Читать книгу Vow of Deception - Angela Johnson - Страница 10

The following afternoon in the king’s private reception room, Edward towered over Rose with a piercing stare. “Answer me honestly, Lady Ayleston. It is imperative that you tell me the truth of the matter.”

She clutched her hands behind her back to keep them from trembling. Surely all in the chamber could hear the pa-bum pa-bum pa-bum of her wildly beating heart.

She shifted her gaze to her father. Philip de Beaumont, Baron Briand, gave her an encouraging smile. His blue eyes, darker than hers, were soft with love.

Avoiding direct eye contact with Golan, Rose noticed his face was now marred with a black-and-blue eye and swollen nose. Satisfaction stirred in her breast.

Finally, she regarded Rand.

His gray-green eyes held hers—willing her to answer in the affirmative. Rose took a deep breath and lied to the king of England. “Aye, my lord. Sir Rand and I vowed to marry when I was at court last spring.”

At Golan’s deep inhalation, Rose looked at him at last. A fierce light flared in his black eyes and pierced her with a promise of retaliation. She shuddered.

Upon seeing Golan’s stare, Rand moved to Rose’s side and fixed a frozen glare on Golan till he jerked away.

Lord Briand added, “When my daughter informed me of her and Rand’s betrothal, I gave them my blessing. Though as a widow, Rose need not have my permission to marry.”

When Rose’s father arrived at court early that morn, Rand had apprised him of Rose’s betrothal to Golan and the events that had transpired in the chapel. Lord Briand had been incensed, not only because Golan had attacked Rose, but also because Edward had given Sir Golan permission to marry Rose without consulting him. For those reasons, when Rand had laid out his plan to concoct a former, secret betrothal, Lord Briand had been quite willing to swear falsely that he knew of it.

“Sire, surely you don’t believe this nonsense,” Golan thundered, a purple vein bulging at his temple. “Last night Lady Ayleston claimed she intended to take a vow of chastity. Yet we are to believe she and Sir Rand had a prior betrothal agreement, which we are only hearing about now?”

Lord Briand, his voice soft yet lethal, inquired, “Are you calling me a liar, Sir Golan?” He frowned fiercely at the younger man.

Lord Briand stood tall and robust, his black hair silvered at the temples. Though not in his prime, he was still a powerful man. He had once been King Henry III’s champion.

Rand watched Golan squirm. The barrel-chested knight held up his hands in acquiescence. “Nay, my lord. But I believe I have the stronger claim.”

King Edward chose that moment to intervene. “Lord Briand, you have put me in a difficult position. I granted Sir Golan permission to marry your daughter, and when I give my word I don’t rescind it. The prior betrothal between your daughter and Sir Rand was verbal, not a written contract.”

Sir Golan looked smugly at Rand.

Edward continued, “Yet verbal agreements are as valid as written ones in the eyes of the Church. And it would appear that Rand does have the prior claim.”

Though the whole plot to fabricate a betrothal with Rose had received Edward’s tacit approval when Rand spoke to him this morrow, the king was ever unpredictable. Rand would not put it past him to alter the secret agreement they made between one another, which included a sizable coin payment from Rand.

Rand flexed his fists with the urge to repeat last night’s thrashing. “Sire, I demand to prove my rightful claim to Lady Ayleston in trial by battle.” He smiled at Golan in anticipation. “Dare you accept my challenge, Golan?”

Golan pushed his chin out. “I accept your challenge, Rand, and when I defeat you, all shall know I am the rightful claimant of the lady.”

Brushing his hand over his chin repeatedly, Edward’s eyes narrowed with a thoughtful gaze. “Very well. Sir Golan, Sir Rand, this will be decided on the field of combat. A joust will be held in two days, the winner of it shall claim Lady Ayleston’s hand in marriage and wardship of her son’s estate.”

A soft gasp escaped Rose. Rand wondered if it was out of concern for him, or if she realized there was no going back and she would have to actually marry one of them in the end. Rand grinned at Golan. He was going to make the other knight regret he’d ever laid a hand on Rose.

Nor did he doubt he would win. And when he did, he would deal with Rose then. He needed his complete attention fixed upon the upcoming battle. Afterward, he would be able to contemplate the ramifications of marriage to Rose.

Rand swore a solemn vow. Golan will never claim Rose as long as I am alive.

A twig snapped in the cover of the dark, impenetrable woods. Golan jerked this way and that. “Who goes there?”

