Oh, God, how he had loved her! But she had betrayed him.
He saw again the triumphant sneer of Harold’s mouth as he struck him across the face, laying the flesh open to the bone.
That was for Melissa. She told me that you had insulted her.
Rob groaned, knowing that the pain of those words and her false laughter would live on long after his wounds had healed.
Chapter One
‘I do not think it wise for you to make the journey alone,’ Owain Davies said. ‘There are many lawless bands roaming the country, my lady, and they would not hesitate to take you prisoner and hold you to ransom. I do not think that Lord Whitbread would be pleased if that happened—do you?’
‘He would be very angry,’ the lady Melissa of Whitbread said. ‘But it will not happen if you are with us, Owain. I must get to the Abbey, because I may never have another chance. You know that I have been kept almost a prisoner for the past several months since…’ Her voice broke and she lifted her head, hiding her pain. She didn’t want anyone to guess how she had suffered these past months, not even the man she trusted most. ‘My father is determined that I shall marry a man of his choosing and I would rather die.’
‘That is foolish talk, my lady.’ Owain’s eyes narrowed. He had not been in the castle when Robert of Melford had been sent away and he did not know her true feelings on the matter for she had not confided in him.
‘Foolish or not it is how I feel. I have decided to beg my aunt for sanctuary. If she grants it, I may live at the Abbey in safety and perhaps take the veil.’
‘You should do so only if you have a calling,’ Owain replied, his eyes thoughtful as he looked at her face. He knew that her life had been hard these past years, and sometimes it was as much as he could bear to stand by and watch as she was ill-treated.
‘Are you willing to risk your father’s anger, knowing that he may punish you again?’
‘Yes, because there is no other way. Besides, she is my aunt and the only link to my mother,’ Melissa said, her eyes dark with sorrow for a mother’s love she had never known. ‘I would speak with her, ask her about my mother if she will tell me. She has always refused to talk of her sister, but she may relent this time if she understands how unhappy I have been…’
Her look was so wistful that Owain could not refuse her request, though he knew he ought not to allow this madcap idea. Lord Whitbread’s anger would know no bounds when he returned to find her gone.
‘If you wish it so much, I shall escort you,’ Owain said. ‘But we must return on the morrow. If we are gone no more than a day, it may be that your father will never know.’
Melissa smiled at him. She had known he would help her as never in the years that he had served her had he failed her. He had been the father she lacked, helping her in so many small ways that she had lost count. Yet she felt a little guilty for not having told him the whole truth. It was true that she wanted to ask her aunt about her mother, but it was not the only reason for her flight from Lord Whitbread’s manor.
It was a warm afternoon, but the canopy of ancient trees sheltered the traveller from the fierce heat, the stillness broken only by the heavy pounding of the destrier’s hooves and the sound of a thrush trilling from its secret hiding place. Suddenly, a woman’s screams rent the air; shrill and desperate, they sent a flock of birds winging into the sky, destroying the peace of the forest.
Robert Melford was riding hard, leaving his train lagging behind in his anxiety to reach his home on the borders of England and Wales. He had lately been at the Castle of Angers in France, where he had pledged his father’s affinity to Henry Tudor, Earl Richmond. Descended from the great John of Gaunt and Katherine Swynford, through Margaret Beaufort, Henry Tudor had a slender but legitimate claim to the English throne, and was even now gathering an army. Rob had gone to Richmond’s court with his father’s good wishes, for the wars that had plagued the country for nigh on thirty years were not yet done. The English crown sat uneasily on the head of King Richard III, who had seized it, in the opinion of many, from King Edward IV’s heir by treachery.
Now Rob was returning ahead of Henry Tudor’s army in order to gather support in the lush valleys and lowlands of the Marches. Even as he had prepared to leave Angers, a message had reached him that his father had been struck down with a dread illness and Rob’s haste was not so much on behalf of his promise to Richmond as his fear that he might be too late.
However, despite his impatience to be home, Rob was too much the chivalrous knight to ignore a woman’s cries for help. When he came to the clearing and saw the three ladies being attacked by a band of brigands, his first thought was to aid them. Drawing the trusty sword that he carried slung across his body, always at the ready, Rob rode directly at the brigand attempting to subdue a young woman. She was fighting for all she was worth, struggling against the superior strength of the great brute that had his hands on her, but it was the other two women who were screaming.
Rob leaned down from the saddle of his mighty steed, swinging the heavy sword and delivering a blow that cut deeply into the shoulder of the brigand, sending him staggering away to fall bleeding to the ground. Wheeling about, his destrier snorting with the lust of battle, Rob rode down another of the brutes and sent him flying, trampled beneath his horse’s hooves. Seeing that they were facing a powerful knight, who was trained for war, the other three robbers fled in panic.
Rob laughed in triumph as they disappeared into the forest, dismounted and turned to the woman who had fought so valiantly against her attackers, sweeping her a courtly bow.
‘I hope you are not harmed, lady,’ he said, and turned to her, smiling at her in a way that had charmed many a lady at Angers despite the disfiguring scar that marred one side of his face. Robert Melford was well formed, his shoulders broad, his legs long and powerful. He was also handsome, with his dark hair worn long, and his eyes as blue as the cloudless sky above their heads in this sunlit clearing. However, the humour left his eyes as he stared down into the face of the woman he had sworn to forget. ‘You!’ he exclaimed, his gaze fixed on her like a hungry wolf, ravenous and menacing.
‘Rob…’ Melissa said, the colour draining from her cheeks as she looked at him. His was a strong face with well-defined bones and, despite his stern expression, a soft mouth—but she could see only the terrible scar on his left cheek. ‘I…What happened to your face?’
Rob reached up to stroke the scar. It was no longer a source of terrible agony, though it had given him weeks of sleepless nights. The thick welt of red flesh was unsightly, for it had been crudely sewn and had never quite healed as it ought, though the blow to his head had recovered well and there was only a thin scar beneath his thick hair. Her question made him angry and he could barely restrain himself, his hands clenching at his sides.
‘You dare to ask?’ he said harshly. ‘This was your parting gift to me, lady. Your brother laid my cheek open to the bone to remind me not to look above my station in the matter of a wife.’
‘No…’ Melissa felt the sickness in her throat as she stared at Harold’s work. ‘I knew that my father had told him…but that is so cruel…’ She closed her eyes for the realisation of what he must have suffered had washed over her, making her faint. ‘I feared the worst and wondered if you were dead.…’
Although a wimple covered her head, a few strands of red-gold hair had escaped to curl way wardly about her face. Her complexion was fair, her eyes more green than blue. Rob’s eyes dwelled on
