Sir Ademar eyed her with regret. ‘I m-must stay to fight with the K-King. But I w-will do what I can.’
It was the best he could do, and she understood this. ‘Thank you.’ She braved a smile at him. ‘When you see Warrick, please tell him that my father and I are here.’
At that, Ademar’s expression turned grim. ‘You sh-should know, he fought for the k-king at Alnwick. We have not heard from them yet.’
A coldness rushed through her skin as she understood what had happened. Her husband had tried to prove his loyalty by fighting with Henry’s men—but she didn’t know if Warrick had survived that battle. Her heart quaked at the thought.
‘And what of Owen de Courcy?’ she ventured. ‘Have you seen him at all?’
‘N-no, my lady.’ Sir Ademar regarded her with understanding, as if he understood the silent threat. But there was nothing to be done for it.
A knock sounded at the door, and Ademar answered it upon her signal. Two armed soldiers approached. ‘We are under orders to escort you to King Henry,’ one of them said.
Rosamund’s pulse quickened, for this was what she had been hoping for. And yet, she could not dispel the rush of nerves. Everything rested upon this meeting with the king. She reached for her cloak, and Ademar followed. Although she wanted to believe that the king would protect her, she could not be certain. Beneath her breath, she pleaded, ‘Do as I asked and send word to my husband, Ademar. Please find him, if you can.’
He lowered his head in acknowledgment. ‘W-will you be all right?’
‘Yes. But we need your help.’ She pulled the large cloak across her shoulders, pinning it with a brooch.
The knight departed, leaving her with the two soldiers. They kept a swift pace, but try as she might, she struggled. The weight of the child was so low, she had to hold one hand below her girth to manage it.
‘Make haste,’ one of the men ordered, and she stopped walking to glare at him.
‘I am with child,’ she reminded him. ‘Haste is not something I can do.’ But she trudged onward, while one of them trailed her. They led her away from the camp towards a group of waiting horses.
‘The king has brought his court a few miles outside Canterbury,’ one said. ‘We must travel to meet him there.’
She hesitated, for she did not know if they were telling the truth. ‘Perhaps we should wait until he returns.’
‘We go now,’ the soldier insisted. He ordered her to step into his hand, wanting her to mount the horse. Her instincts warned against it. Something was wrong.
‘I want my father to accompany me when I see the king,’ she insisted. ‘I will wait until he comes with us.’
In answer, the soldier unsheathed the blade at his waist. He pointed it directly at her swollen womb, keeping his hand against her ribs. ‘I would suggest you mount the horse, Lady Pevensham. Else this blade might slip.’
She didn’t move—couldn’t move. But the other soldier came up behind her and forced her to mount. The firm pressure of the blade remained at her stomach, and a sudden rush of anger flooded through her. She would allow no one to harm her unborn child.
‘You are Owen’s men, are you not?’
When they did not answer, she knew it was so. But she’d had her fill of obedience. There was no doubt in her mind that if she went with these men, they would kill her and her unborn child. Instead, she dug her heels into the flanks of the horse and screamed as loudly as she could. The horse bolted at the noise, and the blade slipped against her skin. She felt the slash of pain, but she pulled away from them, riding as hard as she dared.
For their lives depended on it.
Chapter Fourteen
Warrick hardly slept at all during the journey south. Weeks ago, he had worked alongside the king’s men, fighting to take back Alnwick. King William of Scotland had spread out his soldiers across thousands of acres.
There had not been not eighty thousand mercenaries, but there were indeed thousands of men. He had accompanied Ranulf de Glanvill, the Sheriff of Westmorland, along with four hundred soldiers. And thanks be to God, they had triumphed. Now, they had a valuable political prisoner.
A heavy fog obscured the grasses, and he guessed they were a full day’s journey from the king’s encampment. As he rode south, Warrick let his thoughts drift back to Rosamund. God, how he missed her. He wondered if she had conceived a child and if she was well and protected. At night, he ached for the warmth of her body, the softness of her skin against his.
