out at the invasion of his fingers.

  ‘I was inside you, just like this.’ He moved his hand in soft strokes, while he licked her nipple and suckled her hungrily. ‘We were joined together, as God meant us to be. You are my wife in soul, Rosamund, and always have been.’ He found the nodule above her entrance and stroked the wet pearl of her. ‘I will never let any man touch you again, save me. Remember this.’

  With that, he rubbed her, forcing her to ride the crest of pleasure until she bucked in his arms. He felt the moment she came apart, her body squeezing tightly against his fingers. She was trembling violently, and he kissed her again, revelling as she rode the aftershocks.

  When he withdrew his hands from her, she lay back against the pillow, her mouth swollen, her hair tousled.

  ‘I am taking you away from Pevensham,’ he said. ‘And away from Alan. He will not touch you again.’

  * * *

  Rosamund could hardly breathe after Warrick left. Her body was pliant and softened by the pleasure he had given her. And God help her, she wanted to weep. Though she had tried to bury her feelings over the past three years, his very presence had brought them to the surface. He reminded her of the marriage she had yearned for and how much she had loved him.

  Marrying Alan had been a mistake, just as he’d said. And now, her spirit was broken in pieces. Though she wanted to believe that Warrick had touched her without permission, in her heart, she knew the truth. He had known what she wanted. And if she had truly wanted him to stop, he would have.

  Now, she had betrayed her vows and her honour. She had no idea what to do next, for she could not imagine letting Alan touch her again. But neither did she have the right to reach towards Warrick.

  She felt the urge to leave this room, to avoid her husband. But where could she go? Not within the castle grounds or even to the Great Hall where everyone was sleeping.

  Rosamund took a warm woollen cloak and slipped it over her shoulders, lifting the hood over her head. Then she stepped outside. One of the guards was in the hallway, and he inclined his head to her. ‘My lady, is aught amiss?’

  Yes, she wanted to say. Everything in my life is amiss. But instead she murmured, ‘I am going to the chapel. You may escort me there if you wish.’ It would be a good place to kneel and let her mind sift through everything that was happening.

  He followed her down the stairs and outside. It was late, and a full amber moon glowed over Pevensham. She took a moment to breathe in the air, to calm her beating heart. And when she finally reached the stone chapel that stood within their walls at the far end of the estate, she inhaled the scent of incense. It was cold inside, and she was glad of the warm cloak. The soldier stepped back, allowing her to enter unaccompanied.

  To her surprise, she found that she was not alone in the chapel. Father Francis was kneeling before the altar. His brown robes were wrinkled beneath him and he rested his hands upon the stone floor. Rosamund tiptoed inside, not wanting to disturb him. She found a place further away to kneel, and though it was uncomfortable, there was a sense of peace within the space.

  When she was a young maiden, she had obeyed her father blindly. Despite her anguish at losing Warrick, she had never dared to stand up to Harold. And she had not spoken with him since her wedding day.

  Duty demanded that she send Warrick away and honour her vows with Alan. But a rebellious part of her wanted to seize command of her own life and go with the man she loved. She had given up three years of her life to a man she had never wanted. How could she surrender the rest of her days now?

  The priest rose from prayer and came to stand beside her. He made the sign of the cross and said, ‘May God bless you, my lady.’

  She murmured a reply, ‘Thank you, Father. I am sorry if I disturbed you.’

  ‘All are welcome here.’ He offered a warm smile, and in the moonlight, his beard appeared almost silver. ‘I find that God hears every one of our prayers—even the ones we cannot speak but hold in our hearts.’

  Right now, she needed a confessor, someone to advise her. But she had never sought the counsel of the priest, and she already suspected he would counsel her to do penance and stay with Alan. The heaviness of her heart made it impossible to speak.

  But he offered her a kindly smile and knelt beside her. ‘I suppose you are troubled because of the babe you carry.’

  She could not bring herself to say anything, for it was clear that Alan had confided already in the priest. Although it was too soon to know if there was any child, it seemed that her husband was doing everything possible to prot
ect Pevensham...even speaking lies to a man of God. And if she revealed her own secrets by confessing her sins, she risked exposing her husband’s falsehoods.

