Love and Deception: a Clean Medieval Historical Romance (3 page)

R
osamund approached
the cloaked figure
with great trepidation. She had not known him for very long and her meeting him so late in the shadows could very well ruin her reputation. Her father might not be alive to suffer the shame of her being caught in the darkness with another man but she was fairly certain he would have felt the disappointment as acutely in heaven as if he were still alive on earth. Even now, the very act of her creeping out of Braxton Hall to secretly meet with her cousin’s lover would have earned her father’s disapproval.

She crossed herself and said a silent prayer to her father for guidance. He might not approve of her actions but she could still pray for him to have mercy on her and keep her from being discovered. Should a soul find out she had been rendezvousing with another man in the middle of the night, she might as well prepare herself for the dissolution of the betrothal contract and the end of her family line. No self-respecting man would ever offer for a disgraced lady such as she would become if she were found in the company of man in the cloak of darkness without a suitable chaperone.

A few rocks skittered afoot and she held her breath, fairly certain that the wrath of heaven would fall upon her head. When not a peep followed her miscalculated step, she released the breath she had been holding and slowly crept towards the rendezvous point, her heart beating a dull, throbbing tattoo on her chest.

Tears stung her eyes when she found the shady oak tree described in the note. It would provide the perfect cover for her. She silently sent a prayer of thanks to her father and asked for his forgiveness in the same breath.

She gathered her courage and then, slinking in the shadows, she approached the tree and the one awaiting her at its base.

He stood up when he noticed her approach and she saw for the first time the man who had destroyed her cousin’s life.

Harry, it would seem was a tall, young man, with a strong, muscular frame. His brown eyes looked at her suspiciously then softened ever so slightly when he seemed to have reassured himself that she was alone.

“You came alone,” he said.

She lifted her chin and regarded him with a regal nod. “I would hear your story, Harry, if it would assuage the grief I feel. Vindicate yourself of the role you played in my dear cousin’s death, if you wish. I shall give you the chance to try.”

“You are exactly like she said you would be,” he muttered hoarsely.

“And, pray tell, what did my cousin say about me while you spun fairytales in her mind?”

He shook his head. “She said you would be like this…cold at first, a bit hard to approach. But Kate seemed to be of the mind that you would listen to me if I pleaded my case before you.”

“Cathy’s family is in turmoil, sir,” she told him quietly, her voice laced with ice and venom. “Lord Fitzhugh has yet to recover from the grief of his loss. Catherine was his favorite child, if you must know. If you had even a scrap of decency, you would not have pursued her at all. She was betrothed when you met her!”

He sat down on his haunches and cradled his head in his hands in the face of her simmering fury. “I would take it all back, if I could. Kate was the love of my life. I felt like I would die without looking upon her at least once every day. And when she told me about the babe, I was beside myself with joy.”

“What babe?” Rosamund asked him shakily. Her color quickly drained from her face when she learned her cousin had indeed surrendered her virtue to this man.

With tears in his eyes, he recounted how on their last meeting, Catherine had divulged that she was with child. She had had high hopes that the betrothal contract would be broken and that her father would choose her over the Baron. Lord Fitzhugh had almost agreed to it, too, but the Baron, furious upon discovering the truth, had refused to break the betrothal contract.

“He would marry her regardless,” Harry said suddenly, the tears flowing from his eyes. “He knew of ways to separate a child from the womb before its time. Of course, he was a noble, he would have access to knowledge like that. Lord Fitzhugh could not escape from the betrothal contract. The Baron had a fist around his neck.”

“He would murder her unborn child?” she gasped, her eyes wide.

“It was the fear of him that drove Catherine mad,” he explained. “From then on, there was no reasoning with her. I tried to meet with her once more but we were unable to find the right opportunity. Her letters became more despondent and I knew then that I had lost her even before she leapt from the window.”

“How?”

“In her last letter, she bid me farewell,” he finished bleakly. “She would meet me at the gates of Paradise, holding our child’s hand.”

Rosamund unfeelingly sank to the ground, her eyes not seeing the huge man before her reduced to tears as they relived the tragedy of Catherine Fitzhugh. Cathy had been too young and too naïve, carelessly believing that there would be a happy ending for her and her love. Instead, she was driven to despondency and madness and eventually, suicide.

“I must warn you, Lady Rosamund,” Harry spoke again, his voice taking on an urgent tone. “Baron Ingram will not rest until he has what he wants.”