She hadn’t wanted him to seek out the king, but this was about more than justice. He wanted to prove to her that he was a worthy husband, a man respected by others.
He heard a slight noise behind him, of a horse travelling faster than the others. Warrick turned to order the soldier to fall back, but he saw Sir Ademar riding hard. He had not known the young man was here among the king’s men. But he feared the reason for Ademar’s haste.
‘Owen’s men have t-taken R-Rosamund,’ he stammered. ‘She c-came to seek an audience with the k-king.’
Rosamund was here? A boiling rage took hold in his veins, and Warrick gripped the reins so tightly, his knuckles whitened. ‘Where is she?’
Ademar nodded in the direction of the king’s encampment. ‘Owen’s men took her a day ago. I rode to find you as swiftly as I could.’
‘And you didn’t go after her yourself?’ he growled.
‘The king’s s-soldiers were involved. I th-thought it best if I came to t-tell you.’ Ademar stiffened, and Warrick forced himself to calm down. The knight could not have fought against the king’s men.
‘I am sorry,’ he amended. ‘Is my wife unharmed?’
‘I c-cannot say. But I believe she and the babe are well.’
Ademar’s words sank in, and Warrick could scarcely grasp what the man had told him. Rosamund had become pregnant? It had only been a few months, so how could anyone know for certain? A sudden numbness gripped him, with fear for both of them. Why had she not sent word? Had he known, he would have returned from Normandy at once.
A sudden resolution took hold within his mind. He had not been with Rosamund during her first pregnancy, but he would not leave her behind a second time. This time, he would be there for her, to guard her until their child was safely delivered.
His commander led them along the road towards the king’s encampment, and Warrick had no choice but to follow at their pace. He could not abandon his duties, no matter how much he wanted to ride back to Rosamund.
The surest way to return to his wife was to protect their prisoner and win the king’s favour. Only then could he gain his freedom.
* * *
Rosamund cursed herself for being so weak. Pregnancy had robbed her of any speed, and from the moment she’d tried to ride away from Owen’s men, they had caught up to her.
Her body was bruised, and aching, and she prayed that no harm had come to her unborn baby. The gentle kicking within had brought her such relief, she’d nearly wept.
The men had taken her to a tent near the outskirts of the encampment. Although she was unbound, the two guards remained at the entrance. There was no trying to escape, for it would be like a cow trying to outrun a wolf. She had no hope at all.
But Ademar had ridden hard, and she believed he would return with men to help free her. Or perhaps he would get word to Warrick.
She gathered her skirts beneath her, trying to calm herself. Her fingers rested upon the swelling at her waist, and she tried to reassure her child that everything would be all right. I will protect you.
Time dragged onward and eventually the flap opened and Owen de Courcy entered the space. He brought with him a hunk of bread and a flask of wine. She was desperately grateful for the food and drink, despite the bearer.
‘I see that you are trying to pass off Warrick de Laurent’s bast
ard as my brother’s,’ he began by way of greeting.
‘I see that you are still trying to take me as your prisoner.’ She noted the flash of interest in his eyes, and her skin crawled with distaste. ‘And I have no doubt that you were responsible for ordering Alan’s murder by Fitzwarren.’
Owen shrugged. ‘Fitzwarren acted of his own accord.’
‘Lies. I know what happened, and so do you.’
‘It was not my hand that killed him.’
‘He was one of many whom you hired.’ She struggled to stand and was irritated when he offered his assistance. In his eyes, she saw the greed and ruthlessness. ‘Go back to Northleigh, Owen.’
‘Pevensham is mine now,’ he countered. ‘I care not what Alan said before he died. I will not give my estate into the hands of a bastard.’
She met his gaze evenly, though he was right that Warrick’s child had no rights to the land. And yet, she did not want to see her people harmed by Owen de Courcy as their leader. He had terrorised enough of them. She could not stand back and let him seize what her husband had desperately tried to protect.
