Vow of Deception (8 page)

“God forfend. I intend no such thing.” A deep shudder shook Rose and then she pulled out of Kat's arms and spun around to face her. “If I am going to be forced to marry, I insist it shall be a marriage of convenience. Rand may continue with his
affaires de coeur
as long as he does not parade his mistresses before me. And I shall tell him so. If I can ever get him to stop avoiding me.”

 

That evening, on the night before the tournament, Rose sat at the dais table between Rand and Sir Golan. Her thoughts moved counter to the festive atmosphere that filled the vast lesser dining hall. Whenever Sir Golan “accidentally” brushed against her hand, or arm, or thigh, it sickened her and she inadvertently moved closer to Rand.

Keeping her head and eyes down, she avoided conversation and remained silent. A crisp white linen cloth covered the table, which was laden with meat, fish, and vegetable dishes along with wine from Bordeaux, Burgundy, and the Rhine.

She reached for her wine and, at the same moment, Sir Golan picked up his napkin and slyly stroked her wrist. Rose recoiled. Burgundy sloshed over the rim of her chalice. A dark red splotch of wine spread on the tablecloth.

She stared at the stain, her eyes growing wide with horror. Memories of the night her husband died flashed in her head. Oh, God, the blood was everywhere. It matted Bertram's shining gold hair, while his vacant green eyes stared up at her coldly in accusation. Abruptly, Rose excused herself and climbed over the bench.

Rand turned from speaking with Edward just as Rose spilt her wine. She bolted as though she were a sinner fleeing a phantom from Hell. When he rose to follow her, he noted Sir Golan's smug grin. Rand realized the knight had said or done something to disturb Rose. Before he left the table, he clutched the top of Sir Golan's shoulder and squeezed it very hard.

With a smile on his face, Rand bent down to Golan's ear and whispered, “Never, I repeat never, are you to say or do anything to hurt Rose again. Or I shall kill you. Do you understand?” When he didn't respond, Rand squeezed harder. “Nod if you understand me.” Golan nodded. Rand released him. “Good. On the morrow, I am going to enjoy squashing you like the little bug you are.”

Rand left the candle-filled dining hall for the darker, torch-lit hallways. Directed by an observant palace guard, Rand followed Rose to an herb garden not far from the kitchens.

The stars were bright in the night sky, yet a light breeze brought with it the fresh scent of a recent rain shower. Rose sat on the edge of a raised planter bed, digging in the wet earth and removing weeds from the base of a marigold.

A look of sadness etched her face. She did not acknowledge him as he approached.

“Rose? What are you doing out here?”

She tugged sharply on a particularly stubborn root. “I enjoy digging my fingers into the earth, removing weeds and such. Nurturing plants and caring for them gives me great satisfaction.”

“Will you tell me what Sir Golan did to upset you in the dining hall?”

“I'd prefer not to discuss the cur.” She cocked her head, looking up at him. “Except…do I need to worry about the outcome of the joust? What are the chances he will defeat you on the morrow?” The weed gave at last. Rose yanked it from the earth, yet she pulled so hard that part of the marigold came with it. Consternation marred her brow as she stared at the plant in her hand.

Rand sat down across from her and eased the greenery from her white-knuckled grip. She did not resist. A look of surprise arched her elegant eyebrows as she stared down at her hands within his. Then Rand brushed the damp earth from her fingers and used the bottom of his surcoate to remove the rest of the sticky mud.

“I don't want you to worry about tomorrow, Rose. Sir Golan is a worthy foe, but your father taught me well.”

She lurched up and stepped away from him. “Yet you cannot guarantee that you shall be the victor. What will happen to me if Sir Golan wins? I will not survive marriage to another brute like Bertram. I cannot do it. I simply cannot.” Hands shaking, she covered her face.

At seeing her so cowered, Rand felt a lump lodge in his throat. He lunged to his feet, withdrew her hands from her face, and locked his gaze on hers so she would see the fierce determination in his eyes. “I swear to you, Rose, I shall be the victor. Yet if for some reason I fail to win, I shall make you this promise: I will personally make sure you never marry Sir Golan. I vow it.”

“But—”

“Have I ever broken a vow to you, Rose?”

