Vow of Deception (25 page)

At a sudden shout upon the castle walls, Rand whipped his head around. A guard on the battlements pointed to the northwest. Rand dashed to the stairs leading up to the castle wall walk and climbed up them two at a time. Once atop the parapet, he shielded his eyes against the late afternoon sun and saw about twenty men, women, and children running for the protection of the castle walls. A band of Welsh rebels on horseback was behind them in fast pursuit.

An agonized cry rent the air; a boy stumbled to his knees, an arrow piercing through his thigh. His mother, holding his hand as she ran, was yanked to a stop. She grabbed the boy around the waist to carry him along.

“Archers to arms!” Rand shouted.

Arrows continued to rain down on the peasants. The woman dragging her son jerked as an arrow pierced her torso. She fell dead, another arrow slicing through the boy's throat. They crumpled in a pile clutching each other.

When Rand saw a phalanx of crossbowmen emerge from the gatehouse onto the parapet, he ran back down to the outer bailey and ordered his knights and men-at-arms to mount up.

As all hands readied their mounts to ride, Rose emerged from the stillroom brushing the back of her hand across her forehead. “Rand, what is happening?”

“Rose, I don't have time, rebels have—”

The whishing sound of longbow arrows hummed through the air. A shiver of fear raced down his back. “Get down, Rose!” he cried, then crouched down over her into a tight ball and braced his shield above their heads. An arrow
thunked
into the leather-covered wooden shield. Half a dozen arrows pierced the ground around them, fletching quivering. Beneath him he could feel Rose shuddering in fright.

Shouts and chaos reigned as servants rushed to seek cover.

Catching Justin's eye, Rand shouted, “Raise the portcullis and lower the drawbridge! Then prepare to ride out! I'll be back in a moment!”

He turned back to Rose. “Come, we head for the Keep.”

Under cover of a return volley of bolts from Ayleston's crossbowmen, Rand pulled Rose up and propelled her backward using his shield for protection. “Where is Jason?”

Her eyes glazed with fright. “He's supposed to be in the chapel with Brother Michael. But you know how he…Oh, God—”

“Easy, Rose. Do not make trouble where there is none.” He shifted and began heading in the direction of the chapel. “We'll go—” She yanked out of his arms before he could complete his thought and raced unprotected toward the chapel. “Rose! Damnation,” he cursed in his fear and chased after her.

She pulled the arched chapel door open and scurried inside the hushed, darkened interior. Rand, on her heels, grabbed the open door and shut it behind him.

“Mama. Mama.” Jason shimmied out from behind a table next to the wall and raced to her with his arms outstretched. “I heard the fighting. Brother Michael would not let me go to you. He said it was too dangerous.”

“Brother Michael was correct,” she said, breathless, and knelt down wrapping her arms around Jason. “'Tis not safe for you to be outside right now.”

“But who is going to protect you from the bad people if I don't?”

Rand clutched Jason's shoulder. “Never fear, Jason. I shall always protect you and your mother from danger. Now, I need you to do something very important. Until the fighting is over, I want you to stay here with your mother where 'tis safe. Can you do that, for me?”

“Aye, Sir Rand. I shan't fail you.”

“Good, son. You are a very brave boy.”

Rand turned and headed for the chapel exit.

“Rand, wait.”

Rand spun around and Rose, unable to stop her forward momentum, collided with him. He clutched her shoulders and looked down into her eyes. Concern shadowed her eyes to a dark blue.

“What is it, Rose?”

Drawing a deep breath, Rose shot up onto her toes and, clutching his waist, pressed her slightly parted lips to his. Desire and tenderness swirled deep in his gut.

Rose drew her head back—briefly, her soft breaths mingled with his deeper ones—then she dropped back down and took two steps backward. “Be careful, Rand.”

 

Rose left Jason's chamber, and for the third time that night, she marched to her bedchamber window, threw open the shutters, and stared out into the night seeking any sign that Rand had returned. Cool night air rushed across her skin raising goose bumps on her arms. She pressed her fist against her stomach to quell the worry roiling inside her. The quiet crackling of the fire could not soothe the tension that strung her as taut as a bowstring, even as her emotions threatened to burst free from her tightly constrained control.

