Hostage Bride (14 page)

‘I must beg you to excuse me. I shall see you at supper.’ With that, Jonathan put down his cup and left the room.

Raphael lingered for a moment. His thoughts were deep and he was frowning as he left to make a tour of the castle grounds to make certain the men on duty were at their posts. Baron Sigmund had agreed to a truce and
left, but he was not the only rogue baron to cast greedy eyes on his neighbour’s lands. No man could afford to be careless or let down his guard in these uncertain times. Prince John’s rule had nurtured such men, for he taxed unfairly and used force to take what he desired. It was perhaps natural that the barons should follow his example. England needed strong governance and a king to lead by example. Richard the Lionheart was not perfect, but he would bring justice back to a land that sorely needed it.

There was little reason for Raphael to linger here when there was work to be done. He was not sure why he was so reluctant to leave.

He had given Sir Jonathan leave to court the lady Rosamunde if he chose, but found that the idea of her as his friend’s wife did not sit at all well with him. Why? He had believed his heart incapable of true love, but something about Rosamunde had touched him from the first moment he had seen her. He’d kissed her twice now and he knew that he desired her. In the wood he had been tempted to lead her to a secluded spot and make love to her, but she was a lady, not a whore. Jonathan was right; Raphael would indeed be a rogue to break her heart.

What kind of a man was he? Nothing could wash away the stain of his guilt; his wife’s blood was on his hands because he had not been there to protect her. He believed now that she had sensed impending doom and had begged him to stay with her in the belief he
would protect her. Raphael had refused and his dreams were now tortured. He had abandoned Messalina and, because he had not been with her, she had died.

He sighed heavily. He did not deserve to know happiness again. Rosamunde should not think of him. Sir Jonathan was a good man and he would make her happy. Far better she married him than remain a tempting morsel for someone like Baron Sigmund to snap up. When Raphael left the castle on the King’s business, Rosamunde and Jonathan might come to know each other better and the problem would be solved.

Ruthlessly, he pushed all warmer feelings to one side. Love made a man weak. He would not permit himself to care for a woman again.

* * *

Rosamunde glanced at her companion. Raphael had been silent throughout the meal, as different from the man who had shown her where to find the blackberries as it was possible to be. What had changed? Why had he withdrawn from her?

‘We made a rich jelly with the blackberries,’ she told him as he looked at her. ‘It will be added to sauces and puddings. The fungi were added to the pottage this evening, my lord. Did you notice the enhanced flavour of the gravy?’

Raphael frowned. ‘You are an excellent chatelaine, lady. I think you will make someone a good wife.’

‘I told you I had no expectation of marriage, my lord,’ she said shortly, somewhat taken aback.

‘You should not underestimate yourself, Rosamunde. I dare say more than one of my knights would look favourably on you if you encouraged them,’ he continued.

‘I should not dream of doing so, sir. I have no dowry to offer and I shall be no man’s doxy!’ she exclaimed.

‘I meant marriage. Sir Wilfred lost his wife six months since and looks for a mother for his three children. Sir Thomas is a little old for you, but he needs a gentle lady to nurse him through his last years and has monies enough not to care for your dowry. And, of course, there is our minstrel, my friend Sir Jonathan. He would be a fine match for any lady,’ Raphael persevered.

‘I think you jest with me,’ Rosamunde said in a reproachful tone. ‘None of these gentlemen have shown me any particular attention, nor should I welcome it. You know my situation, sir. I must care for my father whilst he lives.’

‘And afterwards?’

‘I shall think of that when the time comes.’

‘It may be too late. You should consider marriage to a man who would care for your father and protect you both. You should look about you more, lady. You might be surprised. At least one of the gentlemen I mentioned might offer marriage if you smiled at him,’ he hinted.

Rosamunde shook her head firmly. She could not meet his gaze, because she felt that he was warning her she must not look to him for marriage. Why should he feel that necessary? Had she inadvertently given him a
sign that she encouraged his attentions? She lifted her head proudly.

‘If you permitted me I should leave tomorrow for my home. I do not see why a small escort cannot be provided, my lord. There is no need for you to trouble yourself,’ she said.

