Hostage Bride

‘Are you indeed certain you wish to wed me?’

‘It is the only way I can keep you safe,’ he said. ‘As my betrothed wife I put my seal on you. Any man who tries to take you from me will know they become my mortal enemy.’

Rosamunde glanced away. Her heart was racing. She had agreed to wed him, and she sensed—felt—the passion in him. Raphael wanted her, but he had made it clear that he could never love her. He had obviously loved his wife greatly, but she was in her grave. He was only marrying Rosamunde to protect her. He considered it his duty to care for her, and she knew he would keep her safe—but she wanted more from her marriage than that.

ANNE HERRIES
lives in Cambridgeshire, where she is fond of watching wildlife, and spoils the birds and squirrels that are frequent visitors to her garden. Anne loves to write about the beauty of nature, and sometimes puts a little into her books—although they are mostly about love and romance. She writes for her own enjoyment, and to give pleasure to her readers. She is a winner of the Romantic Novelists’ Association Romance Prize. She invites readers to contact her on her website at
www.lindasole.co.uk
.

Previous novels by the same author:

MARRYING CAPTAIN JACK
THE UNKNOWN HEIR
THE HOMELESS HEIRESS
THE RAKE’S REBELLIOUS LADY
A COUNTRY MISS IN HANOVER SQUARE
*
AN INNOCENT DEBUTANTE IN HANOVER SQUARE
*
THE MISTRESS OF HANOVER SQUARE
*
FORBIDDEN LADY
†
THE LORD’S FORCED BRIDE
†
THE PIRATE’S WILLING CAPTIVE
†
HER DARK AND DANGEROUS LORD
†
BOUGHT FOR THE HAREM

*
A Season in Town
trilogy
†
The Melford Dynasty

And in the Regency series
The Steepwood Scandal
:

LORD RAVENSDEN’S MARRIAGE
COUNTERFEIT EARL

And in
The Hellfire Mysteries
:

AN IMPROPER COMPANION
A WEALTHY WIDOW
A WORTHY GENTLEMAN

I hope you will enjoy this medieval story about a young woman who is sent as a hostage in her cousin’s place to pay her uncle’s debt. At the very least she expects to be disparaged and returned to her family in disgrace, but what else can she do but obey her cousin? Her father has given all his money away and no longer cares about life. How can Rosamunde find a new life for them when she will lose both her honour and her chance of ever finding a husband?

Raphael has returned from the crusades a rich man, but he carries the memory of the woman he married there and her terrible death. When he discovers what his father has been doing while he was away he is ashamed, and determined to set an example to his men—but the latest hostage is beautiful, and her eyes seem to call to him. If he sets her free she might just be taken hostage again to satisfy Prince John’s greed.

Somehow he must find a way to make sure his lovely prisoner is cared for—for the rest of her life—but she thinks he is his father, a man lost to honour and reputation. How can he forget the shadows that haunt him and convince her that her happiness lies with him?

I know many of you love tales of knights and their ladies. I loved writing this one and hope you will find pleasure in reading it.

In the year of our Lord 1189

R
osamunde looked down from the solar at the top of the tower, watching the activity in the courtyard below. The compound was filled with men, horses and dogs because the hunting party had just returned. The huntsmen seemed to have been successful and there was evidence of more than one kill. That meant that Lady Meldreth and her women would be busy for a few days salting the flesh of wild boar into barrels for the winter. Most of the game and venison would be roasted for the feast the next day.

She was not yet thirteen years of age, but Rosamunde was accustomed to helping her mother in her still room; she kept accounts and embroidered hangings to keep the chill from the stone walls of her father’s keep. She was wise beyond her years and knew that Sir Randolph
Meldreth was not as rich and successful as some of the knights he was entertaining. Behind her, she could hear her mother complaining.

‘If you do not watch your spending, husband, you will ruin us,’ she scolded. ‘The King is off to the Crusades and you will earn no favours by entertaining him and his knights with a lavish feast. You would do better to save our money and wait until you see which way the wind blows. Prince John is to be regent in Richard’s place and it is he you should seek to please now.’

‘Hush, woman. Richard asked me to entertain his friends for a few days,’ Sir Randolph replied in his cheerful, easy manner. ‘It is an honour, wife. Besides, I cannot refuse. If my health did not prevent it, I should offer my sword to this holy cause and go with the King.’

‘Then I must thank God that you have the agues and cannot ride for days and weeks at a time.’ Lady Meldreth’s mouth turned down sourly. ‘The King may be gone for years and only God knows if he and his knights will ever return.’

Unwilling to listen to yet another quarrel between her parents, Rosamunde went quietly from the room. She walked down the narrow spiral-staircase to the great hall below the solar. Some of the men were already spilling into the large room, laughing and talking excitedly as they boasted to one another of the day’s exploits. One of them had brought his dogs in with him and they were sniffing at the rushes, yelping and growling as they hunted for scraps that might have been tossed to the floor.

Suddenly, a small kitten rushed at one of the hounds and scratched its nose; it had obviously been startled by the arrival of the dogs and had lashed out in fright. The great hound stared at it for a moment then growled and pounced, intending to crush it between its heavy jaws.

