They continued towards her husband’s chamber and Rosamund opened the door. The moment they stepped inside, Warrick saw Alan lying prone on the bed. His limp hair was tangled around his face, and his hand hung over the side of the mattress.
Rosamund gasped at the sight and hurried to his side. A moment later, her shoulders relaxed. In a low whisper, she murmured, ‘Thanks be to God, he is only sleeping.’
But he understood that this was the burden that hung over her each day. She never knew whether Alan would survive the day and lived in fear of the moment he would die. Worry lined her face, and she chose a stool near the hearth, as if keeping vigil. Warrick took another chair and sat across from her.
‘I want Owen to leave,’ she admitted beneath her breath. ‘But I do not think he will. He is naught but a vulture, circling his brother.’
‘I agree—he will not leave until Alan is dead.’
Her face grew pained at the idea. ‘My husband is a good man, and he does not deserve any of this. Would that he could live out his days in peace.’ In her green eyes, he saw tears welling up. Whether they were tears of grief or of frustration, he could not say. But her shoulders slumped forward, her head bowed.
A few moments later, Alan stirred upon the bed. ‘Rosamund, is that you?’
‘Yes, my lord.’ She moved to his side and helped him to sit up. ‘Would you like any food or wine? Berta left you some cheese and bread. Or there is venison, if that would tempt you.’
He gave a weak smile. ‘I am not so very hungry, but I would be glad of your company.’
Warrick remained on the far side of the room, leaving the pair of them to share a private moment. Although Rosamund fussed over her husband, Warrick noticed that she treated him like a friend, not a lover. There was no sense of intimacy with the man, but he saw the way Alan doted upon her.
He was about to quietly leave their chamber when Alan called him back. ‘Please come and sit beside us, Warrick.’
He crossed the room but did not sit. Instead, he stood behind Rosamund in a respectful distance.
‘My brother has come to inspect his inheritance. I told him today that Rosamund is with child.’ Alan eyed his wife, who appeared horrified at his proclamation. ‘I want everyone to believe this child is legitimate.’
‘A child who does not exist,’ Rosamund shot back. ‘Why would you say this, Alan?’
‘I know that you are reluctant,ma petite, but I command this of you. This is the best way to ensure the protection of Pevensham and you.’
Although Warrick understood why the man had lied to his brother, Alan’s revelation would undoubtedly bring danger to Rosamund.
Then Alan lifted his gaze to Warrick. ‘The time has come, de Laurent. What is your answer? Will you sire a child for us?’
* * *
A chill of fear rose upon Rosamund’s skin, for she did not know the answer he would give. Though Warrick would never take her against her will, she was also well aware that he held the power to seduce her. Her treacherous mind remembered the weight of his body upon hers. He had been a warrior all his life, and she had traced the hardened muscles of his torso beneath her fingertips. Everything about him unnerved her, causing her emotions to fall into chaos.
She didn’t trust herself any more.
‘I leave the decision to Rosamund,’ Warrick answered. ‘But if I do this, I have conditions that must be met.’
‘As do I,’ Alan said. The man’s complexion was pale, his hand ice cold when Warrick clasped it in agreement.
Their arrangement shook her to the core. This was about far more than conceiving an heir. Did her husband honestly believe she could simply lie back and let another man join with her, for the sake of a child? Even if it meant protecting Pevensham and herself? No, not at all.
Rosamund had locked away her feelings of the past, obeying her father to save Warrick’s life. She could not dare lower the boundaries that shielded her heart.
She backed away from the two men. The need for physical distance overrode all else. It infuriated her that her husband viewed her as a pawn, to be sacrificed for the greater good.
A small voice inside warned,That is all you have ever been. A pawn, sacrificed for a greater strategy. Not a woman with any strength or will of her own.
Her father had treated her in this way, and now her husband was behaving in the same manner, for the sake of an heir.
In all honesty, the idea of another pregnancy terrified her. Every time she imagined it, she thought of the terrible labour pains and the lifeless body of her daughter. Rosamund closed her eyes, forcing back the memory.
‘I can’t,’ she whispered. ‘I am sorry, but I just...can’t.’ Not only because of her pregnancy fears, but also because she could no longer allow herself to become a silent shadow. If she let them manipulate her like a lump of clay, she would lose the last pieces of herself.
Her husband turned to stare at her, and for the first time, she saw a darker side to Alan. No longer was he a benevolent nobleman—instead, he was a baron fighting to save his estate from the enemy.
