Virginia Henley (9 page)

Ever since he’d returned her to Castlemaine, Roseanna had been with him constantly, almost as if she were haunting him, he thought grimly. The images his mind conjured of her were so vivid, he could almost reach out and touch her cream velvet skin, and when he was abed, he could swear he actually felt her long tresses trailing across his nakedness to inflame his desires. He should have made love to her while he had her in his bed and gotten her out of his system! Then he blanched at the thought of being charged with rape. Again.

He had forced himself to relive the nightmare of his first two marriages so that he would run like a scalded cock from even the hint of a third wife.

Now, fortified with the company of ten knights, he rode forth to Castlemaine, secure in the knowledge that by this time tomorrow he would be free of her.

Sir Neville met his visitors at the stables, where Ravenspur and his men were attending their own horses. A
knight worthy of the name usually did this rather than leave it to others, since so many times his life depended upon his mount. Neville, noting that Ravenspur’s black stallion was almost identical to Zeus, showed off the animal to his guest. Roger was so impressed with the sleek, wild creature that he offered to buy it.

Neville shook his head and laughed. “Nay, my lord, he is my daughter’s favorite. However, I’m sure we have other animals here that meet your high standards. My daughter is an expert when it comes to horse breeding.”

Although keenly interested in learning of Roseanna’s expertise with horses, Ravenspur was nevertheless alarmed. “You don’t allow her to ride this wild animal?”

“My lord, I cannot stop her,” said Neville mildly.

Ravenspur’s dark eyes searched the other man’s face. Then he said quietly, “I see.”

“Lady Joanna eagerly awaits you in the hall. I’m sure she is better prepared for your visit today. I’ll show your men to their quarters.”

“Thank you, Castlemaine. I’ll visit your stables again before I leave.”

Joanna greeted Roger effusively. She was regally gowned in a deep royal blue tunic and underdress that attractively showed off her blue-black hair. She wore a jeweled posy cap, but no veil was in sight. Like Roseanna, she was inordinately proud of her hair and covered as little of it as possible.

Ravenspur bowed formally and without hesitation said, “Lady Joanna, before we discuss the betrothal, I wish to speak privately with Lady Roseanna.”

“Certainly, my lord.” She smiled brilliantly, wondering wildly whatever she was going to do. “Kate,” she called brightly, “inform Roseanna that Baron Ravenspur
has arrived. Come, my lord. I will show you to your chamber. You know how long it takes young girls to complete their toilet these days.”

He knew immediately that something was wrong. It was unlike Joanna to be so fluttery. And the look she had exchanged with her servingwoman spoke volumes.

He was pleased with the richly appointed chamber she had plenished for him. Joanna immediately poured them two goblets of her best Chablis. As he sipped the wine, he was alert to the signs of her agitation as she made animated small talk. Finally, Kate Kendall arrived. Her plain features were set in grim lines. She parroted the words she had been rehearsing ever since she had been met with silence at the turret-room door. She was worried to death, in actuality; the child’s safety meant more to her than Joanna’s desire to save face in front of the baron. “Lady Roseanna begs to be excused today. Perhaps tomorrow,” she said vaguely.

Joanna’s lips tightened. “Go back and tell her she will not be excused, Kate. I insist that she come down.”

Ravenspur added, “Explain that I wish to have a word with her in private and that it won’t take more than a moment.”

The servant bobbed a brief curtsey and went on her hopeless mission. As soon as Roseanna learned that Ravenspur had returned and wished to see her, she hurriedly put on the maidenbelt. Her mischievous heart leaped, and her wicked juices bubbled with anticipation as she slipped into a fawn-colored underdress, exquisitely embroidered with stalks of wheat, that she’d purposely chosen because it emphasized the pallor of her skin. Satisfied with her ethereal appearance, Roseanna was ready
to indulge in the very theatrics her mother had accused her of.

When Kate returned to her mistress, she said plainly and simply, “I can get no response.”