“The story of my cousin is not easy to stomach, sir,” she said, her voice gaining a semblance of stability. “I am sure that the Baron was just as much disgraced by his bride jumping out of her window to her death as the rest of her family.”

“You are mistaken, milady,” he told her. “Here in Braxton Hall, Kate is mocked as a strumpet who would throw herself at any man who showed her the slightest affection.”

“What do you mean?” she asked him, eyes narrowed.

He swallowed. “I understand that you would not like to talk about your cousin in unfamiliar settings, milady, but one hears things while one is about. Here in Braxton Hall, they never knew that your cousin committed suicide.” He raised his defeated brown eyes to meet hers. “They say your cousin had given herself to several men before running away with another, never to be heard of again.”

She shook her head in disgust. “Gossip has wings on its feet and it changes its face as it passes. I do not know which story is worse.”

“But you must already know, milady!” he argued.

She held up her hand to silence him, her blue eyes boring into his stonily. “Yes, Harry, I do know.”

“But you cannot marry the man who just destroyed your cousin’s life!”

“I will marry whomever my father deigns for me to marry and before he passed, he deemed Count Braxton, then Baron Ingram, worthy of taking over his holdings!” she reminded him. “Unlike my cousin, who betrayed her honor and her family by loving you, I will not allow the memory of my father to be sullied by breaking this betrothal contract.”

Eyes wide, he regarded her with a look that could only be described as horror. “But Catherine…”

“Catherine is dead!”

In the stillness of the night, those three words shattered her and she fought to maintain control of her composure. “Catherine is dead,” she repeated quietly, “and she will never come back. She is dead and you all allowed her to die.” She looked up at him, her hands clutched into fists at her side. “Go away, Harry. Run and never return. If you do, I shall bring down the wrath of Braxton Hall upon you.”

His soft brown eyes turned hard with hatred. “You will regret this,” he swore. “You will regret spurning Catherine and me when we needed your support the most.”

“If you had not ruined her for other men, she would have been alive today,” Rosamund reminded him coldly. “And that is why I will never forgive you Harry. This is the last time I shall speak with you. Begone with you and do not bother me again.”

She turned away and walked back to the castle, not caring if this time, anyone would see her. She had come to find the truth about her cousin’s death. She had come expecting to hear of a romantic tale but found the truth too sordid than the lies.

“Forgive me, Cathy,” she whispered sadly, looking up to the first rays of sunlight breaking free from the darkness. “And may God forgive your soul and give you rest.”

T
he early morning
provided
the perfect ambience for what he had in mind. In truth, he had virtually no idea what he had in his mind. All he could think about were a pair of intelligent blue eyes regarding him oddly with mildly veiled interest. Or a soft voice lending him, Count Braxton, counsel on economics.

He had scoffed at the idea of a woman versed in the financial arts but his betrothed was of the habit to surprise him at every turn.

He swung his sword at the block and felt little satisfaction from hacking at the piece of wood. He had been at odds with his thoughts, which was a particularly novel and unwelcome feeling. He had not been so confused since he was seven summers and his mother newly put in the grave.

His stance softened when he remembered the kind of woman the late Countess Braxton had been. She had been the helpmeet and wife any lord would have been blessed to grace his home. He remembered her keeping the estate running smoothly; so much so that when she fell ill and finally died, Braxton Hall seemed to have died with her.

Indeed, it had taken a vast amount of his effort to repair and restore the home, which had been his mother’s pride and joy. Yet, he oddly felt that his home still lacked something.

“I can provide a far more interesting challenge, if it would please my lord.”

He looked up from the dummy he had been chipping away to a twig and smirked at the older knight. Despite his age, Bram still posed a formidable stature that gave younger men pause. His mentor had his broadsword in hand, the ruby glinting from its pommel. It had been a gift from Stephen’s father for his unswerving loyalty.

“I heard the Lady Westin has taken to your subjects rather well,” Sir Bram mentioned casually as he stepped into the training area. He flexed his arms and assumed a defensive stance, his eyes narrowed slightly at his opponent.

Stephen knew he could always count on the older knight to provide him with a bit of a challenge. The old man never let him have it easily. He had lost count of the many times he ended up face down on the dirt from their training sessions.

“She is likeable enough,” he admitted, hoping he sounded as offhand to the other man. He swung his sword and the familiar clash of steel on steel rang in the courtyard.

