Warrick said nothing at all, but pulled the sheet over her and left.
And when she was alone, she closed her eyes and damned them both for what they had done.
* * *
In the morning, Rosamund awakened alone. Memories of last night washed over her, and she had never felt more ashamed and angry in her life.
You could have said no,her conscience chided.You knew what was happening, and you allowed it. The sin is yours to bear.
And there could be a child now.
She tore the sheets off her bed, tangling them into a ball and throwing them across the room. Damn them both for this. She hated being so powerless, unable to make decisions in her own life.
She put on her shift and kirtle, struggling with the laces. She didn’t know where Berta was, but she was glad that her maid had been elsewhere last night. Rosamund strode towards the fireplace, and her footing slipped upon something small and hard. She went reeling and struck the floor. Too late, she realised it was a weighted gaming die she had played with Warrick the other night. She winced and sat up on the floor, reaching for the die. It was made of bone and filled on one side just enough to land on the side she wanted it to.
Would that she could arrange her own life to fall into the pattern she desired. She remained on the floor with her kirtle tangled in her legs, hardly caring.
Her husband had never been this demanding before, not once in the three years of their marriage. Now, he had revealed another side of himself, a ruthless side that she didn’t like. Did he honestly believe she wouldn’t know when another man touched her? Frustration seethed within her, and Rosamund finally stood up from the floor, picking up the small gaming die as she did. A knock sounded at her door, and she suspected it must be Warrick, sent by her husband.
She jerked the door open and was startled to see Owen de Courcy standing on the other side. He was dressed in travelling clothes with no armour, but a light sword hung at his waist.
He moved into her bedchamber without a word, adding, ‘Close the door, Rosamund.’
Her nerves tightened at the sight of this man. There was no denying the threat he posed, though she tried to calm her beating heart.
Rosamund didn’t move, but instead wondered if she could escape his presence instead. When she stepped towards the door, intending to flee, he closed the distance and shut it behind him. ‘Never mind, then.’
‘You should not be within my chamber,’ she argued. ‘If you wish to speak to me, we will do so elsewhere. In my husband’s room or in the Great Hall.’
‘Too many would overhear our conversation,’ he said smoothly.
An icy coldness slid over her skin, for she knew he had come to threaten her. She had no weapons in her chamber, no means of defending herself.
‘I have placed a guard outside the door to keep us safe,’ Owen continued.
In other words, there was no escaping him. Her pulse raced within her veins, and she questioned whether to move away from this man or stay close to the door.
‘What do you want?’ But even as she voiced the question, she knew.
‘Your husband tells me you are with child. But you are not, are you?’ His tone held a darkness that frightened her.
Rosamund didn’t know how to answer him, for after last night, she could be. She didn’t know if Alan had already made provisions for an unborn heir or whether to tell him the truth.
‘I believe so,’ she hedged. ‘But it is very soon.’
Owen’s gaze passed over her, lingering upon her breasts and hips. ‘Or perhaps you bear a bastard child, conceived with Warrick de Laurent. And you think to pass him off as Alan’s heir.’ He circled her, effectively cornering her against the door.
Her heart beat faster at his insinuation, but she refused to cower before him.
‘Leave my chamber,’ she shot back. She poured all her fury into her words, and tried to reach for the door handle. But Owen blocked her and pressed her against the wall. His body was upon hers, and he leaned in to whisper in her ear. ‘The only bastard I will allow you to bear is mine.’
She could feel the hard ridge of his arousal, and it repulsed her. With all her strength, she tried to shove him back. But he seized her waist, imprisoning her in his arms. ‘I have wanted you from the first moment I saw you, Rosamund. And I swore that one day you would be mine.’
‘It would be incest,’ she gritted out. ‘We are related by marriage.’
He laughed softly. ‘Oh, I don’t intend to wed you, Rosamund. You will receive your dower portion, as promised. And I will come to you at night to share your bed.’ His hand passed over her breast, and she drew her knee up between his legs. But he twisted to avoid her blow, keeping her trapped against the wall.
‘Don’t touch me!’ she warned.
