One wicked night for an heir!

Rosamund de Courcy has always loved Warrick de Laurent, but was forced to marry another. Now her husband’s dying command is that she must provide him with an heir. To do so, she will have to spend one sinful night...with Warrick!

The powerful warrior was wounded by Rosamund’s abandonment years ago, and Warrick refuses to let her touch his heart again. But this illicit night is impossible to resist, and soon he is determined—he will not only possess her, but reclaim her for his own!

Warriors of the Night

Surrender to seduction…

Let Michelle Willingham sweep you away with her brand-new, thrillingly passionate Warriors of the Night miniseries. Be entranced by these darkly sexy warrior heroes, and follow them as they face their biggest challenge yet—falling in love!

Forbidden Night with the Warrior

Available now

Forbidden Night with the Highlander

Coming soon

Author Note

Forbidden Night with the Warrior is the first in a new series inspired by Indecent Proposal. When Rosamund de Courcy falls in love with Warrick de Laurent as a maiden her father forbids a union between them. The star-crossed lovers try to wed in secret, but Rosamund is forced to marry another man.

In this book I wanted to explore the idea of what might happen if a dying lord desperately needed an heir and offered a night with his wife to the man she’d always loved. It’s a story about second chances and wanting to right the wrongs of the past. And then, too, there is the question of which marriage was real…

Look for the second book in this series, Forbidden Night with the Highlander, which tells the story of Rhys de Laurent and Lianna MacKinnon. If you’d like me to email you when I have a new book out, please visit my website at michellewillingham.com to sign up for my newsletter. As a bonus, you’ll receive a free story just for subscribing!

Forbidden Night with the Warrior

Michelle Willingham

www.millsandboon.co.uk

RITA® Award finalist MICHELLE WILLINGHAM has written over twenty historical romances, novellas and short stories. Currently she lives in south-eastern Virginia with her husband and children. When she’s not writing, Michelle enjoys reading, baking and avoiding exercise at all costs. Visit her website at: michellewillingham.com.

Books by Michelle Willingham

Mills & Boon Historical Romance

and Mills & Boon Historical Undone! eBooks

Warriors of the Night

Forbidden Night with the Warrior

Warriors of Ireland

(Linked to The MacEgan Brothers)

Warrior of Ice

Warrior of Fire

The MacKinloch Clan

Claimed by the Highland Warrior

Seduced by Her Highland Warrior

Craving the Highlander’s Touch (Undone!)

Tempted by the Highland Warrior

The MacEgan Brothers

Her Irish Warrior

The Warrior’s Touch

Her Warrior King

Her Warrior Slave (prequel)

Taming Her Irish Warrior

Surrender to an Irish Warrior

Warriors in Winter

Visit the Author Profile page

at millsandboon.co.uk for more titles.

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To Barb Massabrook, a bright spirit with a ready smile, a love for Scotland, and gorgeous men in kilts. You are one of the nicest women I’ve ever met, and I am so glad to call you my friend. As you fight this battle, know that we are with you always.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Warriors of the Night

Author Note

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Epilogue

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

England—1174

‘You cannot ask this of me.’ Rosamund de Courcy stared at her husband in disbelieving shock. ‘It is a sin.’

Alan de Courcy, the Baron of Pevensham, leaned back against the pillow of their bed. His brown hair hung limply against his face, and his grey eyes were shielded with unending pain. He had grown weaker over the past three months, and though Rosamund prayed each night for his recovery, the shadow of death lingered over him. It terrified her to imagine him gone, for he had been a true friend through her darkest nightmares.

Now he wanted her to lie with another man to conceive the child they so desperately needed. The very idea was unthinkable.

‘We need an heir, ma petite. And I am incapable of giving you one.’ Her husband spoke of the proposition as if it were a business arrangement. ‘I will not let my brother inherit everything I have built. Owen would ruin Pevensham within a year.’

Rosamund paced before the hearth, her heart racing at the very thought of Alan’s command. How could he even imagine she would betray him in that way? She was a woman of honour, not an unfaithful wife.

Whispers of guilt pulled at her conscience, reminding her of the mistakes she had made as a young woman. But Alan knew nothing of them, and she had always been true to him during their marriage. She had paid the price for her sins, but the heartbreak haunted her still.

‘I have been nothing but loyal to you,’ she insisted to Alan. ‘For three years, I have obeyed you. Why would you ask this of me?’

‘Because you do not want Owen to inherit, either. You know what he would do to you when I am gone.’ His voice held a trace of ice, and she understood his unspoken words. If Owen took possession of Pevensham, he would force his unwanted attentions upon her. She suppressed a shiver of revulsion.

‘But...to lie with another man when I am married to you? You ask too much of me. I could never do such a thing.’ She closed her eyes, gripping the edges of her skirt. The union between a man and a woman was not painful, but she had never enjoyed it with Alan. He had been so careful, treating her with such gentleness. But there was no thrill of passion between them, hardly more than a gesture of marital comfort.

Alan had tried to please her, though he’d sensed her distance when he had claimed her body. Because of it, he had not asked that she share his bed often. And in the half-year since he’d fallen ill, she had not lain with him once.

‘I have asked Warrick de Laurent to come to Pevensham. He will be here within a sennight.’

An icy chill suffused her skin, and she felt light-headed for a moment. Warrick was the man she had loved since she was a maiden. Tall and strong, with dark hair and piercing blue eyes, she had wanted him desperately. Never had she forgotten the fierce warrior who had haunted her dreams. Or the way his kiss had awakened her body, arousing her blood.

‘I cannot lie with him,’ Rosamund insisted. For if she did, it would threaten the very foundation of her marriage. Her throat constricted with a flood of memories she couldn’t face. She had closed off her heart to what would never be, accepting Alan and becoming a proper wife.

For him to ask this of her evoked such a fury, she could hardly speak.

Alan knew what this would mean. He knew it, and yet he was forcing her to confront the past.

If she let Warrick touch her, she would no longer be able to trust herself. It would be impossible to guard her feelings and behave as if the union meant nothing. Even the memory of his touch made her pulse quicken and her body tremble.

For a time, Alan was silent. She heard only the sound of his laboured breathing and the rustle of sheets. ‘I know you did not want to marry me, ma petite. I was never the man you wanted.’

No, he wasn’t. Everyone had known it, though she had obeyed her father’s command and married the man of his choosing. There had been no other way.

The pain in Alan’s voice weighed upon her, cooling the anger. She remained beside the hearth, closing her eyes as she chose her words carefully. ‘You have always been kind to me. I could not have asked for a better husband.’

But the arranged marriage had forced her to put aside the broken dreams and start anew. Warrick had joined the king’s forces, fighting in Normandy, and she had not seen him again. Instead, Rosamund had accepted this new life with a man who cared for her, and it should have been enough.

He expelled a sigh. ‘The words do not make it true, Rosamund. I know you wanted to wed Warrick de Laurent.’

It was far more than that, she thought, but didn’t say so.

‘That was a long time ago,’ she said quietly. She couldn’t understand why Alan was bringing up the ghosts of the past. ‘When you took me as your wife, I tried to be everything you wanted.’

‘And you have been, Rosamund. But I was never what you wanted.’ His voice was quiet, rimmed with sadness.

She hated to hear it, for this man had become her friend as well as her husband. Alan had never raised a hand against her, and he had given her dominion over the castle and household. ‘You have always been good to me.’

‘But we have no children,’ he said softly. ‘And now, we will find another way. There must be a child to keep Owen from inheriting Pevensham.’

She didn’t stop the tears now, for it had been nearly three years since she had delivered a babe that was stillborn. It was a resounding ache in her heart, and time had never diminished the emptiness. Perhaps the loss might have faded if she had carried a child to term, but after the death of her daughter, she had never conceived again. It was as if God were punishing her for her disobedience as a young maiden.

A part of her was grateful that she had not become pregnant again. The idea of bearing another child terrified her, for she had given birth too soon. All the pain and blood had resulted in nothing but death.

‘Look at me, Rosamund,’ Alan demanded. When she turned, his expression held apology. ‘It was my fault, never yours. I was not a virtuous man before we wed. I had my share of women, maids, and willing serving girls. Not once did any of the women bear a bastard child. And there were many opportunities.’

He was trying to blame himself, and she didn’t want that. ‘Both of us share the failure.’

‘You have already conceived a child once before, and you will do so again. But I know that the only man you would take into your bed is Warrick de Laurent.’

The blood roared in her ears, and she turned away again. Battered emotions poured across her soul at the thought of letting him touch her. ‘I cannot. And he will not agree to this, either.’ She couldn’t imagine that a man as proud as Warrick would let himself be used in that way.

‘I will ask him,’ Alan said quietly. ‘He may agree to it with adequate compensation. I want him to marry you when I am gone. He will defend Pevensham from our enemies, and he can protect you from Owen.’

Rosamund gripped her shaking hands together. He had everything planned out, didn’t he? One wicked night of sin, a man to take his place, and a child who would inherit everything under the pretence of being a true-born heir.

Tears of anger and frustration burned in her eyes at the thought of this deception. ‘Alan, no.’

