Hostage Bride (10 page)

‘Have you enjoyed watching the hawks, Rosamunde?’ Raphael asked.

‘They are magnificent, my lord—especially Jessamine.’

‘Yes, she is my favourite too, but Sir Edmund’s bird would be as good if he took more care of her. I think I shall try to buy her from him if he will sell.’

Rosamunde hesitated. Sir Edmund had not taken his defeat kindly and might resent Raphael’s offer, for it surely meant that he felt the bird could do better with another handler.

‘Is that wise, my lord?’ she ventured.

‘What are you implying?’

His narrowed gaze made her uncomfortable. It was too difficult to explain, because she had only her natural instinct to go on. She could offer no proof that the knight was not completely to be trusted.

‘I am not sure,’ she said. ‘Yet sometimes it is better not to offend.’

‘You think my offer would offend Sir Edmund?’ he asked curiously.

‘Perhaps. I do not know, sir. I am merely a woman and I dare say your judgment is superior.’

‘Do you mock me, Rosamunde?’

‘No, my lord. It is merely that…I do not quite trust Sir Edmund,’ she explained in a rush.

He frowned, then inclined his head. ‘Would you care to tell me why?’

‘I cannot, sir. It is a feeling. Instinct only. I may be wronging him.’

‘A woman’s intuition?’ Raphael’s expression gave nothing away but she sensed a stillness in him. ‘I should advise you to be careful not to let Sir Edmund see that you dislike him.’

‘My feelings do not enter into this, sir. I simply wondered if he was truly loyal to you, but I see that I have spoken out of turn,’ she said uncomfortably.

‘You must never be afraid to speak your mind to me, lady, but with others you would do well to take care,’ Raphael reiterated but did not smile. ‘I believe we should return to the castle.’

Rosamunde felt that he had withdrawn from her. As they walked back to the horses, she regretted that she had spoken so plainly. She ought to have remembered that she was a woman and a hostage. Men preferred quiet, gentle women who knew their place and did not voice their opinions. Even Rosamunde’s father had accused the wife he loved of nagging when she told him a truth he did not wish to hear.

‘Do not look so,’ Raphael murmured as he helped her into the saddle. ‘I shall heed your words but I need your discretion.’

Looking into his eyes, she saw a warning and
nodded. He was not denying her, merely reserving judgment. She smiled, feeling oddly shy of a sudden.

‘You have it, my lord.’

Raphael smiled and her heart jerked. How handsome he was, and, when he smiled, she could see a likeness to the youth she’d been so drawn to all those years ago. His experiences had changed him, but in that moment she’d seen something that made a sweet warmth flow through her body.

* * *

On her return to her own chamber, three women from the village awaited Rosamunde. Two of them were of much her own age, and when they curtsied to her in an awkward, shy manner, she knew they were inexperienced and had never worked for anyone but their parents. The third woman was older and neat in her appearance. She inclined her head but did not curtsey.

‘My lady,’ she said. ‘I have been asked to return to the castle to help you with sewing and other tasks. Before I married I was Lady Mornay’s serving woman but when she died I left to marry. These are my daughters, Beth and Lilia. We are willing to work for you and do all that you require.’

‘Thank you.’ Rosamunde smiled at her. ‘Your name is…?’

‘I am Elspeth, my lady.’

‘I am pleased to have you here,’ Rosamunde said. ‘There is some mending you might begin on today. Most of the garments are fit only to give away to the poor, but
we may as well make them serviceable. After that we may work on some tapestry, if you feel up to the task?’

‘I helped Lady Mornay sometimes and I believe my work is considered adequate, my lady. My daughters may do the mending—but is there nothing more you wish us to do? What of your clothes and person?’ Elspeth asked.

‘I have Maire but there will be plenty for you to do. Tomorrow in the morning we shall gather herbs, berries, sloes and any other fruits that we may find. I think there is a lack of preserves and simple cures. When the time comes we shall also salt meat for the winter, and make inventories of the good linen and silver,’ Rosamunde instructed.

Elspeth nodded and smiled. ‘We did all these things when Lady Mornay was well. The castle was a different place then.’

‘Yes, I believe things have not been as they ought in the past few years,’ Rosamunde commented neutrally.

