Читать книгу Hostage Bride - Anne Herries, Anne Herries - Страница 9

Alone in the room at the top of the tower, Rosamunde looked down at the courtyard. She had been left waiting for two hours and her apprehension was growing. She had not been locked in her chamber but since there was no possibility of her leaving the castle without permission she supposed Lord Mornay did not feel the need to imprison her.

Why had he not sent for her? Did he hope to break her will by leaving her to reflect on her probable fate? She raised her head, feeling a surge of anger against the man whose face she had not yet seen. She would not show fear or let him break her resolve. Indeed, she would not wait here until she was sent for. Her father might be an impoverished knight, but she was of good blood, and Lord Mornay had no right to treat her like this.

Leaving the chamber, she ran down the stairs. In the hall, there were a few servants beginning to set up boards on trestles for the evening meal but no sign of the steward. Approaching one of the servants, she lifted her head proudly.

‘I wish to see Lord Mornay. Please take me to him at once.’ The man stared at her for a moment, seeming stunned. ‘Do as I bid you, sirrah.’ She assumed her cousin’s haughty manner. ‘Disobey me and I shall have you whipped.’

The man lifted his hand and pointed towards a door to the right of a rich tapestry hanging on the wall at the far end of the hall. Rosamunde nodded her head, feeling a little ashamed. She never spoke to servants in that manner, but she was supposed to be her cousin and she had to make the vile Lord Mornay believe her. He must have heard of Angelina’s beauty and might be disappointed by Rosamunde’s face. She must do nothing that might make him suspect she was not the lady Angelina.

Hesitating outside the door for a moment, she lifted the latch and entered without knocking. A man was sitting at a board on which were spread various books and papers. He had been writing and did not look up as he said, ‘Yes, Mellors? What is it?’

‘I wish to know why you have kept me waiting—and why you did not tell me who you were on our way here,’ Rosamunde said before she lost her nerve. ‘I am the daughter of a nobleman and I demand respect. Please allow me to pay my father’s ransom and leave.’

‘So anxious to leave? I wonder why?’

The man lifted his head and looked at her. Rosamunde was so shocked that she could hardly hold back her gasp of surprise. Surely he was the man she’d seen before they had left port in France? He had stared at her as she’d been about to go on board the ship and she’d thought that she recognised him, though she’d been uncertain. Now that she was closer, her doubts deepened. This man’s eyes were devoid of warmth and his mouth hard. He could not possibly be the youth who had rescued her kitten from that vicious dog those years ago. Yes, there was a strong resemblance, but it was very likely only the colour of his hair and eyes.

‘Why have you come here, lady?’ His gaze narrowed. ‘My steward asked that you remain in your chamber until you were sent for. I have important matters that keep me busy until then.’

‘Why will you not let me pay the thousand gold talents and leave? It need only take a moment and my father may be released. We shall trouble you no further, sir.’

‘Thousand? I believe you only brought five-hundred gold talents with you, even though you were asked for a thousand.’

‘It is all I was given,’ Rosamunde faltered, uneasy as she saw his mouth harden. No wonder Angelina had been desperate to send her cousin; she must have kept half of the money for herself. ‘The remainder will be paid once my—father is released.’

‘Indeed?’ Eyes that had been as cold as mid-winter ice suddenly crackled with blue fire. ‘Supposing I am not prepared to release him for only a fraction of the money demanded?’

‘Then you are a wicked rogue and deserve to be thrashed,’ Rosamunde burst out. It was foolish to lose her temper this way but she could not control her disappointment. He looked something like the youth she’d lost her heart to years earlier, but he was a cold, hard man. He could not possibly be Raphael—could he? ‘If I were a man I would challenge you to combat and kill you.’

‘You might try.’ He stared at her for a moment and then laughed. ‘You are a bold wench, Lady Angelina. What are you prepared to pay for your father’s release—besides the gold?’

‘Oh!’ Rosamunde’s heart raced. Fitzherbert had been right; this man would not be content with merely the ransom money. He wanted more—the surrender of her modesty. ‘How dare you suggest such a thing, sir? I have heard what you did to other unfortunate women—of the poor lady that walked into the river because her husband no longer wanted her after you had disparaged her.’

