Her father grew sombre. ‘I was angry with him for stealing your innocence. If ever you bear a daughter of your own, you might some day understand how you could easily kill someone for daring to harm your child.’
She stilled at this, for already she felt a strong bond with this unborn baby. Her father was right—she would indeed fight with her last breath for the sake of her child. ‘I do understand,’ she said at last. ‘But Warrick and I spoke vows to one another on holy ground before I gave myself to him. He took nothing from me that I did not give willingly.’
Her father blanched at that. ‘Do not speak of such things, Rosamund. Let no one hear you say that.’
She kept her expression serene. ‘Because you fear I will lose Pevensham. What we had was a true marriage, was it not? Which would make my marriage to Alan invalid.’
‘Do not be a fool,’ her father gritted out. ‘What’s done is done and cannot be changed. But you may be able to save Warrick’s lifeandkeep Pevensham if you do as I ask.’
Rosamund was weary of lies and deception. When she said nothing, her father added, ‘I do not deny that I made mistakes. I was an angry father who wanted you to have a castle of your own.’
‘And you cared naught for what I wanted.’
‘You were a girl.’ He sighed. ‘How could you know what you wanted in a husband?’
But she had known from the first moment she saw Warrick. ‘You had no right to do what you did.’
He looked as if he wanted to argue with her, but instead, he kept silent. ‘Whether you believe it or not, I do want you to find happiness, Rosamund—despite all that has happened. Have I not travelled across England to help you in this?’
She didn’t know what to believe. He had manipulated her life, punished the man she loved, and exerted power over her.
He let go of her hand and said, ‘I will speak to the king on Warrick’s behalf. But I can make no promises.’
She could hardly believe what he had said. And yet, it did appear that time had softened the edges of this man. As much as she resented all that he had done, it seemed that he was trying to bridge the distance between them.
‘I would be grateful,’ she told him. ‘But if anything happens to Warrick, I will not stand back and do nothing. I will fight for his life.’
Her father reached out and brushed his knuckles against her face. ‘Just as I would fight for you and your happiness.’
* * *
‘We’re going to die,’ Bennett muttered. Warrick eyed his friend with disinterest. They had fought alongside Henry’s men near Alnwick Castle, only to find it besieged by King William of Scotland and thousands of Flemish mercenaries. The soldiers had decamped several miles south, keeping a clear distance of the enemy while they decided upon their strategy. ‘There are eighty thousand men, so I’ve heard,’ Bennett continued. ‘We’ll be caught in the midst of a slaughter.’
‘There arenoteighty thousand,’ Warrick corrected. ‘The Scottish king wants the people to believe that, but it’s not true.’ The power of exaggeration could provoke fear, and that was what William wanted.
Warrick wondered if his brother Rhys was involved in this battle and hoped not. An unexpected war could be a curse or a blessing. He knew his men wanted to escape their bindings and flee, but he could not join them—not until he brought justice on Owen. The man had accused him of murder. If he dared to attempt an escape from this captivity, it was as good as admitting guilt.
Bennett fell into silence, and so did Godfrey. Both of his men had refused to abandon him when he’d gone to seek Henry in Normandy. And because of their loyalty, they had joined him in captivity.
God help him, he missed his wife. Warrick had parted ways with her, unable to let go of his resentment for the past. He had finally allowed himself to grieve for his daughter, and time had made him see that Rosamund had made her choices out of fear. He knew not if he would ever see her again, and the burden of regret shadowed his mood. But if he had the chance to look upon her face once more, he would tell her how much she meant to him.
Bennett let out a heavy sigh. ‘It matters not how many men there are. The problem is that we cannot fight, if we remain imprisoned.’
‘I will ensure that you both are released,’ Warrick swore. ‘You are not to blame for any of this.’
Godfrey rested his bound hands upon his knees. ‘We could offer to fight for King Henry,’ he suggested. ‘It would prove our loyalty to England.’
‘You’re daft. They’ll never give us weapons,’ Bennett argued back.
But Warrick wasn’t so certain. He had already fought for the king in Normandy, after Rosamund had married Alan. ‘There may come a time when they need every fighting man.’ He shot a wry look at Bennett. ‘Especially against eighty thousand who are not really eighty thousand.’
Though he tried to keep their spirits up, he felt the shadow of death resting upon his neck. Although he was a prisoner now, he had brought Father Francis with him as a witness. The priest had avoided captivity, and had promised to speak on their behalf at the trial.
* * *
Around mid-morning, one of King Henry’s commanders approached him. He eyed Warrick and said, ‘My men have seen you fight before. You joined our forces in Normandy two years ago, did you not?’
Warrick nodded. ‘I did.’ He had hired his sword out, fighting for England wherever he was needed. The constant marching and the haze of battle had made it possible to endure each day.