  Father Francis was waiting for her to speak, so she chose carefully what truths she dared to voice. ‘I am afraid of what lies ahead. I do not know what to do, especially when it comes to Alan’s brother. He is a threat to us.’

  The priest sobered. ‘I imagine you are afraid for the child, because Owen de Courcy will lose his place as the heir, if you bear a son. But you must trust that God will protect your family and watch over you.’

  She sighed, wishing it were so easy to have faith. ‘I want to do what is right,’ she told him. ‘And I do not know what is best.’ It was the only truth she could give. Honour demanded that she seek forgiveness for her sins and return to her husband. Her heart demanded that she go with Warrick and live out the rest of her life with the man she loved.

  And neither choice was the right one.

  The priest’s expression held no judgement, but he said, ‘My Lord Pevensham spoke with me as well, though I cannot share with you his confession. I can say only that he has made arrangements so that you will always be protected. He does care deeply for you, though you may not realise it.’

  His words were kind, but she felt the heaviness of guilt in her heart. She was no closer to making a decision this night than she was before, but she prayed with the priest before rising from the stone floor and returning outside.

  The soldier was waiting to escort her back, but as she crossed the inner bailey, something made her stop. The sentries stood at intervals along the top of the wall, with torches lit. But there were parts of the wall left unguarded. She frowned and turned back to her escort. ‘Should there not be someone standing guard atop that wall?’

  The soldier shrugged. ‘It is common for the guards to change their posts during the night.’ He appeared utterly unconcerned.

  But Rosamund’s suspicions went on alert. She knew that Warrick would never allow such a thing. And yet, she could not bring herself to approach him—not after what had happened between them.

  His men-at-arms might be able to help. She ordered the soldier, ‘I want to speak with Bennett and Godfrey. Send them to me now.’

  The soldier hesitated. ‘They are not on duty, my lady.’

  ‘Then wake them up.’ She revealed her impatience with the man, but something else was happening.

  ‘I do not know where they are, Lady Pevensham. But perhaps you could return to the Great Hall and find them there.’

  His behaviour was unsettling, and she strongly suspected the man was lying to her. Despite her hesitancy to confront Warrick, it seemed she had no choice now. Something was wrong, not only with the gate, but also with his own men.

  She softened her face and sent him a serene smile as he escorted her back to the stairs that led to the donjon. ‘I bid you goodnight.’

  But she would not rest until she discovered exactly what was happening inside these walls.

  * * *

  Warrick awakened when a hand shook him. He jolted upright and saw Rosamund standing before him. She wore a woollen cloak, and her hood rested upon her shoulders. Her dark hair was braided back from her face, revealing a worried expression.

  ‘Come with me.’ She didn’t wait for him to respond, but he rose and buckled his sword belt. It was the middle of the night, and he recognised the traces of fear in her posture. Outside, nothing appeared out of the ordinary, but she led him towards one of the walls.

  ‘Earlier there was no one guarding this wall. I asked one of the soldiers why, and he made excuses.’

  But there were two guards patrolling now. Warrick didn’t dismiss her fears, however. ‘I will find out what happened.’

  ‘There’s more. Bennett and Godfrey are missing.’

  His men would never desert their posts, and he understood the unspoken danger. Warrick took her by the hand. ‘Go back to your chamber and bolt the door.’ If his men were gone, then she had reason to be afraid.

  ‘What will you do?’ She squeezed his hand tightly.

  ‘I’ll find out what is happening. And if Owen or Fitzwarren are involved, I will put a stop to it.’

  Her face paled, but she nodded. She was about to obey him, but he held her fingers a moment longer. ‘Are you all right, Rosamund?’ He had not intended to touch her so intimately, but he had been so angry at the thought of Alan reclaiming her, he had lost control of himself.

  She flushed as she took his meaning. ‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘Just a little shaken.’ Her lips parted, and if he could have, he would have kissed her right now, to reassure her.

  ‘Go to your chamber. I will come to you soon.’ He knew it was safer for her there, though he didn’t like leaving her. She nodded in assent and turned away, walking towards the stairs.

  Even after she had gone, he could still smell the delicate fragrance of her skin. It allured him, making him wish she belonged to him in truth.

  Warrick strode across the inner bailey, searching for his men. He let his instincts command him, and although there were sentries upon the wall, he trusted Rosamund’s suspicions. Even if men were changing positions, the post would never be left unguarded.