The wind sighed, the rustle of leaves whispering a ghostly chant as moonlight cast eerie shadows through the tree branches. His heart pounded; his palms grew damp with sweat. At that moment, three large forms moved into the small clearing. One carried a mace, one a flail, and the other a war ax.

Hand on his sword, Golan swallowed down his trepidation. He had been informed that he was to parlay alone or there would be no negotiations. These men were ruthless and unpredictable outlaws. For a price they’d perform any nefarious service.

The leader, Golan assumed, and the largest of the outlaws, stepped forward while the other two stood guard behind him. The leader stood with his feet spread apart and his arms crossed over his chest.

Golan cleared his throat. “I came alone, as you requested.”

The man laughed, a gravelly sound that sent a shiver down Golan’s spine. The black cloth covering his face from the nose down puffed with the exertion. “My men ascertained you were alone.”

Golan was startled by the aristocratic tone of the speaker.

“I am a cautious man,” the outlaw said. “Betray me, and I will kill you.”

The man with the mace grunted and ran his hand across his neck to indicate cutting a man’s throat. Golan gulped, but his mouth was dry and his tongue stuck to the roof of it.

“I am not here to betray you. I wish to hire you to remove a rival.”

Silence. Long, intimidating silence. Golan’s chest rose and fell rapidly, his puffing breath loud to his ears.

The leader smiled with a baleful gleam in his eyes. “Do you have a plan to eliminate your rival?”

Golan nodded. “In two days there will be a joust at Westminster. I and another knight shall be the final combatants. I intend to be the victor, and to the victor go the spoils.”

Revenge upon the lying, deceitful pair added sweetness to the plot, so much so that Golan could almost taste it. Rand had humiliated him. Golan let no one make a fool of him and live. His first wife, carrying a bastard in her belly, had discovered her mistake before Golan smothered her in childbed.

He smiled, his lips twisted in anticipation.

The next day in the palace garden, Rose sat on a turf bench leaning back on her hands. She threaded her fingers through crisp blades of grass, her face raised to the sky, and her ankles crossed before her. She sighed, basking in the warmth of the sun’s rays.

Behind the bench, which lined the hedge wall, were raised herb beds planted with rosemary and thyme, their fragrant scents saturating the courtyard. She smiled, remembering the afternoon she and Jason had spent gathering herbs in the woods. His infectious giggle and mischievous grin could always cheer her when she was feeling troubled. She missed him so much her heart ached.

“Rose. Here you are. I’ve been looking for you.”

She jerked and sat up, her gaze alighting on a tall woman who entered the small square courtyard surrounded by six-foot-high yew hedges. Gravel crunched beneath her bright-yellow-slippered feet. Wearing a yellow long-sleeved surcoate over an embroidered lavender tunic, Lady Katherine, her sister-in-law and best friend, smiled warmly and approached with her hands outstretched. Rose got up and greeted her.

“Kat. I’m so glad to see you.” Clutching Kat’s fingers in her hands, Rose kissed her cheek and then pulled back to look at her. “You look positively radiant.”

Her golden skin and gray almond-shaped eyes were glowing, and yet a new serenity seemed to permeate her whole being. Rose reached out and touched her rounded belly with both hands. “How is my little niece doing?”

Kat’s smile grew wider. “What makes you think the baby is a girl?”

“What else would it be with two headstrong people such as you and my brother insisting it will be a girl? I am certainly not going to gainsay either one of you.”

Kat burst into laughter, an infectious, sparkling sound. Her long black hair, covered with a veil and circlet, rippled to her waist when she threw her head back. Rose laughed and pulled Kat down beside her on the turf bench.

“Tell me. How are you and Alex faring? Though I have received all your letters, now that you are back at Montclair I would hear it firsthand.”

“Of course, I shall tell you everything. But I want to know how you are doing. Alex and I spoke to Rand when we arrived at court. I cannot believe Edward would arrange for you to marry Sir Golan without consulting your father. Now Rand and Golan are to joust to determine your rightful betrothed? This must be awful for you!”

Rose tried to keep a brave smile on her face, but it was impossible. Her emotions—revolving from fear to anger to disbelief to doubt—hammered away at her till her head ached with the relentless bombardment. It was why she had decided to come to the garden for a few moments of peace. Now, her brow creased and she rubbed her thumb over a wrinkle in her gray gown along the top of her thigh.

