Virginia Henley (40 page)

“What about Kate?” asked Joanna.

“Kate is my strength. Without her, I’d go mad,” Roseanna said simply. “I’m going to arrange for old Dobbin to take all the best horses home to my father.”

“Isn’t that going a bit far, darling?” asked Joanna.

“I’ll not let that whoreson swine have even the smoke off their horseshit! Everything belongs to my son, and I’ll die saving it for him!” she vowed.

“It’s a man’s world, Roseanna. Haven’t you just had that lesson driven home to you?”

“Then I’ll get a stronger man! I’ll go to Warwick if I have to,” she threatened.

“He’s above temptation—I tried years ago. His God is ambition, and he will sacrifice everything to it. Women mean nothing to him.”

“Then I’ll appeal to Ravenspur’s overlord. Surely the
Earl of Lincoln will at least listen to me if I swear him allegiance for my son’s land and title.”

Joanna looked at her daughter with admiration. “’Tis said he is a young man. If he has a young man’s appetites, he will not be immune to your beauty.”

Kate brought a heaping tray for Joanna, for she knew what a lusty eater she had always been. Roseanna said, “Kate, find Mr. Burke and come back. I want to speak with you both.” When they returned and stood waiting for her decisions, she was very grateful to have such loyal people who really cared about what happened to her. “Mother is taking my son to Castlemaine. Alice and Rebecca will accompany them. I must leave tomorrow on an important mission, and I want you both with me. Ravenspur’s fleet of merchant ships is anchored at Liverpool. I must speak with the captains and get the ships safely out of the country. They are responsible for much of Ravenspur’s wealth, and I cannot let them fall into the hands of the Duke of Clarence. Mr. Burke, do you think it would be feasible for them to sail out of Drogheda?”

He nodded. “Aye. The Boyne empties into the sea close by Drogheda.”

“Good. You’ll both come with me to Liverpool? Tell no one,” she cautioned. “We travel in secret.”

James Burke spoke up. “The most direct route is through Derby. There is a Roman road from that town that leads directly to the coast.”

Roseanna spent the next twenty-four hours patiently trying to feed her son bread and milk. He ate it hungrily, yet still cried for his mother’s breast as if that were the only thing that would satisfy him. Kate fashioned him a dummy teat that he sucked willingly enough, but he screamed furiously when no milk was forthcoming. Finally
Roseanna came to a hard decision. “Mother, my time is running out. I want you to leave for Castlemaine today. Little Ned won’t starve; his appetite is too voracious for that. He’ll adjust much more quickly when I’m not available.”

Once the child was not there to occupy every waking moment, she found herself longing for Roger. She busied herself with preparations for the journey to Liverpool throughout the day, but that night she found she couldn’t sleep because her body ached for him. Thinking back, she found it incredible that she had ever rejected him, and she regretted all the time she had wasted defying him. Yet it had been a sort of mating dance they had performed; irresistibly, male and female had been drawn together, becoming one. But how cruel it was to be wrenched apart! She felt mutilated.

It was late when the closed carriage drew up at the innyard in Derby. James Burke went into the hostelry while the women waited inside the coach. He secured two bedrooms and a private dining parlor and asked for extra logs for its fire.

Roseanna pulled her hood closely around her face as she quit the coach and entered the inn. She did not remove it until they were safely ensconced inside the private parlor. A door that joined the room to another private parlor opened and a servant brought an armful of logs. Briefly, before the door was closed, Roseanna saw a man staring at her with open admiration in his eyes. She was used to men staring boldly at her and thought nothing more of it.

The young man in the next room immediately inquired about the lady’s identity. The innkeeper could tell him
nothing. He sent wine around to her; it was politely refused, and he felt thoroughly frustrated.

He was a young nobleman returning from Coventry, where he and the other earls of the realm had been closeted with Warwick, deciding England’s future—if they could ever come to an agreement. He did not know what intrigued him more, her outrageous beauty or the air of mystery surrounding her, but in that one brief glimpse he had been snared.

Roseanna would not have been indifferent if she had known the man occupying the other private parlor was the Earl of Lincoln.

    She met with the captains of Ravenspur’s merchant fleet. At least two of them were familiar with the Drogheda estate in Ireland. She appointed one of them captain over the others and authorized him to take care of her son’s shipping enterprise. She told them they must never drop anchor in an English port unless King Edward was returned to the throne. She arranged to travel to Ireland the following summer, when most of them would be returning from trading ventures in far-off lands.

It would be easy to sail to Ireland with them and thereby escape the Duke of Clarence. She had the deed to the estate in Drogheda, which Ravenspur had given her. It was separate from the other landholdings and could not be taken from her, but if she abandoned Ravenspur, it and the other castles would be snatched from her son forever. Resolutely, she prepared to return home.

The closer she got to Ravenspur, the more she dreaded another encounter with the Duke of Clarence. She shuddered. The memory of him clung to her like scum on a pond! She calmed herself by making plans to visit the
Earl of Lincoln and beg him for his aid. Upon her return, she rested for one day only, for she found herself at the upper windows anxiously scanning the countryside so often that she knew she could not let another day pass without taking action.

The ancient town of Lincoln was pre-Roman in origin; it was dominated by a cathedral built by William the Conqueror four centuries before. The castle seemed ugly to Roseanna after the elegance of Ravenspur, but it was a formidible stronghold. She took Kate with her to attend to her toilette, for Roseanna was a woman who knew the true value of appearance. She was a woman appealing to a man, and she intended to use every feminine device she possessed.

