‘If you want to wed me, I will take you away from this place,’ he said. ‘We will be together.’ He hardly cared if anyone approved of the match—all that mattered was Rosamund’s desires.
‘I’m afraid,’ she confessed. ‘Both of our families will cut us off. We may be outcasts if we dare to defy them.’
‘Trust in me,’ he ordered. ‘I will find a way for us. I swear it.’ He caressed her cheek and added, ‘But it is your decision to make.’
* * *
Rosamund had spent several restless nights, trying to decide what was right. Warrick had given her distance, not asking her to meet again. And yet, every time she had caught a glimpse of him, she yearned to be in his arms. The thought of marrying another man was simply unthinkable. And though it was dangerous, she knew she had to follow her heart’s desires.
‘He’s w-w-waiting for you outside the g-gates,’ Ademar stammered. Despite his difficulty in speaking, he was taller than the other boys his age. He led her down a darkened corridor, carrying the bundle of her belongings. Last night, she and her sister had packed up their trunks, preparing for the journey home at dawn. But Cecelia knew nothing of Rosamund’s plan to run away.
She had deliberated upon the decision for days. Her family would be outraged if she defied her father’s command. Although the betrothal agreement had not yet been signed, her mother was behaving as if she were already wed.
Which, if everything went to plan, she would be after this night—but to Warrick de Laurent and not Alan de Courcy.
Her nerves were raw as she followed Ademar into the darkness. Inside the bundle he carried, she had packed only a single gown, some jewels she could sell, and a little food. Her heart was racing at the thought of being caught. Her father would punish them both, and she feared for Warrick. Although he was a strong fighter, he would never use his strength against her family.
She would have to defy all of them, even at the risk of her safety. But the thought of wedding Alan de Courcy was far worse. Her heart was already lost to Warrick de Laurent, and she could not imagine being with anyone else.
Rosamund didn’t know how Warrick planned for them to run away, but she had prepared herself as best she could. She had chosen a simple dark blue woollen cloak to hide herself at night, but it might not be enough. Now the question was how she and Ademar could sneak past the guards to where Warrick was waiting. The soldiers would undoubtedly see her.
Ademar led her to stand beside the inner bailey wall while his attention was transfixed upon the guards near the gate. Without words, he pressed her back, waiting. The flare of torches illuminated the walls of the fortress, and she held her breath.
Then he seized her wrist and pulled her forward to run. Rosamund obeyed without question, and once again, he moved her into the shadows. It felt like a game of predator and prey, seeking to elude the men who would capture her and force her back to her father.
Ademar bent to her ear and whispered. ‘I will d-draw the guards away from the gate. When I do, you must g-go. You will f-find Warrick waiting for you at the bottom of the hill.’ He didn’t wait for her to respond, but strode away from her towards the men at the gates. The guards were armed with spears, but they did not appear concerned by Ademar’s presence. He spoke to them quietly, and Rosamund was annoyed to hear one of them laughing at the boy’s stammer. She inched her way along the wall, waiting until the two guards had their back to her. There was a slight gap where she could slip past the first soldier, and she seized the opportunity.
Her heart hammered with fear as she moved past him, praying to remain soundless. She hurried across the drawbridge into the darkness, fully expecting to hear a warning shout from the guards.
But there came nothing at all. She saw Ademar continuing to distract the guards, and the moment she disappeared into the darkness, she found Warrick waiting. He took her hand in his and kissed her softly before leading her away. She was thankful to have found him, but her fears didn’t diminish at all.
They walked in silence through the meadow with no moon to guide them. Only when they reached the sanctuary of the woods did Warrick lift her onto the horse, mounting behind her. She had no idea where he planned to take her, and she didn’t care. All she wanted was to be with him, no matter the cost.
He kept their pace slow at first until the castle was well behind them. She was conscious of every line of his body, of the strength and power of his thighs as he guided the horse. And only when more time passed, did some of her fears soften.
They rode through the night, and Rosamund fell asleep in his arms. When dawn came, her body ached with stiffness as he helped her down. He had stopped beside a stream and let the horse drink for a time. Rosamund spied the ruins of a church nearby and she wondered if this was their destination or only a stopping point. Warrick took her by the hand and led her towards the church.
‘We’ll stop here to rest.’ He led her inside the stone ruins, and she stood for a moment, studying the fallen stones. The morning sunlight illuminated the church, bathing the stone fragments with rays of gold and rose. Rosamund moved closer, drawing her hand across the stones, learning the patterns of grey, black, and green within the ruins. She memorised the colours, knowing she could duplicate this with the right threads.
A few moments later, Warrick came up behind her, resting his hands upon her shoulders. ‘What are you thinking about, Rosamund?’
‘Sewing,’ she confessed, turning to smile at him. She drew her arms around his waist, welcoming his embrace. They stood in the early morning light, and she breathed in the scent of his skin. But the longer she remained near him, the more she grew aware of her own feelings. She wanted to lose herself again in his kiss, to feel his skin upon hers. A rush of blood roared through her, and she rested her cheek against his chest.
‘I would marry you right now, if I could,’ he murmured. ‘Before God and all the world.’
‘So would I.’ She lifted her mouth for his kiss and this time, there was no denying his desires. She tasted the fierce needs, and he devoured her mouth as if he could never get enough.
He broke free, his eyes deadly serious. ‘Rosamund de Beaufort, I take you as my wife. I swear to guard you with my body and protect you with all that I have.’
She braved a smile. ‘Warrick de Laurent, I take you as my husband. I promise to love you for the rest of my life.’
With the marriage vows spoken, it was as if her very blood had caught fire. Rosamund felt the echoing arousal within her body, and the need to touch this man drowned out the voices of reason.
She reached for his shirt and drew her fingers over the laces. Slowly, she loosened it, staring at him with undisguised need. Warrick’s eyes turned heated, and he pulled the shirt over his head, revealing his hardened chest. She traced the lines of his pectoral muscles, marvelling at his strength.
And when he began to undress her, she did not voice a single protest. Layers of linen and silk fell away until she stood in her shift in the morning sunlight. The air was cool, puckering her breasts. Her nipples ached for his touch, and between her legs, she grew moist with desire.
She knew the danger in this, but she understood that it was the only way to force her father’s hand. If she surrendered her innocence and there was the possibility of a child, no other man would wed her.
