Vow of Deception (27 page)

Rose blushed, knowing what the gesture implied. Bertram had forced Rose to watch as Lady Lydia had taken his aroused flesh inside her mouth and stimulated him until he spent his seed.

“Ahh, I see I have shocked the
innocent
Lady Rosalyn.”

Rose stiffened at the contemptuous emphasis Lydia placed on the word “innocent,” as though it were a curse.

Lydia laughed, the sound grating Rose's ears. “How I despised your innocence and verve for life from the moment I met you. Then when Bertram and I became lovers, I found the perfect opportunity to humiliate and demean you. I cleverly saw to it that he married you. That he stripped away your innocence just as my incestuous father stripped away mine,” she spat out bitterly.

Rose gasped at the horrific revelation. Lady Lydia's father, her own flesh and blood, had ravished her body? How could a father do such a thing? It was evil and corrupt. No wonder Lydia was diabolically manipulative of every man she met. She must truly loathe all men.

As she despised them? Rose marveled in sudden insight. Nay, she thought, she did not despise the whole male race. But Bertram had severely damaged her trust in men. It took Rand's patience and kind understanding to teach her not to hate indiscriminately based on one bad experience. That there were good men and bad men, as well as there were good women and corrupt women.

With sudden understanding, pity welled inside Rose's chest for the innocent girl Lydia had once been.

“Don't you
dare
pity me, Rosalyn Montague.” Lydia's delicate features twisted with hate. “You are the one to be pitied. It shall not be long ere you are convicted and sentenced to death for killing Bertram. I shall revel as I watch the flames consume your body at the stake.”

Rose blanched at the gruesome image, her pity forgotten. “Why, Lydia? You despised me for my innocence. But as you said, Bertram stripped me of my naïveté years ago. Why do you yet hate me? Contrary to what you believe, I did not kill Bertram. He tripped and fell down the stairs.”

Lydia shoved her face in Rose's. “You may not have pushed him down the stairs, but he is dead because of you,” she snarled. “If you had not been sneaking away from the castle that night, he would never have confronted you in the corridor to prevent you from leaving. And he would not have tripped and fallen when he moved to block your path at the top of the staircase.”

Rose gasped. Her hand flew to her neck. “How could you know what happened? Unless…”

Lydia spun away, sat down on the bed niche, and crossed her legs. “Aye. I saw the whole confrontation. When I heard you arguing with Bertram outside the chamber I shared with him, I opened the door to see what the commotion was about. After he fell, you walked right past my cracked door in your haste to hide your involvement in the crime.”

Rose did not refute Lydia's accusation. Lydia was determined to blame her for Bertram's death and would not be gainsaid. Rose rubbed the hollow at the base of her neck. “If you knew what happened, why did you not speak out before, or give the hue and cry when Bertram fell?”

“Because I did not wish to answer prying questions that might bring light to my affair with Bertram. I could not take the chance of my husband becoming suspicious and learning Bertram was my lover. But my caution was of no avail.” A bitter light flamed in her cool blue eyes. She lurched up from her seat and paced to the cell door. “On Lord Joinville's deathbed, his heir apprised him of my infidelities and the miserable sod disinherited me. All he left me with were a few pitiful dower manors. And now even those are lost to me. And 'tis all your brother's fault.”

Lydia spat out, “I curse the entire Beaumont lineage.” Her contemptuous gaze flicked down Rose's body.

Rose held Lydia's sneering look, refusing to let Lydia intimidate her.

“Why has the king not yet learned you have fled the convent? Surely the abbess or one of the nuns must have discovered your disappearance and informed the king.”

“The abbot told the abbess I was being moved to, and detained, in another convent. So no one but the abbot knew of my escape. I promised him I would never tell anyone he helped me. So everyone believes I am still withering away in that barren convent. Even Golan does not know my true identity.”

“How is that possible? How is it Golan has not recognized you? And where have you been hiding all this time that no one else has recognized you?”

A look of unadulterated pleasure spread across Lydia's face. “You do not know? You have not guessed?” Lydia approached Rose and slowly walked around her. Rose remained completely still. Lydia's hand reached out and plucked a nonexistent piece of lint off of Rose's shoulder. Rose flinched but did not step away. “Why, I was in disguise, of course. My short hair and stature lent credence to my deception. But I had to conceal my distinctive light hair and skin.” She stopped in front of Rose again. Pausing, she tapped her forefinger against her chin.

Rose stared at Lydia blankly.

Lydia tsked with contempt. “God, you are truly guileless.”