“Nay,” she answered, her lips barely moving.

Rand's gaze riveted on the velvety flesh of her full lips, which were the color of strawberries misted with dew. He loved the taste of strawberries. His gut wrenched. His mouth tingled with the overwhelming desire to kiss her. But he did not want to frighten her. He needed to gain her trust so she would not fear him when it came time for them to marry.

He shook his head to recall what he had been trying to say. She was a distraction to his good intentions. “I have never broken a vow before, nor do I intend to start now. So I ask you, do you believe me when I say I shall never let Sir Golan have you?”

Rose stared into Rand's eyes. At his intense regard, a shiver raced down her arm. It was not desire or pleasure she experienced. She was numb to such things. It was as though a reckoning was upon her that she could not control, and it frightened her. Unable to withstand his penetrating stare, she finally dropped her eyes.

Rand touched her pointed chin lightly, guided her gaze back to his, and repeated, “Do you believe me when I say I shall never let Sir Golan have you?”

She nodded. “Aye. I do believe you.” Shock rippled through her. She had not lied. She truly believed Rand would do as he said, in this instance at least. He would see to it that she never married Sir Golan. But that brought back to mind the weighty issue of what marriage to Rand would mean. She was terrified of the marriage bed. Where once Rand's touch had thrilled her, Rose was cold to feelings of pleasure and felt only shame and humiliation at the act.

“I believe you, Rand.” Rose took several steps over to the next raised planter bed and plucked a sprig of rosemary from one of the plants. She pinched it, sniffing the sweet fragrance. With her back to Rand, she inquired, “But you still intend to marry me, do you not?”

“Aye, Rose. War with Wales is imminent. Edward wants one of his household knights in charge of Ayleston and its resources. He sees wardship of Jason's estate and marriage to you as an opportunity to reward one of us, while also protecting the vulnerable borders from Welsh raids.”

“I have been managing Jason's estate since his father's death. I don't see why I need some man in charge. I can protect Ayleston as well as any man with the help of the castle guard.”

“You have been an able administrator for Ayleston, Rose—”

She spun around. “Aha. So you agree.”

“You did not let me finish. Since Bertram's death there has been relative peace between England and Wales. But I have been worried for your safety for some time now. As a wealthy widow, you are prey to abduction by any ambitious knight who wishes to enrich himself. You would be raped and forced to marry to recover your reputation.” He raised his hand when she opened her mouth to protest. “'Tis not fair to blame the woman and vilify her character, I know, but, unfortunately, that is how society and the Church perceive such cases of forced abduction. So far you have been lucky to avoid such a fate. Then, too, when war is declared, it shall become even more dangerous.”

“I must disagree—”

“You may disagree as much as you like, but it shall not change the king's decision. Or mine either, for that matter. Come, the hour grows late. I'll escort you to your chamber. We can discuss these and other issues after we wed.”

Realizing the futility of the argument, Rose acquiesced, but not happily. “Very well. But there's one thing I wish to settle before we marry, and it cannot be delayed a moment longer.” Rose flicked her knuckles over her collarbone.

“What is so important it cannot wait till the morrow?”

Rose took a deep inhalation and expelled her words in a rush. “I will marry you on one condition. That ours be a marriage of convenience.”

“Very well, I shall agree to your condition.”

She saw not even a flicker of surprise or disappointment. Her brows dipped down sharply at his easy capitulation. Rand was the most lustful male creature she knew. So why would he agree without hesitation to forego the marital duty a wife and husband owed one another? It made no sense. Unless he did not understand what she was insisting upon.

“You do understand that if I am to give my wholehearted consent when we wed, I insist that we never consummate our vows?”

“Of course. I understand very well. I have no objection to abstaining from carnal intimacy.”

“By agreeing to my condition, you shall never have an heir of my body. Never have a legitimate male heir to carry on your name. And yet you are still prepared to marry me? Why?”

“I am now one score and nine years of age and have never been married. Have you never wondered why this is so?”

Rose could not admit to Rand that she had indeed wondered why he had never married. But she decided he enjoyed his blithe womanizing existence too much to give up his freedom.

“Why have you never married?”

Rand shrugged. “I vowed long ago never to marry. The reason no longer matters. If Edward had not betrothed you to Sir Golan, I would not have offered to marry you.”

