Hostage Bride (9 page)

* * *

Rosamunde stared at herself in her hand mirror, wishing that she might see her face more clearly. Angelina was so very beautiful. Rosamunde wished that she might be as lovely. For the first time since her arrival at the castle, she had lost the feeling of apprehension that had hung over her after leaving her cousin.

Raphael might bear his father’s title but she did not think him cruel or depraved. He seemed to be an honourable man, though stern and sometimes fierce. She could not doubt that his experiences in the Holy Land had changed him from the merry, laughing youth he’d been when they had first met, but when he laughed she could still see something of the brave squire that had saved her from the dog’s fangs.

She had no time to dwell on such things for if she were late he might come to fetch her. Rosamunde had begun to feel relaxed and even content. The work she’d done that day had been hard, and much of it useless, since the rags would be thrown away and most of the
other garments given to the poor of the village once she had mended them. However, she was used to work, and had found a sense of purpose. When she had the leisure to work on the embroidery, her life would be much as it might have been had her mother lived and her father not lost all his money.

Her mother had always been busy, directing the servants, overseeing the making of preserves and salting meat for the winter. She had also made cures for many ailments and Rosamunde had her recipes which she prepared and used whenever someone came to her for help. If Raphael would permit her, she would like to be useful here in that capacity too. She had already noticed one or two servants with small afflictions that she was certain she could ease, if not cure.

Walking down the twisting stairs, she was thoughtful. The life of a chatelaine was busy and fulfilling. To live in the castle would be pleasant enough if she were not anxious for her father. At least here Angelina was not constantly looking over her shoulder and complaining about her work.

The men had not yet taken their places at table that night. She heard a buzz of laughter and, glancing round, saw that two of the servants were laughing together. Her gaze travelled round the room, noticing the smiles and air of well being. Raphael’s men seemed content to serve their master.

He was waiting for her. As she approached him, he gave the nod and a horn was sounded. The men moved towards their places as he held out his hand.

‘That colour becomes you well, lady,’ he said. ‘You should wear green more often.’

‘My cousin gave me this gown when I came here. I could not have afforded to buy it, because the cloth is too costly,’ she remarked.

‘She wished to fool my father into believing you were her,’ Raphael said and did not smile. ‘I think your cousin did you no favours, lady.’

‘At first she was kind but then she seemed to resent me—I do not know why,’ she admitted frankly.

‘Perhaps she realised that your beauty outshone hers.’

‘No, how can you say it? You have seen Angelina; you know she is very beautiful!’ Rosamunde exclaimed with a little laugh.

‘She has a certain appeal,’ he replied seriously. ‘However, I think your beauty runs deeper.’

‘You think my character is more steadfast,’ Rosamunde said. ‘I will admit that my cousin is a little spoiled by her father, but she is lovely none the less.’

‘I would not deny it.’

He led her to her seat, waited for her to be seated and then took his place beside her. Immediately, the servants began to bring a succession of rich dishes to the table. Seeing that a sucking pig had been served to them, Rosamunde accepted a slice of the sweet dish, holding it daintily with her fingers to eat and then dipping them in the little bowl of water supplied by a page.

‘You hunt with the hawks tomorrow, and we had venison yesterday, so you hunt deer and boar with your
men sometimes—but what of your larder, sir? Do you salt meat for the winter?’

‘We must certainly make preparations before then. Perhaps when the women come from the village, you might teach them what to do—in case you are not here when the time comes.’

‘Yes, of course, if you wish it. However, I must see my father before the autumn is done. He may not last the winter. I fear he was quite ill when I visited him on my way here.’

‘I am sorry for that, lady. I promised you before that I shall send someone to see he has all he needs. You have my word on it,’ he vowed.

‘Thank you.’

Rosamunde ate a dish of quinces and curds. Her companion seemed to have lapsed into thoughtful silence and she left him to his contemplation, looking about her with interest. She thought that some of the walls had been freshly cleaned and the hangings changed. Raphael’s father had neglected his hall, but now that the son was home the servants were inspired to work harder.

She sighed, thinking of her father’s hall. She ought to be there, caring for him and making sure that the servants did their work properly.