He gripped her wrist firmly. ‘The king will hear of my claim to Pevensham in the morning. If you tell him your child is Warrick’s, from this new marriage, then I will leave you be. But if you try to seize what is mine, I will see you burned for adultery. And Warrick will die for the murder of my brother.’
He let her go, but the grip of his hand still left marks upon her skin. Deep inside, it felt as if her blood had frozen in her veins. For she knew that no matter what she said, Owen would demand her death.
He strode from the tent, letting the flap fall behind him. Rosamund sank down upon a low stool, feeling faint. God help her, what could she do? If she fled, Owen’s men would only bring her back. And she had no idea where Warrick was now.
He was a prisoner, just as she was—and he was caught in the midst of the king’s battle. No man could fight and survive when he was bound.
She sat for a long time, her cheeks wet with tears. Her hands rested upon the swelling at her womb, and she prayed for the life of Warrick and for their child. Finally, she rose to eat and drink, for she was starving.
Rosamund had just taken a sip of wine when she heard a noise behind her. She turned and saw Berta entering the tent.
‘Don’t drink or eat anything Owen gave you, my lady,’ her maid warned. ‘He means to do you harm.’
Fear sliced through her, and she set down the cup. For all she knew, Berta had placed herbs in the wine.
‘Why are you here?’ she demanded. She had doubted her decision to banish Berta from the start, but the woman’s presence could not be an accident.
‘I managed to take my son away from Owen de Courcy, and I brought him to stay with my mother,’ Berta responded. ‘Now, I intend to save your life, as you saved mine.’ Nodding towards the wine, she added, ‘It would not surprise me if Lord Pevensham filled that with herbs to cause miscarriage.’ Berta brought out a bundle wrapped in cloth. ‘Eat this instead.’
Rosamund was torn on whether to trust anyone. She was starving for food and desperately thirsty, but she feared the worst. Instead, she lied to Berta, ‘I am not hungry now.’
Her maid left the food in a corner of the tent. Her face was troubled, but she admitted, ‘I know you do not trust me. I never meant to poison your husband, but when a mother’s child is threatened, she will do anything to save him.’ Her face paled, and she added, ‘I will atone for my mistakes. I promise you that.’
Then Berta retreated from the tent, leaving Rosamund to wonder what would happen now. She left the food and drink alone, curling up on the ground to rest. In her mind, she tried to think of Warrick, praying that he would be safe from all harm.
Her back ached from exertion, and the skin was stretched so tightly across her swollen womb, it hurt. She tried to change positions, to find a way to be comfortable, but her anxieties rose higher.
You will die on the morrow, the voice of fear whispered. Owen will demand that you be burned for adultery.
Terror filled up the hours, and she did not sleep at all. Her body was racked with aching pain, and she could find no respite from it. Though she had taken only a single sip of the wine, there was no way of knowing what Owen had put in it.
And when the morning came, she wept at the sight of blood upon her thighs.
* * *
The morning sky was tinted rose, and ahead, Warrick could see the smoke rising from fires near the king’s encampment. He wanted to pull away from the others to seek out Rosamund, but there were so many at the encampment, he had no way of knowing where she was.
The Sheriff of Westmorland drew his horse alongside Warrick’s. ‘I will speak to the king on your behalf,’ he said. ‘You and your men have earned your freedom for what you did.’
He said nothing, but nodded in acknowledgment of Ranulf’s words. Right now, he needed to reach his wife. He had to ensure her safety, and time was not his ally.
‘I want you to stay here and guard our prisoner,’ Ranulf continued. ‘The Scottish king cannot escape our custody.’
Warrick hesitated and spoke. ‘First, by your leave, I must seek out my wife. She is here with her father.’ They were so close, he could not delay any longer.
‘Protecting our hostage is far more important,’ Ranulf argued. ‘Your woman can wait.’