Joanna set her empty goblet down with a bang. “I’ll handle her,” she said with determination. Indeed, if Roseanna refused to open the door this time, she would send for Neville and have the door forced open. How dare her daughter show her up before the baron?

As soon as Joanna had left, Ravenspur turned to Kate Kendall. “What is upsetting you so much, ma’am?”

Flattered to be so addressed by such an exalted personage, she expelled her breath and proved the old adage that when under stress, women confess. “Oh, my lord, Lady Roseanna has been locked in her room all week without food.”

“Good God!” he exclaimed, and strode out of the room and up the staircase that led to the turret. Taking Joanna firmly by the shoulders, he removed her from the doorway. “I had no idea you would punish her, ma-dame,” he said coldly.

Joanna’s eyes widened in disbelief. “She is punishing me, sir, I would have you know!”

He pitted his great strength against the door by wedging his foot firmly beside the lock and kicking with all his might. At the first loud thud Roseanna fell to the floor in a very appealing faint. At the third kick the lock gave, and the door swung in to reveal the small, limp figure. Roger was on his knees instantly, his hands upon her body searching for signs of warmth and life. His fingers encountered the metal chastity belt. He raised condemning eyes to Joanna and said, “I would never have believed a mother could be this cruel!” He lifted the delicate girl
and strode from the turret room down to his own chamber; Joanna followed him.

With eyes tightly closed and heart hammering wildly, Roseanna knew she had aroused his vow of knighthood to protect with his life a maiden in distress. Good God, she’d gone too far, as usual. Somehow she had to find a way to make herself unattractive to him.

Gently, he laid her upon his bed and chaffed her hands. He poured her a little Chablis and lifted it to her pale lips.

She opened her eyes slowly and said weakly, “Where … am I?”

“You wicked girl! Stop this play-acting at once!” demanded Joanna.

Ravenspur turned on her instantly. “Outside! I want to be alone with her.” His eyes blazed with such dark fire, that she dared not goad him further. She swept past him, taking Kate with her. Very well, Joanna thought angrily, the little wildcat could face him alone. They deserved each other!

“Roseanna, are you feeling strong enough to talk to me?” he asked.

Instinct told her that she would get more from this man by appealing to his chivalrous heart than by making demands.

“Whatever have you done to provoke your mother to such extremes?” he asked gently.

She allowed one tear to slip down her cheek. “It’s because we wish to dissolve the betrothal, and”—she spoke softly, but passionately—“because … I love—another.”

A frown came between his heavy brows. “Who?” he demanded; some of the gentleness had left his voice.

She shook her head woefully. “Alas, I cannot tell his name. He would suffer greater punishment than I.”

“Is this why she’s forced you into the maidenbelt?” he asked, his eyes holding hers.

He was no longer carrying her, but the closeness of his body to hers reminded her of his great strength. She lowered her eyes. She knew the question that hovered in his mind as if he had spoken it aloud, and she also knew that her fate rested on the answer she gave to that question. Suddenly, brilliantly, she knew how to free herself from this man, knew how to devalue herself in his eyes. “The maidenbelt was in vain. I am no longer a virgin,” she lied, and the intimate words stained her cheeks a delicate pink.

His eyes clouded with anger. He got up and took a turn around the room as if he were trapped in a place too small for his great vitality.

Holding her breath, she waited for him to repudiate her and hoped his anger would not explode into violence. Slowly, he turned to face her. “I have decided not to dissolve the betrothal. I have decided to take you for my wife.”

“No!” she cried, aghast, springing up from the bed.

His dark eyes narrowed. “For one so close to starvation, you have amazing recuperative powers! Why do you prefer a union with the other man? Has he gotten you with child? Do you need an abortifacient?” he shouted.

“How dare you?” With all of her strength she slapped his cheek.

He grabbed her wrist and held it in a cruel, ironlike vise until she thought he would snap the fragile bones.

