Forbidden Night With The Warrior. Michelle Willingham
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. Beside him, she saw food he’d barely touched and a cup of wine he hadn’t even tasted. It pained her to see him suffering, hardly able to eat.
But she moved forward and greeted him with a kiss upon his cheek. ‘My lord husband, Warrick de Laurent is here at your summons.’ She turned back and motioned for their guest to enter the room. There was a dark cast to Warrick’s face, as if he resented being here. Rosamund decided it was best to leave, since she did not want to witness his reaction to this unholy proposition. She had nearly reached the door, when Alan stopped her.
‘You will remain here, Rosamund.’ He motioned for his servant to go, and soon enough, the three of them were alone.
Her skin tightened with raw nerves. This was the last place she wanted to be, and she wished with all her being that Alan had allowed her to leave.
‘Pour our guest some wine,’ Alan instructed. ‘Warrick, would you come and sit beside me? I fear I lack the strength to greet you properly.’ He motioned for the man to be seated in the chair next to the bed.
Rosamund poured wine into two goblets and offered one to Warrick and another to her husband. Then she retreated to the furthest corner of the room, hoping for an opportunity to disappear. She picked up her embroidery, but her hands were shaking so badly, she could hardly thread the needle.
Her husband began with pleasantries, asking about his journey. Then he continued with, ‘I suppose you wish to know why I asked you to come to Pevensham.’ To his credit, Warrick only met his gaze and waited. ‘It was because of my wife.’ He beckoned for her to come forward. ‘Sit beside me, Rosamund.’
She felt ill inside, her skin frigid with fear. Her husband took her hand in his, as if to soothe her. But his touch did nothing to allay her anxiety. She wished she could run from the room and leave them to plot with one another.
‘I know that I am dying, de Laurent. I know not how much time I have remaining, but I want someone to take care of my wife when I am gone.’
Warrick’s silence stretched across the space, and she didn’t dare look at him. Alan seemed unconcerned by his lack of a response. ‘As it stands, my brother will inherit Pevensham when I am dead. Owen is eager for my death, and I have no doubt that he will slaughter any child Rosamund bears if it means protecting his own interests.’
That brought a response. ‘She is with child, then?’ His voice was flat, as if he cared nothing for her.
Alan avoided a direct answer, saying, ‘It is my hope that she will one day bear a son. However, I do not think Rosamund will be safe here, even with those who have sworn to guard her. I need someone I can trust to escort her from Pevensham and ensure that she and her unborn child are under protection. I want you to take her away before Owen arrives at Pevensham.’
Alan reached out and took Warrick’s hand, placing it on top of Rosamund’s. ‘And I want you to marry her after I am gone.’
Her hands trembled at his words, and the weight of Warrick’s fingers lay heavy upon hers. Emotions welled up within her, not only sorrow at the thought of Alan’s death, but also the understanding of what he was trying to do.
A sudden thought occurred to her, and she met his gaze. Was it possible that Alan knew she had not been a virgin on their wedding night? Her cheeks burned, but all she saw was a weary look upon his face.
For a moment, Warrick seemed to consider the proposition. She was aware of the subtle caress of his thumb against her palm, and the barest touch sent a yearning through her body. Her skin prickled beneath her kirtle, though she tried to force back the feelings.
His blue eyes stared into hers, and for a moment, she caught a glimpse of the young man she had once known. Her heart stumbled a moment as she tried to gather her composure. But the reassuring weight of his hand upon hers brought back a flood of sensual memories. A grim expression shielded his face, and he pulled his hand free. ‘There is nothing between Rosamund and me. She made her choice years ago.’
Alan tried to sit up, and she helped arrange the pillows to support him. ‘I suspected you might say this. But you also know that I was never the man she wanted.’
Rosamund closed her eyes, guilt sliding over her that she could not love him in the same way. She’d wanted to push aside her feelings for Warrick, but it had never come to pass.
‘We will find another way,’ she told her husband. ‘Warrick has a life of his own now, and I expected this.’
But Alan ignored her. ‘You wanted her enough to run away with her, de Laurent. She will not be safe with my brother, and you know this.’
‘She is not my responsibility.’ His words were cool, but she detected the bitterness within them.
‘No. But if you protect her, I will grant you the land you always wanted.’
A faint smile came over his face, and he asked, ‘In Ireland, I suppose?’
She didn’t quite understand his amusement, and Alan’s expression narrowed. ‘How do you know about my lands in Ireland?’
Warrick crossed his arms and regarded her husband. ‘Because Owen de Courcy offered the same bargain to me, along with your wife. As payment for killing you.’