“Likeable? Sir Gregory thinks she hangs the moon and the stars in the night sky on her free time!”

Sir Bram nearly laughed when the younger man’s eyes narrowed and he lunged hastily at him. He neatly sidestepped and slammed his sword into his opponent but was met by Stephen’s quick reflexes.

“Gregory,” the younger man gritted out, “would do well to remember his place.”

Bram laughed out loud as they parried once more. “Well, you seem so hesitant to step up to the task, milord. One would think this is a challenge you would back down from. Sir Gregory, on the other hand, might be a better match for our Lady Rosamund. I heard he will be taking her around town this morning while her true betrothed sorts out his mind on the training area on whether he would finally send her home or finally get to the job of marrying her!”

Stephen lunged at him again and the two of them traded blows for a while. The younger man seemed to have a vast amount of pent up energy and Bram refused to back down, trading blow for blow until Count Braxton winded down and stared sullenly at him.

“She is a good woman, milord,” he said gently.

“I know, Bram.” He got up and smiled at the older man. “I am a blessed man.”

The old knight grinned. “Aye, that you are, milord.”

“Well, then, it seems I must be on my way, old man,” he smiled, his mind clear for the first time in the last few days. “I must steal milady’s heart.”

“Hardly a feat, that one. She seems set on marrying you either way.”

“You don’t understand at all, Bram,” he grinned. “I do not want her to marry me just because she is obligated to. I want her to find happiness in this union as well.”

Bram stood gaping at the young lord as he strolled away from the training area. Ever since assuming the role of his late father, he had rarely seen the younger man indulge his emotions. He had viewed his previous betrothal as a means to an end and nothing else.

Yet, here he was, smiling like he had just been handed the moon on a silver platter.

“Will wonders never cease?” the old knight murmured before laughing heartily and shaking his head.

S
tephen walked
in to find the whole
castle in an uproar.

Sir Gregory ran to him, face pale, his blue eyes wide as he bowed before his liege lord. Three years ago, he had seen this very scene play out before him — the maids scurrying about wringing their hands, their eyes darting anxiously as if they wished to speak but knew not how to; his knights standing rigidly, as though in anticipation of a battle.

The odd wave of déjà vu slammed into him with the force of a tidal wave. He felt like a bucket of ice cold water had just been poured all over him.

“Milord,” Sir Gregory began.

“Sir Gregory,” his voice was steely as he regarded the knight. “Where is Lady Rosamund?”

The knight stiffened. “We found her chambers empty this morning, milord. Her maid knew not where she had gone but we found this note when we searched her rooms for any clue that might lead us to her.”

With shaky hands he turned over the piece of paper and the hand in which it was written filled him with a cold fury. He knew well enough whose hand wrote that note.

He crumpled the scrap of parchment and let it fall to the floor from his numb fingers. Three years ago, he had let the man go without repercussions under the assumption that it was not his place to intervene in what appeared to be a problem within the family of his previous betrothed.

The death of Catherine Fitzhugh had been a tragedy that could have been avoided well enough. He knew she was young and very easily swayed by beautiful words and soft kisses and in that part, he was found wanting.

He had cared for little else beyond the expansion of his estate and the rebuilding of Braxton Hall in the early days of their courtship. Lady Catherine had found him aloof and a little too cold for her liking. He just did not expect that she would seek out another to provide her with the courtly gestures her girlish fantasies craved.

In the end, she had foolishly entrusted her heart to a man who saw little else beyond the acquisition of her father’s lands and the humiliation he would bring down upon Braxton himself. Late at night, when the guests had been asleep, she slipped out of her room to meet with her lover. They had had an awful disagreement, according to the lady’s maid, who secretly followed Lady Catherine, and at the height of their quarrel, he had shoved the young woman through an open window.

Catherine died on the very spot she fell.

The very idea of Lady Rosamund in the hands of such an evil man made him go cold with dread. Harry had no qualms about murdering young women for as long as they provided a means to an end.

“Saddle my horse,” he ordered, his blue eyes alight with cold fury. “It is barely sunrise. They could not have gone very far. Tell the scouts to search for any trace of a tall man with dark brown hair and eyes.”

He turned to the door and found Bram at the entrance with a worried look in his eyes. “I will find them, Bram,” he vowed. “I will find them and I will kill him with my bare hands.”

“As you wish, milord,” the old knight replied.