The smile left his face, his lips turning white as he glared at her. ‘Now you are too bold, lady. Return to your chamber until you are sent for or you might be sorry.’

‘I am not a servant to …’

Rosamunde quailed as he took a step towards her. She wanted to run away but stood her ground, looking at him defiantly. For a moment he hesitated, then reached out and drew her against him, his right arm about her waist as he held her pressed tight to his body. She could feel his strength and power and her knees turned to water. For a moment her head whirled and she had a foolish desire to melt against him, to subdue her will to his.

‘You deserve your punishment, wench,’ he muttered and bent his head to take possession of her lips.

Rosamunde struggled wildly, but his arm was like a band of iron holding her tight. His mouth was hard, demanding, as if he sought to subdue her to his will, to show her who was the master here. As her head swam, she opened her mouth to protest but his tongue moved to block her words, touching hers. The feelings he aroused were strange and yet pleasant. She moaned, because the sensations sweeping over her were so bewildering, and then she pushed her hands against his chest as common sense returned.

He let her go abruptly and stepped back, a look of such anger on his face that she was terrified. Now she truly believed all the stories she had been told.

‘Go back to your chamber or I might not be responsible for my actions.’

Rosamunde gave a yelp of fright, turned and ran from the room. She fled through the hall and up the stairs and did not stop until she reached her chamber.

Raphael cursed as the door closed behind the woman. What on earth had made him react that way? Holding her close, his body had responded in a way he had not expected, arousing passions he’d believed dead. He’d known her at once as the woman he’d seen on the quayside in France. She had been dressed less richly then and he’d imagined she was a relative of the beautiful lady she’d accompanied on board ship. She was certainly haughty enough to be the daughter of a nobleman, though something was not quite as it seemed, for the boots she had worn that day in France had been old and worn through. He had a feeling that she was playing a part, pretending to be other than she was, but that did not excuse his behaviour. She was undoubtedly a lady and did not deserve to be treated like a harlot.

Her sudden arrival had startled him, because Messalina would never have dreamed of disobeying an order from either her father or Raphael. She had been modest and sweet—and she had been foully slain, her death still unavenged. The pain slashed through him once more, making him smash his fist against the stone wall of his chamber in a sudden burst of agony.

Why must he be haunted by the vision of her broken body night and day? She called out to him for justice and he could give her none. He was angry with himself for letting the lady Angelina beneath his guard. Her scent had inflamed his senses and her spirit had amused him, but then, when she had assumed that he was his father, something had snapped in his head.

God knew he was no saint! Raphael admitted freely that he’d done things of which he was ashamed. He’d killed men in battle and given no quarter. He’d stood by without comment when Richard had ordered the execution of the Muslim prisoners at Acre, which had led to a bloody retaliation by Saladin, and he’d hurt his wife … No matter how much he tried to forget it, the memory of her tears returned to haunt him.

‘Please tell me, what is wrong, husband? What have I done to displease you?’

‘You’ve done nothing. Do not be foolish, Messalina. I would not see you cry, but I cannot always be here at your side. I am a man and a warrior. I must meet with my fellow Christian knights this evening.’

‘They will persuade you to return home and you will leave me.’

‘I would never leave you. I love you.’

‘No, you desire me; it is not the same. If you loved me you would not go tonight. I fear …’ Messalina had looked at him imploringly. ‘I love you, Raphael. If you care for me at all, do not leave me this night.’

He’d ignored her tears, resenting the soft arms that clung to him and her sweetness, which was sometimes cloying and made him feel as if he were being smothered. Messalina had constantly needed reassurance that she was loved and adored. Raphael had tried to show her his feelings in the way he understood, which was with kisses and presents, but she had wanted something more—something he had not been able to give. Was it a lack in him? He bitterly regretted that he’d left her that night despite her tears. If he’d been there he would have fought to the death to try and save her.

Thrusting the bitter memories from his mind, Raphael sat down at his board and tried to concentrate on the letter he had not yet finished. With an oath of disgust, he screwed it into a ball and threw it to the ground. Dipping his quill in the ink, he began again. He would not use guile or disguise. A simple message telling the prince of his father’s death and his own return would be enough.