‘No, please, do not let the dog harm my kitty!’ Rosamunde cried and rushed towards them. Somehow the kitten had avoided capture thus far and Rosamunde flung herself on it, clutching it to her breast as the dog snarled and jumped at her, trying to reach its prey, its sharp teeth snapping inches from her face. ‘Get down, you brute. Leave my poor kitty alone.’

The dog saw only the kitten. It reared up on its hind legs to growl and bark as it attempted to grab its prey from her. Rosamunde screamed as the dog’s saliva dripped on her and its yellow fangs scraped her hand.

‘Down, you cur,’ a voice cried and then a youth, dressed in a short parti-tunic of blue and silver over black hose, caught hold of its collar and dragged it off her. The dog snarled and fought but the youth hauled it to the door and thrust it outside, where it could be heard barking fiercely.

Rosamunde ran to a corner of the hall and sat down on the stone floor, hunching her knees to her chest and hugging the terrified kitten. Tears trickled down her cheeks because she was frightened, and her hand hurt where the dog’s fangs had scraped her skin.

‘Are you hurt, little mistress?’

Rosamunde glanced up as the youth spoke. He was perhaps sixteen or so and handsome, with dark-blond
hair and blue eyes. His mouth was wide and generous and there was concern in his eyes as he looked at her.

‘I thought he would kill my kitten,’ she said and wiped her hand over her cheek. ‘I’m not frightened for myself.’

‘Of course not,’ he said and smiled. ‘Did the dog’s teeth break the skin?’

Rosamunde showed him her hand. His fingers were gentle as they examined the red marks the dog’s fangs had made.

‘The brute has not drawn blood. I think you will not take harm from it.’

‘You were in time to save me,’ she said. ‘I thank you, sir. What is your name? Are you here because you’re going to the Crusades?’

‘Aye, that is my reason for being here.’ His eyes lit up. ‘It is a wonderful chance for me to win glory and fame, and perhaps a knighthood. My father will not join the King’s cause but I think it an honour.’

‘Shall you fight the Saracens? My mother says they are fierce fighters and many will die in a foolish cause.’

‘We fight for a holy cause, little mistress,’ he said. ‘Your mother does not understand that men will gladly risk everything for such honour and glory.’

‘I do not think I should like you to be killed,’ Rosamunde said, looking at him shyly. ‘You are so brave. The hound could have bitten you but you did not think of yourself.’

‘It was nothing. I knew the dog was too strong for you. He would not have stopped until he had the kitten
and, since you would not let go, you could have been seriously injured.’

‘Raphael. Here to me, sirrah. I need you.’

‘My master calls me,’ Raphael said. ‘Sir Harold of Fernshaw trained me as his squire and I owe him allegiance. If it were not for him, I should not have this opportunity. Excuse me, little mistress. I have work to do.’

‘My name is Rosamunde,’ she whispered but she did not know if he heard her. ‘When you return to England, visit us again, sir. I shall be here waiting for you.’

The young man turned his head and smiled at her once more. Rosamunde’s heart raced, her breath quickening. She was only a child, but the men would be many years at the Crusades and by the time they returned she would be a woman.

Would Raphael remember her? She would never forget him but perhaps he believed her merely a child. His thoughts were only of the Holy Land and the adventures he would discover there.

‘Come back safely,’ she murmured as she stroked the kitten and kissed its soft head. ‘I shall not forget you, Raphael. One day I pray we shall meet again.’

In the year of our Lord 1193

‘M
essalina! God help me…’ Raphael awoke from the nightmare, his body dripping with perspiration. Putting out his hand, he discovered that the bed beside him was empty and cold. He had been dreaming of his late wife, of the terrible day a few months ago when he’d discovered that she was dead, lost to him for all time. ‘Forgive me. I should have been there. I should have protected you, my dear one.’

He moaned as the agony swept over him. His beautiful, young and lovely wife was dead and it was his fault. She’d begged him not to leave her that fateful night, but he had unwound her soft white arms from about his neck and told her he must go.

‘This is war, Messalina. I have been summoned by King Richard to a meeting and must obey his orders.

Things do not go as well as Richard would have liked and we may have to leave the Holy Land without gaining all we came for.’

‘Leave? You speak of leaving, of returning to your own land?’ Messalina’s eyes filled with tears. ‘Will you leave without me?’

‘You are my wife. When I return to England you will come with me.’

‘What of my father? How can I leave him here alone to face his last years without his daughter?’

‘I shall speak to your father tomorrow when I know more of the King’s plans,’ he’d promised—but in the morning both his wife and her father were dead, murdered by renegade Saracens.

His guilt lay heavy on his conscience for he knew that he need not have attended the meeting but had gone because he wanted to spend a little time with the knights who were his friends that night. Messalina was beautiful and he had been fond of her, like a man might be fond of a spaniel puppy, but she had clung to him and wept, and soon after wedding her he had realised that he did not love her as he ought.

He was not sure why he’d wed her, except that her father had offered her to him, and her shy smile had been appealing to a young man flushed with success from fighting a holy war. He had rescued both her and her father from ruffians who had sought to rob the wealthy merchant, and their gratitude had been flattering. Jacob had begged him to give them his protection and take his daughter and her fortune as his
reward. He had wanted to protect both Messalina and her father and now felt that he had betrayed them. Yet it was more than that. Perhaps he was not capable of giving the deep love Messalina had needed, but he had genuinely cared for her, and now that she was dead his guilt haunted him day and night.