eyes on the day she had married Alan. He had wanted her to walk away from the wedding, to leave behind her family and all she had known, for his sake.
Sometimes she wished she had. But it was too late to change it now.
Rosamund’s fingers dug into the wooden window frame. Did he despise her still after all these years?
Her heart was beating rapidly in her chest, but she tried to calm her nerves. He would refuse Alan’s proposition, she was certain. All she had to do was remain quiet and obedient, and Warrick would go away.
If only she could silence the doubts and fears roiling within her. But Warrick was a proud warrior, a man who would not forget the wrongs done to him. It didn’t matter that she had agreed to wed Alan as a means of saving his life. Or that she’d had no choice in the matter. He remembered only that she had given promises to him and then broken them. Warrick was not the sort of man who would forgive her for it.
A knock sounded at the door and when her maid answered it, the steward bowed. ‘My lady, Lord Pevensham wishes you to greet his guest in the Great Hall, since he is unable to leave his bed.’
‘Of course,’ Rosamund murmured. Inwardly, she wanted to curse Alan. He had done this on purpose, forcing her to face the man who frightened her most.
But with every step she took towards the stairs, she thought of her husband’s unholy command. It reawakened her anger and frustration. She didn’t want to obey Alan’s wishes, despite his need for an heir. It was far better for her to remain a loyal wife, shielding herself from the heartache it would conjure.
I cannot betray him, she thought. Even if Alan demands it of me.
For she could not trust herself in this. The slightest touch would evoke all the years of buried desire. Warrick’s very presence shook her to the core.
Rosamund entered the Hall, and from the moment she stepped inside, she could feel the warrior’s gaze upon her. The air was charged with tension, but she walked to the dais as if nothing were wrong. Her heart was beating so fast, her knees were shaking beneath her skirts.
Calm down. He is only a man.
She focused her attention upon the clean rushes, steadying herself until she dared to look up. With her shoulders squared and a serene expression upon her face, Warrick would not see the fear beneath the surface.
‘My lady,’ he greeted her, bowing low. But even with the courtesy, she could feel his veiled anger. It was there in his blue eyes, in the fierce bearing of his stance. His dark hair was cut short, and he carried his helm beneath one arm as if ready for battle.
He remembers everything, she realised. The taut lines of his muscles were filled with a rigid cast, as if he still blamed her for refusing his offer of marriage. Did he honestly believe she’d had a choice?
‘It has been a long time, my lord.’ She tried to muster a smile but couldn’t quite manage it. I never meant for it to end with you hating me, she wanted to say.
It never should have ended, he seemed to answer. His blue eyes held an unnamed emotion, and he studied her as if trying to discern her feelings. She saw the edge of anger in his eyes, but there was something more.
‘I received your husband’s missive, asking me to come. But he never said why.’ Warrick regarded her with open displeasure, waiting for her explanation.
‘I will take you to my lord husband, and he will tell you.’ She beckoned for him to follow, and two of his men-at-arms started to accompany them.
‘Your men should remain here,’ she advised. ‘What my husband wishes to tell you is not for others to hear.’
He raised an eyebrow at that, but gave the order for his soldiers to stay back. Rosamund turned and led the way towards the stairs. From behind her, she heard his footsteps. She grasped her skirts and began walking up the spiral stairs. Just when she had reached the halfway point, he caught her hand and forced her to stop.
‘Why am I here, Rosamund?’ His voice resonated with shielded anger, and his grip tightened upon her palm.
‘As I said before, my husband—’
‘I care naught about de Courcy. I came for you.’
A ripple of fear crossed her spine at that. His words reminded her of the sensuality that had once been between them. Years ago, he had touched her like a starving man, as if she were his reason for being alive. Right now, she was fully aware of his closeness. His grasp softened upon her palm, and his thumb traced the veins on her wrist. The sudden tenderness undid her senses, and she felt as if he were caressing other parts of her bare skin. In the shadowed darkness of the stairs, she was caught up in memories of his kiss. Rosamund leaned back against the wall, and the cool stones were a stark contrast to his touch.
She had a terrible feeling that this proposition would not end well for either of them. Time had done nothing to diminish the feelings she had once held.
‘Why did you turn from me?’ He rested both hands on either side of her, trapping her against the wall. ‘All these years I’ve wanted to know.’
She stiffened her spine and faced him. ‘My father forced me to deny everything as the price for your life.’ There was no doubt in her mind that Harold de Beaufort had wanted to kill Warrick for claiming her innocence.
Her heart bled at the memory of the day she had left him. There were even more secrets she had kept from him, and God willing, he would never learn them.
But he pressed further. ‘He would not have killed me, and you know it. But then, Alan had all this to offer you, whereas I had nothing.’ He lifted his hands from the wall and gestured towards the castle. ‘A castle of your own and lands that rival King Henry’s holdings.’ His blue eyes grew frosted. ‘Was it worth it?’
He made it sound as if she had married Alan out of greed. There was so much he didn’t know, and she could never, ever tell him what had happened.
Instead, she murmured, ‘What’s done is done.’
‘Is it?’ He drew his hand to her cheek, cupping her face. She could almost imagine the touch of his mouth against her throat, his hands upon her skin. And the guilt flooded through her for even envisioning it.
‘Please let me go.’ She straightened her shoulders and pulled herself back. Yet there was no mistaking the invisible bindings that drew her to him. Even now, she found it difficult to walk away.
But Warrick released her and followed her up the stairs. Rosamund led him to her husband’s bedchamber, though it felt as though she were walking towards her own demise. Before she opened the door, she paused and faced him.
‘My husband is dying,’ she said in a low voice. ‘But he is a good man. What he asks of you, please know that it was none of my doing. Refuse him, for my sake.’
He eyed her with undisguised curiosity. ‘Really?’
She nodded. ‘I am sorry that you have wasted a journey here. But I will compensate you and your men for your trouble.’ Without giving him a chance to answer, she opened the door and motioned for him to stay behind.
Her husband was seated in bed with several cushions propping him up. Alan’s expression was tired.
