Hostage Bride (2 page)

Leaving his bed, Raphael found cold water in the ewer and washed his face and body. His skin was bronzed by the sun of the Holy Land, his muscles honed by years of fighting and training in the art of warfare. The scars he’d received in battle had faded with time. He was drying himself when the door of his chamber opened and his servant Janquil entered.

‘Yes?’ he barked and then checked himself for he alone was to blame for the betrayal of Messalina. Janquil held no blame of any kind. ‘There is news?’

‘We have discovered the goldsmith you seek, my lord. It is but a day’s ride across the border into Normandy.’

‘Then we shall leave as soon as the others are ready. I must settle this business and then perhaps I shall have peace.’

The squire inclined his head, his dark eyes inscrutable. Raphael knew that the man was part-Saracen and part-Jew, a combination that had led to him being reviled and spat upon by the people of Acre. His mother’s people hated him for being the son of a Muslim and his father’s people thought him unworthy to be one of them. His parents had lived as outcasts in their village and when they had died of a virulent fever Janquil
had sought work in Acre. For some years he’d worked as a house servant to a wealthy Jew but when Saladin took the city his master had been murdered.

When King Richard recaptured the city, Raphael had found the young man shivering and ill, near to starving. He had taken him to his quarters, nursed him and fed him, refusing to give him up as a prisoner. Janquil declined to leave after he recovered, saying that his life belonged to Raphael.

When Raphael and his friends had decided to make the long journey back to England, Janquil had asked to accompany him.

‘My country is very different to yours. You may wish you had stayed here, my friend.’

‘My life is yours. If I cannot serve you there is no purpose for me.’

Raphael put the memories to one side. He had become wealthy in the Holy Land, as had some of his friends, but there was also a fortune in Normandy lodged with a Jew his late father-in-law had trusted. Jacob would expect Raphael to claim it; they had been friends, and more than friends—almost as father and son. It was because Raphael had saved Jacob’s life that he had given him his most precious treasure—his daughter, Messalina.

Perhaps if he settled his business the nightmares would leave him to rest in peace.

* * *

Rosamunde was mending a tunic. It was her second best and she had torn it while out gathering herbs and
berries for her cures. Her stitches were neat and she could not afford cloth to make a new one, because she would not ask her father for money. He had none to give her and would merely be distressed that she was in need.

Sir Randolph had almost beggared himself entertaining the King and his knights before they had gone on the third crusade. Since then he had contributed generously by sending young men from his manor to join Richard in the Holy Land, and he had recently given three-hundred gold talents towards paying the huge ransom demanded for Richard’s release.

When Sir Randolph had finally discovered that his debts were too deep to allow for a decent life for his daughter, he had decided that she must enter her cousin Angelina’s service. So Rosamunde had been sent to her uncle, Count Torrs, only to discover that he was leaving England for the Low Countries. The count had accepted his late sister’s daughter and Angelina had taken her into her service. Angelina was to stay with her uncle in Normandy until such time as her father returned from his travels, and so Rosamunde had travelled to France with her cousin.

At first, Rosamunde’s life had not been too bad, but as time passed Angelina seemed to dislike Rosamunde and gave her all the tedious tasks to perform. Rosamunde knew that her father had hoped she would make a life for herself in her kinswoman’s service, because there was little for her at home. She had no dowry to give to a husband and it was unlikely that anyone would
offer for her without at least a small portion. Since coming to France, she had tried very hard to please her cousin, but Angelina was selfish and uncaring, and Rosamunde found it more and more difficult to accept her life. If she had not believed that her father would find her a burden to support, she would have returned home months ago.

Her only hope lay in King Richard’s return. If he were restored to his throne, he might find it in his heart to reward her father for past loyalty. A small pension would make all the difference and then perhaps Rosamunde could return to her home.

Sighing, she placed the tunic she’d been mending in her coffer and then went to look out of the narrow window. Since Rosamunde had no further work to occupy her, she might as well go in search of their hostess, Lady Saxenburg, and enquire if she could be of assistance to her.

About to leave on her errand, she was surprised when the door of her chamber opened and Angelina entered. Rosamunde felt a prickling sensation at the nape of her neck. It was not often that her cousin came to find Rosamunde; she was normally sent for by one of the other serving women.