‘I was commanded to hold you here, lady. Would you have me disobey the prince?’ he asked quietly.

Her startled gaze flew to his. ‘Then I am a prisoner after all?’

‘Nay, lady.’ Raphael smiled. ‘I but tease you. I must leave in another day or so. I take an escort with me and could not spare men to take you home now.’

Rosamunde felt tears sting her eyes but she refused to let them fall. ‘I would not be a trouble to you, sir. Had you not dismissed Fitzherbert, he might have seen me safely home.’

‘One man could not protect you.’ Raphael’s look was intense. ‘Your beauty makes you a valuable prize. Some would seek to hold you for ransom, others to use you for their own ends. You are safer here until I decide what should become of you.’

Her head went up and she shot him a fiery glare. ‘Who gave
you
the right to decide my future?’

‘You delivered yourself to me as a hostage for your uncle’s release,’ Raphael said simply. ‘It was of your own choosing.’

‘Now I choose to leave,’ Rosamunde said and would have risen. She knew that tears were close and she wanted to weep in private. His hand moved to clasp her
wrist, restraining her. She felt his strength and looked into his eyes. ‘Pray let me go to my chamber.’

‘Not until you give your word that you will not be foolish enough to try and run away,’ he stated flatly.

‘I have already told you that I shall do nothing foolish. Besides, I do not think I should get far on foot—and I would not be permitted to take my horses and leave, would I?’ she scowled.

Raphael smiled as her beautiful green eyes flashed with temper. ‘I have made you angry, but I must have your word before I leave here to conduct my business. You are under my protection and I would not have harm come to you.’

‘It can matter little to you what happens to me,’ she snapped.

‘There you are wrong. I already have one sweet lady’s death on my conscience. I would not have yours too.’ He released her wrist. ‘Go, then, for I cannot prevent you if you wish to leave. Yet I would ask you to wait here until after Christ’s Mass. In the New Year I may have time to take you to your father.’

‘Very well, my lord. I shall wait for you to take me home. I gave my word to my father before and I do not break a promise lightly.’

With a toss of her head, Rosamunde walked away from him. She was foolish to care for him but he had made his feelings plain enough; he did not return her regard. She was under his protection but he valued his honour more than her.

She was not sure why that should hurt so much. She
realised she had always loved the youth who had saved her kitten, but this man was a very different person indeed. It should not matter to her what he felt for her—yet it did.

T
hree days later Rosamunde decided that she would make an inventory of the linen, pewter and silver. Now that the mending was done, and for the moment they had used all the fruit and herbs they had, Lilia was idle for much of the time; she was sulking because Beth had been married to Ferdie before they’d both left for Rosamunde’s home.

‘It is not fair,’ she grumbled to her mother within Rosamunde’s hearing. ‘Beth was a year younger than me. I should have been the first to wed.’

‘Your sister has been fortunate. Had it not been for the lady Rosamunde, she would’ve had to wait many years. Stop your complaining, daughter. Do your work well, and then perhaps a match may be made for you,’ Elspeth advised her.

‘I could not spare you just yet,’ Rosamunde told the disgruntled girl tactfully. ‘Soon we shall have more leisure
and then I shall ask you to help sew the wall hangings. Perhaps we can find some material to make new gowns for both you and your mother.’

Lilia looked more cheerful at that thought and the three women spent the morning checking chests of linen, the coffers and cupboards where silver and pewter used for the table were stored. They counted all the platters, cups, ewers, goblets, porringers and dishes, Rosamunde making a note of the lists in a ledger she had begged from Mellors.

It was when they came to take account of the silver and other valuables in the hall that Rosamunde noticed a small silver urn was missing from a niche in the wall where it normally stood. She made a note, remembering that it had been there two nights previously, and when she took her lists to Mellors she mentioned it to him.

‘Are you sure the urn is not there?’ he asked and frowned, glancing through the lists. ‘These will be useful, my lady. I cannot be certain, but I believe more than one item of value has gone missing of late.’

‘You think there is a thief in the castle?’ she asked with concern.