‘I am going to die, Rosamund. Both of us know it.’

She didn’t want to face it, though she feared the worst. It was easier to imagine that it wouldn’t happen. She could bind herself with this life and shut out harsh reality.

‘I have prayed for you—’

‘Prayers will not change it. But before I go, I can ensure that Owen never inherits my property. I will provide someone to protect you, someone who would give his life for yours.’

She moved to sit beside him on his bed. Fear gripped her hard, even as she took his hand in hers. ‘Do not ask me to betray you, Alan. I will not. You deserve better than this.’

‘So did you.’ In his tone, she heard compassion and love. ‘I wanted to marry you, Rosamund, and God help me I did everything to make you love me.’

‘I do,’ she whispered.

‘Not in the way you loved him.’

Rosamund bit her lip so hard she tasted blood. He was right, though she wanted to deny it. She had loved Alan like a brother, and their marriage rested upon pillars of friendship and affection, but not love. For the past three years, she had tried to make the best of her marriage and forget about Warrick.

Alan squeezed her palm, and before she could protest, he touched a finger to his lips. ‘I know you care for me, Rosamund, and I will take that with me to my grave. But before I die, you must obey me in this.’ His face hardened. ‘You will do everything possible to ensure that we have a child to inherit. Swear to me that you will lie with him.’

She said nothing, not wanting any part of this devil’s arrangement. It was unthinkable, and if the adultery were discovered, she could lose everything.

‘Swear it,’ he demanded. ‘If you have any loyalty or obedience towards me, I demand this of you.’

She bit her lip, wanting to lash back at him. But despite his rigid tone, she sensed the regret behind his words. This was about more than conceiving a son to inherit. He was trying to right the wrong, to give her back the man she had wanted to wed. And the arrangement would irrevocably bind her to Warrick.

With all her heart, she wanted to refuse him. But when she looked into his pain-filled grey eyes, she realised that her words held the power to give a dying man peace. He loved her enough to make this sacrifice, even knowing the Pandora’s box it would open.

If she refused his proposition, it would intensify his worries and weigh down upon his spirit. But if she lied and voiced her agreement, it would soften his fears. What harm was there in speaking a lie? He need never know whether she had kept her vows.

She pushed back her apprehension, knowing that she held the power to refuse his request. If words would grant him comfort, then she could give him that much.

‘All right,’ she said softly. ‘I will allow him to claim me.’

* * *

‘Why would I kill a man for your sake?’

Warrick de Laurent gripped the hilt of his sword while staring at Owen de Courcy. The man had summoned him to his settlement at Northleigh, a rotting fortress that reeked of old rushes and neglect. Owen was a younger man with cold grey eyes and dark brown hair cut short to his ears. His beard had not fully grown in, and his lips were pursed like a pouting child.

‘Because I will give you land in return,’ Owen said. ‘And because you may take Rosamund de Courcy as your battle prize.’

Warrick was careful not to reveal any reaction to the mention of Rosamund. For three years, he’d tried to forget her, but the memory of her beautiful face still haunted him at night.

She made her choice, and it wasn’t you, his mind taunted.

‘I have no need of a woman.’ He spoke the words without emotion, as if she meant nothing to him.

Owen appeared dismissive. ‘As you will. I am certain I can find another of my men who will...take care of her.’

The barb struck true, and his instincts rose up in warning. No, he didn’t want to see Rosamund again, but that didn’t mean he would let another man harm her. Before he could snarl at Owen, the man continued. ‘Kill my brother, and you shall have everything you’ve ever wanted. You have killed many men in battle already. Why would one more matter?’

It didn’t surprise Warrick to learn that Owen wanted his brother dead, for he would inherit Pevensham and vast holdings across south-west England. Although Owen already possessed the small estate at Northleigh, it was clear that it was falling into disrepair. All around, he saw the signs of a man who lacked wealth of his own.

‘Your brother is already dying,’ he told Owen. ‘Everyone knows it. You need only wait, and you will have what you want.’

‘I have debts that must be paid.’ His expression narrowed with distaste. ‘And I grow weary of living like a swine in this place. If Alan’s wife bears a child, I inherit nothing.’

A sudden flare of possessiveness washed over him at the mention of Rosamund. Warrick didn’t want to imagine her giving birth to another man’s son. His fists clenched and blood roared through him when he thought of Alan de Courcy touching her. Three years had done nothing to diminish his fury.

‘What if she has already conceived?’ he asked. Even as he spoke the words, Warrick suspected Owen would ensure that she lost the child. This was a man who was determined to get what he wanted, no matter the cost.

At his question, a slow smile spread over Owen’s face. ‘She will not give birth to an heir. I will see to it.’ His servant returned and handed him a message. Owen poured a cup of ale and handed it to Warrick. ‘My servants intercepted this missive a few days ago. My brother has invited you to Pevensham as his guest. While you are there, you will have every opportunity to take his life.’

Warrick accepted the parchment, and saw that the broken wax held Alan de Courcy’s seal. Within the message, de Courcy mentioned that he had a special task for Warrick, one that would bring him a vast sum.

He had no interest in whatever ‘task’ Alan de Courcy desired him to complete. Ever since Rosamund had married de Courcy, Warrick had not spoken to either of them.

‘You will see to it that Alan does not survive this fortnight. Rosamund will be isolated from him until I can be certain she is not with child. He must not have an heir,’ Owen said.

‘Why now?’ He could not understand why the man was determined to see his brother dead so soon—especially within a short time. It made him wonder if Owen was facing a threat of his own.

‘King Henry will be returning from Normandy soon. We must be ready to prove our alliance.’

The pieces started to fall into place. If Owen commanded two estates, he would be a valuable ally to the king. Or perhaps he intended to side with the rebellious sons of Henry, in the hopes of securing a higher place for himself.

‘And you want to cast no blame upon yourself. If I am caught, I would be executed for murder, not you.’

The man seemed unconcerned. ‘I would suggest that you do not get caught. Let them believe Alan’s death occurred from a natural means.’ Owen studied him a moment. ‘You could kill him in his sleep, and no one would know the truth.’

Warrick still wanted nothing to do with this man. ‘I do not kill innocent men.’

Owen eyed him with a sly expression. ‘You’ve done it many times in the service of your king. How many have you slaughtered in battle? They call you the Blood Lord, do they not?’

Tension knotted within him, but he betrayed no emotions. ‘I am no lord.’

‘Indeed you are not. And that is why you will help me—because you possess nothing at all. I will give you land in Ireland where your poverty will not matter. You can begin again as the lord you always wanted to be.’

It was true that he did want land. The desire for his own demesne burned through his blood. As the youngest son, he possessed hardly anything, and he had no wish to live with his father or his older brother Rhys.

But Warrick wasn’t about to reveal this to de Courcy. His hand returned to his sword. ‘If land was all I wanted, I could take it for myself.’

‘You haven’t enough men to lay siege to a fortress,’ Owen pointed out. ‘And it isn’t only land that you want. You want vengeance against Rosamund and the man who stole her from you. I am giving you the chance to take her back. Punish her if it makes you feel better.’

He did still harbour anger towards Rosamund, after the night she had turned her back on him. But he could not help but wonder why Alan de Courcy had summoned him. What did the man want? Undoubtedly, it was connected to Rosamund.

Warrick knew that the moment he set eyes upon her again, it would only rub salt in his wounded pride. He had tried to spend time with other women, attempting to forge a life without Rosamund. And yet, he could never forget the way she had smiled at him with love, pressing her hands against his heart. He had wound his hand around her long black hair, kissing her until she made soft sounds of yearning. Those green eyes had looked upon him as if no other man in the world existed.

A part of him was still furious that she had chosen someone else. Her father had forbidden them to be together, since Warrick had nothing to offer her. But he’d believed that Rosamund would defy her family and stay with him. He had suffered a brutal whipping on her behalf after her father had caught them fleeing together. But instead of holding fast to the promises they had made on holy ground, she had denied everything and had chosen Alan de Courcy.

Warrick needed to look into those treacherous green eyes and understand why she had done it. Rosamund was married to a man of wealth, yet she had no children and now her husband was dying. Did she regret her choice after all these years?

‘Find out what my brother wants,’ Owen said. He tossed a heavy bag towards Warrick. ‘Take this as proof of my offer.’

He opened it and found it full of silver—rather appropriate for blood money. Warrick placed the bag back on a nearby table and shook his head. ‘I will not kill on your behalf.’

‘Not even for her?’ Owen ventured. ‘Not even if it meant she would belong to you after her husband is dead?’

Warrick had already made up his mind to find out what Alan de Courcy wanted. But he had no interest in becoming Owen de Courcy’s assassin.

‘I will go to Pevensham,’ he said. ‘But only to satisfy my own curiosity. If you want your brother dead, it will not be by my hand.’

Owen’s expression turned thoughtful. ‘We shall see, de Laurent. We shall see.’