Kat covered Rose’s hand to still the nervous gesture. “Oh, what am I saying? You don’t need to worry that Sir Golan shall win. Rand is one of the fiercest and bravest knights in Christendom. He shall trounce the man and make him wish he’d never dared to aspire to marry you.”

“Rand can rot for all I care!”

Kat’s mouth dropped open and her eyes widened. “Rose! Surely you do not want Rand to lose to Sir Golan?”

“Aye, I do. I mean, nay, of course not. The truth is I don’t want to marry anyone. You know how I feel about marriage. What you don’t know is that before I arrived at court, I was on the verge of taking a vow of chastity. Then Rand arrived at Ayleston to escort me to Westminster.”

“Why are you angry at Rand? He was only doing his duty.”

“Because he knew. The dastard knew I intended to take a vow of chastity.” Rose withdrew her hand from Kat’s and broke off a sprig of thyme from a nearby bush and jerkily plucked several small dark green leaves from the stem. “Yet still he escorted me to the king, all the while knowing Edward meant to betroth me to Sir Golan. And Rand said not a word to warn me.”

“But can you not understand the difficult position he was in?” Kat clutched Rose’s shoulder and squeezed. “It must have been very hard for Rand considering his divided loyalties.”

The thyme slipped from her fingers to the ground unheeded. “Aye, but it does not change the fact that he lied to me. You of all people should understand how I feel. Alex abandoned you on your wedding night without a word to go on Edward’s Crusade.”

“Verily, I do not deny it. But I forgave Alex eventually. I know Rand cares for you and feels terrible he can’t do more to protect you.”

“Rand did protect me. When Sir Golan attacked me.” She shivered, crossed her arms over her chest, and rubbed her upper arms. “If Rand had not intervened—” The thought was too terrible to contemplate.

“So ’tis true?” Kat’s soft voice was riddled with sympathy. “Rand discovered you before the fiend could violate you?”

“Aye. Rand arrived with no time to spare.” Remembering Golan’s repugnant flesh pressed against her belly made nausea churn in her stomach. “Except for the humiliation I endured, I am unscathed.”

Kat reached for her right thigh and caressed the hidden dagger Rose saw outlined beneath her gown. “I would dearly love to geld the bastard for daring to touch you.”

Having grown up training with her father’s knights, Kat was skilled in the art of combat and always carried the dagger for protection. The habit had saved Kat’s and Alex’s lives when Lady Lydia, Alex’s vengeful ex-lover, sought to murder them with the help of an accomplice.

“I just wish everyone would stop meddling in my affairs. I need no husband to manage Jason’s estates. Under my stewardship, Ayleston has grown and prospered. Bertram had allowed it to become derelict from neglect. I repaired the walls and outbuildings, reclaimed land for crops, and expanded the cattle grazing lands. There is still much I wish to do, but now Edward has declared I must marry. Once married, I shall have no say in ordering my life or the estate. My husband shall have all the power,” Rose said grimly.

“I understand why you did not wish to marry again after Bertram’s cruelty. But surely you don’t believe Rand is even remotely like your dead husband?”

“Of course not. But I shall be forced to—” Rose cut off her confession and lunged to her feet. “Oh, how can I explain my fears to you? You and Alex have an enviable marriage based on love and respect. You can never understand what I endured as Bertram’s wife.”

“Rose, I may not understand, but you know you can tell me anything and I would never think less of you. What is it you are afraid of?” Kat’s gray eyes beseeched Rose.

She walked a few steps away. “You know Lady Lydia was Bertram’s mistress, but there is much more I never told you.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Bertram forced me to do vile, despicable acts to please him. I dare not speak them aloud. But now I cannot endure the intimate side of marriage. The shame and humiliation is too much to bear.” Her voice cracked with pain.

Kat came up behind Rose and wrapped her arms around her. “Oh, Rose. I am so sorry. You are right. I can never know what it was like for you. But I care about you, just as Rand does. You must tell him what you told me. He will understand. With time I am sure he can help you overcome your fears, and you and he can have a loving relationship.”

“God forfend. I intend no such thing.” A deep shudder shook Rose and then she pulled out of Kat’s arms and spun around to face her. “If I am going to be forced to marry, I insist it shall be a marriage of convenience. Rand may continue with his affaires de coeur as long as he does not parade his mistresses before me. And I shall tell him so. If I can ever get him to stop avoiding me.”

