‘It would.’ Warrick let her believe this was about land, not wanting to reveal too much. Then he rolled the bone dice a third time. When she took her turn and won again, he detected a faint note of amusement in her eyes. His suspicion grew, and he took the dice from her. ‘These are weighted, aren’t they?’
Her smile widened. ‘Of course they are.’
‘You cheated.’
But he wasn’t entirely angry with her. He might have done the same thing, truth to tell. Her hair had fallen across her shoulders, and in her state of undress, it reminded him of the fragile moments when she had belonged to him. Right now, he wanted to claim her lips again, to lay her back and surrender to the heated desire rising within.
Rosamund’s expression faltered as if she could read his thoughts. ‘Y-you owe me the answer to another question.’
‘I owe you nothing.’ He tossed the dice aside and rested his hands on either side of her. ‘You, my lady, deserve a penalty for what you did.’
He kept his tone teasing, so as not to frighten her. She softened and smiled again. ‘You should know better than to wager with me, Warrick.’ Her eyes were bright, and she narrowed her gaze at him. ‘There will be no penalty.’
He ignored her and claimed, ‘On the morrow, you will ride with me,’ he said. ‘Just as we did when we were young.’
Her face faltered at that. ‘The people will talk, if I do this. I cannot.’
‘Then you will ride alone, and I will come as your guard. I will wait for you near the stables.’
She rested her hands upon his shoulders. ‘For what purpose, Warrick?’
He drew his knuckles over the curve of her cheek. ‘Because I’m going to marry you again, after he’s dead. And you need time to know me once again.’
She didn’t move, didn’t flinch at his words. ‘Why do you think I will wed you?’
‘Because Alan commanded you to. And because this time, I won’t let you go.’ With that, he leaned in and kissed her hard.
* * *
Rosamund lay awake in bed for most of the night. Her thoughts were tangled up like knotted threads, and she felt torn between two men. On one hand, Warrick was right. Alan’s days were numbered, and she feared falling beneath Owen’s control. Marriage would indeed keep her protected, and it was what Alan wanted.
And yet, she did not want to bear another child. The thought chilled her to the bone, for in her heart, she feared she could never give birth to a living son. She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to push back the darkness.
With a heavy heart, she dressed herself in the darkness. Outside her window, she saw traces of the morning sky battling against the shadowed clouds. The need to escape this place was too much to overcome, so she reached for a familiar bundle and tied it at her waist. Her maid awakened, and she bid Berta return to sleep.
She tiptoed down the stone staircase, the restlessness rising in her blood. Men were sleeping upon the floor in the Great Hall, and she crept around them, hoping no one would see her. One soldier emerged, and she motioned him back, not wanting anyone to follow. He must have come recently from sentry duty, for he wore full armour and a conical helm that obscured his face.
She was not strong enough to open the heavy doors of the main entrance. Before she could try again, the soldier moved in front of her and pulled the door open. He remained silent, and she nodded her thanks.
With her cloak around her, she savoured the morning stillness. This was the time of day that she loved the most, for many of the castle folk were still abed. She could take solace in being alone.
Rosamund awakened one of the stable boys and ordered her horse to be saddled. The same soldier who had opened the door stepped forward once again. He signalled for the stable boy to bring his own horse, and now, she recognised him and understood why he had followed her. Warrick had kept his identity shielded, and he meant to guard her, as he had promised last night. So be it.
When the horses were ready, she took the lead, and he followed. She rode across her lands, skirting the village and keeping to the open meadow. Nearby, she saw the fields of barley swaying in the morning breeze. She kept her pace steady, feeling her apprehension slowly beginning to lift.
The morning dawn transformed the sky from grey to shades of rose. The light eased her mood, softening the hard edges of sleeplessness. When she reached the edge of her lands, she was slightly out of breath but felt better. She dismounted and led her horse towards the banks of a large lake, letting him drink. Warrick kept his distance, for which she was grateful. She understood why he had accompanied her, but she had no desire to speak to him at this moment.
She chose a flat rock near the edge of the water, spreading her skirts around her. From inside the bundle at her waist, she pulled out her embroidery and several lengths of thread. He remained behind her, but she was fully conscious of his presence.
There was now enough light to see the design she had begun. Blue, brown, and grey threads intertwined to form the pattern of water. Upon the surface of it, she began stitching small threads of gold. She drank in the sight of the sunrise, adding threads of pink and soft grey as she recreated the sunrise before her.
Only in this did she possess the power to form beauty. Though her life was a tangled snarl of threads, some nearly ready to break, it was in her work that she found peace. She gave herself up to the artistry, feeling the rest of the world slip away.
Warrick did not interrupt, but stood behind her, a quiet sentry. Only after she had finished did she turn back to him. He had already removed his helm, revealing his face.
She was grateful that he had not asked her to speak, nor had he revealed his identity to anyone else.
‘Thank you for watching over me,’ she said quietly. ‘I needed this moment.’