* * *

Rosamund had never been more uneasy in all her life, save her wedding night. She had prayed that Alan would change his mind about this reckless plan, but her husband was steadfast in his wishes. A part of her wished she had the courage to stand up to him and refuse his wishes. The lie weighed upon her conscience, but silence was easier than confrontation. Adultery was a graver sin than breaking a promise, and since her husband had put her in an impossible position, it was one or the other.

She had stared out of her window for hours, days, waiting for Warrick to arrive. It was evening when she saw him riding through the gates. From the tower, she could hardly see his face, but his posture made it evident that this was indeed the proud man she had once loved. His gaze lingered upon the inner bailey for a moment before he turned to stare at the tower. She froze, fully aware of the moment he locked eyes upon her. There was no doubt that he had seen her.

From the tower window, her blue kirtle was as visible as a banner flying above a troop of soldiers. She had chosen her best gown with long tapered sleeves and a silver girdle studded with sapphires. Around her throat she wore a silver chain with another sapphire hanging upon it. Her maidservant had braided her dark hair and coiled it on to her head like a crown.

Did Warrick know why he had been summoned? Her skin tightened with fear, for she had not forgotten the look of hatred in his eyes on the day she had married Alan. He had wanted her to walk away from the wedding, to leave behind her family and all she had known, for his sake.

Sometimes she wished she had. But it was too late to change it now.

Rosamund’s fingers dug into the wooden window frame. Did he despise her still after all these years?

Her heart was beating rapidly in her chest, but she tried to calm her nerves. He would refuse Alan’s proposition, she was certain. All she had to do was remain quiet and obedient, and Warrick would go away.

If only she could silence the doubts and fears roiling within her. But Warrick was a proud warrior, a man who would not forget the wrongs done to him. It didn’t matter that she had agreed to wed Alan as a means of saving his life. Or that she’d had no choice in the matter. He remembered only that she had given promises to him and then broken them. Warrick was not the sort of man who would forgive her for it.

A knock sounded at the door and when her maid answered it, the steward bowed. ‘My lady, Lord Pevensham wishes you to greet his guest in the Great Hall, since he is unable to leave his bed.’

‘Of course,’ Rosamund murmured. Inwardly, she wanted to curse Alan. He had done this on purpose, forcing her to face the man who frightened her most.

But with every step she took towards the stairs, she thought of her husband’s unholy command. It reawakened her anger and frustration. She didn’t want to obey Alan’s wishes, despite his need for an heir. It was far better for her to remain a loyal wife, shielding herself from the heartache it would conjure.

I cannot betray him, she thought. Even if Alan demands it of me.

For she could not trust herself in this. The slightest touch would evoke all the years of buried desire. Warrick’s very presence shook her to the core.

Rosamund entered the Hall, and from the moment she stepped inside, she could feel the warrior’s gaze upon her. The air was charged with tension, but she walked to the dais as if nothing were wrong. Her heart was beating so fast, her knees were shaking beneath her skirts.

Calm down. He is only a man.

She focused her attention upon the clean rushes, steadying herself until she dared to look up. With her shoulders squared and a serene expression upon her face, Warrick would not see the fear beneath the surface.

‘My lady,’ he greeted her, bowing low. But even with the courtesy, she could feel his veiled anger. It was there in his blue eyes, in the fierce bearing of his stance. His dark hair was cut short, and he carried his helm beneath one arm as if ready for battle.

He remembers everything, she realised. The taut lines of his muscles were filled with a rigid cast, as if he still blamed her for refusing his offer of marriage. Did he honestly believe she’d had a choice?

‘It has been a long time, my lord.’ She tried to muster a smile but couldn’t quite manage it. I never meant for it to end with you hating me, she wanted to say.

It never should have ended, he seemed to answer. His blue eyes held an unnamed emotion, and he studied her as if trying to discern her feelings. She saw the edge of anger in his eyes, but there was something more.

‘I received your husband’s missive, asking me to come. But he never said why.’ Warrick regarded her with open displeasure, waiting for her explanation.

‘I will take you to my lord husband, and he will tell you.’ She beckoned for him to follow, and two of his men-at-arms started to accompany them.

‘Your men should remain here,’ she advised. ‘What my husband wishes to tell you is not for others to hear.’

He raised an eyebrow at that, but gave the order for his soldiers to stay back. Rosamund turned and led the way towards the stairs. From behind her, she heard his footsteps. She grasped her skirts and began walking up the spiral stairs. Just when she had reached the halfway point, he caught her hand and forced her to stop.

‘Why am I here, Rosamund?’ His voice resonated with shielded anger, and his grip tightened upon her palm.

‘As I said before, my husband—’

‘I care naught about de Courcy. I came for you.’

A ripple of fear crossed her spine at that. His words reminded her of the sensuality that had once been between them. Years ago, he had touched her like a starving man, as if she were his reason for being alive. Right now, she was fully aware of his closeness. His grasp softened upon her palm, and his thumb traced the veins 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.’

Chapter Two

Warrick wasn’t surprised when Rosamund stood up from the bed and glared at him. ‘Get out.’ Fury burned upon her reddened cheeks. ‘I will not let you harm my husband.’

She looked like an avenging soldier, ready to gut him if he dared to lay a hand on Alan. Her determination only provoked his interest, for her green eyes seethed with anger and her lips tightened. Her hand rested upon her eating knife, and he didn’t doubt she would use it if necessary.

‘Calm yourself, my dear,’ Alan intervened. ‘If de Laurent intended to kill me, he wouldn’t have told me this first. He could have done so already, and neither of us is strong enough to stop him.’

‘Indeed.’ But Warrick’s attention was fixed upon Rosamund. ‘Do you intend to stab me with that blade?’

‘I might.’

He didn’t miss the fury on her face. Rosamund might appear to be a soft, demure lady, but she had a spine of steel.

‘I presume you have no intention of murdering me in my bed, de Laurent?’ Alan mused softly.

‘No. But I thought I should come and warn you of your brother’s intent. He is no friend to you.’

‘I am aware of this.’ Alan’s expression turned grim. ‘Although he has his own property at Northleigh, Owen has fallen deeply into debt. I suspect the vultures are circling him for repayment, even now. He has coveted my lands and castle since our father died four years ago. I will do all that I can to prevent him from inheriting Pevensham.’

His voice took on a different tone and strangely, Rosamund took a step away from her husband’s bedside. She looked pained at what he was about to say, as if she wanted to shrink back and retreat within the walls.

‘You had another reason for summoning me here, didn’t you?’ Warrick predicted. He kept his gaze fixed upon Rosamund, knowing that she held the answers.

Alan gave a nod. ‘It is a most...unusual request. But one that is necessary to protect my wife and my lands.’ He gestured towards the chamber walls as if they were not there. ‘If you agree, then all of this would belong to you.’

Lord Pevensham’s offer made little sense. Warrick was no blood relative, nor was there any means of him inheriting a place like Pevensham.

‘It’s not possible,’ he said. But his gaze passed over Alan and then Rosamund as he wondered what the pair of them had plotted.

‘You understand why I do not wish for my brother to inherit,’ Alan continued. ‘He is a cruel man who would threaten my serfs, bring my estates to the brink of destruction, and harm my wife. I have worked all my life, alongside my father, to make Pevensham prosperous.’ The sincerity upon the man’s face made it clear that de Courcy was indeed the sort of lord who wanted to protect his people. ‘When I am gone, I can arrange to give Pevensham into your hands, with Rosamund at your side.’

The offer struck him speechless. Why would Alan de Courcy consider such a thing? They were virtually strangers. It made no sense at all.

‘If I were to marry Rosamund, Pevensham still would not be mine,’ he argued. ‘She might have a dower portion, but—’

‘You would govern Pevensham until her son comes of age,’ Alan said quietly. ‘And you would live here as his guardian.’

‘But she could bear a daughter,’ he pointed out. ‘What would happen then?’

Alan’s expression turned cool. ‘I leave that in God’s hands. For now, Rosamund is not yet with child. That is our first priority.’

The revelation confused him. ‘But you said it was your hope that she would bear a son. Is she not already—?’

‘Not yet,’ Alan said. From the narrowed gaze upon the baron’s face, Warrick could not understand what this conversation was about. Was he intending to have Warrick command the forces of Pevensham until Rosamund became pregnant?

Alan hesitated, and Warrick noticed that Rosamund had gone pale, her eyes downcast. ‘I want you to give her a child.’

The words stunned him. How could any man ever contemplate an arrangement like this?

The baron’s voice was quiet, filled with reluctance. ‘If you agree to this, Rosamund will share your bed until she conceives. And your son will inherit Pevensham under the pretence of my name.’

* * *

Rosamund expected Warrick to refuse the proposal and leave Alan’s bedchamber. Instead, his silence terrified her. Dear God, did this mean he was considering it? He—he couldn’t. Not after all that had happened between them.

She stared down at her hands, praying for him to deny the request. But she felt the intensity of his stare upon her and the unspoken question.

When at last she looked at him, his blue eyes held a flare of desire. He was watching her, and his gaze moved down her body. ‘You knew of this proposition, Rosamund?’