Fear for Rand's safety paralyzed her. Somewhere out there he was pursuing the rebels who'd attacked Ayleston, exposing himself to the lethal accuracy of Welsh longbow arrows and ambush tactics.

“My lady?” said Edith, who emerged from Jason's chamber. “The little lord is abed, sleeping. You missed supper. I know you are worried. But you should eat something. Shall I go to the kitchen and get you a small repast before you retire?”

“Aye, go ahead. And bring a flagon of wine, too.” Rose was not hungry, but she wished to be alone to sort out her thoughts.

Edith left, closing the chamber door.

After closing the shutters, Rose went into the other bedchamber and stared down at her sleeping son. He lay on his back, his right thumb in his mouth. Her heart turned over. Her precious son might never know his father should aught happen to Rand. A sob crawled up the back of her throat and escaped. Rose clutched her hand over her mouth to still her rising emotions. Nay. She would not come undone.

She bent down, smoothed Jason's curls off his forehead, and kissed his soft, sweet-smelling skin. Someone from her chamber called out, “Rose, my dear.”

A chill raced down her spine. The voice sounded oddly like Bertram's. She entered her bedchamber and glanced around. The room was empty. At a scratching sound on the chamber door, Rose spun toward it.

The male voice called out again. “Rose, dear, come to me.”

She rushed to the door and threw it open, then looked both ways down the hall. The voice came again from the spiral stairwell. “Rose, come to me.”

“Whoever is playing this silly game, I do not appreciate it.” As her heart pounded wildly, she lied, “Nor am I afraid, if that is what you seek.”

“Then come, my dear.”

The torch at the stair landing had been snuffed out. Rose hastened to the end of the darkened corridor, refusing to show her fear. When she reached the top of the spiral stairs, she hesitated. An eerie masculine voice echoed up the stairwell. “Why, Rose? Why did you kill me?”

Rose cried out, “I did not kill you!” then rushed down the spiral stairs to catch the culprit who had played such a cruel trick on her.

As she approached the bottom stair, she spotted a pool of blood on the worn stone stair, “murderer” written in blood on the wall beside it. She jerked to a halt, a strangled moan bursting from her lips.

Heart palpitating like a trapped animal's, she spun around and ran up the stairs intending to lock herself in her chamber until Edith returned. But when she reached the landing, she noticed the door to the private chapel was ajar. Rose gaped, shocked. She was sure she'd locked the chamber the last time she was inside. No one else had the key.

Cautiously, a hand to her throat, Rose pushed open the door and took several steps inside. The chamber door thudded closed behind her. She whirled around, her heart racing triple time, and stared aghast. Piercing a piece of parchment was the extorter's dagger, which was embedded in the thick wooden door. But this time, Jason's stone necklace hung from the blade too.

Nay!
The cry echoed inside her head. Rose snatched the dagger and retrieved the necklace and parchment. Hand shaking, she unfolded the message, angled it into the moonlight, and read the familiar slanted scrawl.

After a moment of stunned denial, her scream shattered the silence.

She ran out of the chamber. A sharp pain exploded inside her skull. White light flared briefly. Then darkness descended.

“Rose? Can you hear me? Rose!” Rand's voice penetrated the heavy blackness pressing down on Rose.

He softly patted her face and called her name again. She groaned, blinking, a nagging sense of alarm pricking her sluggish awareness. Pain reverberated inside her head, but she forced her eyes open. Gazing up, she saw her brocaded canopy. Beneath her, the soft mattress enveloped her body and her lavender-scented pillow supported her pounding head.

Rand sat beside her on the bed, his soft gray-green eyes shadowed with concern. “Praise the Lord. You are awake.”

“Water,” she managed to croak.