‘That was a deep sigh. A silver penny for your thoughts, lady.’ Raphael smiled.

‘I was wondering how my father fared. It is nothing to concern you, my lord. I do not wish to weep and
cause you trouble. I know you have concerns enough,’ she said.

‘It is true that I have much to occupy me, but I have time enough to listen to your worries.’

She shook her head and turned away as Raphael’s personal body-servant offered her a dish of almond cakes sweetened with honey and dates.

‘These are delicious. I tried one last night and much enjoyed them!’ she exclaimed, smiling at the man in pleasure.

‘These were prepared for my lord’s lady,’ Janquil said, his expression inscrutable. ‘It was noticed that the dish pleased you.’

‘Oh. I’m not…’ Rosamunde floundered and stopped, her cheeks warming at the remark about her being ‘my lord’s lady’. ‘You are Janquil, are you not?’

‘Yes, lady. I serve my lord and I shall serve you with my life.’

There was such intensity in his tone that she was startled. Did he imagine that she was in danger?

He placed the dish in front of her and Rosamunde took another cake, nibbling it with pleasure. One of the men had risen from table. He was dressed in Raphael’s colours of blue, silver and black and he held a viol, which he began to strum. Instantly, a hush fell as he strolled towards their table, his rich voice seeming to fill the hall. His song was of love and the deeds of brave men and their ladies. Approaching the high table, he finished his song, bowed to Rosamunde and smiled.

‘My song is for you, lady. ‘Tis many a day since we
have had such beauty to enrich our lives. You are welcome amongst us.’

‘Thank you.’ Rosamunde smiled, feeling warmth spread throughout her body. ‘I thank you, sir. May I know your name?’

‘I am Jonathan de Vere, knight of the Crusades and loyal servant of the King. Raphael and I served together at Acre and returned to England with other friends.’

‘It was remiss of me not to introduce you before this,’ Raphael said. ‘Lady Rosamunde is to accompany us when we ride out with the hawks tomorrow, Jonathan. You shall have your opportunity to talk further with her then.’

Sir Jonathan inclined his head, smiled and struck another note on his viol. He began to sing again, this time a ditty sung by men before a fight, which was taken up across the benches by a hundred voices.

‘Our friend is charming, but heed his flattery at your peril. He breaks hearts, so I’ve heard,’ came a quiet voice she did not recognise. Rosamunde looked at the knight sitting to her right. It was the first time he had spoken to her and she had hardly been aware of him.

‘Sir Jonathan seems honest enough. I do not think I’ve heard your name, sir,’ she mentioned pointedly.

‘I am Sir Edmund Roth and I served Raphael’s father for some years. You were fortunate that the old lord died. You would not have been treated so leniently had Lord William lived.’ He leered at her in a way that sent shivers down her spine.

‘You know why I came here?’ she whispered.

‘It is common knowledge amongst those of us that served Lord William. You would not be the first lady to lose your honour in this hall. We had fine sport in the old days—but Lord William’s son is a very different man.’

Something in his manner made Rosamunde’s nape prickle. He was a strange man, threatening somehow. She was not certain that she trusted Sir Edmund and disliked the way he looked at her.

‘Tell me, sir, have you sworn allegiance to the new lord?’ she asked.

‘We all did on his return. Why do you ask?’

‘It was but an idle question. I wondered if you were content in his service. I dare say he has made changes,’ she commented lightly.

‘Aye, and more to come.’ Sir Edmund lapsed into a brooding silence and sipped his wine.

Rosamunde had a feeling that he was playing a waiting game, reserving judgment. Lord William Mornay had been utterly ruthless, quarrelling with his neighbours and imposing his will on others. But perhaps his way had suited some men more than others: men who saw profit for themselves in preying on the vulnerable. It was inevitable that when a lord made war on his neighbours some of the spoils would also fall to the men who served him.

‘If you have finished your meal you should go up, Rosamunde.’ Raphael’s words cut across her thoughts. ‘After your labours of the day you must be tired, and
I would have you rise early. We set out as soon as the sun is up.’

‘Then with your permission I shall leave you,’ she said. ‘Good night, my lord. I wish you pleasant dreams.’