That evening, on the night before the tournament, Rose sat at the dais table between Rand and Sir Golan. Her thoughts moved counter to the festive atmosphere that filled the vast lesser dining hall. Whenever Sir Golan “accidentally” brushed against her hand, or arm, or thigh, it sickened her and she inadvertently moved closer to Rand.

Keeping her head and eyes down, she avoided conversation and remained silent. A crisp white linen cloth covered the table, which was laden with meat, fish, and vegetable dishes along with wine from Bordeaux, Burgundy, and the Rhine.

She reached for her wine and, at the same moment, Sir Golan picked up his napkin and slyly stroked her wrist. Rose recoiled. Burgundy sloshed over the rim of her chalice. A dark red splotch of wine spread on the tablecloth.

She stared at the stain, her eyes growing wide with horror. Memories of the night her husband died flashed in her head. Oh, God, the blood was everywhere. It matted Bertram’s shining gold hair, while his vacant green eyes stared up at her coldly in accusation. Abruptly, Rose excused herself and climbed over the bench.

Rand turned from speaking with Edward just as Rose spilt her wine. She bolted as though she were a sinner fleeing a phantom from Hell. When he rose to follow her, he noted Sir Golan’s smug grin. Rand realized the knight had said or done something to disturb Rose. Before he left the table, he clutched the top of Sir Golan’s shoulder and squeezed it very hard.

With a smile on his face, Rand bent down to Golan’s ear and whispered, “Never, I repeat never, are you to say or do anything to hurt Rose again. Or I shall kill you. Do you understand?” When he didn’t respond, Rand squeezed harder. “Nod if you understand me.” Golan nodded. Rand released him. “Good. On the morrow, I am going to enjoy squashing you like the little bug you are.”

Rand left the candle-filled dining hall for the darker, torch-lit hallways. Directed by an observant palace guard, Rand followed Rose to an herb garden not far from the kitchens.

The stars were bright in the night sky, yet a light breeze brought with it the fresh scent of a recent rain shower. Rose sat on the edge of a raised planter bed, digging in the wet earth and removing weeds from the base of a marigold.

A look of sadness etched her face. She did not acknowledge him as he approached.

“Rose? What are you doing out here?”

She tugged sharply on a particularly stubborn root. “I enjoy digging my fingers into the earth, removing weeds and such. Nurturing plants and caring for them gives me great satisfaction.”

“Will you tell me what Sir Golan did to upset you in the dining hall?”

“I’d prefer not to discuss the cur.” She cocked her head, looking up at him. “Except…do I need to worry about the outcome of the joust? What are the chances he will defeat you on the morrow?” The weed gave at last. Rose yanked it from the earth, yet she pulled so hard that part of the marigold came with it. Consternation marred her brow as she stared at the plant in her hand.

Rand sat down across from her and eased the greenery from her white-knuckled grip. She did not resist. A look of surprise arched her elegant eyebrows as she stared down at her hands within his. Then Rand brushed the damp earth from her fingers and used the bottom of his surcoate to remove the rest of the sticky mud.

“I don’t want you to worry about tomorrow, Rose. Sir Golan is a worthy foe, but your father taught me well.”

She lurched up and stepped away from him. “Yet you cannot guarantee that you shall be the victor. What will happen to me if Sir Golan wins? I will not survive marriage to another brute like Bertram. I cannot do it. I simply cannot.” Hands shaking, she covered her face.

At seeing her so cowered, Rand felt a lump lodge in his throat. He lunged to his feet, withdrew her hands from her face, and locked his gaze on hers so she would see the fierce determination in his eyes. “I swear to you, Rose, I shall be the victor. Yet if for some reason I fail to win, I shall make you this promise: I will personally make sure you never marry Sir Golan. I vow it.”

“But—”

“Have I ever broken a vow to you, Rose?”

“Nay,” she answered, her lips barely moving.

Rand’s gaze riveted on the velvety flesh of her full lips, which were the color of strawberries misted with dew. He loved the taste of strawberries. His gut wrenched. His mouth tingled with the overwhelming desire to kiss her. But he did not want to frighten her. He needed to gain her trust so she would not fear him when it came time for them to marry.

He shook his head to recall what he had been trying to say. She was a distraction to his good intentions. “I have never broken a vow before, nor do I intend to start now. So I ask you, do you believe me when I say I shall never let Sir Golan have you?”