‘No.’ The very thought was a dagger within his heart. He cared nothing for Alan de Courcy—but Rosamund belonged to him. Warrick drew his arms around her waist. ‘I will not allow it.’
‘He is my husband,’ she murmured. ‘It is his right.’
His anger and jealousy seared him to the bone. ‘Do you expect me to stand back and let you go from my arms back into his? I let you go once before, Rosamund. It won’t happen again.’ He leaned down and captured her mouth, kissing her hard. He needed her to understand that this went beyond honour and vows. They were meant to be together, and he would die before letting her return to Alan’s bed.
He realised that he no longer cared if he lacked wealth or status. His father would never accept him, and there was little point in seeking the man’s approval. The only person whose approval mattered was Rosamund.
Her hands were trembling, but she kissed him back. He tasted the salt of her tears and leaned her back against her pillow. ‘You never should have married Alan, Rosamund. We belong together.’
He lowered his mouth to her throat, and her hands gripped his hair. Her green eyes filled up with sorrow and guilt. ‘I believed my father would have killed you. And I would have wed Lucifer himself if it meant saving your life.’
‘I survived the punishment.’ He sat back and removed his tunic. Then he took her hands and drew them over the scars on his back. ‘I will bear these marks for the rest of my life. And I would suffer them twice over for you.’
She traced the scars with her fingertips, and the softness of her touch aroused him deeply. He burned for this woman, and he loosened the laces of her gown, needing her to feel what he was feeling. Without asking permission, he slid his hand beneath her bodice and touched her breast. He caressed her nipple, feeling it harden against his thumb. ‘You knew it was me that night, didn’t you?’
‘I knew.’ She closed her eyes, her face holding weariness. ‘I should not have allowed it. But I was so angry with Alan, I could not think clearly.’
Her face flushed as he exposed her bare breast. The white globe was soft within his hand, and he leaned down to kiss her nipple. A gasp escaped her, and she arched against him.
‘Warrick, no. I can’t.’
But he was beyond any protests. He wanted her to regret leaving him, to know what he had suffered every hour without her. His hand moved beneath her skirts, to the warm wetness between her thighs. And when he touched her intimately, she cried out at the invasion of his fingers.
‘I was inside you, just like this.’ He moved his hand in soft strokes, while he licked her nipple and suckled her hungrily. ‘We were joined together, as God meant us to be. You are my wife in soul, Rosamund, and always have been.’ He found the nodule above her entrance and stroked the wet pearl of her. ‘I will never let any man touch you again, save me. Remember this.’
With that, he rubbed her, forcing her to ride the crest of pleasure until she bucked in his arms. He felt the moment she came apart, her body squeezing tightly against his fingers. She was trembling violently, and he kissed her again, revelling as she rode the aftershocks.
When he withdrew his hands from her, she lay back against the pillow, her mouth swollen, her hair tousled.
‘I am taking you away from Pevensham,’ he said. ‘And away from Alan. He will not touch you again.’
* * *
Rosamund could hardly breathe after Warrick left. Her body was pliant and softened by the pleasure he had given her. And God help her, she wanted to weep. Though she had tried to bury her feelings over the past three years, his very presence had brought them to the surface. He reminded her of the marriage she had yearned for and how much she had loved him.
Marrying Alan had been a mistake, just as he’d said. And now, her spirit was broken in pieces. Though she wanted to believe that Warrick had touched her without permission, in her heart, she knew the truth. He had known what she wanted. And if she had truly wanted him to stop, he would have.
Now, she had betrayed her vows and her honour. She had no idea what to do next, for she could not imagine letting Alan touch her again. But neither did she have the right to reach towards Warrick.
She felt the urge to leave this room, to avoid her husband. But where could she go? Not within the castle grounds or even to the Great Hall where everyone was sleeping.
Rosamund took a warm woollen cloak and slipped it over her shoulders, lifting the hood over her head. Then she stepped outside. One of the guards was in the hallway, and he inclined his head to her. ‘My lady, is aught amiss?’
Yes,she wanted to say.Everything in my life is amiss.But instead she murmured, ‘I am going to the chapel. You may escort me there if you wish.’ It would be a good place to kneel and let her mind sift through everything that was happening.
He followed her down the stairs and outside. It was late, and a full amber moon glowed over Pevensham. She took a moment to breathe in the air, to calm her beating heart. And when she finally reached the stone chapel that stood within their walls at the far end of the estate, she inhaled the scent of incense. It was cold inside, and she was glad of the warm cloak. The soldier stepped back, allowing her to enter unaccompanied.
To her surprise, she found that she was not alone in the chapel. Father Francis was kneeling before the altar. His brown robes were wrinkled beneath him and he rested his hands upon the stone floor. Rosamund tiptoed inside, not wanting to disturb him. She found a place further away to kneel, and though it was uncomfortable, there was a sense of peace within the space.
When she was a young maiden, she had obeyed her father blindly. Despite her anguish at losing Warrick, she had never dared to stand up to Harold. And she had not spoken with him since her wedding day.
Duty demanded that she send Warrick away and honour her vows with Alan. But a rebellious part of her wanted to seize command of her own life and go with the man she loved. She had given up three years of her life to a man she had never wanted. How could she surrender the rest of her days now?
The priest rose from prayer and came to stand beside her. He made the sign of the cross and said, ‘May God bless you, my lady.’
She murmured a reply, ‘Thank you, Father. I am sorry if I disturbed you.’
‘All are welcome here.’ He offered a warm smile, and in the moonlight, his beard appeared almost silver. ‘I find that God hears every one of our prayers—even the ones we cannot speak but hold in our hearts.’