  As she had confided, there was no sign of his men. Which was wrong, for he had commanded one of them to be on duty at all times. He surveyed each and every guard, noting which ones stiffened at his presence and which seemed unaffected.

  One of the torches was out at the bottom of the wall Rosamund had shown him. Warrick took another torch and brought it over to light the extinguished one. And when it caught the flames, he saw footsteps in the mud. Near the top of the wall, he spied the end of a rope.

  Someone had been allowed inside the gates. And he suspected it was Fitzwarren, as Rosamund had told him. But there could be others as well.

  A sudden thumping noise caught his attention. It was rhythmic, like someone pounding against a door. He followed the source of the sound to one of the towers used for prisoners. The narrow entrance was hardly large enough for two men to stand inside, but there was a pit below ground. On the opposite wall was a wooden ladder. Warrick entered the space and called out into the darkness, ‘Bennett!’

  ‘I am here. And Godfrey as well.’

  Warrick cursed and unbolted the heavy grate, lifting it up. He started to lower a ladder into the pit, when a sudden motion caught his eye. He rushed towards the door and threw himself at it, preventing the soldier from closing it.

  The man was not one of the soldiers he recognised, and Warrick shoved the door open again. He seized his enemy by the chainmail hauberk and shoved him back against the outer wall. ‘Who are you?’

  The soldier didn’t answer but struggled against his grip. Warrick pressed the man back, resting his hand upon the soldier’s throat. ‘Who else came over the wall with you?’

  ‘Aldred Fitzwarren,’ the man uttered. Which was no surprise at all, given the attack against Rosamund. But where was the man now?

  ‘How many others are here?’ Warrick demanded.

  The soldier grimaced. ‘I could tell you only two or I could tell you ten. You would not believe whatever I say.’

  The man was right about that. There was no way to know how many men remained loyal to Lord Pevensham. He turned to Bennett and Godfrey. ‘Throw him in the pit and keep him there for questioning.’

  There was no sign of what had happened to the former commander. And right now, the man in the most danger was Alan de Courcy.

  His men obeyed his command, taking their prisoner back while Warrick hurried towards the donjon. Though Rosamund had done as he’d asked, locking herself in her chamber, he had no way of knowing whether she was safe.

  He took the stairs two at a time, shoving open the heavy oak door. At the back of the Great Hall, he saw a shadowed form moving
towards the stairs.

  His heartbeat quickened as he followed the man.

  * * *

  Rosamund nearly shrieked when the connecting door opened on the opposite wall. Alan was standing there, and she covered her heart with her hand. ‘Dear God, you frightened me.’

  ‘Were you expecting someone else? Warrick, perhaps?’

  She felt the blush rise over her cheeks, but she denied it. ‘No.’

  He eyed her closely as if he didn’t believe a word she had spoken. ‘Then why are you wearing a cloak, Rosamund? Where have you been?’ His voice held a jealous tone she didn’t like. Especially when it had been his idea from the start, for her to conceive a child with Warrick.

  ‘I came to you earlier,’ Alan said, ‘but you were gone.’

  ‘I went to the chapel to pray,’ she said. ‘I was just returning now. Ask Father Francis if you don’t believe me.’ She removed her cloak, wondering if she should say anything about the unguarded wall. Her husband was behaving in an unpredictable manner, and she told him, ‘It’s late, and we should both go back to sleep.’

  She started to walk towards her bed but soon realised he had no intention of leaving. An uneasiness slid into her veins while he stood on the far end of the room and watched her. ‘I am weary, Alan.’

  He crossed the room and from the heated look in his eyes, she knew why he was here. But she did not want to lie with him, not now.

  Perhaps not ever.

  ‘Go back to your own chamber and rest,’ she urged him. ‘It has been a trying day.’

  He didn’t listen but continued walking until he stood before her. Without asking permission, he reached for the laces of her bodice. Though he said nothing, he loosened them, until the gown hung against her shoulders, exposing her shift. His touch made her grow cold inside, and she longed to cover herself.

  ‘Lie down on the bed,’ he commanded.

  She didn’t move. Her mind was spiralling with fear, and all she knew was that she did not want Alan to share her bed. Instead, she reached for her gown and pulled it upright again. ‘Please go.’