Once again, she felt nothing. She told herself that she ought to be thankful that her husband was feeling better. But she could not bring herself to kiss him back. Instead, she wanted it to be Warrick’s mouth upon hers, not Alan’s. God help her, what had she done?
A deep emptiness seemed to fill up her spirit, pushing away the companionship she had once shared with her husband. Now, she resented him for forcing the temptation of Warrick’s touch upon her, rekindling the forbidden feelings she had silenced for three years.
‘Go to your chamber,’ he commanded. ‘And later this night, I will come to you. We will try again for a child.’
Alan’s demand startled her, and he must have recognised the shock on her face. Rosamund blinked and asked, ‘Are you...well enough for that?’
‘I am, now that I am no longer being poisoned.’ His expression turned grim, and he added, ‘If you do bear a son, I want to imagine that I was the one who fathered him.’
She forced herself to nod, but she could not suppress the coldness that encircled her heart or the tears that rose up. Once again, he wanted her to lie with him, as if the physical act meant nothing at all. He wanted her to go from Warrick’s bed back into his.
No. She could not do it.
She turned her back and departed his chamber, closing the door softly behind her. Her mind was torn apart with fear and guilt between the two men...one she desired with her heart and body...and another who was bound to her by the Church and her own vows. She refused to think of another set of vows, made to Warrick, on holy ground.
God help her, Alan was going to recover. He would resume his leadership of Pevensham and believe that everything would go back to the way it was. Why shouldn’t he?
Her sin weighed heavily upon her spirits. This was her punishment, to have her heart’s desire and then let it be taken away as soon as she surrendered to temptation. Her eyes burned with unshed tears as she tried to gather control of her emotions.
Rosamund walked slowly down the hall, letting her thoughts wander. She tried to tell herself that it was an answered prayer that Alan’s illness was gone. It didn’t matter what she wanted any more. Marriage was a sacrament she would have to endure, for she had spoken the vows.
She had tried to protect her heart from feelings of the past, but it was no use. The man she wanted was Warrick de Laurent, but Fate had decreed otherwise.
Rosamund stopped walking and leaned against the stone wall inside the hallway, allowing herself to weep for what would never be. The knowledge blistered within her heart that she was trapped within a loveless marriage and would not see Warrick again, once Alan sent him away. The sobs choked up within her, and she doubled over in physical anguish. Why did it have to be this way? Why did she have to fall in love again, and yet be left feeling so alone?
She had tried so hard to shield herself from any feelings at all, but the night with Warrick had only reminded her that she was living within the shell of a marriage. And now that his illness had receded, Alan wanted her back.
She was so blinded by her tears, she never saw the man who seized her waist. His hand clamped over her mouth, and he murmured in her ear, ‘Alan de Courcy will not live beyond this month, Lady Pevensham.’
Rosamund froze in shock, struggling to escape his grip. She now recognised the man as their former commander, Aldred Fitzwarren. The man’s face was rigid with fury. ‘Owen de Courcy is the rightful leader of Pevensham. Warrick de Laurent will never claim what belongs to my lord. I’ll see him dead first.’
She fought to free herself from his grasp, but Fitzwarren tightened his grip. ‘The men will stay loyal to me. Remember that, my lady. De Laurent may have taken my place, but I am still their leader.’
With that, his fist struck a hard blow against her temple, and she saw nothing more.
* * *
Warrick found Rosamund lying motionless in the hall, and his heart nearly stopped. He rushed towards her and turned her over, thankful to see that she was still breathing.
‘Rosamund,’ he said, touching her cheek. He saw the swollen place upon her temple where she’d been struck, and she moaned as she began to regain consciousness. He was going to kill whoever had done this to her.
Swiftly, Warrick lifted her into his arms and brought her back to her chamber, laying her down upon her bed. Then he bolted the door and went to pour cool water into a basin. He dipped a piece of linen into the water and wrung it out, bringing it to her. The moment he touched the cool cloth to her forehead, she started to awaken.
‘Who did this to you?’ he demanded. Then he softened his voice, realising that it sounded as if he were blaming her for the attack. ‘Are you all right?’
She winced and managed a nod. ‘I seem to be in the habit of men striking me down, as of late. Fitzwarren did this. He said that Pevensham belongs to Owen, and that Alan would not live through the end of the month.’
An iron rage burned through Warrick that the soldiers had not done their duty and escorted the former commander outside the gates. Fitzwarren should never have been permitted to escape. But Bennett and Godfrey had warned him that most of Alan’s soldiers had been threatened by Owen. They were too afraid to act against him, knowing that he would one day take command of Pevensham.
They might have driven Owen out temporarily, but the man would return. And when he did, the danger would intensify until fighting would break out among the soldiers. He needed to get Rosamund away from Pevensham before that happened.
‘I’m going to take you some place safe,’ he said. ‘Somewhere Owen can never touch you.’
She sat up, holding the linen to her swollen temple. ‘Would that were possible. But I cannot go with you, Warrick. My place is here.’
He was about to argue with her, but something stopped him. There was a deep sadness within her eyes, and it raised up a warning inside. ‘What has happened?’
‘Alan is getting stronger. I know I should be glad of it, but—’ A tear escaped her, and he brushed it away. She covered his hand with her own and whispered, ‘He wants to come to me tonight. To try again for a child.’