What was there to say? That she understood her husband’s desire for a child and his willingness to sacrifice everything to save Pevensham? She couldn’t bring herself to speak, but nodded. Every part of her wanted to protest, for this was a bargain she had never desired.

She had voiced her agreement to her husband, though it had never been her choice. Alan had been relieved at her assent, and she had seen a visible change in him, like a man who was confident that all would be well. And perhaps that was what he needed—reassurance that after he was gone, someone would take care of her.

Warrick regarded her with an unreadable expression. ‘I would like to speak alone with Rosamund.’

No. She didn’t want that at all. She’d rather walk barefoot across shards of broken glass than answer the questions he would pose.

But Alan had no such qualms. ‘Of course.’ He appeared eager to allow it, almost glad that Warrick had not made an outright refusal.

She sent her husband a pleading look, which he ignored, nodding for her to follow Warrick outside the bedchamber.

She gritted her teeth and obeyed. It occurred to her that she could be truthful with Warrick, making him understand why she had gone along with Alan’s plan. Then, at least, he would know not to hold any expectations.

He continued walking down the hallway until she led him into the solar. His powerful stride revealed his impatience, and she sensed that he had a great deal to say to her.

Rosamund dismissed her maid, Berta, who was inside, and afterwards, Warrick closed the door behind him. He studied her for a moment, and then said, ‘Was this your idea, Rosamund? Do you want a child that badly?’

Her frustration roared back. How could he possibly believe such a thing? ‘No, not at all.’ She took a deep breath, trying to force away her anger and calm herself. ‘I understand what Alan wants. Pevensham means everything to him. Even more than me.’ She couldn’t quite hide the bitterness in her voice. ‘He thinks a child will save his estate from Owen. But it will not happen.’

Warrick studied her a moment, and then his gaze passed over her body. ‘Have you ever conceived a child before?’

His question caught her unawares, and she clenched her hands to keep them from trembling. This was not a question she wanted to face, especially from him. The shadow of grief had never left her heart, and she had wanted to keep that part of her buried, along with her baby.

She didn’t want to tell him anything at all. If she spoke a single word, her fragile control would shatter. But she feared he would continue to demand answers, and she couldn’t bear that. Instead, she gathered her composure and tried to hide the gleam of tears. ‘I had a stillborn babe once.’

She was grateful when he didn’t press her for more. He rested his hand upon her shoulder and offered, ‘I am sorry for your loss.’

The kindness undid her, and she let the tears fall in silence. Warrick moved his hand from her shoulder, and she wished she could lean against him, taking solace in an embrace. But she didn’t want to reveal weakness in front of him. Not now. Instead, she wiped her tears away, trying to push away the empty devastation.

Lifting her chin, she admitted, ‘I don’t want to have another child. There’s a part of my heart that is gone forever.’ She bit her lip and blurted out, ‘I know Alan wants an heir, but... I don’t know if I can do this again.’

He stared at her, betraying none of his thoughts. His blue eyes were like river stones, and she could not understand what he wanted from her.

Then he took a step nearer. ‘If you were my wife, I would never give you to another man. I would slaughter him where he stood.’

She felt his penetrating gaze like an invisible touch. And from the heat of his stare, she knew that he still wanted her, even after all these years. Whether he spoke with jealousy or anger at the choice she had made, the result was the same. ‘Alan is only trying to protect Pevensham,’ she murmured. ‘And me. He knows he is incapable of giving me a child.’ She rubbed at her arms, feeling the chill of the room. ‘I understand why he asked this of me, but what he wants is wrong.’

His expression grew shielded, and she could not tell what he was thinking now. His blue eyes never strayed from her face. ‘What do you want, Rosamund?’

‘I told Alan I would agree to his wishes...but I lied.’ Her face burned with humiliation, but she forced herself to finish. ‘I cannot betray my marriage vows. Not even with you.’

He didn’t seem at all surprised. ‘And what if Alan dies? Where will you go?’

She couldn’t let herself think that far ahead. ‘I intend to stay by his side, until the very last moment. I hope to remain here, but with Owen, I don’t know...’ Her words trailed off and she took a steadying breath. ‘I don’t want Alan to die, Warrick. I owe him my loyalty. He has always been good to me.’

He moved closer then, so close that she sensed the heat of his body. ‘I know you want me to go away and leave you alone.’

His voice was sensual, flooding her mind with visions of the past. Her heartbeat quickened with fear of what he would do. She swallowed and tried to take a step backwards. But Warrick’s hands moved to her waist, holding her in place.

‘I am not the man I once was, Rosamund.’ The heat of his hands burned through her kirtle, making her remember what it was to have his touch upon her skin. ‘I watched you marry another man, and it changed me.’

He drew his hands up her spine in a soft caress. ‘Do you remember what it was like between us? You used to press yourself close to me, kissing me until we could hardly breathe.

‘You spoke words of love, and I believed them.’ His hands stroked down again, moving towards her hips. ‘Or have you forgotten the promises you made? That I would be your husband and no other man.’

The words came to her lips, the truths she was too afraid to speak. When her father had learned that she had given her innocence to Warrick, his rage had been so strong, she had no doubt at all that Harold would have killed him. She had never seen him so furious, and she saw that same anger mirrored in Warrick’s eyes now.

‘I was there on the day you married Alan. I stood and watched while de Courcy claimed you as his wife. I joined the guests at the wedding feast, and every bite was like dust in my mouth. And when they took you away to share his bed—’ Warrick’s voice broke off, and it was filled with such frustration and rage, it frightened her.

But then his expression turned sensual. ‘I know full well that you do not want me.’ His hands encircled her waist and he held her closer, making her aware of his desire. ‘But I do not believe it has anything to do with honour. You are afraid of remembering what it was like between us.’

She was shocked at the response of her own body to the pressure of his hips. His sinful words brought back memories of the forbidden, of skin upon skin. She ached at the sensation of his hard body pressed to hers, and it made her heart beat faster. Her breasts grew tight against her gown, yearning for his touch.

Alan had never made her feel anything at all in their marriage bed. She had endured her husband’s attentions but never had he made her feel alive—only guilty. And during her pregnancy, she had given excuses for him not to share her bed.

Warrick traced his finger over her cheek and down her throat. In a low voice he said, ‘I find myself wanting to say yes to your husband’s proposition. For you are bound to obey, are you not? Especially when it means saving this castle.’

‘I don’t want you,’ she gritted out. ‘Not like this.’

But the words were a lie. Her blood was coursing through her body, making her remember the fierce response that only he could conjure. In the past, his kiss had echoed within her skin, arousing her until she had cried out with desire. He knew just how to draw out her response, though she tried to force back the feelings.

Warrick threaded his hands in her hair, leaning in so close, she felt the planes of his hard body against hers. ‘I would have Alan’s full permission to claim you, in the hopes of conceiving a child. But he would never know what truly happens between us.’

His hands moved down her spine, and with the heat of his skin, she felt herself awakening beneath his touch.

‘I want you to know what you’ve been missing during these three years. You chose the wrong man, Rosamund. And when I touch you, you’ll wish to God you had stayed with me instead.’

‘Don’t do this.’ She would not stand for his threats, not now. In one motion, she unsheathed her knife and held it to his heart. ‘I may be Alan’s property, but I am not yours.’

‘Not yet,’ he murmured.

And when he released her, leaving her behind, the blade clattered from her fingertips.

She was shaking so badly, she could hardly stand. God help her now.

* * *

Warrick returned to de Courcy’s bedchamber, his mood grim. An honourable man would refuse this bargain and walk away—he knew that. But in three years, he hadn’t forgotten the fury at watching the woman he loved marry someone else. He had endured countless lashes for her sake, believing she would remain true to him. And after it was done, his father had watched him bleed.

‘She was never going to wed a man like you. Rosamund de Beaufort is too high-born.’

The agony of his wounds was so harsh, he could say nothing. But his father’s words cut deeper than any lash.

‘I should have ordered them to kill you instead. Your life is worth nothing.’

He had grown accustomed to his father’s hatred, after all these years. Edward de Laurent believed the lies of his wife, not the truth. Warrick had long ago given up the idea that his father would ever see him as a man of worth.

But he had been mistaken in thinking that Rosamund would be different.

She claimed she had married Alan to save Warrick’s life...and that might have held some truth, but why had she not fought to stay with him? This beautiful maiden, who had met with him in stolen moments, promising to love him for the rest of her life, had suddenly grown cold. She had turned from him, leaving him to spend years with only a sword for company.

And now Alan wanted him to sire a child upon her? It was the strangest turn of fate he’d ever imagined.

He had wanted to ignore this summons to Pevensham, truthfully. He had no place upon an estate such as this. Although he was of noble birth, he would never be anything more than a warrior. There were no estates he could inherit, no lands for him to rule. He was expected to marry and live with his brother Rhys.

Or die in battle, if his father had his way.

Over the years, his stepmother Analise had convinced Edward de Laurent that Warrick was simple-minded and incapable of leadership. Absently, he rubbed at the scar upon his wrist. His gut tightened at the memory of the woman, and he pushed back the darkness. She was dead now, and his father had taken a third wife.

