The Marriage Prize (37 page)

chamber, go immediately to where I have de Burgh trussed

and cut off his bal s."

Rodger de Leyburn descended to the Great Hal , retrieved his

sword, nodded curtly to Kenilworth's steward, and without a

backward glance, strode to the two horses tethered in the

bailey. He was acutely aware of the tal , slim figure that

fol owed on his heels, yet no one else paid the slightest

attention to the armor-clad squire, not even when he had

difficulty mounting his destrier. The two riders thundered

through the gate, and out along the causeway that provided

the only access to Kenilworth Castle.

Final y, Rodger al owed himself to turn in the saddle, and he

was just in time to see Rosamond topple from the big bay in a

dead faint. He dismounted in a flash and knelt beside her, his

heart pounding. The noseguard covered a good deal of her

face, but he could see that her eyes were closed. Rod lifted off

the helmet and was shocked to see how deathly pale

Rosamond looked.

He wanted to throttle her for forcing him to subject her to such

harsh treatment, yet at the same time a fierce protectiveness

rose up in him, bringing a lump to his throat. He unfastened

the straps of the breastplate and eased it from her body, then

he removed the mail

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chainse and shook her gently until her eyes opened.

"Rosamond, you fainted ... are you il ?"

"Nay," she said quickly, "the bloody armor was too heavy for me. Why did you play me such a devil's trick? If harm befal s

Sir Rickard de Burgh, I wil get even with you, so help me

God!"

Rodger was so angry he wanted to strike her. It savaged his

pride that she had obeyed him only because of the threats to

the Irish knight. "I notice you have not the least concern for

poor Griffin, who risked his life to help me rescue you."

"Rescue? It was an abduction, a kidnapping! Griffin deserves

his fate."

Rodger smoothed her disheveled hair back from her brow. "I

believe we al of us deserve our fate, Rosamond, even you."

He fastened Griffin's armor to the bay's saddle, then tethered

its reins to his own black stal ion. He took his rol ed-up cloak

from his saddlebag and wrapped it around his shivering wife.

Then he lifted her before him and set his spurs to Stygian's

flanks.

It was now ful dark, and Rodger de Leyburn knew Rosamond

needed a bed. He headed to Daventry, where he knew Baron

Bassing-bourne had a manor house. Rodger had no idea if

the baron was a king's man or a de Montfort man, but he was

ready to ask Bassingbourne's hospitality.

Warren de Bassingbourne was at home and offered Sir

Rodger and his wife shelter for the night. The young baron had

inherited his land and title just before the Welsh campaign,

and though the elder Bassingbourne had been a staunch

supporter of Earl Simon, Warren had not committed himself in

the civil dispute. Rodger sensed that here was an opportunity

to plant some seeds for the future, and after escorting

Rosamond to a smal bedchamber where the servants lit her a

fire and served her food, he descended and supped with the

young baron.

"You are Lord Edward Plantagenet's royal steward, Sir

Rodger. I was surprised that he broke his ties with Simon de

Montfort."

"It is against Edward Plantagenet's nature to be subordinate

to an earl, even Earl Simon. He wil be King Edward, the next

rightful King of England, when Henry's rule is done. Both

Simon de Montfort and King Henry are wel up in years. The

future belongs to men our age, Warren.

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Lord Edward wil have need of ambitious men and is

prepared to reward them wel ."

Warren de Bassingbourne knew he was being wooed, and de

Ley-burn's words conjured pictures of lands and castles. "Do

you believe that there wil yet be civil war, Sir Rodger?"

"I do. I realize that Daventry lies in the shadow of both

Kenilworth and Northampton and it may be easier to side with

the de Montforts, but the rewards would not be as great.

However, al ow me to extend the hospitality of Windsor to you,

Warren. Lord Edward wil welcome you with open arms."

When Rodger retired for the night, he found Rosamond stil

wrapped in his cloak, sitting before the dying embers of the

fire. "You should be abed; we have an exhausting journey

tomorrow."

In reply, she turned away from him and stared into the last

flickering flames.

Since she would have none of him, Rod, who was wise in the

ways of women, left her to her ruminations. He undressed,

climbed into bed, and blew out the candles. He knew that the

chamber would become increasingly cold once the fire was

dead, and anticipated that soon Rosamond would be glad to

slip into the warm bed.

Though she was exceedingly tired and cold, Rosamond sat

before the fireplace without moving. She stubbornly decided

to freeze to death rather than share a bed with de Leyburn.

She did not know how much time passed, but when she

awoke, she found herself pressed against the warm length of

her husband's body. She realized that Rodger must have

undressed her and carried her to bed once she had fal en

asleep. Rosamond almost jumped up in anger, then thought

better of it. The bed was soft and warm, and if she left it from

wil ful pride, she would be the only one to suffer. Far better to

pretend that she had not awakened.

Rosamond lay stil , wondering if what he had said was true.

Did she deserve her fate? Although she had used dragonwort

to prevent conception, she was nevertheless with child. They

had been intimate only that one night when she had not taken

the herb. Surely that was fate. She did not want a child for fear

the herb. Surely that was fate. She did not want a child for fear

of loving it and losing it, as happened to so many women.

Why, oh why had Rodger de Leyburn come into her

comfortable, secure life to turn it upside down?

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Her hand slid over her bel y. Already she loved the babe

fiercely. She had sworn that she would never love anyone

again, for to love something was to lose it. And slowly it

dawned upon her that sometimes emotions could not be

control ed, no matter how many vows and pledges were

made. Rosamond sighed deeply and moved closer to the

warm, powerful body of Rodger de Leyburn.