Elspeth glanced over her shoulder. ‘The old lord was a bitter, unhappy man, my lady, but…’ Her voice dropped to a whisper. ‘There are some still here that were worse than their lord.’

‘Can you tell me of whom you speak?’ Rosamunde asked, somewhat alarmed.

‘I dare not, my lady. If it were learned that I had told you of these men, I would be punished. I mean only to warn you to take care. You are safe enough while Sir Raphael is here but if he should go away…’

‘Yes, I understand you,’ Rosamunde said. ‘I believe
I may know at least one person I should be wary of but there may be others.’

‘There is one here that boasted he would be lord when the old lord died, but others sent in secret for Sir Raphael to return. If you care for him, you should warn him to watch his back.’

‘I believe he may be more aware than either of us knows,’ Rosamunde said. ‘Now, I will show you the mending so that your daughters may begin on the clothes for the poor, and you may help me with a tapestry. It was begun by the late Lady Mornay, I believe, but never finished.’

‘My lady was working on something when she became ill. After her death it was packed away with other silks and materials she had bought for future use.’

‘I found them yesterday but until now had no time to begin.’ Rosamunde smiled at her. ‘I was looking forward to making a start but it will be even more pleasant now that I have someone to share my task.’

‘It will be pleasant indeed to work with you, my lady. Since my man died it has been hard to keep a roof over our heads and food on the table. Now that we can live and work here, our lives will be better,’ Elspeth admitted.

‘And the castle will be better for some female laughter,’ Rosamunde said. ‘I think it has been a place of men for far too long.’

* * *

Raphael frowned over a ledger that had puzzled him before. Entries had been made in a hand that was neither his father’s nor the steward’s. A clever attempt
to cover the theft of five-hundred gold talents had been made, but the figures had bothered him and now he saw how it had been worked. A total had been changed and an incorrect balance carried forward, but the ink used had not been made to the exact shade and, as it dried, the alteration was clear. When a new tally was made the discrepancy became plain.

He had no doubt that someone within the castle had stolen money from his father at least once. As yet he had not been able to trace other instances of false accounting but he suspected there might be more. It hardly mattered; a thief was a thief. What more had been taken—and what other secrets might he uncover?

There were at least three of his father’s former servants that he thought sly and unreliable, and one or perhaps two knights that would bear watching. Rosamunde had tried to warn him of one of them. He had spoken harshly to her for he did not wish Sir Edmund to guess that he was being watched. Rosamunde did not trust the knight and Raphael also suspected that the man was a secret enemy. On the night of his return home, he’d found a note written on a scrap of parchment hidden amongst the bedcovers in his chamber, warning him to be wary. Two names and the names of the knights’ servants had been inscribed in a hand that was difficult to decipher, the letters badly formed.

Raphael had no idea who had left him the message and at first had been inclined to dismiss it. The knights in question had been amongst the first to offer their allegiance and he would be wrong to listen to malicious spite against them. Yet there was something about Sir
Edmund that chilled him. The other named knight, Sir Ian, was a foolish little runt who followed in his friend’s shadow, sly but probably harmless alone. However, he was Sir Edmund’s willing slave and might do anything to please him.

Raphael had so far held his silence but the men had not escaped his notice and certain things had been observed. It was strange that Rosamunde had seen immediately that Sir Edmund was not entirely to be trusted. Her woman’s instinct had served her well. Raphael had warned her to keep silent because an enemy was best kept close where he could be controlled if necessary. If Sir Edmund and his cronies left the castle they might make trouble amongst the lawless bands that roamed the countryside.

Raphael had wondered at the attack on Rosamunde as she had journeyed here. It was true that she had but three escorts and yet he could not help wondering if it was mere chance that had brought her so close to disaster. Sir Edmund knew of the demands to her uncle and he’d also known that Count Torrs had been given his freedom. Had he seen a chance to take the woman and the ransom for himself?

Had Raphael not chanced to ride that way with his men she might never have reached the castle. She could simply have disappeared, the money stolen and…A shiver went down his spine as he thought of Rosamunde’s probable fate. He clenched his hands, a surge of anger making him curse as he realised that he might never have seen her face to face, never have heard her
voice. It would have been a loss to him, though he might never have known of it.