But the fact remained—Edward de Laurent had believed Analise’s claims, hardly giving any attention to Warrick. The need to prove his father wrong had drawn him into the king’s service and into countless battles.

Now, he had been given an opportunity to control lands that spanned even greater a distance than his family’s. No longer would Edward de Laurent look upon him as the spare son who would live at home, possessing no estates of his own. Warrick could command of his own castle, and be equal in status to his brother Rhys.

All he had to do was murder an innocent man...or sleep with the man’s wife, he thought wryly. Neither was an honourable choice.

And yet, Alan was right. His brother Owen fully intended to take possession of Pevensham, and it was possible that he could harm Rosamund. Certainly, the man wouldn’t hesitate to kill an unborn child if it threatened his inheritance.

Warrick reached for his sword, and he clenched the familiar hilt. If he agreed to sire a son with Rosamund, there were endless risks. She might not conceive, and all would be for naught. Or if she did, others might question the child’s legitimacy. Even if it came to pass as Alan desired, it meant that the child would grow up believing that another man was his father.

There were no clear answers, yet he stood at Alan’s bedside. It was best to speak the truth. ‘I have spoken to Rosamund, and she does not wish to dishonour her marriage vows.’

‘She will do it if I command it of her.’

Warrick had no intention of forcing any woman. Even the woman he had once desired beyond all else. ‘I will not take Rosamund against her wishes.’

‘She understands what is necessary to protect Pevensham. This is her home, and she has no desire for Owen to inherit.’ Despite his physical weakness, Alan possessed a will of iron. ‘Rosamund is a woman who is loyal and virtuous. She does not understand the greater need. I want her to be protected and cherished when I am gone. You could do this, and you would receive wealth and lands in return. Any man would welcome this opportunity.’

‘Why me?’ he shot back. ‘You could choose any unmarried man in England, and all would be willing to do this.’

‘Because I want a man who will take care of her after I am gone. Someone who will put her needs first. If all I wanted was someone to get a child on her that would be naught of concern.’ Alan’s face grew tight with his own frustration. ‘I care about Rosamund, and I will not let my brother hurt her.’

‘Do you not trust your guards to keep her safe?’

‘My men cannot protect her when she is alone in her chamber at night. Owen will find a way, and I will be unable to stop him after I am dead.’

Warrick said nothing. The man’s behaviour seemed impossibly selfless. He didn’t understand how anyone could make such an offer—especially wedded to a woman like Rosamund. If he were in Alan’s place, he would die before giving her to someone else. He would hire a hundred men to defend her, if needed.

‘There are a dozen ways you could protect her,’ he said. ‘If you truly loved her, you would never force her to lie with someone else to conceive a child.’

At that accusation, Alan’s face hardened. ‘I love her enough to give her what she truly wants, above all else.’ He sat up straighter in his bed. ‘She might have spoken her vows, but her heart was never mine. She obeyed her father and married me.’ Alan’s tone turned dark. ‘I wanted her—I won’t lie. But it broke her heart to wed me. She is a dutiful, faithful wife, but she does not love me the way I love her. I thought time would change it, but now my life grows short.

‘And because of the sacrifices she made, I want to give her back what she desires most of all. The life she wanted to have with you.’

There was no doubting the sincerity of Alan’s words, but Warrick didn’t believe that Rosamund would agree to marry him now. She had made her intentions clear enough when she had obeyed her father’s command. And though Warrick had come to the wedding, she had never looked at him once.

‘She made her choice years ago.’ He understood that Pevensham wanted him to protect Rosamund after he was gone, but Warrick didn’t delude himself into thinking Rosamund still held feelings towards him.

‘I may be dying, but I am not blind,’ Alan countered. ‘I saw her misery on our wedding day, and I saw her reaction when you answered my summons. Once she recognises the necessity, I believe she will do what is necessary to protect our lands.’

But Warrick disagreed. ‘Rosamund has no intention of dishonouring her marriage vows, no matter what she told you.’

‘There must be a child,’ Alan insisted. His frustrated anger was evident in the planes of his face, and his hands clenched. ‘It is the only way to ensure that Pevensham does not fall into Owen’s hands. And once she conceives, I want you to take her to my estate in Ireland. My steward will grant you both sanctuary until she gives birth.’

But Warrick was uncertain it was the best course of action. If he removed Rosamund from her home, it would only invite Owen de Courcy to pursue her.

Alan met Warrick’s gaze evenly. ‘Will you do this for us? For her?’

He had not yet decided whether to accept Alan’s proposition. Not only was Rosamund adamant that she would not break her vows, there was no telling whether the plan would work, even if she did change her mind. At the moment, she believed that a simple lie would pacify her husband, and she had no intention of attempting to conceive.

‘I will think about it,’ he said at last. It was the best answer he could give. If Rosamund wanted his help, he would not deny her. But until then, he would bide his time.

The door to Alan’s bedchamber swung open, and Rosamund entered the room. She had gathered her composure and took a seat upon a low stool beside the hearth. Then she picked up her sewing and began to embroider the linen. Nothing in her demeanour suggested the rebellion within her heart.

When Warrick studied her more closely, Rosamund’s green eyes revealed a stubborn nature. She had unyielding loyalty and was not about to obey this command meekly.

Alan was asking him to lay siege to this woman’s body and heart, with a child and a castle as the prizes to be won. But it was far more complicated than that.

‘Rosamund, Warrick tells me that you have changed your mind about our agreement.’ His expression held annoyance. ‘I thought you understood the necessity of this arrangement.’

At that, she set aside her sewing and stood from her stool. ‘My lord husband, I told him that I am a woman of honour, and I—’

‘You promised,’ Alan repeated. He extended his hand to his wife, and she went to his bedside. ‘This is not about your desires or mine, or even his. This is about protecting everything we have built. If I could give you a child, I would have done so by now, Rosamund.’ His complexion had gone grey, and he leaned back against the pillows. ‘If you wait until I am gone, it will be too late. The child’s parentage will be questioned, and I cannot risk this.’

Warrick remained in place, feeling like an outsider while Alan stroked his wife’s hand. She leaned in, murmuring to him, and the man closed his eyes for a moment.

‘Rosamund, does Warrick de Laurent frighten you?’

‘Yes,’ she admitted. But the look on her face was enigmatic, as if something else troubled her.

‘Do you believe he would harm you?’ Alan continued. ‘Would you rather I chose another man?’

‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘I could not imagine lying with anyone else.’ The moment she spoke the words, her face reddened when she realised what she’d said.

Warrick remained silent, but he could see that she was not entirely immune to him. ‘Lord Pevensham, I propose that we give Rosamund more time to think about this. And in the meantime, I will remain here with my men until she has made her decision.’

Alan didn’t look pleased with his suggestion, but he had little alternative. Warrick wanted to speak with her again and learn whether it was honour that kept Rosamund from fulfilling her husband’s desires—or fear of the feelings she had buried over the last three years.

Chapter Three

Three years earlier

Rosamund stared up at the Montbrooke donjon with wonder. The keep had a large rectangular tower and stood atop a hillside. The outer wall was three feet thick and stretched from the base of the mound nearly twenty feet high. Another tower stretched above the main gate with sentries posted.

The earl had invited her family here to witness the betrothal of his oldest son Rhys to Lianna MacKinnon, a Scottish heiress. Rosamund didn’t know either of them, but her father was friends with Edward de Laurent. The betrothed couple would marry soon, which would help secure their lands at Eiloch.

She rode alongside her parents and sister across the drawbridge which spanned a deep moat filled with water. The portcullis was made of iron, and she saw dozens of sentries standing guard.

When they reached the inner bailey, several stable boys took their horses and helped them dismount. Rosamund stood with her sister while her father and mother went forward to greet Lord Montbrooke. Edward de Laurent had three children—a daughter Joan who was slightly older than Rosamund, his eldest son Rhys, and another son, Warrick.

It was Warrick who caught her attention from the first. He had dark hair and blue eyes that watched her with interest. He wore leather armour and had a sword at his belt, as if he had just come from the training field. She guessed he was twenty, and the longer he stared at her, the more her cheeks flushed. Never before had a handsome young man shown interest in her, and she wondered if he would speak with her later.

‘Do not even consider it,’ her younger sister Cecilia warned in a hard whisper. ‘Father would never allow it.’

‘Allow what?’

‘Don’t be coy. I saw the way you were looking at Warrick de Laurent.’ Her sister reached out and gripped her hand. ‘Father plans to betroth you to Alan de Courcy. I heard he was already negotiating the marriage contract.’

The thought soured her stomach. Though she knew her marriage would be arranged, she had hoped to have a choice in it.

‘So soon?’ She couldn’t hide the dismay in her voice.

‘Within a year, so I’ve heard.’ Cecilia spoke as if it had already happened. ‘So do not imagine that he would settle for the youngest son of an earl—not when you could have a baron to wed.’

Rosamund ignored her younger sister and straightened her shoulders. Instead, when her parents brought them forward to be introduced, she kept a smile on her face when Warrick took her hand. He gave her fingers a slight squeeze, and her nerves twisted with a rush of giddiness.

