The men had taken her to a tent near the outskirts of the encampment. Although she was unbound, the two guards remained at the entrance. There was no trying to escape, for it would be like a cow trying to outrun a wolf. She had no hope at all.
But Ademar had ridden hard, and she believed he would return with men to help free her. Or perhaps he would get word to Warrick.
She gathered her skirts beneath her, trying to calm herself. Her fingers rested upon the swelling at her waist, and she tried to reassure her child that everything would be all right.I will protect you.
Time dragged onward and eventually the flap opened and Owen de Courcy entered the space. He brought with him a hunk of bread and a flask of wine. She was desperately grateful for the food and drink, despite the bearer.
‘I see that you are trying to pass off Warrick de Laurent’s bastard as my brother’s,’ he began by way of greeting.
‘I see that you are still trying to take me as your prisoner.’ She noted the flash of interest in his eyes, and her skin crawled with distaste. ‘And I have no doubt that you were responsible for ordering Alan’s murder by Fitzwarren.’
Owen shrugged. ‘Fitzwarren acted of his own accord.’
‘Lies. I know what happened, and so do you.’
‘It was not my hand that killed him.’
‘He was one of many whom you hired.’ She struggled to stand and was irritated when he offered his assistance. In his eyes, she saw the greed and ruthlessness. ‘Go back to Northleigh, Owen.’
‘Pevensham is mine now,’ he countered. ‘I care not what Alan said before he died. I will not give my estate into the hands of a bastard.’
She met his gaze evenly, though he was right that Warrick’s child had no rights to the land. And yet, she did not want to see her people harmed by Owen de Courcy as their leader. He had terrorised enough of them. She could not stand back and let him seize what her husband had desperately tried to protect.
He gripped her wrist firmly. ‘The king will hear of my claim to Pevensham in the morning. If you tell him your child is Warrick’s, from this new marriage, then I will leave you be. But if you try to seize what is mine, I will see you burned for adultery. And Warrick will die for the murder of my brother.’
He let her go, but the grip of his hand still left marks upon her skin. Deep inside, it felt as if her blood had frozen in her veins. For she knew that no matter what she said, Owen would demand her death.
He strode from the tent, letting the flap fall behind him. Rosamund sank down upon a low stool, feeling faint. God help her, what could she do? If she fled, Owen’s men would only bring her back. And she had no idea where Warrick was now.
He was a prisoner, just as she was—and he was caught in the midst of the king’s battle. No man could fight and survive when he was bound.
She sat for a long time, her cheeks wet with tears. Her hands rested upon the swelling at her womb, and she prayed for the life of Warrick and for their child. Finally, she rose to eat and drink, for she was starving.
Rosamund had just taken a sip of wine when she heard a noise behind her. She turned and saw Berta entering the tent.
‘Don’t drink or eat anything Owen gave you, my lady,’ her maid warned. ‘He means to do you harm.’
Fear sliced through her, and she set down the cup. For all she knew, Berta had placed herbs in the wine.
‘Why are you here?’ she demanded. She had doubted her decision to banish Berta from the start, but the woman’s presence could not be an accident.
‘I managed to take my son away from Owen de Courcy, and I brought him to stay with my mother,’ Berta responded. ‘Now, I intend to save your life, as you saved mine.’ Nodding towards the wine, she added, ‘It would not surprise me if Lord Pevensham filled that with herbs to cause miscarriage.’ Berta brought out a bundle wrapped in cloth. ‘Eat this instead.’
Rosamund was torn on whether to trust anyone. She was starving for food and desperately thirsty, but she feared the worst. Instead, she lied to Berta, ‘I am not hungry now.’
Her maid left the food in a corner of the tent. Her face was troubled, but she admitted, ‘I know you do not trust me. I never meant to poison your husband, but when a mother’s child is threatened, she will do anything to save him.’ Her face paled, and she added, ‘I will atone for my mistakes. I promise you that.’
Then Berta retreated from the tent, leaving Rosamund to wonder what would happen now. She left the food and drink alone, curling up on the ground to rest. In her mind, she tried to think of Warrick, praying that he would be safe from all harm.
Her back ached from exertion, and the skin was stretched so tightly across her swollen womb, it hurt. She tried to change positions, to find a way to be comfortable, but her anxieties rose higher.
You will die on the morrow,the voice of fear whispered.Owen will demand that you be burned for adultery.
Terror filled up the hours, and she did not sleep at all. Her body was racked with aching pain, and she could find no respite from it. Though she had taken only a single sip of the wine, there was no way of knowing what Owen had put in it.
And when the morning came, she wept at the sight of blood upon her thighs.
* * *
