The Marriage Prize (16 page)

prize indeed."

Her violet eyes widened. She had never received such

compliments before and didn't know how to respond. "May I

remind you I am a prize you haven't yet succeeded in

claiming?" Rosamond's reply was as chal enging as the cold

wind.

When they had ridden five or six miles, he raised his voice

above the wind to inquire, "Are you warm enough,

Rosamond?"

If she said no, would he take her before him to protect her

from the harsh elements? She shivered at the thought of their

bodies touching. Which would serve her better, to cling, or be

provocative? She chose the latter, and threw back her head to

laugh at the weather. "I love the wind, it exhilarates me!" Her fur hood fel back and her hair streamed out like a golden

banner.

"You know you are more tempting when you are disheveled,

and you are too damned proud to admit that you are freezing

cold!" he said. "I think we should stop at Tewkesbury for the night."

So that was his game! Nan's warning came rushing back to

her. If she agreed to spend the night at his castle of

Tewkesbury, it would be tantamount to inviting him to take

whatever liberties he desired. "I think not, my lord." Her reply was as icy as the wind. She urged Nimbus forward to take the

lead. She was uncertain of the way, but hadn't he said they just

had to fol ow the river?

Tewkesbury Castle loomed before them at the juncture of the

River

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Avon and the River Severn. Suddenly, Nimbus stepped on a

wolf trap hidden beneath the snow, and it snapped closed on

her hoof. The palfrey screamed in fear and took off across the

ice of the river. Nimbus managed to shake off the iron snare,

but kept on gal oping at a frantic pace.

De Leyburn knew the ice on the wider, deeper, fast-flowing

Severn would not bear the weight of a horse and rider.

"Rosamond! No!" he bel owed. "Halt, halt!" With his heart in his mouth, he watched Nimbus flounder as she went through

the ice, disappear below the surface of the water, then

resurface and plunge toward the riverbank. To Rod's horror, he

saw that the saddle was empty.

"Help! Help me!" Rosamond screamed, then the icy water

closed over her mouth, cutting off her cries. She knew the

water was deep as she sank down, down. The weight of her

velvet cloak and boots was making her sink like a boulder.

Her boots touched the riverbed, tel ing her she could sink no

farther, and she began an exhausting struggle to the surface.

The current had carried her beneath the ice, away from the

hole her horse had made, but when the top of her head hit the

frozen surface, it cracked the thin ice. Rosamond had no time

to pray, nor even think coherently; sheer panic took over. The

more she tried to grab on to something, the more ice broke

from the edges of the hole until it gaped wide.

Rosamond had never experienced cold like this in her entire

life. It penetrated her skin, seeped into her blood, chil ed her

flesh and froze her very bones to the marrow. Her lungs felt so

waterlogged, she couldn't breathe, yet somehow she was

screaming.

screaming.

"Rosamond! Don't panic!" Rod thundered, pul ing a rope from

his saddlebag.

"I'm sinking!" she screamed.

"Remove your cloak!" he ordered.

Rod's mind flashed about like mercury. He knew the ice would

not support him, even if he flattened himself on its surface and

crawled. He knew he had no time to waste; she could drown

or die from the cold. Rod fastened one end of the rope to a

tree and tied the other about his waist. Then he went into the

river after her. The icy waters of Kenil-worth's mere were like a

bathing pond compared with the Severn. Be-

88

fore he could reach her, Rosamond disappeared beneath the

surface and he had no choice but to dive for her.

As he swam about beneath the ice, Rod felt panic rise

because he could not locate her. Ruthlessly he forced the

panic to subside and came up for air. He knew the rope would

let him go no farther, and was about to plunge down again,

when he saw her head bob above the surface. "Rosamond!

I'm here! Come to me!" His deep voice held total confidence,

though Rod felt no such thing.

He knew he needed more rope, so he untied it from about his

waist and wrapped the end about his thick wrist. With

ferocious effort, he stretched out through the icy current and

fastened his fingers in the cloth of her gown. He heard a

whimper. "Sweetheart, hold on! You're so brave!" Rod

stopped shouting to conserve his energy. He would need it to

get them both back to the riverbank.

At that point, Rosamond was incapable of speech or even

thought. The feeling in her arms and legs was long gone, and

now the rest of her body had grown numb from the icy-cold

river. She was on the brink of total exhaustion. She kept her

mouth above water to gasp an occasional breath by sheer

instinct alone, but she was dangerously close to the edge of

unconsciousness.

Rod wil ed his arms to have the strength to hold on to her and

at the same time swim toward the bank that seemed so very

far away. He was total y focused—there was no room in his

mind for failure. He would get her out, no matter what. The

difficult part would be to get her out before she froze to death

in the icy water. Suddenly he realized that her horse was

beside them, floundering wildly in the water, and the

turbulence it created pul ed them beneath the churning eddy.

He knew he could not let go of either Rosamond or the rope,

so he clung to both doggedly. As he and Rosamond

resurfaced he felt the cloth of her gown rip and knew he must

anchor her body to his, or he would lose her. With one brutal

pul that tore the garment in two, he managed to bring her

close enough to grab her leg, then he wrapped his arm tightly

about her waist.

When Rod reached the riverbank, he hauled her up out of the

water first, then clawed his own way out of the freezing river.

As he knelt over her, gasping to refil his lungs with air, he saw

that she was

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unconscious and had stopped breathing. Refusing to panic,

Rod turned her body face-down, straddled her, and splayed

his large hands across her rib cage. He pressed and

released in a rhythm that simulated natural breathing, and

immediately Rosamond began to cough and gag up water.

She didn't open her eyes, but he knew she was at least

breathing on her own.

Rod picked her up and held her pressed against his chest.