Later, his eyes seemed to promise.

I will wait, she answered.

* * *

The opportunity came that afternoon when her family was invited to go riding across Lord Montbrooke’s estate. Rosamund mounted her horse with the help of a groom and joined her sister, Cecilia. They waited with their parents and then began riding across the drawbridge. Her family was in the middle of the riders while Warrick de Laurent rode with his father and sister. After a few minutes, she noticed that he had begun to drop back, slowing his pace to join her. When he risked a glance behind him, he nodded towards the rear of the travelling party, as if he wanted her to join him. But how could she do so without her sister’s interference? Cecilia would never allow him to speak to her.

Fate intervened when her father brought Cecilia forward to introduce her to another member of the group. Rosamund seized the opportunity and slowed her horse even more. In time, Warrick drew his horse alongside hers, and they kept slowing down until they reached the last members of the group.

For a moment, they rode in silence, as if Warrick couldn’t quite think of what to say. He had the demeanour of a soldier, Rosamund decided. Rather fierce and forbidding. She waited a little longer, and when finally she could bear it no longer, she asked, ‘Is everything all right?’

He glanced at her and said, ‘It is.’

‘You look angry with me.’ And he truly did. His blue eyes were glaring as he stared straight ahead at the travelling party.

‘I’m not angry,’ he gritted out.

She bit her lip, wondering if she had misread his intentions. But when she studied him more closely, she saw that his cheeks were reddened. Was he...nervous?

He was one of the most handsome men she had ever seen. With his dark brown hair cropped short and his deep blue eyes, she felt her pulse race just by looking at him.

‘Was there something you wanted?’ she blurted out. ‘Or shall I leave you in peace and rejoin my family?’

‘Don’t.’ His words were clipped, and when she studied him more closely, she realised that he was struggling for words. In a way, he seemed frustrated with his inability to converse. It seemed to be an invisible shield of awkwardness between them.

‘If you are not angry with me, was I wrong to join you? I mistakenly thought you wanted to speak with me.’ She waited a moment, trying not to stare. His arms were corded with muscles, as if he spent hours training with the other men. Even his chainmail armour moulded against his body like another skin.

‘I did want to speak with you,’ he admitted, but he kept his attention fixed upon the horses ahead.

She waited a little longer, and when the silence stretched again, she couldn’t help her smile. ‘Do you not know how to talk to women?’

Warrick turned back as if to snap at her, but when he saw that she was teasing, he shrugged. ‘I’ve little experience with women.’

‘Well, then, we should start with names. I am Rosamund de Beaufort.’

‘I know who you are.’

‘Of course you do, but it’s a way of talking to a woman for the first time. Now tell me your name once more.’

His expression remained a block of granite. ‘I am Warrick de Laurent.’

‘There. That wasn’t so hard, was it?’ She brightened and was rewarded when he glanced back at her. His face still appeared uneasy, and she tried to start a conversation. ‘Your lands are quite beautiful. I do love the forest here. Such tall trees. And look at the way the sunlight glimmers through the leaves. It’s like the fairies cast a spell over them.’ She continued to talk about whatever came into her mind, understanding that conversation was not easy for him. But then, when he still didn’t say anything, she wondered if she was simply irritating him.

‘Shall I stop talking?’

His blue eyes softened, and he shook his head. ‘I like listening to you.’

The confession warmed her in ways she hadn’t expected. There was more to this quiet man than she had realised.

Warrick reached out and took the reins of her horse. ‘There’s a forest path that cuts through the land over here, if you want to see it better. It ends along the same path as the others.’

She hesitated, wondering if she dared to part ways from her family with a man she barely knew. Though she wanted to explore the woods, she was uncertain whether it was wise.

‘Or if you would rather stay with the others, it’s all the same to me.’ His tone was matter of fact, but she wondered what effort it had taken for him to voice the suggestion. Warrick truly was a man who didn’t say a great deal.

‘Only for a short while,’ she said at last. ‘My family will be angry with me if they discover I’m missing. And I cannot go far.’

At that, his mouth curved in a slight smile, and the sudden warmth stole her breath. ‘For a moment, then.’

He walked his horse towards the right, and she saw a trail that led through the forest. Again, she glanced back at her father and sister, hoping they would not notice. Then she guided her horse behind Warrick’s, following him into the woods. The moment she entered the trees, she slowed her pace and caught her breath. Moss covered the ground like an enchanted carpet, and lush ferns grew in the shadow of the trees. The sunlight painted the leaves gold, and she drank in the sight of the beauty. In her mind, she imagined creating a tapestry with the same bold colours, and she wondered if it could be done.

‘I do love it here. It’s beautiful,’ she told him.

‘Do you...want to see more?’ he offered. ‘Just for a moment or two?’ He glanced back towards the open meadow where the rest of the riders were.

She nodded. ‘But I cannot stay long. Both of us will be missed, and I don’t want to cause you any trouble.’

‘This forest runs parallel to their trail, so we will join up with them quickly.’ He led her a little deeper into the woods, but she could still catch glimpses of the riders. Ahead of them was a small stream dotted with rocks. It ran along the edge of the path, and she stopped to watch the water slosh against the stones.

‘This looks like the sort of place where one might encounter magic,’ she said in a whisper. ‘Or an enchantment. Thank you for bringing me here, Warrick.’

He remained stoic, but in his blue eyes, she saw an intensity that caught her interest. Of all the men she had ever encountered, he was the quietest. And yet, she sensed that there was far more beneath his serious exterior.

‘I suppose we cannot stay any longer.’ Her voice revealed her regret, and she turned her horse back to the pathway. ‘Shall we race back to the others?’ She didn’t wait for him to agree, but spurred her horse quickly, not waiting for him to catch up.

‘Rosamund, wait!’ he called out. ‘It’s not safe to ride fast along the pathway.’

My goodness, she’d never heard him speak so many words in one sentence. She slowed down and turned to look at him. He was riding hard towards her, and then abruptly, he ducked in the saddle to avoid a low branch.

His horse reared up at the sudden motion and threw him off. Warrick went crashing to the ground, where he rolled down the embankment and into the cold stream.

Rosamund abandoned her horse and hurried towards him. He was lying in the water, and she guessed he had struck his head on one of the rocks.

‘Warrick, are you all right?’ She waded into the stream, heedless of her skirts, and rolled him over. Saints, but he could drown in this pool if he was unconscious.

His head was swollen and bleeding, but she breathed a sigh of relief when she heard him groan.

‘Can you stand up?’

‘I need a moment,’ he answered. ‘I’m feeling dizzy.’

‘Then hold on to me,’ she bade him. She sat on one of the rocks while the water coursed around both of them. He did hold her waist, steadying himself. Rosamund felt terrible for what had happened. He had only meant to show her the forest and now he’d been injured as a result. She could see the pain in the lines of his face, the taut tension in his hands.

But then, he seemed to gather control. Something shifted between them, and this time, he looked into her eyes. There was wonder in his expression, and a yearning she’d never expected. His hand moved to her cheek, and the coolness of his caress awakened a contrasting heat in her skin.

‘So beautiful...’ he breathed.

His dark hair was wet from the water, and droplets covered his bristled face. Those blue eyes burned into hers, as if he wanted to kiss her. Saints above, but he was handsome in a forbidding, almost dangerous way. She saw a tiny scar at his temple, as if he’d narrowly blocked a sword from slicing his face. Time was slipping away from them, and she was no longer aware of the freezing water or anything else but this man.

‘Are you badly hurt?’ she whispered.

‘I don’t even feel it.’ His thumb edged her cheek, and his gaze slid over her face, down the lines of her body. She went motionless, not daring to move or even breathe. The heat of his eyes burned through her, and she felt an answering call within her body.

She grew sensitive to the slight touch upon her face and the gentle pressure of his thumb. For a moment, she closed her eyes, uncertain of whether she should pull away. But his palm lingered upon her face, learning the lines of her jaw and chin. A thousand warnings crashed through her, of what could happen while she was alone in the forest with a strange man.

And yet, not once had he threatened her. His touch was inviting, drawing her closer. She felt an invisible connection with this man, making her crave more.

Then he leaned forward and captured her mouth with his. It started out gentle, a slight brush of his lips against hers. She was shocked to feel herself responding to the kiss, tasting his mouth in return. The unexpected kiss heightened her awareness of this man. The cold and the heat mingled together, and he cupped her face with his wet hands, stealing the very breath from her. His lips were firm, claiming her kiss as his own. Never had she imagined a moment like this, but Warrick de Laurent was clearly a man of actions, not words.

He did like her. And with the way he was stroking her wet hair, plundering her mouth, she hardly cared that he wasn’t speaking. All she knew was that she wanted this kiss, wanted to know more about this man. His mouth had tempted her, drawing her closer to him. Heat and need poured over her like water wearing down the resolve of her virtue.

‘I think we should—’

‘No. Don’t think.’ He stood from the water and lifted her off the rock, bringing her to the banks of the stream. And when he lowered her to stand, she found that he was right. She couldn’t think at all. Her thoughts slipped away like grains of sand.