‘Cousin, may I do something for you? I was looking for work since I have finished all the mending.’

‘You will be pleased to know we are to journey to England,’ Angelina said. ‘You should pack your things, Rosamunde, and then come to help me. I have set my other ladies to packing my things but only Margaret is
to accompany us. Sir Thomas, who is a family friend, and his men will be our escorts.’

‘England?’ Rosamunde’s spirits lifted. ‘I am so glad, cousin. Perhaps I shall find time to visit my father. Do we go to your father’s home? Has his mission in the Low Countries been successful?’

‘We go on my father’s behalf,’ Angelina said. ‘It may be that you will have time to visit your father, but we shall speak of this when we reach England.’

‘I cannot thank you enough. Your uncle and aunt have made us welcome here in Normandy, but I prefer England. You must be glad to be going home too?’

‘I have no choice in the matter.’ Angelina’s gaze went over her. ‘That tunic is shabby, Rosamunde. Have you no others?’

‘This is the tunic I use for every day but I have two others.’

Angelina’s eyes narrowed. ‘You have grown shabbier; I had not noticed. I shall make you a gift of three tunics and a surcoat. You cannot attend me looking as you do, cousin. You will have time on the ship to make any adjustments you need.’

‘Cousin…’ Rosamunde’s cheeks stung. Angelina’s gift was generous but made in such a way that it humiliated her. ‘I…You are generous.’

Why was her cousin being so generous to her? Angelina had made it plain from the start that she did not like her cousin or wish to have her as one of her ladies—so why this sudden kindness? Something was not quite right.

‘I wish you to look well, cousin. We shall pass your home on our journey. You may visit your father, but remember your loyalty is to me. Perhaps if you serve me as I wish a marriage might be arranged for you. I dare say a knight might be found to wed you for fifty gold talents.’

‘I do not have even ten gold talents, cousin.’

‘No, but I may have.’ Angelina’s eyes glittered. ‘I cannot tell you just yet, but soon I shall ask a service of you and, if you please me, I may arrange something for you.’

‘What kind of a service, cousin?’

‘I cannot tell you yet—but it is important to me and my father.’

‘I am always willing to serve you and my uncle if I can, Angelina.’

Rosamunde could not help but be suspicious. Angelina always had a reason for what she did. If she was giving Rosamunde such a costly gift it must mean she wanted something from her in return.

‘Yes, perhaps. See to your packing. We leave within the hour.’

Rosamunde took her leave of the lord and lady of Saxenburg, thanking them for their hospitality, and then went up the twisting stair to her cousin’s chamber at the top of the tower. The door was open and as she paused she heard voices—Angelina and Sir Thomas. Without meaning to eavesdrop, she heard their words clearly.

‘What are we to do? My father is a prisoner of his
enemy, Lord Mornay, and he demands one thousand gold pieces as a ransom to release him…’

‘It is an iniquitous sum. But the ransom must be paid or Mornay will not release his hostage. I have heard of this man, and I fear for Count Torrs if Mornay’s demands are not met.’

‘But you do not know it all,’ Angelina cried in a wailing tone. ‘He is not content with ruining my father by demanding this huge sum—he also wants me to take him the ransom myself.’

‘You cannot. I shall not allow it. You are promised to me, Angelina. Had your father not been captured in England we should have been wed before this,’ the man responded.

‘My uncle says that I must go to England and take the ransom, for if my father is not released his lands will be forfeit and he will have nothing left—and that means we cannot marry, Thomas, unless our plan works,’ Angelina said.

‘Your cousin suspects nothing?’

‘She is a fool and will do as I tell her,’ Angelina said scornfully. ‘But I still do not see how sending Rosamunde in my place will help us to recover my dowry.’

‘Listen and I shall explain once more…’

Shocked to the core at what she had heard, Rosamunde turned away, sick to the stomach and unwilling to hear more. Now she understood the reasons for the new gowns: her cousin meant to send her to this Lord Mornay in Angelina’s place.

Trembling, she ran back down to her own chamber.

What was she to do? She had no money of her own and there was no way that she could return to England without her cousin.