"I am so glad you are awake, chérie." Rod's voice, smooth

and dark as black velvet, insinuated itself inside her. His

fingers lifted her chin and he dipped his head to kiss her,

thoroughly. "I once told you I'd never let you go. Mayhap now

you believe me." He threaded his fingers into her heavy mass

of curls. "Next time, I'l drag you back by your beautiful hair, you wil ful little bitch, and if you run to Rickard de Burgh, I shal kil

him!"

Rosamond could hear the savage jealousy in his voice, and

the thril of it spiraled inside her in a delicious frisson of

pleasure. She knew he was in a mood to possess her, knew

he was about to put his brand of ownership on her. She

wanted it, and yet she did not want it, and turned away from

him to make his possession of her more difficult. Now al the

most vulnerable, intimate places on her body were open to his

wicked hands, and she knew instantly that she wanted him to

touch her. His nearness made her conscious of every pulse of

her heart.

From behind, his teasing hand came between her legs to

stroke the satin of her inner thighs with feathery light strokes.

He caressed her warm flesh from her knees to her cleft, over

and over, before his fingers separated the curls upon her

mons and slipped inside her. She knew she was hot and tight,

and his playful fingers soon had her wet and slippery. His

other hand captured one of her breasts, to toy with the nipple,

and Rosamond found it unbelievably sensitive. She drew in a

swift breath and his possessive touch turned gentle as he

stroked her nipple with his fingertips. Now he stroked two

buds, one above, the other below. She cried out his name,

using the diminutive he liked best when they made love. "Rod

... Rod!"

It was al the encouragement he needed. In a heartbeat, he

curved his long body about hers and plunged into her from

behind, holding her to him with hands that were clasped

possessively about her breasts. When she cried out from the

strange ful ness, he whispered against her ear, "Sweetheart,

open, take al of me." 216

Rosamond took a deep breath and yielded to him. When he

began to thrust, it aroused her to a higher pitch than she had

ever achieved before. He kept stroking her, plunging into her

until she was ready to scream with pleasure. She grabbed

fistfuls of the sheet beneath her, and arched her bottom high,

wanting to draw out the incredible throbbing that was building

inside her.

She heard Rod groan with pleasure, then both of them

erupted like a volcano, and she screamed as the hot lava

scalded her. Rosamond felt the intense shudder of pleasure

reach the tips of her breasts and quiver down the entire length

of her legs. She col apsed beneath him and loved the feel of

his weight ful upon her. She hadn't known it, but her need had

been as great as his. Dreamily she realized that Rod had

known how much she needed the loving, even if she hadn't.

Twenty

At Westminster, Alyce de Clare paced the luxurious apartment

that had been furnished for her father, the king's half-brother,

before the barons had forced greedy Guy de Lusignan from

England. She felt so caged, she was ready to scream and

smash things. Edward had not visited her once; moreover, her

father-in-law, Richard de Clare, had summoned her husband,

Gilbert, from Gloucester. The young firebrand had opened the

gates of Gloucester to Simon de Montfort, and his hot-

tempered father was ready to give him a tongue-lashing.

Alyce hated her husband with a passion, and had managed to

avoid him by coming to London. Now, however, Gilbert would

share her chambers and the Earl of Gloucester would no

doubt tel his son that it was time he produced an heir. Alyce,

who longed to rid herself of the fiery-tempered Gilbert, knew

she was shackled to him until death parted them, and as she

paced the room a simple solution to her problem presented

paced the room a simple solution to her problem presented

itself.

Alyce went to her dressing table and opened the drawer that

held her cosmetics. She opened the box that contained her

hel ebore seeds, which she used crushed up in a paste with

cowslips to remove spots and wrinkles from her porcelain

skin. Alyce knew that when hel ebore was ingested, it was

deadly poisonous. She took out four long, black seeds and

pulverized them with the heel of her shoe, then she sprinkled

the powder into the flagon of red Gascon wine that sat on a

table close by the fireplace in her sitting room.

When Gilbert the Red arrived, Alyce made a pretense of

welcoming him. His father had gone with Richard of Cornwal

to the Tower of London to deliberate with the king about the

Parliament that Simon de Montfort had cal ed for the fol owing

month. Alyce ordered a

218

hot meal for her young husband and poured him a goblet of

wine. Gilbert ate the food, but dispatched his squire for ale.

When his squire returned, he informed Gilbert that his father

had just arrived at Westminster and wished to see him

immediately.

Gilbert ignored the summons, dismissed his squire, and

proceeded to consume the entire gal on jug of ale that sat

before him. He stretched his legs to the fire and inwardly

filmed that his father stil treated him as a child. When the door

burst open, Gilbert was wel primed for a fight. When Alyce

burst open, Gilbert was wel primed for a fight. When Alyce

saw her father-in-law's purple face, she hurriedly withdrew to

the bedchamber.

"You ass-licking, brainless young dolt! When that cocksucking

de Montfort marched on my city of Gloucester, you opened the

fucking gates and welcomed the bastard inside. 'Tis a wonder

you didn't open our coffers and let the son of a bitch help

himself!"

"Simon de Montfort is the chosen leader of the barons. I

rejoice that he won the war! He is on the side of justice, and

so am I. King Henry is a spineless, craven weakling who has

broken every promise he ever made!"

"I, Richard of Gloucester, am the leading peer in this realm!

Have you the least notion of the humiliation I suffered when my

own flesh and blood aided de Montfort to take over my city?"

He cuffed Gilbert across the head. "Christ-al -fucking-mighty, I

should hang you for treason!" Gloucester, sweating profusely

with choler, snatched up the goblet of wine and drained it. "It's time you stopped playing soldier and got a son on your wife!"

"That faithless French slut you saddled me with isn't fit to be

the mother of my children!" Gilbert screamed, now more red in