After a dramatic pause, Lydia grabbed the sides of her bodice. She pulled the ruby silk taut against her body flattening her voluptuous breasts. Her sensual mouth curved in a slyly pleased moue. “Mayhap it will jog your memory if you picture me disguised as a boy, with my hair and skin darkened with dye?”

Rose's jaw dropped in horror.

Lydia threw back her head and laughed with maniacal glee. “Exactly. I have been right beneath your nose the whole time and you did not even realize it. You even required my help in delivering you to Sir Golan, the very man I've conspired with to destroy you.”

A wave of disbelief washed over Rose. Her knees buckled. She staggered and reached out to catch herself on the bed niche. Her bottom smacked hard against the bench; the straw mattress crinkled loudly in the stunned silence.

Rose's skull exploded with pain. Her vision spun and she dropped her head between her legs to keep from fainting.

She barely noticed the biting cold seeping into her posterior.
Mother Mary, what have I done? Mother Mary, what have I done?
The blade of guilt stabbed deeper with each lament.

Geoffrey, the boy she had given hearth and board to was none other than Lady Lydia. She'd let a viper into their midst, endangering everyone she ever cared about. So many questions whirled in her head she did not know where to begin. But with a newfound reserve of strength she'd discovered deep inside, Rose raised her head.

“How long have you been conspiring with Sir Golan? Were you the one who drugged Sir William and delivered the extortion message? Why did you save Jason from drowning if you wished to punish me?” She gasped. “Who were those poor people who were murdered on the road that you claimed were your parents? Surely you did not—” Rose could not complete her question. The idea that the merchant couple was killed so Lydia could perpetrate her deception was too horrible to believe.

“The merchant couple was an unfortunate casualty.”

“You had them killed?”

“'Twas Sir Golan's idea. We had to come up with a plan to get me inside Ayleston Castle. And it worked brilliantly. You never suspected Geoffrey's motives, or his loyalty to you. Sir Rand, on the other hand, was much more suspicious of me.”

“So it was you who drugged Sir William after all, and not Sir Golan's squire?”

Lydia chuckled. Pride laced her words as she replied, “Aye. That was my idea. Sir Golan's man distracted the slut while I mixed henbane in William's drink. If anyone questioned the servants, Golan would take the blame. He was the obvious culprit, and he cared not what you thought of him.”

“And the extortion note? That was you also, wasn't it? I saw you in the chapel that day. What was the purpose of your extortion plot?”

“After all these years you still do not understand. Bertram loved
me.
” Her voice rose as she repeated, “He loved
me!
” and thumped her chest with her fist for emphasis. “He knew all about my sordid past. He knew what was inside my soul, yet he loved me anyway. Bertram was the only person who ever understood me and accepted me as I am. But you took him away from me. You killed Bertram. So, aye, I sent you the threatening note. I wanted to frighten you. To torment you and make you believe that at any moment you could lose everything.”

“I don't understand why you did not try to harm me or those I cared for while you were at Ayleston. For months you had the opportunity to wreck vengeance upon me. It would have been easy to poison the food or wine. You even saved Jason from drowning. Why?”

“I do not want your death to be quick and painless; that would be too easy. By saving Jason's life, I gained your undying trust, giving me the time and opportunity to orchestrate Jason's abduction and your imprisonment. When I learned you had married Sir Rand, I began to hatch a plot to see you suffer for what you did. You do not deserve to be happy and in love. You are not worthy of Rand's love. Nor any man's love.”

“Rand does not love me. He only married me because our families betrothed us.” To her dying breath, she would never reveal the true deception of their marriage vows.

“Fool. Not only are you guileless, but you are blind too. The man has always loved you. He was too stubborn and afraid to realize it. But it's too late for you, Rose. Rand and Jason are lost to you. I have taken everyone you've ever loved, as you stole Bertram from me.”

The key screeched in the lock, and Rose winced, the sound like the cry of a banshee in her ears. Lydia began to move to the door pulling her hood up over her distinctive blond hair. Nay. It was too soon. Rose still had not secured Jason's release.

“Lydia, prithee, I implore you. Do not harm Jason. Return him to Rand when I am gone.”

The guard pushed the door open. His nose was smashed flat against his face and a permanent scowl etched on his face. “Your time is up, milady,” he said, his voice deep and gravelly.

Lydia stepped out, her rich silk skirts swishing as she pulled them aside so the guard did not incidentally befoul them. Rose lurched toward the scarred oak door as it swung shut. She blared out in desperation, “What is to prevent me from exposing your identity?!” The door slammed in her face.