Rand fluffed the pillows behind her back and helped her to sit up. Someone handed him a chalice of water, and he supported her shoulders as he tipped the cup to her lips. She gulped several drinks, causing water to dribble down her chin. Rand gently wiped her chin with a linen cloth, which lay beside the basin on the table nearby.

“Thank you, Rand.”

She strained to remember what had happened, and winced with pain. She reached up and felt the painful lump on the back of her skull. “What's wrong? What happened to me? Why am I in bed?”

Alarm glimmered in his green-gray gaze. “Do you not remember, Rose? Can you tell us what happened?” He nodded behind him. “Edith found you outside the private chapel. You were lying on the floor unconscious.”

Edith, wringing her hands, moved next to Rand in the lamplight, where Rose could see her. “Aye, milady. Don't you remember? I went down to the kitchen to get you a late-night repast. When I left you, you were here in your bedchamber.”

Rose frowned. “Of course. I remember now. You left and I went to check on Jason in his cham—”

A whimper escaped Rose as her memory rushed back with frightening accuracy. “Oh, God, Rand.” She reached out and clutched his forearm. “Where is Jason? Have you checked on him? Is he all right?”

Rand's features were a stiff mask; beneath her hand his muscles tensed. “Rose, I am sorry,” he said, his voice thick with guilt. He pulled something from his purse and pressed it into her hand. It was Jason's stone necklace.

Rose screamed, “Nay!”

She jumped from bed and slipped past Rand before he could stop her. She stumbled. Excruciating pain jabbed her skull, but she managed to tug the chamber curtain aside and lurch to Jason's bed. It was empty, the sheets cold. Her legs collapsed and she fell to her knees.

Rand hurried after Rose. She cried out in denial again and again. “Nay. He cannot be gone. He cannot. Not my precious baby.” Sobs racked her body as she crawled onto Jason's bed and clutched his pillow to her face.

He sat down beside her and gathered her in his arms. A convulsive breath shuddered through her; she clutched him tightly and curled up in his lap. He rubbed up and down her back, trying to soothe her pain, but he knew nothing would allay her fears until he returned Jason safely into her arms. And he knew exactly where to start.

The burning anger in his chest expanded.
'Twas that bastard Golan.
Rand had no doubt the man had abducted Jason. He just could not figure out how the wretch had accomplished it. But it no longer mattered. All Rand's energies were concentrated on finding Golan and forcing him to confess where he was holding the boy. He could not even contemplate that it might be too late; that Jason might already be dead. He had to believe Golan was simply using the boy as a pawn in order to draw Rand into a trap and kill him.

He had no intention of falling into a trap orchestrated by Golan. When they met, only one of them would come away from the confrontation alive. Should Rand not survive, he'd made a contingency plan to see Golan dead so he would never be able to harm Rose again.

Rose's sobs quieted and her breathing became deep and even. Rand kissed the top of her bare head. He inhaled deeply the lavender and rose scent of her silky copper hair. His body quickened at the soft feel of her breasts cushioned against his chest and her buttocks pillowing his burgeoning flesh. He shifted, embarrassed at his reaction.

To hide his response, he lifted Rose and took her into her bedchamber. He glanced around but Edith was gone. Rand laid her down on the bed, then sat beside her and brushed back the fiery locks of her hair. The gold highlights shimmered in the lamplight.

Slowly, she eased her white-knuckled grip open, revealing the stone necklace he had found by her body. “'Tis Jason's. I gave it to him. He always carries it with him.” Her voice was raspy with misery.

Rand swallowed the clot of emotion in the back of his throat. “I promise, Rose,” he said, his voice laced with steely resolve, “I shall get Jason back and see Golan dead for daring to lay a hand on your son. I have already made arrangements. I leave at first light.”

Her eyes gazed up at him crystalline with her tears. He saw sadness, guilt, and love reflected back at him. His breath caught; his heart beat a rapid tattoo. Surely it was not love he saw reflected in her gaze, for at that moment, the blue depths of her eyes sparked with a ruthless light of determination. She reached over and placed the necklace on the table. Then turning back to him, she cupped both his cheeks in her palms and drew his face down to hers. He told himself to pull back, that Rose was vulnerable, was not in her right mind, and knew not what she was doing.

