The faint smile upon Owen’s face unnerved her. ‘Do I frighten you, Rosamund?’
‘Of course not.’ It was a lie, and he knew it.
He touched her cheek, stroking her chin. Owen’s touch made her skin crawl, for it was not at all brotherly in nature. ‘Would that I could take away your fear. Perhaps we should go riding, and I could convince you that I am harmless.’
The thought filled her with revulsion. ‘I have no time for riding.’
This time, she pushed her way past him, wishing she could run from the man. She had always known he wanted everything that belonged to Alan. And yet, she had not truly understood the depths of his jealousy.
He truly might kill his own brother.And worse, she knew she could do nothing to stop him.
She hurried as far away from the men as she dared, moving towards the kitchens. Only when she was free of both men did she look back.
Warrick’s hand was firmly upon the hilt of his sword. He was speaking quietly to Owen, and she had no idea what they were talking about. Was he warning the man to stay away from her? The thought should have been reassuring, but she didn’t want Warrick provoking a fight.
It was better to leave now, to ensure that she had no part in this. Just as she was about to retreat inside, her maid, Berta, caught up to her. ‘My lady, are you all right?’
She nodded. ‘I am.’ She knew she ought to reassure her maid that Owen de Courcy would not dare to harm them. But she couldn’t quite bring herself to lie. ‘We have guests, and we must prepare for them.’
Rosamund entered the kitchen and told the cook of Owen’s arrival, instructing the servants to prepare more food. Amid the bustling noise and cooking, she took solace in a corner of the room, breathing in the scent of rosemary and sage.
Warrick claimed that Owen had hired him to kill Alan. She was grateful that he had refused, but her husband was still in danger. It might be best to ask several men to stand guard outside Alan’s room. Only then could she be certain he was safe.
All around her, the invisible web seemed to tighten. She no longer knew how she could keep everyone protected within Pevensham—her husband, her people, and especially herself.
But she could not remain passive and allow Owen to take command of Pevensham. Her husband lacked the strength to fight for his estate, so she would have to do so. There was still time to add reinforcements to her soldiers. If she could learn who was loyal to Alan and which men supported Owen, then she could make the right decisions.
Rosamund straightened as she stared outside the window at their property. Why was she allowing others to pull her life in directions she didn’t want to go? This washerhome now, and she was entitled to live here for the rest of her days. She had no desire ever to return home to her parents—not after all that had happened years ago.
But in spite of the inauspicious beginning, Pevensham had become hers. She loved the people who dwelled upon the land, and she felt protective of them. Owen could not be allowed to destroy this place.
He will never leave you alone,a voice inside whispered.Even if he takes a wife.
She knew that Owen coveted her, and the thought strengthened her resolve to fight her own battles.
Her husband’s solution—to conceive a child—appeared simple upon the surface, but it was fraught with danger. Every memory of the pregnancy was a knife buried into her heart. She had loved her daughter, though the baby had never taken a single breath. She had cradled the cold infant against her breast, shattered by grief.
And Alan wanted her to face that fear once again.
No. She would find another way to protect the estate, even if it meant surrounding herself with guards at all times. Nothing could convince her to attempt another child.
Not even with Warrick, the man who had fathered her daughter and knew nothing of it.
* * *
‘Will we return to Montbrooke in the morning?’ his man-at-arms, Bennett, asked. Both Bennett and Godfrey had been his companions since they’d fought together in Normandy.
Warrick accepted a cup of ale from a serving maid and shook his head. ‘Our task here is not yet finished.’ He eyed Owen de Courcy, who had seated himself upon the dais beside Rosamund. The man was entirely too comfortable giving orders, and Warrick tensed when he saw Owen touching Rosamund in subtle ways. The man’s hand brushed against hers when he reached for salt, and he tried to feed her a portion of cold meat and cheese.
From across the room, Warrick saw her pleading look for help.She was trying to be courteous, but had barely touched her food. He kept eye contact with her and stood from his table among the men. ‘This has to stop.’
‘Where are you going?’ Bennett asked.
‘Lady Pevensham summoned me.’ He clapped a hand on the man’s shoulder. ‘She wishes me to escort her to her husband’s chamber.’
Godfrey eyed him with a doubtful look. ‘She is still eating. Are you certain?’
Warrick took a cloth and wrapped up his own portion of bread and cheese, tucking it away in a fold of his cloak. ‘I am.’ He nodded to the men and walked away.
