She hesitated, but gave a nod. ‘I was.’
For a long moment, he said nothing, but when he withdrew from her body, there was a sudden coldness emanating from his mood. He sat on the bed, staring at the partition. Then at last, he said, ‘Did you know it on the day of your wedding?’
She forced herself to face him. ‘I had missed my courses, but I did not know for certain until later.’
Warrick’s body held tension, and she wanted to say something to ease the strain between them. She had known he would be angry, but she had not expected this emotionless response. When his silence continued, she said, ‘My father found out I was not a virgin. He told Alan this before he wedded me. He was willing to accept me as his wife, despite the risk of a child.’
‘Because he hoped to pass it off as his heir.’ The ice in Warrick’s tone bothered her, and she was uncertain of how to ease his anger.
‘I suppose he did, yes.’
‘Why did you never tell me?’ he demanded. ‘Did you think I was incapable of taking care of you and the babe? Were you so bothered by my lack of status that you felt the need to wed a wealthy man?’
‘We have been over this. I was afraid,’ she snapped back. ‘I wanted you to survive, and I made the choices I did because I could not bear to see you die. I would have wedded any man to keep you safe.’
‘But you never told me about our child. Not once did you send word.’ His tone was rigid with undisguised anger. ‘Why would you keep this from me?’
She swallowed hard and admitted the truth. ‘Because you would not have stayed away. You would have come to take me from Pevensham.’
‘I would have, yes.’ He donned his braies and sat away from her. There was a hardened cast to his face, of a man who held resentment for what had happened. And she deserved that.
‘There is nothing I can say to change what happened,’ she said quietly. ‘I was wrong to keep it from you.’
He kept his back to her, his head lowered. Now, she wished she had not spoken of it at all. It had cast despair over a night that should have been meant for loving. And yet, she had wanted no more secrets between them.
‘I lost the child,’ she said quietly. ‘I suppose it was God’s punishment for what we did.’
‘What we did?’ he repeated, staring back at her. ‘We spoke vows to one another and consummated our marriage. How was that deserving of punishment?’ Warrick leaned in closer and added, ‘God does not punish infants. More likely it was Berta who poisoned you and forced you to lose our child.’
She paled, and it felt as if ice now ran through her veins. Dear Heaven, she had never thought of that. Her maid had begun poisoning her husband in the last year. Was it possible that Owen had ordered Berta to prevent any children from being conceived? She had never detected anything out of the ordinary, but the day she had lost her daughter, she had bled and had terrible cramps. The thought was devastating.
‘You may be right,’ she said at last. ‘But no matter the cause of it, she is lost to us. And I am not eager to bear another child, if the truth be known.’ She pulled one of the furs over her naked body, even knowing that it was too late to prevent conception. ‘It frightens me.’
He said nothing, but there was no denying the dark edge of anger that filled his bearing. He rose from the pallet and went to stand at the far end of the space. ‘You should have told me about our daughter. I had the right to know.’
‘You did,’ Rosamund whispered. She had kept the secret from him, when he deserved to know that he had fathered a child. ‘I am sorry for it.’
His demeanour remained distant, and she knew he was still furious with her. She clutched the furs to her body, wishing she could mend the rift between them. But it would take time for him to trust her again.
‘Sleep now. We will leave at dawn.’ Warrick finished donning his clothes and left her alone. It seemed that he could not bear to spend the night with her now.
After he had gone, Rosamund let go of the tears and wept. She curled up in the furs, wondering if she could ever bring back the goodness between them.
Or if Warrick would ever forgive her.
Chapter Twelve
As he had promised, Warrick took Rosamund away from Kingsmere at dawn. His men, Bennett and Godfrey, kept a slight distance, riding behind them. Although there was no sign of Owen’s men, there was still the chance of pursuit.
Warrick kept his mount alongside hers but found it difficult to look at his wife. Rosamund’s revelation that they had conceived a child three years ago had shaken him to the core. It haunted him to imagine her pregnant and frightened, wedded to another man. And worst of all, a child of his blood had died.
It struck him harder than he’d imagined. Though he had never known of the babe, there was a part of him buried in the church graveyard. He imagined a laughing young girl with Rosamund’s eyes, running towards him. He would have swept her up in his arms, tossing her into the air until she giggled.
But that child was gone. A heaviness weighed down upon his heart, though he tried to push it away. How could Rosamund have kept such a secret over these years? An invisible wall seemed to rise between them, though he held his silence.
‘Do you still intend to take me to my father’s house?’ Rosamund asked him.
‘I do.’ Harold was the only man who dwelled close enough to protect Rosamund while he faced Owen. Warrick saw no other choice.