“But you escorted me to court knowing Edward intended me for Sir Golan. You could have offered for me then instead of creating a fake prior betrothal. You admitted you were aware of Sir Golan's reputation before he attacked me. So what changed your mind?”

“I have several reasons. 'Tis complicated.”

She rubbed her upper arms. “Go on. I would hear them.”

Rand smiled grimly. “When I came to Ayleston to escort you to court, I admit I heard a rumor that Golan had murdered his wife. But his wife died in childbirth. Too, I knew Golan personally and his reputation was beyond repute, so I did not believe the rumors. Then when I learned how much you abhorred marriage, I considered offering for you in Golan's stead. But I thought you would dislike marriage to me as much as to any other man.

“But what convinced me was that night in the chapel.” His eyes glittered. “When I saw him forcing himself on you despite your protests, I wanted to rip out his throat. I realized then I could never let him touch you like that again. Marrying you, despite my vow never to do so, is a small price to pay for the debt of gratitude I owe you and your family. Your parents have treated me like a son since I came to England long ago.”

An odd emotion punctured Rose's heart and her breath caught. She was sure Rand did not mean to insult her, but disappointment flooded her. She had no reason to be disappointed. She did not wish to marry him, either.

“This is your last chance,” she said. “Are you sure you don't wish to give more thought to your decision?”

Rand crossed his arms and leaned back on his heels. “I have given it plenty of thought, actually. I need no more time to realize you cannot abide my touch. I'd never force you or any woman to my bed. Our marriage would simply be a mutual exchange of benefits to us both. You shall receive my protection from Edward's machinations and Sir Golan's unwanted advances. And believe it or not, as my wife, I shall receive your protection from fathers who wish to betroth their daughters to me for my connection to the king.”

She did not despise his touch. She was just dispassionate in general. Passion was reserved for whores; her husband had taught her that lesson well.

Sudden heat flushed her cheeks and she dropped her eyes as her heart thudded with embarrassment. “Of course, I shall not begrudge you satisfying your desires with other women. I realize you must assuage your lustful appetites. I promise I shall not object or act like a termagant whenever you take other women to your bed.”

Rand stepped closer, his breath moist in the air between them. “That is very commendable of you, Rose. But how can I trust that you shall not change your mind once we are married?
Now
you say you do not mind me bedding other women.” Rand's voice dropped to a dark, seductive whisper. “But what if you change your mind?” He ran a finger down her cheek, a soft caress that neither repulsed nor seduced. Shock held her immobile.

“Can you swear to never become a jealous shrew? That you won't come to resent me or the other women I shall surely bed?” A dangerous current thrummed beneath his voice, which sounded suspiciously like anger.

Rose frowned. She was positive Rand was mocking her. She searched his face, framed by long golden hair. His smile was wolfish, deepening his dimples, and gray-green eyes appeared almost feral in the moon's glow. But it must have been a trick of the moonlight, for a teasing light sparked in his eyes.

She shook her head. “You need not fear I shall change my mind. All I ask is for you to be discreet. That you not humiliate me by flaunting your mistresses or fornicating while you are in residence at Castle Ayleston. I will not have you bedding my own servants and undermining my authority as chatelaine.”

Rand kept his smile pasted on his face, unsure why he was so angry. Her crystal blue eyes made his stomach flip. Eyes wide and almond shaped, the corner of her outer lashes curling up together. Her sharp white teeth chewed on her plump bottom lip.

“So you don't mind if I have mistresses. You just do not want to be confronted by them. Fair enough. I believe I can agree to that.” Rand forced the words past his lips. As comprehension dawned on him, he inhaled sharply.

He could have any woman he wanted, yet the one woman he desired—with a desperation that cut like a blade to his heart—did not want him. Rand rubbed his chest where it hurt. He nearly laughed at the irony. Married to the one woman he could never possess.

The justice of it was brilliant. When his mother died in the fire, Rand swore to atone for her and his sister's deaths for the rest of his life. God was now reaping the ultimate penance Rand owed Him.