‘I suspected it before but no accounting has been done for years. Sometimes things are mislaid and then reappear, but I shall mention my suspicions to my lord,’ the steward promised.

‘The urn was definitely there two nights ago for I stopped to admire the work; it was beautifully chased around the rim,’ she said.

Mellors examined the lists again and frowned once
more. ‘In the coffer where the silver is kept—you saw no sign of a chalice with garnets and turquoise set into the silver?’

‘No, I am certain it was not there.’ Rosamunde saw that he looked worried. ‘Who would steal from Lord Mornay?’

‘I do not know, my lady, but I shall make him aware of what is happening here.’

‘If you wish it, my ladies and I could make an inventory of the armoury,’ she offered.

‘I think I shall set men I trust to do that, my lady. Now you have begun, I think it wise to check everything in the castle. The old lord was lax and did not care as he ought. Things are different now and I would not have my master cheated.’

‘Then we shall leave the armoury to you, sir. May I give you a list for the market? If you bring me sugar and fruit I can have the women make preserves to last you throughout the winter. I shall not be here then, but if preparations have been made you will have much of what you need,’ she said.

‘Soon we shall be into winter and it will be time to kill some of the cattle for salting. The huntsmen will bring in wild boar to salt. I would be grateful if you could oversee it, my lady. Last year little was done and we had to rely on domestic pigs that were needed for rearing this spring. It meant we had to buy replacements this year and had to be satisfied with inferior stock,’ the steward explained.

‘I shall see that sufficient is put aside for your needs,

sir, but I do not know when my lord may have time to take me home. He spoke of the New Year, so I believe I shall spend Christ’s Mass here with you,’ she told him.

‘When Lady Mornay was alive we had a big feast at the castle and the leavings were distributed to the poor of the village, together with a silver penny,’ Mellors said.

‘That is a good custom,’ she said with approval. ‘If my lord permits, we shall do so again this year.’

‘My lord may not be here, lady, but it could still be done if you were to stand in his place,’ he advised.

‘I should be happy to do so,’ Rosamunde said. ‘He spoke of leaving three days ago on business but as yet…’ She sighed. ‘I dare say estate business hath kept him here.’

‘Yes, mayhap. Thank you for the lists, my lady. They are useful.’ He bowed and then left.

Rosamunde had been working all day and decided that she would take a turn in the fresh air before going up to change into a clean gown for the evening. Each night she had expected to hear Raphael say that he was leaving the next morning but still he delayed—why? She could not flatter herself that it was for her sake, so why did he not leave as he’d intended? Was he concerned about something?

She wandered through the inner bailey, hearing the hammer of iron on steel as the armourer sweated at his furnace. There were small workshops everywhere, craftsmen busy at their trade. The cooper was fitting iron bands to specially weathered casks that would
be used for storing the ale the brewer had fermenting in vats. Here in the castle they were self-sufficient in many things, though she knew that Raphael had had fruit brought in from Normandy, and also wine and dates from the markets in London. Most of the fish they ate came from their own stewponds, and the geese, ducks, capon, beef and pork were supplied by the lord’s own farms. As yet there were no sheep on the sloping fields that lay to one side of the castle, which meant that they could not make their own cloth unless wool was brought in.

Rosamunde thought that if she lived here she would wish to have sheep grazing the rich grass so that they could make their own homespun. Of course, Raphael bought in silks, brocades and fine materials from the merchants who frequented the various fairs or had shops in the larger towns, but for the most part the people wore homespun; it was expensive to buy cloth when they could spin and weave their own.

Lost in contemplation, she had wandered towards one of the outhouses that should have been used for storing fleeces when she heard the voices.

‘I saw them making an inventory,’ one voice said. ‘If Mellors makes an inventory of the armoury, he will discover that swords and pikes have gone missing. He will not stop looking until he discovers the culprits. I think we should take what we can tonight and leave.’

‘Since Sir Raphael came home he has kept the key to the strongbox on his person. I thought he might lay it down in an unguarded moment but as yet there has
been no chance to steal anything of real value. That urn was hardly worth the bother. Perhaps you are right; Sigmund would offer us work more to our taste. We shall take what we can and leave this night.’