Just as she knew not what she asked of him all those years ago, when, in her grief for her brother, Alex, whom they all had believed was dead, she'd begged Rand to make love to her.

Now her desire-glazed eyes dropped to his mouth. Her pink tongue darted out and slowly licked her plump bottom lip to a glistening ruby red. As she swirled her tongue over her upper lip next, he imagined that tongue licking his erect flesh. Pleasure stabbed sharp and swift, and his phallus jerked.

Rand inhaled then exhaled to control his rampaging desire. But temptation was too great. A ragged groan escaped him and he pressed his lips to her softer, fuller, irresistible bowed lips. A soft moan skimmed his mouth when she deepened her kiss. With a patience he never knew he had, Rand allowed Rose to control the pace of the kiss, marveling at the wonder and joy thrumming through his heart at her bold yet shy explorations.

Rose reclined on the bed, pulling Rand down on top of her. His powerful chest muscles flexed against her breasts, radiating a tingling heat into the sensitive flesh of her nipples, making them harden into stiff points. The pressure and strength of him emboldened her. She reached down between their bodies and clasped her hand over the hard ridge of flesh pressing against her thigh.

Rand groaned long and low and surged up into her hand. He pulled his head back and stared questioningly into her eyes. “I have to know, Rose. Are you sure this is what you want? You're hurting and vulnerable right now. I don't want you to regret what we do, as you did last time we—”

She shook her head and pressed two fingers to his lips. A need unlike any she'd ever experienced demanded she explore it. “Nay, Rand. I have never been surer of anything in my life. I'm tired of being afraid. Golan has taken Jason from me.” Her voice quivered with distress, but she bravely continued, “And you are going into danger to retrieve him. God forfend, should something happen to you or Jason, I do not want to look back and remember naught but my fear and terror. I want you to make love to me, nay, need you to. My only regret would be if you walk away from me now without showing me how much you truly want me. Unless…Do you still want me?”

“Oh, God. You cannot truly know how much.”

“Then show me, won't you?” Her voice trembled, a small part of her still unsure whether he wanted her. As desperately, as recklessly, as passionately as she wanted him.

But Rand erased all her doubts when, his gaze searing hers, he crushed her to him and slanted his lips boldly over her mouth. His kiss was wild and passionate and hot. Then his tongue delved between her lips and seized her tongue in a velvety, seductive caress.

He groaned deeply. She moaned softly.

Rose had not lied about why she wanted Rand to make love to her. But she had not told him the whole truth either. Golan's note had demanded she tell no one of her sacrifice to rescue Jason. It was up to Rose to save her son. And she would gladly give up her life for Jason.

She loved her son so much she would die in order that he would live and be safely returned to his father. But until now, she'd never realized how strong she was. If she could face death, she knew her fears of intimacy were as inconsequential as fairy dust.

Indeed. Once she falsely confessed to murdering Bertram, however many days she had remaining to her, she wanted to look back on her life without regrets. To remember that she had been loved and cherished by Rand, at least as much as he would ever allow himself to love a woman.

Rand quickly divested them of their clothing. Stripped down to her chemise, Rose tugged Rand's sherte over his head. Then he stood beside the bed, and, after untying the lace in the rolled band of his braies, he shoved them with his hose down to his ankles and stepped out of them.

She slowly perused his naked body, the glow from the hanging bedside lamp shimmering him with light and shadow. With his shoulders arched, Rand stood still, proudly displaying his form while she examined every exquisite muscle and tendon and sinew of his superb body, from his broad shoulders, to his narrow waist, to his thick, muscular thighs and sturdy calves.

But her eyes were drawn like a magnet to the thick shaft that sprang up from a nest of dark blond hair. Thick veins pulsing with blood twined around the tumescent, vermilion flesh. Ready to possess her. Ready to cherish her.