How could Angelina plan such a terrible thing? She had always known her cousin was selfish but this was beyond anything. Rosamunde was distressed and angry. She would not go to this man in her cousin’s place—but for the moment she had no choice but to hold her peace. Perhaps when she was in England she could go to her father and ask for his protection.

* * *

It was some ten minutes later that she followed her cousin down to the waiting horses. Angelina was to ride her own white palfrey, but Rosamunde had ridden pillion behind one of her uncle’s men-at-arms when they had come here and expected to ride that way once more. However, to her surprise, Sir Thomas led a lovely chestnut mare forward.

‘I believe you can ride, lady?’ ‘Yes, sir. Is this fine mare for my use?’ ‘Yes, if you can manage her.’ He smiled but something in his manner caused a shiver at Rosamunde’s nape. Had she not overheard their plan, she would have wondered why she was being so favoured. Now she understood why she was being given new clothes and a horse to ride. She must look the part of the count’s real daughter to fool the evil Lord Mornay.

Rosamunde longed to tell them that she knew what they planned, but her only chance was to reach England and her father. If he knew that she was being sacrificed
to save her cousin from shame, he would surely not allow it. So, steeling herself not to flinch, she took Sir Thomas’s hand and allowed him to help her mount.

Rosamunde took the reins. Despite her anger, she felt a surge of pleasure at being able to ride independently. Not since her mother’s death had she had the joy of riding her own horse. Until that unhappy day her father had kept horses for both Rosamunde and her mother’s use, but afterwards he had sold them in an effort to stave off ruin.

Rosamunde took her place amongst Sir Thomas’s train. She saw that Angelina’s maid, Margaret, was riding pillion behind one of the grooms. The men-at-arms rode at the head and tail of the small procession, guarding their lord and his promised bride. Rosamunde followed just behind her cousin. It was a lovely warm afternoon and pleasant for riding. A few hours in the saddle would bring them to the coast where the ship would be waiting. How much she would have enjoyed the prospect, had she not understood what awaited her when they reached England.

Somehow she must find a way to get away from them once they reached England. Surely her father would be pleased to see her and would protect her?

* * *

Sir Raphael de Valmont sat his horse and looked out to sea. The ship that was to have taken him and his companions from France to England had been battered by a storm in mid-ocean and its mainmast was now being repaired. Unless he could find another vessel with space
for five passengers, he might be forced to linger here another week.

‘The
Southern Star
sails with the morning tide,’ a voice said to his left and he turned to look at his friend Broderick. ‘But her captain says he has been asked to take a knight and his entourage to England and there is no room for us.’

‘Would he not let us find a corner of the deck on which to sit?’

‘He says that if we wait until the knight comes he will enquire how many there are in his party. Should there be room he might allow us to sleep on deck.’

Raphael nodded, his gaze brooding as he saw a party of horsemen arriving. His journey had become urgent ever since the news of his father’s illness had reached him as he had journeyed through France.

‘I believe the knight has arrived,’ Raphael said, his eyes narrowed, intent. ‘There are three ladies, a knight and ten men-at-arms, besides some five servants. The
Southern Star
is not large enough to take us all as well. We should search elsewhere.’

‘I’ve been told there is a cove just down the coast and two merchant ships are in port,’ Jonathan de Vere said as he rode up to them. ‘It will take us no more than thirty minutes to ride there. If we cannot find a berth for us all there, you must go on alone, Raphael.’

‘We vowed we would stay together until we reached England.’ Raphael’s mouth was unsmiling as he looked at his four friends: Sir Broderick, Sir Jonathan de Vere, Sir Michael Borthwick and Janquil. He had been
some months on the journey from the Holy Land to Normandy, for it had now been a year since Messalina’s death. His friends had pledged to journey with him so that he might place his claim to recover from the goldsmith what should now have been his. In return, Raphael had promised that he would take them all into his service if he became rich.

They had eventually found the wealthy but elusive goldsmith. Markoff had at first been reluctant to part with the money and jewels lodged with him, but after verifying Raphael’s proof of marriage and the subsequent death of the whole family had admitted that he was the rightful owner. Raphael had considered making his home in Normandy, where he had purchased an estate, but then a message had reached him: his father was very ill and wished to see his son as soon as possible.