There was nothing she could do about the color of her gown: she was in mourning, and it had to be black. But she chose the finest black silk gown, which rustled provocatively; its neckline, which seemed modest, was deceptive in that it molded her breasts and exposed them when she dipped into a deep curtsey. She had swept her hair back to show off her heart-shaped face. It was held in place by a gold filigree clasp, then fell straight down her back in a silken waterfall. With her hair pulled back, her cheekbones stood out, and her eyes were slightly slanted. Her mouth was painted the same deep luscious red as the rubies in the diamond necklace Roger had gifted her with. Its huge pearl nestled in the deep valley between her breasts.

The castle chamberlain led her into the reception room, where the earl received the people of Lincolnshire who requested audiences with him. A calmness came over her. The Earl of Lincoln was seated at an ornate refectory table doing paperwork, when he glanced up and
saw her approach. His eyes widened, and he was on his feet instantly, coming forward to meet her.

She was surprised by his youth. He could be no more than twenty-five. He was of medium build but so good-looking, she couldn’t help but stare. He had silver gilt hair and silver eyes.

“Who are you?” he asked, forgetting his manners completely. His voice was deep and rich as if it belonged to a much older man.

She sank into a graceful curtsey that displayed her magnificent breasts. “I am Lady Roseanna, Baroness of Ravenspur.”

“I’ve seen you before,” he told her.

Her eyebrows went up in a question, and he supplied, “At the inn in Derby a fortnight past.”

The corners of her mouth went up deliciously. “You were the gentleman who stared so boldly?”

“I confess I was, madame. You were right to treat me with disdain.”

Her lashes swept to her cheeks. “I—I am recently widowed, unprotected. I am easy prey, my lord.”

He stiffened. “Some man is forcing his attentions on you,” he said with perception.

She sighed deeply and sadly and nodded. “I came to you for advice, my lord. Though you and my husband were on different sides, you are technically my overlord.”

“Who is this man who dares offer you insult?” he asked.

Her eyelashes sparkled with unshed tears. “I am frightened to tell you his name,” she murmured.

He took her hand between both of his and pressed it reassuringly. “Come through to the inner room, where
we can be less formal, Lady Roseanna. It grieves me to see your evident distress.”

Obediently she allowed him to take her into a small drawing room with comfortable sofas and a cozy fire. He poured wine into two small crystal glasses and handed her one. As her fingers brushed his, she heard his sharp intake of breath. She sipped her wine in silence; the sexual tension between them almost crackled in the air.

He said low, “Please trust me. Whatever you tell me will be in strictest confidence, and I pledge to do anything that is within my power.”

She smiled tremulously, and his heart turned over. “My lord—”

“My friends call me Line,” he invited.

“I’m being blackmailed.”

His eyes widened, but he held his silence, hoping she would continue.

“By a man of high rank,” she finished.

“So high, you are frightened to give me his name?” asked Line, incredulously.

Roseanna nodded. “Two months before my husband was killed, I had a son. He is now Baron Ravenspur— except … except the Duke of Clarence threatens to become his guardian and take his lands away unless—unless I give him access to my bed.” She sat facing him; the firelight turned her jewels to flame.

He whistled at the royal name. “He’s married to Warwick’s daughter! The kingmaker will take a dim view when it becomes known to him.”

“My lord—”

“Line,” he insisted.

“Line, tell me if it is within his power to do this to my son.”

Line nodded slowly. “He could either take your son’s wealth in wardship until he comes of age, or he could issue a warrant of attainder and have everything revert to the Crown—but only if he becomes King, Lady Roseanna.”

She drooped visibly at this news, so he hastened to explain, “It is by no means a certainty that George will be crowned. I tell you this in strictest confidence. The nobility does not want him. Most of the Lancastrian lords want old King Henry restored.”

“But he’s mad! He resides in the Tower of London.”

“Mad, yes. Yet still they prefer him to the Duke of Clarence.”

“You have given me hope, at least. When will this be decided?”

“Soon. We all want this matter settled. Continual war drains the lifeblood of a realm.”

“Will you add your voice to those who oppose the crowning of the Duke of Clarence?” she begged.

“Mine will be the loudest,” he assured her.

She rose to bid him good-bye, and suddenly he did not want her to leave. “You cannot go without taking dinner with me, Lady Roseanna.”

She hesitated. She knew the value of leaving a man when he desired more of your company. “I’m sorry, I must go. It is starting to snow, and I don’t want to get caught in a storm.”

He wanted to ask her to stay the night, but this would place him in the same light as the seducer she was running from. “May I visit you?” he asked eagerly.

“Please do. It is very kind of you to want to check on my welfare, my lord.”

“Line,” he begged.

A week passed, a week in which Roseanna scanned the horizon and prayed to God that the Duke of Clarence had enough trouble on his hands that he had no time to spare her a thought. It was agony for her to live without Roger, and she missed her baby so much, she wanted to scream.

She looked out from her bedchamber window; her heart caught in her throat as she saw riders approach. When she recognized the Earl of Lincoln’s silvery hair, she went weak with relief. With shaking fingers she brushed her hair and went down to greet him. “Line!” she cried joyfully; his heart lifted that she welcomed him so warmly. She wore a simple white linen dress, and with her dark hair loose and falling to the hem of the gown, she looked heartbreakingly young. She was the loveliest, most desirable creature he’d ever known, and he wanted her.

“Roseanna,” he breathed. “Lord God, the days have dragged since I saw you.” He took her hands between his, then raised them to his lips.

“The days drag for me, too. I miss my son so much.”

“Where is he?” he asked.

She hesitated.

“Trust me!” he begged.

“He is with my mother at Castlemaine.”

“I shall take you to visit him,” he declared.

“Oh, no! Really?” she asked breathlessly.

“What is there to stop us?” he asked.

“Nothing!” she cried joyfully. “Oh, Line, thank you for coming.”

“Tell them to ready your carriage.” He grinned.

“Let’s ride!” she suggested, suddenly bursting with energy.