It was clear that she wanted to take the safest path, surrendering everything. But he didn’t believe for a moment that Owen would surrender land.
‘Owen will give us nothing,’ he said. ‘He will likely sell off whatever he can to repay his debts.’
She rested her hands upon his shoulders, distracting him with her nearness. ‘Or we can live with your brother Rhys in Scotland. All that matters is that we are safe.’
‘And what if youarewith child?’ he ventured.
‘We both know who the father is. And our son would have no true right to govern Pevensham.’ Rosamund lowered her forehead to touch his. ‘I would rather be wedded to you and raise our children knowing their father’s name.’
Warrick had no desire to behave like a coward, knowing what Owen would do to the estate. He stood from the bed, his height towering over Rosamund. ‘So you would abandon the people of Pevensham and let Owen take command? Was that what Alan wanted?’
She faltered at that. ‘The people were loyal to the de Courcy name, not to me or Alan.’
‘Or perhaps they were afraid of Owen?’ he ventured.
Rosamund gave no answer, but slid her hands beneath his tunic to touch his bare chest. He understood that this was a distraction, a means of avoiding the truth. But the scent of her skin allured him, and he could not resist threading his hands in her dark hair.
‘All of us were afraid of Owen,’ she admitted at last. She moved her hands upon his heart. ‘It’s why I want to leave. I never want to see him again.’
‘You need not be afraid of any man,’ he said.
Rosamund straightened and took a breath. ‘But Owen will not rest if there is the threat of a child.’ She rested her cheek against his chest, and her fear was palpable. ‘If you leave, he will come after me.’
Now he understood the true reason for her fear. ‘Your father will guard you,’ he assured her. ‘He has a stronghold here and dozens of men. Owen cannot reach you, so long as you stay behind these walls.’
‘I trust him not. Nor my father.’ Her voice held melancholy, and he wanted to comfort her. ‘And you are still leaving me behind.’
He pulled back from the embrace, meeting her gaze. ‘Owen must be brought to justice for what he did.’
But he could see upon her face that she did not believe him. ‘It’s more than that, isn’t it?’
He could not speak reassuring lies to her, no matter what she might wish. Instead, he took a step back from her. ‘I know you are tired. Rest now.’
But Rosamund reached for the laces of her gown and began to loosen them. The blue gown she wore was fitted to her arms, and she struggled to loosen it. ‘Will you help me, Warrick?’ Her voice was soft and inviting. Desire roared through him, though his mind warned him not to touch her.
Yet, she could not unfasten the gown without help, and she had no maidservant this night. For a moment, he rested his hands upon her gown, sliding it down to her shoulders, revealing her shift. The thin linen revealed the silhouette of her full breasts, and he wanted nothing more than to lower it to her waist, cupping her until her nipples rose beneath his hands.
But once her gown lay pooled at her feet, he stepped away. His body urged him to claim her, to join with her until her flesh merged with his.
Yet, he gathered command of himself, pushing back the physical needs. She turned to face him, and her expression held sorrow. ‘You have not forgiven me, have you?’
He shook his head slowly. ‘It will take more time, Rosamund.’ His voice came out harsher than he’d intended, and he tried to soften his tone. ‘I am leaving on the morrow with my men,’ he told her. ‘Owen may follow us, but he will not find you.’
‘And what if he finds you?’ Her expression held uneasiness. ‘You only have two men.’
‘We can defend ourselves, if need be.’
She moved closer to him, drawing him into her arms. ‘Do not go with anger between us.’ Once again, she moved her hands beneath his tunic. Rosamund slid her fingers over his spine, over the scarred flesh. ‘I wish I could turn back the years, Warrick.’ For a moment, her thoughts remained veiled, though he could see the worry in her eyes.
Then her expression transformed when her hand passed over a different scar on his lower back. He tensed the moment she touched it. Then he guided her hand away, holding her palms in his.
‘That scar isn’t from the whipping, is it?’ she murmured. ‘It’s a burn mark.’
‘It was a long time ago. It doesn’t matter.’ He squeezed her hands, fully intending to leave her to sleep alone.
But Rosamund would not be deterred. ‘If it didn’t matter to you, you would tell me. But this bothers you, doesn’t it?’
She wasn’t going to relent on this, and well he knew it. And yet, he didn’t want to open up the nightmares of the past.