Ayleston Castle, Chester County
In the year of our Lord 1272, September 12
Fifty-fifth year in the reign of King Henry III

In the bridal chamber, Rose stood naked before Bertram and about fifty guests who crowded into the chamber to get a glimpse of the happy couple. Her modesty was barely preserved by her waist-length red-gold hair, which she draped in front of her shoulders to conceal her small breasts. She covered her hair-covered groin with her hands as a chill gust of wind whistled through the shuttered windows. Goose pimples rose on her skin all over her body. She shuddered.

The bedding ceremony was a humiliation every virgin had to endure to prove to the groom he was getting an unmarred bride. Bertram, not looking at her exposed body, grabbed her chamber robe from one of the female guests, Lady Lydia, Rose realized. Lydia and Bertram exchanged a brief look, which Rose could not interpret, and then Bertram wrapped the robe around Rose's shoulders. She smiled shyly at her new husband, grateful for his considerate gesture.

Since the day they had met at court last Christmas, his gallantry and charm had entranced her. He was ever spoiling her with his caring and generous heart.

Bertram quickly escorted the guests out of their bedchamber and poured her some wine to ease her fears. But her curiosity and excitement was greater than any virginal fears.

The spiced wine went down her throat in one smooth gulp. Then Bertram took her chalice from her hand and set both their cups on the bedside table. Without preamble he pulled her into his embrace and captured her lips with his mouth. His tongue delved deep and hot, probing her with lashing strokes. Rose whimpered, her lower body gyrating against the hard bulge of his desire. She grew damp, her nether lips tingling with swollen heat.

Bertram pulled back and said, his voice hoarse, “Take off your robe and lie down on the bed.”

In a blaze of desire, Rose did as he bid. She removed the robe and smiled when he turned away, no doubt wanting to preserve her modesty. She climbed into bed and pulled the covers up. An odd smile on his face, Bertram stared at the wall across from the bed, where a tapestry of a stag hunt hung.

“I'm ready, Bertram.”

He came over to the side of the bed and stared down at her. “And now I am ready too,” he said, his raspy voice a caress.

“What do you mean?”

He smiled slyly. “You shall find out soon enough.” When he dropped his robe, she caught a quick glance of his erect shaft; then he slid into bed and on top of her.

He kissed her again, his mouth and tongue ravaging her. Her desire became a tempest, his heat and hardness driving her hips to rise up to seek a connection. His shaft probed between her legs and slowly eased inside her.

“You're wet,” he spat out, disgust tinging his voice.

“What?” Rose squirmed, prickly sensations making her feel like she was going to explode if he did not shove inside her and complete the union of their bodies.

His emerald green eyes, usually creased with laughter, burned with condemnation. “You are wet between your legs.”

Rose's face flushed. “I'm sorry, did I do something wrong?”

“Only whores get wet. My wife is not supposed to enjoy what is meant for procreation purposes alone.”

Rose moved, trying to escape her humiliating predicament. But she was pinned beneath him.

Bertram groaned. “It's too late. Just lie still and keep your mouth shut.” Then he pumped inside her, grunting and groaning until his body shuddered and he collapsed on top of her.

Hot tears of misery leaked from Rose's eyes as she lay trapped beneath him. Her face burned with shame, yet her whole body felt as though it had been dunked in a cold stream.

She was reeling with confusion at Bertram's sudden shift in mood. It was not like him at all, and she wondered if she were unnatural. Somehow she had ruined everything, and she didn't understand how. She had enjoyed his initial intimacies, but when her body had excreted wetness, he had become repulsed.

“That was an amazing performance, my love.” A seductive feminine laugh echoed in the chamber.

Rose jerked and scrambled to cover her breasts with a sheet when Bertram left the bed to greet the woman who entered the bedchamber.

“Oh my God, Bertram. What is she doing in our chamber?”

Bertram just laughed, grabbed Lady Lydia to him, and proceeded to kiss her thoroughly. Without shame, Lydia kissed him back and reached her hand down to stroke Bertram's shaft.

 

Rose shot up in bed, her heart pumping rapidly. A shrill scream in the back of her throat was cut off. As her chest rose and fell, her panting breath sounded loud in the darkened chamber. She looked around, realizing she was not in her bedchamber at Ayleston Castle. In bed beside her, Alison slept soundly, her soft snores penetrating the quiet.