Silence reigned.

Rose dropped her head. Her shoulders slumped. Then the small door, which the guard used to peek into the chamber and check on her, snapped open. Lydia peered through the small opening covered with iron bars.

Rose straightened her shoulders and stared bravely at Lydia. “I have done as you asked. I confessed to Bertram's murder. My trial is the day after tomorrow and a conviction is a foregone conclusion. You have won. Will you do one last honorable thing and see that Jason is returned safely into Sir Rand's custody after I am passed?”

Lydia, her lips slightly pinched, nodded her agreement. An audible sigh whooshed from Rose's lungs. She was able to breathe easier, as if a heavy stone had been dislodged from her chest. Then Lydia crooked her finger for Rose to come closer. Rose dipped her head toward the woman.

Blue eyes flared with an unearthly light. “Betray me and Jason dies.”

The words struck Rose in the heart like barbed arrows. She flinched, all the blood draining from her face.

Keys jingled. The guard fumbled around to find the correct key. Golan, his hand resting on his sword hilt, tapped the cool metal cross guard with his fingers, impatient for the bumbling fool to open the cell door. Finally, the garlic-reeking guard inserted the key in the lock and unlocked the door. Grunting, Golan elbowed him aside and shoved the door open.

He gazed around the dark and dank chamber. To his right inside the octagonal tower, Lady Rosalyn lurched up from a reclining position on the bed and stood up to move as far away from it as she could. Golan sneered. It would not stop him from bedding her. She should have been
his
wife. He deserved to get some sort of compensation for the prize being stolen from him.

Standing in the threshold, Golan turned back to the guard. He jerked his arm toward the door and pointed imperiously. “Leave us. Now! I want some privacy with the prisoner.”

The guard smiled slyly, then turned and headed down the spiral stairs whistling. Golan closed the door and turned back to Rosalyn.

She'd folded her hands before her, and stood with her shoulders thrown back proudly. Conversely, her dark clothes were wrinkled and dirty, her hair was tangled and uncombed, and the chamber reeked.

“Lady Rosalyn,” he said with derision.

Head angled as though she were a queen receiving one of her lowly subjects, she nodded. “Sir Golan.”

Proud, cold bitch.
Despite her reduced circumstances and approaching trial and execution, she still had the audacity to act as though she were better than him. He vowed he would wipe the look of disdain from her face.

“Remove your clothes.” With slow, deliberate movements, Golan tugged the tie free at the neck of his cloak and tossed the outer garment on the table next to the water basin.

Her cheeks paled and a tremor shook her shoulders. He smirked, pleased. She was not so haughty now.

Golan grabbed the strap end of his leather sword belt, tugged it back freeing the pin from the hole, and slid it out of the buckle. He removed his belt and propped his scabbard and sword against the wall next to the cell door.

She had not moved from her position or done as he had ordered.

“I said take off your garments!” He strode the five feet between them, and she raised her arms to ward him off. But he grabbed the neck of her blue woolen bodice—and ripped. “Now! Or I shall remove them for you.”

She clutched the ripped material closed, her chest heaving. “'Tis not…necessary,” her voice faltered. “I will do it.”

He watched, waiting until she did as he bid. She gathered the skirt of her surcoate and tugged it off over her head. A gray tunic and chemise remained.

Golan tossed his surcoate aside and reached next for the laces of his sherte.

Her fingers fumbled as she tried to untie the lace closing the neck of her undertunic. “Why are you doing this? Do you enjoy taking women who despise you? Who find you repugnant?”

Heat sizzled over his flesh. He swung his arm out and backhanded her. She cried out, stumbling, and fell to her knees against the bed niche. Satisfaction bloomed and spread, going straight to his cock. He hardened and grew as stiff as marble.

She reached up and propped her bent arm on the bed. Blood welled at the corner of her mouth. She wiped the back of her hand across her lips, smearing the blood across her cheek. Her blue eyes, smoldering with contempt, shot to his.

Slowly, she pushed to her feet. “Go ahead, take me against my will, but I shall not aid you, nor cower before you. You are a vile, cowardly man.”

A bright light flared inside his head like a strike of lightning. Pain seared his skull. With a shout of rage he reached out and wrapped his fingers around her neck. “Goddamn deceiving bitch. Am I not handsome enough for you? Am I not aristocratic enough for you? Who are you to judge me? Just like my wife, you are naught but a cheating whore.” Staring into her eyes, he watched them flare open wide in surprise. “Aye. Do not think I have not noticed the resemblance between Sir Rand and your son.”

