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 and handed it to Warrick. ‘My servants intercepted this missive a few days ago. My brother has invited you to Pevensham as his guest. While you are there, you will have every opportunity to take his life.’
Warrick accepted the parchment, and saw that the broken wax held Alan de Courcy’s seal. Within the message, de Courcy mentioned that he had a special task for Warrick, one that would bring him a vast sum.
He had no interest in whatever ‘task’ Alan de Courcy desired him to complete. Ever since Rosamund had married de Courcy, Warrick had not spoken to either of them.
‘You will see to it that Alan does not survive this fortnight. Rosamund will be isolated from him until I can be certain she is not with child. He must not have an heir,’ Owen said.
‘Why now?’ He could not understand why the man was determined to see his brother dead so soon—especially within a short time. It made him wonder if Owen was facing a threat of his own.
‘King Henry will be returning from Normandy soon. We must be ready to prove our alliance.’
The pieces started to fall into place. If Owen commanded two estates, he would be a valuable ally to the king. Or perhaps he intended to side with the rebellious sons of Henry, in the hopes of securing a higher place for himself.
‘And you want to cast no blame upon yourself. If I am caught, I would be executed for murder, not you.’
The man seemed unconcerned. ‘I would suggest that you do not get caught. Let them believe Alan’s death occurred from a natural means.’ Owen studied him a moment. ‘You could kill him in his sleep, and no one would know the truth.’
Warrick still wanted nothing to do with this man. ‘I do not kill innocent men.’
Owen eyed him with a sly expression. ‘You’ve done it many times in the service of your king. How many have you slaughtered in battle? They call you the Blood Lord, do they not?’
Tension knotted within him, but he betrayed no emotions. ‘I am no lord.’
‘Indeed you are not. And that is why you will help me—because you possess nothing at all. I will give you land in Ireland where your poverty will not matter. You can begin again as the lord you always wanted to be.’
It was true that he did want land. The desire for his own demesne burned through his blood. As the youngest son, he possessed hardly anything, and he had no wish to live with his father or his older brother Rhys.
But Warrick wasn’t about to reveal this to de Courcy. His hand returned to his sword. ‘If land was all I wanted, I could take it for myself.’
‘You haven’t enough men to lay siege to a fortress,’ Owen pointed out. ‘And it isn’t only land that you want. You want vengeance against Rosamund and the man who stole her from you. I am giving you the chance to take her back. Punish her if it makes you feel better.’
He did still harbour anger towards Rosamund, after the night she had turned her back on him. But he could not help but wonder why Alan de Courcy had summoned him. What did the man want? Undoubtedly, it was connected to Rosamund.
Warrick knew that the moment he set eyes upon her again, it would only rub salt in his wounded pride. He had tried to spend time with other women, attempting to forge a life without Rosamund. And yet, he could never forget the way she had smiled at him with love, pressing her hands against his heart. He had wound his hand around her long black hair, kissing her until she made soft sounds of yearning. Those green eyes had looked upon him as if no other man in the world existed.
A part of him was still furious that she had chosen someone else. Her father had forbidden them to be together, since Warrick had nothing to offer her. But he’d believed that Rosamund would defy her family and stay with him. He had suffered a brutal whipping on her behalf after her father had caught them fleeing together. But instead of holding fast to the promises they had made on holy ground, she had denied everything and had chosen Alan de Courcy.
Warrick needed to look into those treacherous green eyes and understand why she had done it. Rosamund was married to a man of wealth, yet she had no children and now her husband was dying. Did she regret her choice after all these years?
‘Find out what my brother wants,’ Owen said. He tossed a heavy bag towards Warrick. ‘Take this as proof of my offer.’
He opened it and found it full of silver—rather appropriate for blood money. Warrick placed the bag back on a nearby table and shook his head. ‘I will not kill on your behalf.’
‘Not even for her?’ Owen ventured. ‘Not even if it meant she would belong to you after her husband is dead?’
Warrick had already made up his mind to find out what Alan de Courcy wanted. But he had no interest in becoming Owen de Courcy’s assassin.
‘I will go to Pevensham,’ he said. ‘But only to satisfy my own curiosity. If you want your brother dead, it will not be by my hand.’
Owen’s expression turned thoughtful. ‘We shall see, de Laurent. We shall see.’
* * *
Rosamund had never been more uneasy in all her life, save her wedding night. She had prayed that Alan would change his mind about this reckless plan, but her husband was steadfast in his wishes. A part of her wished she had the courage to stand up to him and refuse his wishes. The lie weighed upon her conscience, but silence was easier than confrontation. Adultery was a graver sin than breaking a promise, and since her husband had put her in an impossible position, it was one or the other.
She had stared out of her window for hours, days, waiting for Warrick to arrive. It was evening when she saw him riding through the gates. From the tower, she could hardly see his face, but his posture made it evident that this was indeed the proud man she had once loved. His gaze lingered upon the inner bailey for a moment before he turned to stare at the tower. She froze, fully aware of the moment he locked eyes upon her. There was no doubt that he had seen her.
From the tower window, her blue kirtle was as visible as a banner flying above a troop of soldiers. She had chosen her best gown with long tapered sleeves and a silver girdle studded with sapphires. Around her throat she wore a silver chain with another sapphire hanging upon it. Her maidservant had braided her dark hair and coiled it on to her head like a crown.
Did
