Melissa looked at him. ‘I owe you my life and that of my ladies,’ she admitted. ‘Since you are in haste to be on your way, I must not detain you. Perhaps if you were to give us horses and the escort of three of your men it would suffice?’ She felt that she could hardly bear to be near him and know that he despised and hated her.
‘Perhaps,’ Rob said. It would be convenient for he was impatient to continue his journey, and yet something held him. He knew he could not rest easy in his mind if he abandoned her to his men. ‘But it is not my way to desert a lady in trouble. I shall see you safe to the Abbey for those robbers are not the only danger a lady of your standing might face. You were foolish to venture out without at least ten of Lord Whitbread’s men to protect you.’
‘We do not live in the days of poor mad King Henry,’ Melissa said, becoming proud and haughty once more, though she knew he spoke truly. ‘My father has told me that the kingdom was indeed lawless in those days, but it is not thus now.’
If she believed that then she was indeed a fool! King Edward had managed to subdue some of the lawless nobles for a while but they had too much power and would never be brought into line while they were allowed to continue the custom of livery and all that that implied. Many of the earls and barons had set up a court to rival that of the King himself with hundreds of followers through various affinities, and were likely to take the law into their own hands. Only strong rule would break their power, which had grown so strong during King Henry VI’s reign.
Rob was tempted to tell her that England was once more on the brink of war. Yet it was best to keep a still tongue whilst nothing was absolutely certain. Henry Tudor had promised to bring an army to these shores soon, but until he actually arrived it might be unwise to speak of these things—especially to the daughter of a man who was the King’s stalwart and his enemy.
‘I shall not argue with you, lady. Come, your kinsman is being attended. We shall ride on.’ He held out his hand to her, his manner imperious, brooking no refusal.
For a moment she hesitated, but then gave him her hand and once again he threw her up on the great warhorse. She said nothing as he mounted behind her, though he felt her body stiffen when he put his arms about her.
‘You have no need to fear me, lady,’ he whispered, as her warmth and the delicious scent of her roused forbidden feelings in his loins. ‘I swear by all that I hold sacrosanct that I shall not harm you. There may come a time when I shall take revenge on you and yours—but it is not yet. I do not prey on vulnerable women.’
‘I do not fear you,’ she replied, and yet she knew it was a lie. To be with him like this would bring back the sleepless nights and the terrible pain she had endured for months.
‘I have always admired your courage,’ he said.
Melissa relaxed slightly against the hardness of his chest. For this little time, she would let herself believe that the bad things that stood between them had never been. She would let herself remember a young man who smiled at her with love in his eyes and the sweetness of his kisses. For a few short weeks, while her father was absent from the castle, they had met in secret, wandering through the woods hand in hand or riding together on his horse as now. Once he had taken her to a fair, buying her sweetmeats and ribbons from the peddlers…so few memories, but each one precious. If only her father had not forbidden the marriage…if only she had run away with him before it was too late! She held back the sob, which rose to her lips, because she must not give way to the overwhelming longing, the desire to tell Rob the truth…but would he even care or believe her? After seeing scorn and anger in his eyes, she thought that it would only shame her to confess her love.
They rode in silence for some time, covering a distance of no more than five leagues when the forbidding shadow of the great Abbey fell across their path. It was a thirteenth-century building with arches, narrow windows, little bigger than arrow slits, and a massive undercroft, built to house both monks and nuns in separate quarters. At the huge gates of iron-studded oak, Rob dismounted and lifted Melissa down, placing her gently on her feet before turning to tug at the rope, which rang the bell above the arch.
Moments later, a nun came to answer the summons, and looked out through a little peephole in the gate. Melissa gave her name and the nun recognised it, beginning to draw back the huge bolts that kept the gate secure to admit her.
‘I must leave you now.’ Rob made his bow to Melissa. His expression was cold and hard, his manner reserved. ‘If I were you, lady. I should send word to your home. It would be folly to attempt the return without an escort.’
‘Yes, perhaps…’ Melissa raised her head, then, her expression a little hesitant. ‘Thank you, sir. You have done more than I could have expected.’
‘I did what any decent man would do for any lady in distress, no more and no less.’
Melissa inclined her head, regretting the coldness between them. Once he had smiled at her, his bold eyes challenging her but with warmth…with love. He had loved her once, she knew, but she had killed his love—and her brother had humbled his pride, making him cold and bitter. How could she expect more from him? She raised her eyes to his, her own pride making her seem haughty, though inside she was weeping for what had been lost and would not come again.
Rob left her as she was admitted to the Abbey, remounting and riding on even as his men brought in her kinsman. He had wasted precious hours and must ride all the harder if he were to reach his home in time.
Melissa lingered a moment to watch the knight ride away. She knew that he had saved her from a fate worse than death for the men who had attacked her would hardly have been satisfied to take her purse. Yet to leave secretly, without an escort, had been her only chance of escaping her father’s tyranny.
Lord Whitbread had been visiting someone of importance and she had been informed that he might bring a guest with him when he came home. She knew that he was thinking of finding a husband for her and she believed that his guest might be the man he was considering giving her to in marriage.
However, the letter from her aunt telling her that she was unwell had made up her mind. She had seized it as her excuse and taken the chance to escape the domination of her father.
Lord Whitbread had never been kind to his daughter. Melissa’s mother had died in childbed and for some reason Lord Whitbread had chosen never to marry again. He had acknowledged Harold his bastard son as his heir. Harold might be a great brute of a man, coarse and strong with the manners of an oaf, but he was clever in his own way and had found favour with his father.
Melissa did not know why her half brother should be so favoured by their father, while she, his legitimate child, was scorned. She knew that he hated her and she feared him, though his habit of cuffing her about the head had ceased since her fifteenth birthday. He had suddenly realised that she was a beautiful young woman, and that her beauty might be an asset. In the time since then Melissa had lived in dread of the marriage he would make for her. She knew that he would not take her feelings into account and that she would be sold for position or power.
Sometimes she wished that she was not an heiress, for then she might have been allowed to live in obscurity and peace. However, her mother’s father had been the Earl of Somersham and his lands had been left in trust for her when he died earlier that year because he had no other heir. Melissa had begged to be allowed to retire to her lands, but her father had refused her. Until she married she was under his domain, and he meant to use her beauty and wealth to his advantage.
Melissa was sure that had he been able to snatch her lands from her—her father would have done so without compunction. However,