With one hand he squeezed her neck tighter, lifting her off her feet. She dangled before him, her legs swinging, toes twitching as she tried to touch the ground. Her face turned vermilion, while her delicate fingers clawed at his wrist and her eyes bulged.

Just as her eyelids began to flutter closed, he released her. She crumpled onto the bed, limbs akimbo, choking and wheezing as she gulped in air and rubbed her throat.

He jumped on her. Before she could move, he grabbed her thighs, spread them forcefully, and shoved up her skirts. She screamed, twisted beneath him. Her fingers reached out and her nails raked down his cheek. He roared in pain, clutched her hands and shoved them down beside her head.

He thrust his hips forward, rubbed his throbbing erection against her vulnerable center. “I'm going to shove my cock so far up you I shall break you in twain, harlot.”

Raising his sherte, he reached down and loosened the tie at the waist of his braies, then shoved them down till his shaft sprang free. She screeched, twisted and bucked beneath him. Her center was open and ready for his invasion. Golan panted, his skin feverish, sweat popping out on his forehead.

Rose bucked up against Golan. Her neck throbbed with pain and revulsion shuddered through her as his shaft pressed against her exposed flesh. She kicked out again. She gazed at him with blazing scorn. “You are pathetic, Golan. Just like my first husband, you cannot get aroused unless by perversion. You are not a real man. You are a weak, worthless, repulsive slug.”

With a roar, Golan leaned up. A satanic light blackened his eyes.

Rose seized the opening and jammed her knee straight up into his loins. He howled in excruciating pain. Feral satisfaction soared inside her, lending her strength. She pressed her hands against his chest and shoved. Suddenly his head jerked, and groaning, he collapsed on top of her. Unmoving, his heavy weight crushed her, the stone bed jabbing into her back. Then his burden lifted from her and he was flung aside.

Her eyes grew wide as Rand's grim visage came into view. “Rand,” she blurted out.

Rose's face blazed bright red. A rush of emotion—shock, disbelief, shame—knocked the breath from her. She darted her eyes away. Pushing up into a seated position, she shoved her tunic and chemise down to cover her nakedness.

I cannot bear to look at him. What must he think of me?
she wondered.

Rand, his heart pounding in his throat, grabbed Rose's hand and pulled her into his embrace. “Oh, God, Rose, forgive me. I came as soon as I could. Tell me you are all right. Did the bastard rape you?”

“Nay. 'Twas close, but he did not—” She shuddered in his arms.

A red mist obstructed his vision as he remembered Golan, with his buttocks bared, poised over Rose. “Easy, love. I have you.” Rand clutched Rose tightly, attempting to soothe her as much as himself. Every muscle in his body stiffened as he constrained the rage rippling through him. Any moment his body could snap. He tamped down the emotion. He needed to keep a cool head if they were to escape the castle without alerting the garrison.

Concentrating on Rose, he clutched her head to him, his hand caressing down her back over her loose coppery hair. Gradually the warmth of her body melted into his, easing his own jumping nerves.

“I fought Golan, Rand. I swear it.”

“I know you fought him, Rose. I'm proud of you.”

“You are? Why? Are you not sickened by what you saw?”

He leaned back and cupped her cheeks in his palms. “I'm sickened that that bastard touched you. But I would never blame you. Nor does it change how I feel about you. You have naught to be ashamed of. You are not at fault. Understand?”

As she shuddered once more, relief showed in her soft blue eyes. “I understand.”

He kissed her, his lips clinging to the soft, sensual contours of her berry-sweet lips. She moaned, clutched his arms tightly and leaned into him. Her pert breasts burned into his muscled chest. Hard points stabbed him, the abrasion setting off a spark of heat. The sensation shot straight to his shaft.

Quivering, he pulled back with effort, breathing harshly. “Later, we shall finish this. But now we have to go. We don't have much time.”

He released her and bent down to check on Golan. The man was unconscious, lying facedown, his undergarments bunched around his buttocks. Rand clenched his jaw, felt a muscle tic in his cheek. His fingers twitched with the urge to run the knave threw. But he needed the man alive for the nonce. Later, though…He would see to it Golan never had a chance to rape a woman again.

Rand glanced back at Rose. Her pale blue eyes glared daggers at Golan and then they grew shadowed with fear. “Rand. We have to go. They have Jason. Lydia and Golan, I mean. I think they're holding him at one of the hospitals. Lydia let it slip when she was gloating about her scheme for revenge. Lydia has been—”

As Rand listened to Rose's nonsensical babble, he wondered if her ordeal had stolen her wits. “Rose, what are you talking about? Lydia de Joinville is locked away in a nunnery in the north,” he said as he moved to the bed and ripped the straw pallet apart. Straw fluttered into the air and stuck to every surface.