‘Why did you kiss me?’ she murmured. ‘We’ve only just met.’

‘Because I wanted to.’ He leaned down and stole another hard kiss, and it was all she could do not to embrace him, pulling him as close as she dared. She didn’t understand the desires he evoked in her, but this man reminded her of an ancient conqueror, seizing what he wanted.

‘Why did you kiss me back?’ he asked against her lips, nipping them lightly.

She didn’t know what to say, truly. In the end, she was honest with him. ‘Because I wanted to know what it was like to kiss a man.’

‘I was your first.’ His words weren’t a question.

‘Yes,’ she admitted. Her cheeks bloomed with the flush of embarrassment. ‘They will be looking for us now,’ she said, feeling the rise of anxiety. ‘We’re both soaking wet, and you’re hurt, and—’

‘Rosamund,’ he said, touching his finger to her lips. ‘Do not be afraid. I’m not a threat to you.’

She grew silent, and Warrick led her back to her horse. His hands lingered upon her waist a moment before he helped her mount. He swiped at the blood on his head and winced before he returned to his own horse. So he had been hurt but was hiding his pain from her.

When they reached the path beyond the edges of the forest, she saw that the travelling party had stopped and everyone was staring. Shame suffused her, and she felt as if her actions were branded upon her face. ‘What should we tell them?’

Warrick led the way and shrugged. ‘The truth.’ His eyes grew hooded as if in memory of the shared kiss. But there was a hint of amusement in his eyes.

‘We cannot tell them that.’ She was aghast at the idea. ‘I will say that I wanted to see the forest, and you accompanied me. I fell into the stream, and you rescued me.’

‘But you rescued me,’ he contradicted, bringing his horse alongside hers.

‘They will never believe that,’ she argued. ‘My father certainly won’t. For my sake, please don’t deny my story.’

‘I will say nothing.’ But as they drew closer to the group, he lowered his voice. ‘Will you meet with me again?’

His words slid over her in an invisible caress. And although she knew she shouldn’t do this, she felt a rush of forbidden desire for this man. She hardly knew him, and it wasn’t at all wise. But her lips still tingled from the kiss.

‘I don’t know,’ she whispered. ‘My father would be angry.’

His expression sobered as if he had expected her to refuse. In his blue eyes, she saw the guarded look of a soldier who possessed no emotions at all. Looking at him now, she would never have imagined he had such hidden passion.

Someone had hurt this man in the past, she decided. And he had closed himself off from everyone because of it.

‘All right,’ she answered. ‘Where?’

He appeared taken aback by her sudden change of heart. The coldness receded, and in its place was a look of disbelief. Then he answered, ‘Meet me by the stream. Tomorrow at dawn.’

* * *

Over the next few weeks, they continued to meet in secret. Warrick was well aware that Rosamund’s father, Harold de Beaufort, did not want him anywhere near his daughter. He had made it clear that Warrick was not to speak with her again.

But the man’s insinuation, that he wasn’t good enough for Rosamund, burned through him, igniting the desire for rebellion. Rosamund was the most beautiful woman he’d ever laid eyes on. From the first moment he’d seen her, one word had been branded upon his soul: Mine.

Her black hair held a slight wave to it and curled to her hips. Her green eyes held joy, and by the bones of St. Christopher, the woman never ceased talking. She talked enough for both of them, which was fine by him. He preferred to listen and to judge people by their actions.

But after Rosamund had rescued him from the stream, he’d given in to primal instincts. He’d craved the taste of her lips, and he’d taken them without any regret. What startled him was the fact that she’d kissed him back. Why this exquisite woman would grant him her favour was impossible to understand.

He knew better than to imagine she would care for a man like him, landless and hardly more than a soldier. But he savoured every moment of their meetings, knowing they would not last.

Today, Rosamund was seated upon the stone stairs that led towards the battlements. She had brought her sewing, and the light summer breeze lifted strands of hair back from her face. The very sight of her was a distraction that quickened his pulse. He knew she had come to watch him train with his brother and the other men. When he stole a look at her, there was a faint smile upon her face.

He wore chainmail armour this morn, and his brother Rhys came up behind him. ‘Are you wanting her to watch, Brother?’

He turned and saw the knowing smile on Rhys’s face. ‘It matters not if she is there.’

‘I’ve seen the way you stare at her.’ Rhys handed him a quarterstaff. ‘Spar with me a moment. I’ll make you look good.’

‘Her father would be furious if he saw her here. It’s dangerous with so many men about.’

‘That is her risk to take. And she does want to watch you.’ Rhys grinned. ‘I think we should show her more.’

He had no idea what his brother was talking about. Then Rhys stripped away his chainmail hauberk and tunic, until he stood bare-chested. ‘If she’s going to look, shouldn’t you give her something to look at?’

He wasn’t at all certain of this, but Rhys was already reaching to help him with his hauberk.

‘I’ll wager her gaze is upon you this very moment,’ his brother said in a low voice.

‘This is foolish.’

‘Not for quarterstaffs,’ Rhys argued. ‘You don’t need heavy armour.’

He was right. Although Warrick felt awkward about it, he stripped to his waist. Just as Rhys had predicted, he caught Rosamund eyeing him. She gave a secret smile and continued sewing.

At that moment, Rhys lunged at him, and Warrick deflected the blow out of instinct. His brother was merciless, striking with speed and strength. Warrick dodged a blow and followed up with a hard strike to his brother’s ribs.

Rhys grunted and retaliated by slicing the quarterstaff at Warrick’s knees. He jumped out of the way, only for his brother to strike his back and knock him to the ground. He rolled away and caught his brother across the ankles, tripping him. ‘I thought you were going to make me look good.’

His brother cursed and got to his feet just as Warrick did. ‘I lied. But even so, she’s watching you.’

Warrick turned his head and moved out of the way at the same time. His brother’s blow missed him entirely, and Rosamund smiled.

He struck Rhys’s quarterstaff over and over again, moving with speed and intensity, until his brother was forced to retreat. He lunged hard, about to knock his brother to the ground, but Rhys dodged the blow, laughing.

‘Go and talk with her.’ His brother clapped a hand on his back, half-pushing him towards the beautiful maiden.

Warrick gripped his quarterstaff, pausing a moment. Rosamund remained on the stairs but set her sewing down. Her face softened at the sight of him with the hint of another smile. God above, she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. He couldn’t think of what to say to her, for his tongue tangled up.

The sparring match had ignited his desire for this woman. When he crossed the inner bailey, she stood to meet him. A faint blush stained her cheeks, but she never took her gaze from his. He stood two steps below her, and glimpsed the fallen sewing. It was like nothing he had seen before, with all the colours of the sky and clouds blended into a scene. It reminded him of a stained-glass window, with all the colourful pieces creating the whole.

‘You fought well,’ she said quietly.

Her face was so close to his, he could imagine sliding his hands through her thick dark hair and bringing her mouth to his. She was the sort of woman men would fight for, hoping to win her as a conquest.

Warrick wanted to tell her this or to compliment her sewing. But the words were caught in his throat, stifled by his own awkwardness.

Rosamund reached over her shoulder to pull a ribbon free from her braid. Her green eyes studied him with interest as she ordered, ‘Hold out your arm.’

He obeyed, and she tied the ribbon to it. The light touch of her fingers against his bare skin evoked a searing ache. He wanted to press her back against the stairs and kiss her until she could no longer stand. But he was aware of the others watching over them.

When she had tied the ribbon, she let her hands linger a moment before she lowered them to her sides. The small scrap of silk was a visible binding to this woman. In a low voice she murmured, ‘Now you have my favour.’

Warrick reached for her hand and held it a moment. His thumb brushed over the centre of her palm, and he answered, ‘Just as you have mine, my lady.’

A blinding smile crossed her face, and she gripped his hand in answer. Several seconds passed before she released his palm. ‘I should go now. My father will be looking for me, as will my mother. Or my sister Cecilia.’

Before he could speak a word, she grasped her skirts and walked down the stairs past him. ‘Farewell, Warrick.’

Only after she had gone did he realise that she’d left her sewing behind. He picked it up, not knowing whether to follow Rosamund and return it.

He studied it, and his brother approached. ‘Are you thinking of picking up a needle yourself, Warrick?’ Rhys’s tone held a teasing air.

‘She dropped it,’ was all he could say.

‘Did she? Or did she leave it on purpose, to give you a reason to see her again?’

The thought hadn’t occurred to him, but it was possible. He was about to pursue Rosamund when Rhys caught him by the arm. ‘Not yet, Brother. Wait another day.’

Warrick reached for his tunic and pulled it over his head. ‘I’ll give it to one of the servants to return to her.’

‘Why would you? She deliberately left it to you.’ His brother shrugged. ‘Claim a kiss from her as thanks.’

He wanted nothing more. But he was also a man of reason. ‘Her father would never allow a match between her and a man like me.’

‘You desire her. Just as she desires you,’ his brother answered. ‘At least one of us might have a good marriage.’ Tension slid over his face, the tension of a man who welcomed execution over his own betrothal.