He had for years forgotten the incident at her father’s castle. Yet somewhere at the back of his mind, the picture of a young girl’s terrified face, and her smile when he’d rescued her and her kitten from the dog, had lingered, tucked away with other memories of childhood. When he thought of sunlit days in the meadows with his mother, the picture of a young girl clutching a kitten to her breast might flit through his mind.

He had remembered the child with amusement, but the girl had become a woman, and a very beautiful, special woman. Her beauty appealed to his sensual nature, but there was also something in her nature that he found attractive. She thought of herself as a hostage, and in a way she was, because he could not let her return to her home until he was certain it was safe. She was under his protection and he could not allow her freedom when it might mean her death. Prince John might suspect that he’d lied and he might send men to take her hostage for real.

The thought of her confined to one of the prince’s prisons horrified Raphael. No; she was vulnerable and far too lovely to surrender to the mercy of a man known for his selfish cruelty. Much better that she remain under Raphael’s protection!

He had enjoyed observing her as she had watched the hawks fly. Her excitement and pleasure had reflected in her face and the fresh air had brought roses to her cheeks. For the first time in many months, Raphael had felt the shadows lift from his heart.

‘My lord.’ Raphael’s thoughts were suspended as his steward entered.

‘Yes, Mellors?’

‘There is a messenger come from Baron Sigmund of the Dark Towers. He says his master is on his way to visit you and will arrive before nightfall.’

‘Sigmund of the Dark Towers?’ Raphael frowned for the name struck terror into most of his neighbours. The baron was the leader of many of the lawless bands who robbed and murdered unwary travellers. ‘Tell me, was my father in the habit of entertaining such a rogue?’

‘Your father would have none of him, my lord. As bitter as he had become, his quarrels were personal or at the prince’s bidding. Baron Sigmund is a veritable devil and even those who serve him fear him,’ Mellors said.

‘We should close our gates,’ Raphael said. ‘Tell the men to be alert for signs of an attack. If Sigmund comes in peace we shall admit him and five of his men, but no more. If he has brought an army we shall resist him.’

‘Yes, my lord. I shall alert the men.’

‘I shall come with you. I do not know if we could withstand a long siege, but we shall not give in easily.’

* * *

Rosamunde glanced up from her sewing as Maire entered. It was obvious that the elderly woman was anxious and she rose to greet her.

‘Come, sit by the fire, my friend. What is it that upsets you?’ Rosamunde said gently.

‘Have you not heard the commotion outside?’ Maire
asked and her hands trembled as she held them to the flames. ‘They have closed the gates and the men are ready to defend the castle from attack.’

‘Who would attack us here?’

‘I heard someone say it was Baron Sigmund of the Dark Towers.’

Elspeth gasped. ‘He is a terrible man. I have heard that no man or woman is safe from him and his soldiers. If he breaks down our defences we shall all be killed and the women ravished.’

‘Lord Mornay will not allow that to happen,’ Rosamunde said confidently. She went to the narrow window and looked down at the scene in the courtyard. It was a hive of activity with men scurrying here and there. ‘We are preparing to meet an attack if it is made, but I think it unlikely. Why should this baron attack us now?’

‘He needs no reason. Besides, I think there was unfinished business between the old lord and Baron Sigmund. I have heard it said they quarrelled over a woman but I do not know the details,’ Elspeth said.

‘I think I shall go down and discover what is happening,’ Rosamunde said. She turned to glance at Elspeth and her daughters, who were intent on their work. ‘Come with me, Elspeth. I have no experience of a siege, for my father lived at peace with his neighbours, but there must be something we can do to help.’

‘Yes, my lady. It happened only once when I was with Lady Mornay. I remember that we helped to pass buckets of boiling oil up to the ramparts on the walls,

and of course we nursed the wounded—but there may be other things we could do,’ Elspeth replied.

‘Your daughters and Maire will stay here for the moment, but we shall send for them if they are needed.’

Rosamunde went quickly from the room, Elspeth following behind. They ran down to the hall and discovered that servants were everywhere. Pikes, crossbows and spears had been brought up from the armoury and were being taken out to the men on the battlements; a giant of a man was carrying a basket of rocks on his head and another under each arm. They would be hurled down on the invaders, who would be subjected to all manner of missiles, including burning pitch.