Rose shot her gaze up to Rand, her eyes wide and expectant. Rand removed her chemise, the last barrier, and crawled into bed with her. Then he shocked her when he turned onto his back, grabbed her waist, and rolled her on top of him. She sat on him, loins touching loins, her thighs splayed around his hips.

Her hair cascaded down around them. He grabbed a section, brought it to his nose and whiffed. A ragged moan emerged from his lips. She felt it rumble all the way down in his stomach and quiver in her feminine core with a tingling heat.

Then he cupped her cheek and stared into her eyes. His intense gaze deepened to the vivid green of a forest, which she nearly got lost in. “You are beautiful, Rose. Absolutely, breathtakingly beautiful.” His voice was a raspy caress.

The air whooshed from her lungs. Her chest rose rapidly to catch her breath. Her heart filled with love and longing. And of regret—for what could have been, and for selfishly denying Rand his son.

He draped her hair back over her shoulders, exposing her breasts to his gaze. He stared as though spellbound, eyes glittering with desire, and then slowly lifted them to hers. Delving deeply into her eyes, he reached up and covered her breasts with his hands, massaging and kneading them. “Your breasts were made for me alone. See how perfectly they conform to my hands.”

Her breasts swelled. She bit her lip as his palms abraded the aching peaks. His hand drifted down her stomach, in a slow, smooth caress. Her breath hitched when two fingers glided along her slick folds and plunged inside her sheath. Caressing her until she gasped in pleasure. Wet, she drenched his fingers.

She blushed, embarrassed. Bertram had upbraided her for the same reaction. “I am sorry. I did not mean to do that.”

She rose partway to get off him, but Rand clutched her hips.

“Nay, don't move. You haven't done anything wrong. The moisture is your body's natural response, which allows me to enter you without you feeling pain. How can that be wrong?”

She chewed the corner of her lip and nodded. For too long she had allowed Bertram control over her thoughts and feelings, but she would no longer give him the power to reach from the grave to denigrate and demean her. She wiggled her hips. “What do you want me to do?”

“Take me inside you, Rose,” he said, his voice hoarse. “Ride me. That way you control the pace. You direct me on the course we pursue.”

Rose's eyes widened in surprise, but she did as he said, her eyes downcast with shyness. Rising onto her knees, she took him in her hand. His member, hard yet encased in velvety softness, seared her hand. She poised the bulbous head at her entry and slid down on him in one smooth, luxurious stroke.

Rand clutched her hips, groaning. His hands rotated her, grinding her against him. Her inner flesh rippled with contractions and she moaned.

“Jesu, you feel amazing, incredible. Why did we wait so long to do this?”

Rose smiled with a teasing grin. “Because you are amazingly stubborn and I am incredibly hardheaded?”

A deep chuckle rumbled through him, the vibrations quivering along his shaft and setting off a hot shivery caress between her thighs. She gasped, a breathy moan of surprise and pleasure.

With an instinct born of pent-up desire, she withdrew all the way to the tip of his shaft, then drove down again. Awkwardly at first, her movements slow and unsure, she thrust up and down his smooth shaft. His masculine scent of leather and pine mingled with the essence of their musky desire ensorcelled her. Soon she caught on to an exquisite rhythm that had him moaning in ecstasy, her back arched as she leaned back on one hand to give her leverage, hips pumping up and down in a wild gyration; the friction and heat of him inside sparked fire along her flesh.

Rose stared down at Rand; his tender gaze held hers, conveying his love and joy at the beauty of their joining. Then he lifted his hands off her hips, clutched her shoulders, and pulled her down to him. His lips seared into hers, her breasts cushioned against his hard strength. She gloried in this moment—their hearts beat as one. Gloried at her newfound courage to break free from the bonds of her abusive past.

Rose met the wild thrusts of Rand's flanks, the slap of the flesh of their bodies humming in her ears along with their panting breaths.

“Rose, oh, God, look at me, love.” His desperate voice thrilled her. “I'm almost there. I need you with me.”