It took effort to remain cool and poised, but Rosamund refused to let her own emotions interfere. ‘When did you begin poisoning Alan?’
Berta sank to her knees. ‘Only a few months ago. I never meant for my lord to die. I thought if he grew a little sick, it would protect my boy and convince Owen de Courcy that I was doing as he bade me.’ Her maid covered her face with her hands. ‘I knew Lord Pevensham would get well, the moment I stopped.’
‘How can I ease his pain?’
‘Give him milk,’ the maid said. ‘It will stop the effects of the poison.’
Rosamund eyed Warrick, wondering what to do. If she ordered Berta killed, Owen would learn of it and would murder her child. He met her gaze steadily, letting her know the decision was hers to make.
‘I do not deserve your mercy, Lady Pevensham.’ Berta was weeping. ‘But I beg you to find my son and take him away from Owen. He is an innocent.’
There were no clear answers to this dilemma. Rosamund’s stomach clenched with guilt and a sense of helplessness. She simply didn’t know what was right.
But the fact remained, Berta could easily have killed Alan at any moment during these past few months, and no one would have known differently. She had given him a thread of mercy. Perhaps she deserved the same.
To Warrick, she ordered, ‘Have your men take Berta a few miles outside Northleigh and leave her there.’ To her maid, she said in a dark tone, ‘We both know I should have you slain right now. But you did not take Alan’s life when you had the chance. For that reason, I will have you brought to Northleigh where you may attempt to take your son back from Owen. If you fail and die in the effort, your blood will not be on my hands. But you must never show your face at Pevensham again.’
At that, Berta cried harder. ‘God bless you, my lady, for your mercy.’
It was hardly any mercy at all, she knew. It was unlikely that Berta would save her son or even find a way to survive.
But it was a chance.
* * *
Rosamund entered Alan’s chamber and found him awake. He frowned the moment he saw her. ‘What happened to your face? Did someone strike you?’
She explained everything, ending with Berta’s role in attempting to poison him. Alan’s expression held rage, followed by a sudden transformation of his thoughts. ‘Then this illness may lift from my shoulders. I may grow stronger and live.’
There was a glimmer of hope in his tone, but Rosamund could not share in his joy. If Alan recovered and reclaimed his place as Lord Pevensham, Warrick would have no choice but to leave. She could not go with him and bear his child.
Once again, she would be alone, trapped in a marriage she had never wanted. Colour had returned to her husband’s face, as if the knowledge had renewed his desire to survive.
‘I am glad for your sake, Alan,’ she murmured. But the words were a lie. Tears burned in her eyes with the knowledge that she would never see Warrick again. God help her, it seemed they were destined to remain apart for always. Perhaps this was her punishment for daring to betray her vows. The wrenching pain broke her heart at the thought of losing Warrick.
Her husband’s mouth tightened, as if he could read her thoughts. But he only said, ‘Banishment is too good for Berta. You should have allowed me to pass judgement. It was not your place to decide.’
His chastisement caught her unawares. ‘And why not? I am Lady of Pevensham.’ She could see no reason why she should not be allowed to decide her maid’s fate.
‘Your duties are to oversee the household, not to dispense justice. And furthermore, you were not to give commands to my soldiers regarding Owen.’
She stared at him in disbelief. ‘If our own guards allow Owen to strike me within these castle grounds,why should I permit that? I am tired of standing aside and letting our men do as they wish.’ The soldiers owedhertheir loyalty, as well as Alan. If she allowed disrespect among them, their conduct would only worsen.
‘It is not your place to interfere, Rosamund.’
‘Do you expect me to sit and sew or weave tapestries while our household crumbles around us? I will not.’
He reached for the food she had brought him and ate while speaking to her. ‘You enjoy sewing. I see no reason why you should not continue. I will speak to Warrick and ask him to command our forces. He will find those who are loyal and rid us of those who are not. And when we have only our most trusted men, I will give him leave to return to his family.’
He intended to use Warrick for his own means before sending him away. She did not think she could bear it. But she bit her tongue and offered, ‘I will send him to you.’
She left the room, feeling the rise of frustration. Her emotions were a tangled mess right now. Rosamund longed to escape, even if only for a moment. She walked down a narrow hallway to a door that led to the battlements.
The evening air was cool against her cheeks, and she let her thoughts drift as she stared across the grounds. The soldiers stood guard at regular intervals, and another man began lighting torches, setting them into iron sconces around the walls.
The door opened behind her, and she saw Warrick approach. He wore chainmail armour, and he held his helm beneath one arm.
‘You’re troubled,’ he said. ‘Is it only your maid or something more?’