“I dare do anything, Roseanna Castlemaine—never doubt it! I dare strip you and verify your virginity or lack
of it this very moment. Now you will apologize for slapping me.” His dark eyes bored into hers as if he were reading her thoughts.

She pursed her lips stubbornly and kept silent.

“When you do that with your lips, I don’t know if you want to kiss me or spit on me,” he said with glittering eyes. Seeing her eyes darken with anger, he dipped his head to take possession of the lips that seemed to have been fashioned solely for his kisses. He held her mouth firmly with his, not wanting to give her the opportunity to bite him again.

She had the same inflaming effect on him that she’d had the night he’d found her in his bed: He was like iron, erect and ready. He pressed against her softness so she would have no doubts about his desires. His kiss took and took and took, plundering her mouth, deeper and deeper while one hand cupped her round, full breast, his thumb stroking her nipple until it hardened like a diamond. His scent of jasmine made her dizzy, and where their bodies touched, her nerve endings burned with a mixture of pain and pleasure that she’d never before felt. He let her go, and she backed away, rubbing her wrists to restore circulation.

“Why are you doing this? Why do you insist on having me?” The fine-spun robe seemed to shiver against her breasts as they rose and fell with her great agitation.

He pulled his gaze from her breasts and looked into her eyes. “We are pledged. ’Tis as simple as that.”

As she looked at him, she knew him for a man who made his own rules. He wouldn’t keep a pledge unless it suited his own purpose. “There must be other reasons. Tell me!”

As he looked at her, he thought her beauty magnificent.
He wanted to rip the filmy gown from her body, lay her back upon the bed, and fuck with her all night. Her eyes blazed defiantly. She wanted none of him and made no bones about it. The challenge she offered was impossible for Ravenspur to resist!

He smiled, and it reached all the way from his sensual mouth to his night-dark eyes. “We are two of a kind, Roseanna. You will make me happy.”

“I will make you wretched!” she vowed.

The evening went surprisingly well for a day that had begun so disastrously. Kate Kendall’s motherly qualities came to the fore as she took charge of Roseanna. She gave her the key to the maidenbelt, helped her bathe, put her to bed, and brought her a tray that held broth, calf’s-foot jelly, and restorative egg custard. When Roseanna wrinkled her nose and asked for roast boar, the good woman was off to the kitchens at double speed.

In the hall, seated between his host and his hostess, Roger Montford broached the subject of their daughter before the first course was served.

“Sir Neville, I formally request your daughter’s hand in marriage.”

Sir Neville, ignorant of the day’s details and the week’s events, gave his wife a congratulatory look and wondered how she had pulled it off.

Utterly surprised but nonetheless delighted with the turn of events, Joanna picked up her goblet and raised it to Ravenspur. “My lord, let me be the first to congratulate you. I offer a toast to Roger and Roseanna.”

If Ravenspur noticed that two young knights sitting farther down the table did not respond to the toast, he gave no sign of it. Joanna rapidly calculated when the best time would be for the marriage to take place. Harvest was almost upon them; since Roseanna was stubbornly opposed to the match, she would need time to be brought around. Christmas was a festive time of the year when everyone was free to celebrate and indulge; if the wedding were then, the months between would give them time to sew Roseanna a spectacular trousseau.

“I think Christmastide is lovely for a wedding, my lord.”

Ravenspur frowned. “The betrothal has already been overlong.”

Joanna hastened to suggest November eleventh. “Martinmas, then?”

His frown deepened. “I thought next week, but perhaps I am precipitate. Let’s say the first day of Autumn.”

“But September twenty-first is less than a month away,” she pointed out. When she saw his brow slant like the wing of a raven, however, she acquiesced. “We will be hard pressed, but I will see that all is ready.”

“Sir Neville, Lady Joanna, please don’t think I am being difficult, but it will be impossible to have the wedding here. The King wants me in the North, where there is unrest,” he explained shortly.