Alan met Warrick’s gaze evenly. ‘Will you do this for us? For her?’
He had not yet decided whether to accept Alan’s proposition. Not only was Rosamund adamant that she would not break her vows, there was no telling whether the plan would work, even if she did change her mind. At the moment, she believed that a simple lie would pacify her husband, and she had no intention of attempting to conceive.
‘I will think about it,’ he said at last. It was the best answer he could give. If Rosamund wanted his help, he would not deny her. But until then, he would bide his time.
The door to Alan’s bedchamber swung open, and Rosamund entered the room. She had gathered her composure and took a seat upon a low stool beside the hearth. Then she picked up her sewing and began to embroider the linen. Nothing in her demeanour suggested the rebellion within her heart.
When Warrick studied her more closely, Rosamund’s green eyes revealed a stubborn nature. She had unyielding loyalty and was not about to obey this command meekly.
Alan was asking him to lay siege to this woman’s body and heart, with a child and a castle as the prizes to be won. But it was far more complicated than that.
‘Rosamund, Warrick tells me that you have changed your mind about our agreement.’ His expression held annoyance. ‘I thought you understood the necessity of this arrangement.’
At that, she set aside her sewing and stood from her stool. ‘My lord husband, I told him that I am a woman of honour, and I—’
‘You promised,’ Alan repeated. He extended his hand to his wife, and she went to his bedside. ‘This is not about your desires or mine, or even his. This is about protecting everything we have built. If I could give you a child, I would have done so by now, Rosamund.’ His complexion had gone grey, and he leaned back against the pillows. ‘If you wait until I am gone, it will be too late. The child’s parentage will be questioned, and I cannot risk this.’
Warrick remained in place, feeling like an outsider while Alan stroked his wife’s hand. She leaned in, murmuring to him, and the man closed his eyes for a moment.
‘Rosamund, does Warrick de Laurent frighten you?’
‘Yes,’ she admitted. But the look on her face was enigmatic, as if something else troubled her.
‘Do you believe he would harm you?’ Alan continued. ‘Would you rather I chose another man?’
‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘I could not imagine lying with anyone else.’ The moment she spoke the words, her face reddened when she realised what she’d said.
Warrick remained silent, but he could see that she was not entirely immune to him. ‘Lord Pevensham, I propose that we give Rosamund more time to think about this. And in the meantime, I will remain here with my men until she has made her decision.’
Alan didn’t look pleased with his suggestion, but he had little alternative. Warrick wanted to speak with her again and learn whether it was honour that kept Rosamund from fulfilling her husband’s desires—or fear of the feelings she had buried over the last three years.
Chapter Three
Three years earlier
Rosamund stared up at the Montbrooke donjon with wonder. The keep had a large rectangular tower and stood atop a hillside. The outer wall was three feet thick and stretched from the base of the mound nearly twenty feet high. Another tower stretched above the main gate with sentries posted.
The earl had invited her family here to witness the betrothal of his oldest son Rhys to Lianna MacKinnon, a Scottish heiress. Rosamund didn’t know either of them, but her father was friends with Edward de Laurent. The betrothed couple would marry soon, which would help secure their lands at Eiloch.
She rode alongside her parents and sister across the drawbridge which spanned a deep moat filled with water. The portcullis was made of iron, and she saw dozens of sentries standing guard.
When they reached the inner bailey, several stable boys took their horses and helped them dismount. Rosamund stood with her sister while her father and mother went forward to greet Lord Montbrooke. Edward de Laurent had three children—a daughter Joan who was slightly older than Rosamund, his eldest son Rhys, and another son, Warrick.
It was Warrick who caught her attention from the first. He had dark hair and blue eyes that watched her with interest. He wore leather armour and had a sword at his belt, as if he had just come from the training field. She guessed he was twenty, and the longer he stared at her, the more her cheeks flushed. Never before had a handsome young man shown interest in her, and she wondered if he would speak with her later.
‘Do not even consider it,’ her younger sister Cecilia warned in a hard whisper. ‘Father would never allow it.’
‘Allow what?’
‘Don’t be coy. I saw the way you were looking at Warrick de Laurent.’ Her sister reached out and gripped her hand. ‘Father plans to betroth you to Alan de Courcy. I heard he was already negotiating the marriage contract.’
The thought soured her stomach. Though she knew her marriage would be arranged, she had hoped to have a choice in it.
‘So soon?’ She couldn’t hide the dismay in her voice.
‘Within a year, so I’ve heard.’ Cecilia spoke as if it had already happened. ‘So do not imagine that he would settle for the youngest son of an earl—not when you could have a baron to wed.’
Rosamund ignored her younger sister and straightened her shoulders. Instead, when her parents brought them forward to be introduced, she kept a smile on her face when Warrick took her hand. He gave her fingers a slight squeeze, and her nerves twisted with a rush of giddiness.
