‘I am with child,’ she reminded him. ‘Haste is not something I can do.’ But she trudged onward, while one of them trailed her. They led her away from the camp towards a group of waiting horses.
‘The king has brought his court a few miles outside Canterbury,’ one said. ‘We must travel to meet him there.’
She hesitated, for she did not know if they were telling the truth. ‘Perhaps we should wait until he returns.’
‘We go now,’ the soldier insisted. He ordered her to step into his hand, wanting her to mount the horse. Her instincts warned against it. Something was wrong.
‘I want my father to accompany me when I see the king,’ she insisted. ‘I will wait until he comes with us.’
In answer, the soldier unsheathed the blade at his waist. He pointed it directly at her swollen womb, keeping his hand against her ribs. ‘I would suggest you mount the horse, Lady Pevensham. Else this blade might slip.’
She didn’t move—couldn’t move. But the other soldier came up behind her and forced her to mount. The firm pressure of the blade remained at her stomach, and a sudden rush of anger flooded through her. She would allow no one to harm her unborn child.
‘You are Owen’s men, are you not?’
When they did not answer, she knew it was so. But she’d had her fill of obedience. There was no doubt in her mind that if she went with these men, they would kill her and her unborn child. Instead, she dug her heels into the flanks of the horse and screamed as loudly as she could. The horse bolted at the noise, and the blade slipped against her skin. She felt the slash of pain, but she pulled away from them, riding as hard as she dared.
For their lives depended on it.
Chapter Fourteen
Warrick hardly slept at all during the journey south. Weeks ago, he had worked alongside the king’s men, fighting to take back Alnwick. King William of Scotland had spread out his soldiers across thousands of acres.
There had not been not eighty thousand mercenaries, but there were indeed thousands of men. He had accompanied Ranulf de Glanvill, the Sheriff of Westmorland, along with four hundred soldiers. And thanks be to God, they had triumphed. Now, they had a valuable political prisoner.
A heavy fog obscured the grasses, and he guessed they were a full day’s journey from the king’s encampment. As he rode south, Warrick let his thoughts drift back to Rosamund. God, how he missed her. He wondered if she had conceived a child and if she was well and protected. At night, he ached for the warmth of her body, the softness of her skin against his.
She hadn’t wanted him to seek out the king, but this was about more than justice. He wanted to prove to her that he was a worthy husband, a man respected by others.
He heard a slight noise behind him, of a horse travelling faster than the others. Warrick turned to order the soldier to fall back, but he saw Sir Ademar riding hard. He had not known the young man was here among the king’s men. But he feared the reason for Ademar’s haste.
‘Owen’s men have t-taken R-Rosamund,’ he stammered. ‘She c-came to seek an audience with the k-king.’
Rosamund was here? A boiling rage took hold in his veins, and Warrick gripped the reins so tightly, his knuckles whitened. ‘Where is she?’
Ademar nodded in the direction of the king’s encampment. ‘Owen’s men took her a day ago. I rode to find you as swiftly as I could.’
‘And you didn’t go after her yourself?’ he growled.
‘The king’s s-soldiers were involved. I th-thought it best if I came to t-tell you.’ Ademar stiffened, and Warrick forced himself to calm down. The knight could not have fought against the king’s men.
‘I am sorry,’ he amended. ‘Is my wife unharmed?’
‘I c-cannot say. But I believe she and the babe are well.’
Ademar’s words sank in, and Warrick could scarcely grasp what the man had told him. Rosamund had become pregnant? It had only been a few months, so how could anyone know for certain? A sudden numbness gripped him, with fear for both of them. Why had she not sent word? Had he known, he would have returned from Normandy at once.
A sudden resolution took hold within his mind. He had not been with Rosamund during her first pregnancy, but he would not leave her behind a second time. This time, he would be there for her, to guard her until their child was safely delivered.
His commander led them along the road towards the king’s encampment, and Warrick had no choice but to follow at their pace. He could not abandon his duties, no matter how much he wanted to ride back to Rosamund.
The surest way to return to his wife was to protect their prisoner and win the king’s favour. Only then could he gain his freedom.
* * *
Rosamund cursed herself for being so weak. Pregnancy had robbed her of any speed, and from the moment she’d tried to ride away from Owen’s men, they had caught up to her.
Her body was bruised, and aching, and she prayed that no harm had come to her unborn baby. The gentle kicking within had brought her such relief, she’d nearly wept.