Rose reached out and grabbed his forearm. “Rand, listen to me.” Her nails bit deeply into his skin. Shocked, his gaze jerked to hers. Her eyes bore into him. “Lydia escaped the nunnery. She is the one who concocted the whole extortion scheme. Yesterday, she came—”

“What extortion scheme are you talking about?”

“I don't have time to explain everything, but Lydia delivered a note to me at Ayleston the night of the raid. In the note, she promised to release Jason if I confessed to murdering Bertram.”

“That explains a lot. I couldn't figure out why you would willingly leave Ayleston.”

“'Tis the only thing that would have persuaded me to leave you. She lured me out of my chamber to the chapel, where I found her message, and then she knocked me out.”

“I don't understand. How did Lydia get inside the castle to lure you away?” Now was not the time to ask her if Jason was his son. But soon Rand would need an explanation.

Her soft round eyes narrowed. “Because Lydia is Geoffrey.”

“Jesu. How can that be?” Even as he asked he remembered from their very first meeting thinking Geoffrey seemed familiar to him.

Rand ripped the thick woolen pallet cover into several long strips as Rose explained.

“She dyed her hair and skin dark. And bound her breasts. After escaping the nunnery, she joined forces with Golan and together they concocted a plan for revenge. She came to my cell yesterday and told me everything.”

“The woman is a menace.” Rand crouched down and tied Golan's hands behind his back. “'Tis getting late. We have to hurry. The guard can come back at any moment.”

Rand lunged to his feet and grabbed the pitcher off the table.

“What are you doing, Rand?”

“I need to revive Golan so we can take him with us. If he wishes to live, he'll tell us where he is holding Jason. I have my ship downriver to take you away to safety. Once I see that done, I'll come back for Jason.”

“You don't understand, Rand. Lydia swore she would kill Jason if I betrayed her. We have to get to Jason before she finds out I've escaped.”

“First we have to escape without raising the alarm. Below the castle walls, outside the postern gate is a barge waiting to take you to my ship.”

“I'm not going anywhere without Jason. Once Golan tells us where Jason is being held, I'm going with you to rescue him.”

A whistle warbled from below through the tower arrow loop. Rand swore. “That's one of my men. The guard is returning. Hide behind the door.” He set the pitcher down on the table.

Rose lunged behind the open door. He crossed to the opposite side, quietly drawing his sword. He pressed one finger against his lips and his back against the wall. She nodded, her face alight with courage and determination. Pride surged within him. Most women who had gone through what Rose had would have dissolved into a puddle of tears and been too distraught to think, or react, with resolve.

Footsteps pounded up the stairs. The guard paused outside. Steel scraped as the man drew his sword from his wooden scabbard and charged into the chamber.

Shouting, the guard spun about. His sword arched up to meet Rand's downward-slashing weapon. The edge of the guard's blade struck the flat of Rand's sword; sparks flew. Rand disengaged and attacked with several quick downward blows. The gaoler countered Rand's every move. Sweat dribbled down Rand's forehead as they fought, parrying, cutting, slashing, and dodging each other's attacks.

Aware of the passage of time, Rand struck out with a quick thrust of his steel, but lunging too quickly, he staggered. The guard warded off the blow with a diagonal slice of his blade, glancing Rand's sword away and slashing through Rand's unprotected thigh. Rose screamed. Rand did not pause but leapt away, avoiding a deadly cut. Pain seared his thigh. Blood poured forth.

With lightning speed, Rand recovered his blade and stepped in close to the guard, who was caught unprepared. Rand gave a hard glancing blow against the defender's mailed head. Stunned, the man fell to his knees. Rand stabbed the guard through the throat and withdrew his sword.

The gaoler grabbed his throat, choking as blood gushed through his fingers. Then he slumped over sideways and collapsed on the floorboards, dead.

Turning to Rose, Rand sheathed his sword. She was staring at the guard, her eyes glazed with shock and her hand clutching her throat.

Rand removed his cloak, and wrapping it around Rose's shoulders, he pulled the hood up so it completely covered her distinct red-gold hair. Rand clutched her cold hands and rubbed his thumbs over her palms, willing his strength into her.

She gazed up at him. Her vision cleared. “You're wounded.” She raised his tunic and sherte and probed around the wound through the slash in his thin braies.