She needed warmth and she needed it now. He whistled for

his horse and felt weak with relief when Stygian obeyed.

"Good boy . . . hold stil ," he murmured as he pul ed himself into the saddle, clasping Rosamond to his side. He dug his

heels into the stal ion's flank, and it gal oped forward toward

the castle. As he shouted to the watchman in the barbican

tower and thundered across the drawbridge, he was vaguely

aware of hoofbeats behind him.

Before he reached Tewkesbury's bailey, grooms were running

from the stables to aid him. He slid from the saddle with

Rosamond clutched to his breast and turned the horse over to

a groom. From the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of

Nimbus's cream coat and was grateful he would not have to

tel Rosamond her palfrey was missing. As he ran with her

across the bailey toward the castle, he cal ed over his

shoulder, "Check the palfrey's leg—she stepped in a wolf

trap!"

Shouting orders, Rod strode through the studded oak portal,

then headed for the stairs as his castel an and household

servants stood gaping openmouthed. There had better be a

blazing fire in my chamber, or somebody wil be flogged, he

thought grimly. He took the stone steps two at a time, strode

down the hal , and booted open his chamber door. He laid

Rosamond before the fireplace, then dragged a fur cover from

his bed and knelt beside her to strip off what was left of her

sodden garments. Rod wrapped her naked body in the lynx

fur, and only then did he notice his legs were trembling from

muscle fatigue.

Burke, his castel an, entered the room, bringing towels and a

flagon of brandywine. "You'd best get out of your own clothes,

my lord." He went to the wardrobe and brought forth a

bedrobe. "I'l fetch you some hot soup from the kitchen. Is

there aught else I can do, Sir Rodger?"

Rod shook his head. "Thank you, Burke. I'l manage."

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"You always do, my lord."

As Rod gently wiped Rosamond's face with a towel, she

opened her eyes, but closed them again without the least

flicker of recognition. He was thankful she was starting to

regain consciousness, and gathered her long, wet hair into the

towel, wrapping it about her head as if it were a turban. Her

skin was tinged blue with cold, and he knew he would have to

restore her circulation or she would expire from her lowered

body temperature.

Impatiently he tore off his own wet, cold garments and flung

them to the side of the hearth. Then, naked, he knelt over

Rosamond and lifted the lynx far from her body. She was so

slim, so fragile, it caught at his heart. A rush of protectiveness

washed over him, and he realized cynical y it was the first time

he had ever felt any emotion for a woman other than lust or

contempt.

He poured warm brandy into his hands, then began to

massage her body, starting at the shoulders. With firm,

circular strokes, he moved down over her breasts, across her

bel y, to her hips. His fingers moved in firm circles, rubbing,

massaging, kneading the brandy into her flesh so that her

blood's circulation would improve. Rod poured more liquor

into his cupped palm, then, lifting one of her thighs, he rubbed

her leg with long, firm strokes. Her legs were even longer than

he had imagined in his sexual fantasies, and suddenly he

became highly aroused at the sight and feel of her bare flesh

beneath his powerful hands. He had never done this to a

woman before, but now it was brought home to him how

pleasurably erotic a body massage could be. He promised

himself to indulge in this pleasure in the future, once

Rosamond was safely recovered.

His cock went rigid as blood flooded quickly into his groin,

and it began to throb as his hands lifted Rosamond's other

thigh and started to briskly massage it. Rod did not lose his

erection, even when Burke arrived with the soup, but his

castel an didn't blink an eye as he set down the tray and laced

the chicken broth with cream. Rod pul ed the fur cover across

Rosamond's nakedness to preserve her modesty. "I won't try

to feed it to her until she ful y regains her senses," he said.

"The soup is for you, my lord, but perhaps you're hot enough."

Rod flashed his castel an a warning glance, but Burke had

learned

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that de Leyburn's bark was worse than his bite. "You've never

lost a woman yet, my lord. Who is she?"

"She is Rosamond Marshal."

"Judas Iscariot, why didn't you say so! Get on with reviving her, and I'l get a maid up here to attend her."

"I want no bloody maid; I'l tend her myself. Get the hel out of here so we can have some privacy, man."

After Burke withdrew and closed the chamber door, Rod

liftedRosamond into his lap. He pul ed the towel from her hair

and cupped her cheek in his powerful hand. "Rosamond,

Rosebud, open your eyes!" After he had ordered her three

times, her lashes fluttered, then her lids lifted. As she gazed

up into the green eyes, her own eyes widened with recognition

as she became aware of the man, then memories of the

ordeal they had been through came rushing back to her. "I'm...

so... cold"

With one arm wrapped tightly around her, Rodger poured

some brandy into the broth and lifted the bowl to her lips.

"Slowly," he cautioned. As she raised her hand to steady the bowl, it trembled like an aspen leaf, and he quickly covered it

with his own hand to warm her frozen fingers. Rosamond took

a few sips, which seemed to exhaust her. "Rest for a minute."

Patiently he held the bowl steady until she caught her breath,

then once more he urged the bowl toward her lips. Again she

managed a few sips, then turned her face away.

Rodger laid her gently down on the bed, propped up the

pil ows to support her head, then tucked the lynx fur about her.

He noticed that her color had improved only slightly; she stil

had a bluish tinge about her mouth. "You are going to be al

right, sweetheart. Are you warmer now?"

Rosamond stared up at him; her hands and arms, her feet and

legs were like ice. "Colder..."

De Leyburn made his decision instantly. He turned back the

covers and climbed into bed beside her. Then he reached out

and pul ed her into his arms. He knew only one sure way to

warm her. He began to rub her back with long strokes from her

shoulder blades to her round bottom cheeks. His hands were