‘Lianna MacKinnon is a beautiful woman.’

‘With a heart of ice,’ Rhys finished. ‘She despises the air I breathe, and with good reason.’ He shrugged. ‘Were it possible, I would take her to Scotland and leave her there. That would make her happy.’ But then he masked his frustration. ‘One day, you will understand what it is to be powerless to command your own life. God help you then.’

* * *

Later that afternoon, Rosamund stood still while her maid braided her hair and tied it up with a new ribbon. Her mother shook her head in exasperation. ‘Really, Rosamund, how could you lose a hair ribbon?’ She chided her about being more careful, but Rosamund paid her no heed.

She hadn’t forgotten the sight of Warrick sparring without his tunic. His skin held a darker cast, and every muscle appeared carved from stone. A sheen of perspiration had beaded upon his chest, and she had been spellbound by him. Though he spoke little, his eyes had burned into her as if he’d wanted to kiss her again. She had never experienced a kiss like his, and perhaps it was a sin to long for it again.

‘Did you hear me, Rosamund?’ her mother demanded.

‘Of course,’ she lied.

‘Now remember, if you are among the women chosen for the game, you may grant a cake as your favour, but nothing more. And Cecilia may not be chosen. Even if she begs it of you, tell her no.’ Agnes de Beaufort sent her a strong look of warning.

Rosamund mumbled her assent, though she had no idea what game her mother was speaking of. She was accustomed to games of skill like archery or swimming, but nothing involving a favour. It might be a game that was meant to kindle the courtship between Rhys de Laurent and his bride, Lianna MacKinnon. She knew that something had caused hatred between the pair of them, but could not imagine what it was.

‘You look beautiful,’ her mother pronounced, and took her by the hand to lead her from the chamber. ‘And by this time next summer, you will be celebrating your own wedding to Alan de Courcy. He will make a fine husband for you.’

Rosamund slowed her steps, startled by her mother’s words. Although her sister had mentioned it earlier, she hadn’t paid Cecilia much heed. ‘I have never met the man.’ And he isn’t the one I want. Her attention was caught by the stoic, handsome warrior who made her heartbeat quicken.

‘He is wealthy and is a strong ally of King Henry. That is all that should concern you.’ Agnes’s clipped tone brooked no discussion on the matter. ‘Trust that your father and I will choose an appropriate man.’ She touched Rosamund’s hair, adjusting the ribbon. ‘My father chose Harold as my husband, and I have never lacked for anything.’

Except love, Rosamund thought.

‘Was there never anyone else you wanted to wed?’ she asked her mother.

Agnes stiffened at the question before she shielded her response. ‘Of course not. I was content to be an obedient daughter. Just like you.’

But she questioned whether her mother had ever held any secret desire of her own. Or whether she had ever loved anyone else.

Rosamund fell silent and walked alongside her mother until they joined the other guests. Lord Montbrooke was seated at the high table upon a dais with his wife beside him. His eldest son Rhys sat with his betrothed wife Lianna MacKinnon, while Warrick sat on the far end, furthest from all of them. Lianna was tall and beautiful, with long red hair that curled to her shoulders. She wore a deep green kirtle and a circlet made of beaten silver. A simple cross hung around her throat. But it was the expression of grief and misery that caught Rosamund’s attention. The young woman appeared devastated at the prospect of this marriage, and she would not even look at Rhys.

Heaven help them both.

The thought of her own marriage troubled her, and she prayed her father would change his mind. She had no wish to marry Alan de Courcy, whether he was wealthy or not. And it felt as if she were becoming a pawn in a game she could not win.

Rosamund joined her parents at the table closest to the dais, fully aware of Warrick’s presence. Despite being at the high table, he appeared distracted and separated from all of them. It almost seemed that he would have preferred dining among the soldiers. Even his father never spoke to him at all. It was as if he were invisible.

Strange.

Men and women raised their drinks to toast the health of the betrothed couple, but the veiled enmity between Lianna and Rhys was undeniable. The young woman never spoke to him, only to Lord Montbrooke and his wife.

For a moment, Rosamund let herself imagine what it would be like if she were betrothed to Warrick, sitting in their places. The very thought warmed her, for she liked him very much. Not only was he a strong fighter and handsome, but she would never forget his words—I like listening to you.

The feasting continued, and her sister Cecilia leaned in. ‘Let him go, Rosamund. I don’t want to see you hurt.’

‘Why could they not arrange a betrothal with Warrick?’ she whispered. ‘He is the son of an earl and from a noble family.’

‘But he is the youngest. He will have no property of his own.’

‘Surely he has something,’ she argued. ‘They have vast holdings.’

‘Rhys has everything,’ Cecilia said. ‘And their sister Joan has the rest as part of her dowry. His father left him nothing at all.’

It made no sense at all. ‘How did you learn this?’

‘I eavesdropped when Mother was sewing with Lady Montbrooke. She told her everything. Did you know that Warrick didn’t speak for nearly two years, after his baby sister died?’

‘No, I didn’t.’ And yet, it didn’t surprise her. A grieving brother would have little to say. But she couldn’t understand why his own father had cut him off. When she lifted her gaze to his, Warrick met it with his own intense stare. In that moment, it was as if everything else disappeared and it was only the two of them.

It might only be infatuation, but she could not deny the feelings he conjured within her. She wished that she could sit beside him now and speak with him.

As the meal ended, Lord Montbrooke called for everyone to gather outside for evening stories, contests, and games. Rosamund followed the others and took her place beside her sister when Lady Montbrooke called her forward.

‘Will you join the other ladies in a game of stoolball?’ she enquired.

She had never played the game, but it sounded intriguing. ‘If you wish.’

Several other young ladies were gathered together, along with Lianna MacKinnon. Lady Montbrooke gave each of them a small tansy cake wrapped in linen, explaining, ‘I know we usually play this game at Easter, but it’s one of Rhys’s favourites. These are the prizes.’ Then she led them to an open clearing where six wooden stools were placed. On the opposite end, there were several wooden balls and a stick with a paddle on one end.

‘Go and choose a stool to stand upon,’ she directed the women.

Lianna hung back, unwilling to join them. ‘I have no wish to play. Let the others enjoy themselves.’ But after Lady Montbrooke spoke with her quietly, Lianna reluctantly chose the stool nearest to the men.

Rosamund didn’t understand what they were meant to do, but she followed what the other girls were doing. One of the women nearby was giggling, and Rosamund asked, ‘Why are you laughing?’

The girl stepped onto her stool and said, ‘Because the men can choose which prize they want. Either the tansy cake or a kiss.’

Rosamund felt her face burn with apprehension at the idea. Especially since Warrick was one of the men competing. Now her mother’s earlier warning made sense. She had no desire to be kissed by a stranger. But if Warrick wanted a kiss...she didn’t know what she should do.

At the far end, the men lined up for their turn. She soon realised that one man was attempting to throw a ball at the stool Lianna was standing upon. Another man defended her by striking the ball away with the stick. He ran hard around the line of stools, and his ball struck the base of it. After he had scored a point for his team, he returned to stand before one of the maidens. She offered him the cake, but instead, he took her face between his hands and brought her down for a deep kiss.

The men cheered, and the winner escorted the maiden away from the stools. Another young woman took her place.

Rosamund studied the crowd of men and women and saw Rhys pick up his ball. Warrick took his place with the bat and waited.

‘Don’t hit it, Brother,’ Rhys warned. His betrothed wife, Lianna, stood motionless while he prepared to aim the ball towards her stool. Rosamund almost pitied the woman for if Warrick did nothing, she would certainly be kissed in front of everyone. But Rhys’s anger made it an uncomfortable moment. It seemed that he wanted to humiliate Lianna, to force her to accept him.

Rosamund lifted her gaze to Warrick, hoping he would understand her unspoken message. He glanced at her and gave a single nod. The moment Rhys released the ball, Warrick struck it hard with his bat. It bounded across the grass and struck Rosamund’s stool hard.

She should have realised he would aim it towards her. It might have been luck that he’d hit it there, but she wasn’t certain. But as he ran past all the stools, she glimpsed a hard smile.

Would he try to kiss her in front of everyone? If he tried, her father would be furious. And yet, she wanted nothing more than to feel his mouth upon hers again. Her heart pounded when he approached the stool.

She remained frozen, feeling terrified that he might actually kiss her. But there was a way around this. In the barest whisper, she said, ‘At dawn, I will meet you by the stream for the kiss. For now, please accept the tansy cake.’

He made no effort to hide his interest. But when he took the tansy cake, he unwrapped the linen and broke off a piece. In front of everyone, he fed it to her, his thumb brushing against her lips. The gesture startled her, and she tasted the cake.

It was terrible, and she made a face at the herbs. With a laugh, she broke off a piece and fed it to him in return. ‘You try it. It’s awful.’

But his mouth closed over her thumb, gently kissing it as he ate the cake. There was no doubting that he wanted the kiss. ‘Tomorrow, Rosamund.’

She took his arm, and he guided her away from the others. With a soft smile, she answered, ‘I promise.’

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