of bearing another child terrified her, for she had given birth too soon. All the pain and blood had resulted in nothing but death.
‘Look at me, Rosamund,’ Alan demanded. When she turned, his expression held apology. ‘It was my fault, never yours. I was not a virtuous man before we wed. I had my share of women, maids, and willing serving girls. Not once did any of the women bear a bastard child. And there were many opportunities.’
He was trying to blame himself, and she didn’t want that. ‘Both of us share the failure.’
‘You have already conceived a child once before, and you will do so again. But I know that the only man you would take into your bed is Warrick de Laurent.’
The blood roared in her ears, and she turned away again. Battered emotions poured across her soul at the thought of letting him touch her. ‘I cannot. And he will not agree to this, either.’ She couldn’t imagine that a man as proud as Warrick would let himself be used in that way.
‘I will ask him,’ Alan said quietly. ‘He may agree to it with adequate compensation. I want him to marry you when I am gone. He will defend Pevensham from our enemies, and he can protect you from Owen.’
Rosamund gripped her shaking hands together. He had everything planned out, didn’t he? One wicked night of sin, a man to take his place, and a child who would inherit everything under the pretence of being a true-born heir.
Tears of anger and frustration burned in her eyes at the thought of this deception. ‘Alan, no.’
‘I am going to die, Rosamund. Both of us know it.’
She didn’t want to face it, though she feared the worst. It was easier to imagine that it wouldn’t happen. She could bind herself with this life and shut out harsh reality.
‘I have prayed for you—’
‘Prayers will not change it. But before I go, I can ensure that Owen never inherits my property. I will provide someone to protect you, someone who would give his life for yours.’
She moved to sit beside him on his bed. Fear gripped her hard, even as she took his hand in hers. ‘Do not ask me to betray you, Alan. I will not. You deserve better than this.’
‘So did you.’ In his tone, she heard compassion and love. ‘I wanted to marry you, Rosamund, and God help me I did everything to make you love me.’
‘I do,’ she whispered.
‘Not in the way you loved him.’
Rosamund bit her lip so hard she tasted blood. He was right, though she wanted to deny it. She had loved Alan like a brother, and their marriage rested upon pillars of friendship and affection, but not love. For the past three years, she had tried to make the best of her marriage and forget about Warrick.
Alan squeezed her palm, and before she could protest, he touched a finger to his lips. ‘I know you care for me, Rosamund, and I will take that with me to my grave. But before I die, you must obey me in this.’ His face hardened. ‘You will do everything possible to ensure that we have a child to inherit. Swear to me that you will lie with him.’
She said nothing, not wanting any part of this devil’s arrangement. It was unthinkable, and if the adultery were discovered, she could lose everything.
‘Swear it,’ he demanded. ‘If you have any loyalty or obedience towards me, I demand this of you.’
She bit her lip, wanting to lash back at him. But despite his rigid tone, she sensed the regret behind his words. This was about more than conceiving a son to inherit. He was trying to right the wrong, to give her back the man she had wanted to wed. And the arrangement would irrevocably bind her to Warrick.
With all her heart, she wanted to refuse him. But when she looked into his pain-filled grey eyes, she realised that her words held the power to give a dying man peace. He loved her enough to make this sacrifice, even knowing the Pandora’s box it would open.
If she refused his proposition, it would intensify his worries and weigh down upon his spirit. But if she lied and voiced her agreement, it would soften his fears. What harm was there in speaking a lie? He need never know whether she had kept her vows.
She pushed back her apprehension, knowing that she held the power to refuse his request. If words would grant him comfort, then she could give him that much.
‘All right,’ she said softly. ‘I will allow him to claim me.’
* * *
‘Why would I kill a man for your sake?’
Warrick de Laurent gripped the hilt of his sword while staring at Owen de Courcy. The man had summoned him to his settlement at Northleigh, a rotting fortress that reeked of old rushes and neglect. Owen was a younger man with cold grey eyes and dark brown hair cut short to his ears. His beard had not fully grown in, and his lips were pursed like a pouting child.
‘Because I will give you land in return,’ Owen said. ‘And because you may take Rosamund de Courcy as your battle prize.’
Warrick was careful not to reveal any reaction to the mention of Rosamund. For three years, he’d tried to forget her, but the memory of her beautiful face still haunted him at night.
She made her choice, and it wasn’t you, his mind taunted.
‘I have no need of a woman.’ He spoke the words without emotion, as if she meant nothing to him.
Owen appeared dismissive. ‘As you will. I am certain I can find another of my men who will...take care of her.’
The barb struck true, and his instincts rose up in warning. No, he didn’t want to see Rosamund again, but that didn’t mean he would let another man harm her. Before he could snarl at Owen, the man continued. ‘Kill my brother, and you shall have everything you’ve ever wanted. You have killed many men in battle already. Why would one more matter?’
It didn’t surprise Warrick to learn that Owen wanted his brother dead, for he would inherit Pevensham and vast holdings across south-west England. Although Owen already possessed the small estate at Northleigh, it was clear that it was falling into disrepair. All around, he saw the signs of a man who lacked wealth of his own.
‘Your brother is already dying,’ he told Owen. ‘Everyone knows it. You need only wait, and you will have what you want.’
‘I have debts that must be paid.’ His expression narrowed with distaste. ‘And I grow weary of living like a swine in this place. If Alan’s wife bears a child, I inherit nothing.’
A sudden flare of possessiveness washed over him at the mention of Rosamund. Warrick didn’t want to imagine her giving birth to another man’s son. His fists clenched and blood roared through him when he thought of Alan de Courcy touching her. Three years had done nothing to diminish his fury.
‘What if she has already conceived?’ he asked. Even as he spoke the words, Warrick suspected Owen would ensure that she lost the child. This was a man who was determined to get what he wanted, no matter the cost.
At his question, a slow smile spread over Owen’s face. ‘She will not give birth to an heir. I will see to it.’ His servant returned and handed him a message. Owen poured a cup of ale