‘And you, lady.’

He inclined his head. Rosamunde rose to her feet and walked away. She had an uncomfortable feeling that she was being watched by some hostile eyes. Raphael had returned to his father’s hall as the rightful lord, but she sensed that not all those who had taken service with him were pleased to see him home.

Had some of them imagined him dead, believing that they might continue in the old way and divide the spoils between them? On her way here she had been attacked by a band of rogues, and she knew that the barons quarrelled amongst themselves, often taking land and property from their neighbours by right of force.

Did Raphael have enemies within his stronghold—and did he know that all was not quite as tranquil as it seemed?

R
osamunde’s heart was racing with excitement as she went down to the courtyard the following morning where the men had gathered ready for the day’s sport. She saw that Sir Jonathan, Sir Edmund Roth and three other knights were to ride with them, besides three armed soldiers. The keeper of the hawks had gone on ahead to the flat sweep of grassland close to woods where the sport was to take place. He had conveyed the various hawks in a small cart, keeping them hooded so that they did not become over-excited. When Rosamunde and the party of knights arrived, he bowed low to Raphael and asked which bird he required.

‘Give me Jessamine,’ he said. When the keeper brought the female peregrine, he took the hood from her head holding his arm up so that Rosamunde could see her. ‘She is the best of my father’s hawks. I would wager on her skill above any other.’

‘I think my Romana will give your hawk a run for her money,’ Sir Edmund said, bending down to take his bird from the keeper. ‘What will you wager against your hawk taking more than mine?’

‘Fifty silver crowns,’ Raphael said. ‘If you care to wager so much.’

‘I’ll wager as much again on your bird, Raphael,’ Sir Jonathan said quietly, leaning towards Rosamunde so as not to be overheard. ‘‘Tis not the bird so much as the handler. Roth is a clumsy fool and treats his hawks ill. Watch and see if I am not right.’

Rosamunde smiled but made no answer. The other knights were wagering for and against the two hawks, two of them favouring Raphael’s bird, the other saying loudly that he was sure Sir Edmund’s Romana would win.

The servants were opening a wooden crate and two pigeons were let loose. Immediately the knights let their hawks fly. Jessamine was the first to strike and bring down her prey, but Romana seized the second. The hawks were recalled and given tiny slivers of meat to reward them for their work, and then, after a few minutes’ respite, another crate was opened and more pigeons were let free. The hawks went into the hunt and once again the birds were caught swiftly, first by Jessamine and then by Sir Edmund’s bird.

‘They are impossible to split but the target is too easy,’ Sir Jonathan said. ‘For a true test you should try them on something smaller. Let the sparrows free.’

Other voices were raised in agreement and the servants
opened a small cage letting half a dozen small birds fly free. The knights sent the hawks up and a merry chase began as they swooped and dived, trying to catch the smaller prey as it sped towards the wood in an effort to reach safety before the hawks could strike.

Jessamine swooped seconds before her prey reached a thick canopy where it might have found sanctuary, but Romana dived and missed, the sparrow narrowly escaping certain death as it disappeared into dense undergrowth.

Raphael’s bird brought her prey back to him and was rewarded by a treat. Sir Edmund’s hawk received a scowl and its hood was replaced without the customary reward.

‘Wretched bird,’ he muttered, then recollected and nodded his head to Raphael. ‘I must give you best, sir, on this occasion.’

Raphael smiled but made no comment. He sent his bird up again and watched it hover. No birds were let free for it to hunt and yet its keen eyes spotted a small bird feeding in the grass; it swooped, seizing the unwary songbird.

‘Enough for today, my lovely,’ Raphael murmured. ‘Come to me, my sweet lady. You have done your work.’

When Jessamine returned to his arm, he gave her to the keeper and selected another hawk. Turning to Rosamunde, he offered her the bird. She took it on her hand, waiting for the signal before letting her hawk fly. The other knights were also taking turns to fly various birds and the time passed swiftly.

When the hawks were all returned to the keeper, Raphael dismounted and invited Rosamunde to do the same. He took her to admire the birds and stroke them before the keeper took them back to their home in the aviary.