‘I fear for her safety, for she is with child.’ The very mention of Rosamund’s unborn babe filled him with a sharp tang of fear. He doubted not that Owen would attempt to harm them. ‘I have not seen her in months.’
Ranulf studied him a moment. ‘You fought well among us, and we would not have defeated our enemies without you. If it is your will to see her for a moment, I will allow this. But I will expect to see you among my men by noontide.’
‘I will be there,’ he swore. He glanced back at Godfrey and Bennett, in a silent command for them to follow. They pulled ahead of the others, and Warrick ordered, ‘Help me find Rosamund.’
‘You need only look for Owen’s guards,’ Godfrey predicted. ‘She will be with them.’
With his men at his side, he rode into King Henry’s camp. Row by row, they searched the tents until he saw one with two guards standing outside it.
‘That one,’ Bennett said. ‘I recognise those men from Pevensham.’
Warrick dismounted, handing the reins off to Bennett before he approached the guards. Godfrey dismounted and followed. ‘Is Lady Pevensham within?’
‘No one may see her,’ the first answered. His hand rested upon his weapon.
‘Except me,’ Warrick countered. He struck the man hard across the jaw, disarming him in one motion.
The guard stumbled to the ground and Godfrey stepped forward, his sword pointed at the other. ‘Don’t,’ he warned.
Warrick pushed aside the tent flap and found Rosamund inside. The very sight of her shocked him, for she was indeed heavy with child for one who should have only had a slight pregnancy.
‘Warrick,’ she cried out, opening her arms to him. ‘I thought you were a prisoner.’
He crushed her into his embrace, so glad to see her. And in the moment she clung to him, he did not care about anything else. This was the woman he loved, the one he would die for. He kissed her hard, tasting the salt of her tears.
‘Did they let you go?’ she asked.
‘I was granted an hour to see you, but no, I must return to the commander.’ He was aware that his freedom was short-lived, but he intended to bring Rosamund to safety first.
She wrapped her arms around his neck, and Warrick slid his hands down her body, reassuring himself that she was all right. When he hesitated at her waist, she broke free of the kiss and guided his hands to their unborn child. ‘I tried to send word to you about this, I promise. The messengers could not find you.’
She blanched at his question. ‘I do not know. I—I began bleeding this morn.’ Within her frightened voice, he recognised her terror. She had lost a child once before, and it might already be happening again.
His heart sank at the thought, and prayed that the unborn infant would be safe. This invisible battle was one he could not fight for his wife’s sake. All he could do was protect her as best he could against outside threats, such as Owen de Courcy.
‘Sit down,’ he bade her, and she obeyed. ‘Tell me what has happened.’
Rosamund confessed how Owen’s men had taken her, and a thunderous rage filled Warrick up inside. ‘This has to end,’ he insisted. ‘The man must be brought to justice.’
‘I agree,’ Rosamund said, ‘but already both of you must face the king.’
‘I intend to settle the matter in a trial by combat,’ he countered. He had no fear of Owen de Courcy and doubted not that he would win. He extended his hand to Rosamund. ‘Will you come with me when I speak with the king?’
She shook her head. ‘If I walk, I fear it may bring on the child. I must stay here.’ Her expression grew strained, and Warrick shared her worry. But he could not leave her in this tent.
‘It’s not safe, Rosamund.’ He understood her fears, but Owen’s men had found her already. ‘I will send Godfrey and Bennett to bring a litter. We must find a place of sanctuary for you.’ He kissed her again and opened the tent flap, giving orders to his men.
‘Wait,’ Rosamund pleaded. She struggled to stand and caught both his hands. ‘If there is a choice between saving Pevensham or saving your life, let go of the estate. It does not matter any more. All that matters to me is you.’ Her voice filled up with emotion, and she moved into his arms. ‘I love you, Warrick, and I am so sorry I never told you about our daughter.’
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