Why had his stomach turned at the thought of playing a double game? Could it have anything to do with the scorn in the lady Angelina’s eyes when she’d accused him of ravishing another man’s wife?

Raphael had never taken an unwilling woman.

‘Damn her,’ he muttered. He scrawled his signature then frowned as he saw he had used de Valmont, the name he’d chosen to take when he had been knighted by Richard. He was Lord Mornay now and Lady Angelina could not be expected to know that he was not his father. He should tell her the truth, explain that he had already set her father free and that she was at liberty to return to her home or stay here under his protection until Richard returned to the throne and her father could fetch her home.

Rosamunde glanced at herself in the handmirror of burnished silver; it had belonged to her mother and her father had insisted that she keep it, for otherwise it would be sold to pay his debts. The image was not clear but she knew that she looked as well as she could. A lock of her hair was plaited and curled about her head at the front, the rest hanging loose to the small of her back. She wore no cap or jewels for she had none,

but she was dressed in a dark-green tunic of fine wool that Angelina had given her because her own were too shabby.

She had been sent for some time ago, and she was ready, yet still she delayed, reluctant to face Lord Mornay again. For a moment in his arms she had wanted to melt into his body, to let him do as he would with her, her lips begging for kisses. How could she be lost to all modesty? To enjoy the caress of a monster such as he was to be lost to all sense or decency.

She had expected an older man, a man steeped in vice and depravity. Her first impression of the handsome, virile man had been that he could not possibly be the evil monster Fitzherbert had warned her of. Yet his behaviour subsequently had seemed to confirm it. No true knight would subject a lady to such a dishonourable display of temper. For he had been angry. She had felt the passion and fire in him, and for a moment she’d feared that he would take what he wanted, but he’d drawn back, giving her a chance to escape.

Why, if he was all that people said of him, had he allowed her to escape him with her modesty intact?

Rosamunde was puzzled. Had she built an unreal picture of her uncle’s enemy in her mind—or was there truly an evil monster beneath that handsome façade?

‘You should go down, lady,’ Maire told her. ‘If you do not the lord may be angry.’

‘He is already angry because I disobeyed him.’

‘Take care, lady. You are his prisoner here. He can do whatever he wishes with you. If you do not wish to lose your virtue, you must make him see that you are chaste and devout.’

‘I doubt that either chastity or devotion will win my freedom if he is determined to keep me here,’ Rosamunde replied. ‘Yet I must go down, for I am hungry, and if I disobey him he might starve me into submission.’

Leaving her chamber, Rosamunde began to walk down the spiral stairwell of worn stone. Her mouth felt dry and her steps were slow for she was apprehensive of her next meeting with Lord Mornay. She had disturbed him when he was busy but he might have more leisure to pay her attention this evening.

Lost in her thoughts, she did not hear the sound of soft-soled shoes as someone ascended the stairs, so when they met face to face midway she was suddenly breathless.

‘My lord. I was about to attend you, as you commanded.’

He was so tall and strong, his shoulders broad, the muscles rippling beneath the thin wool tunic he wore over dark hose that evening. He had changed since she’d last seen him and smelled of soap that was slightly perfumed with a woody essence which made her senses reel. His hair looked darker at the roots but he wore it long and the sun-bleached ends just brushed the braided neck of his white tunic. Yet he was somehow gentler, more of a knight and less the savage now.

‘Command? I sent you an invitation to dine with my people and me in the hall. You seem to imagine you are a prisoner, lady. What have I done to deserve your anger?’ he asked.

‘I … Nothing, except take my father captive and demand that I bring the ransom in person.’

He was standing so close to her, towering above her, so masculine and powerful. She caught her breath, her heart hammering against her ribs as if it were a caged bird seeking to escape the bars of its prison.

‘Please believe that I mean you no harm,’ he said. He held out his hand. ‘Come, lady. We shall go down together. Later, after we have dined, I shall explain much that you do not know. Until then I must ask you to trust me.’ He needed to be careful what he said and where he spoke to her. Apart from his steward Mellors, who had already proven his loyalty, he was not yet certain who amongst his inherited household staff he could trust.

Rosamunde took his hand and allowed him to lead her down the last few steps and through the great hall. The trestles and boards had all been set up now and were laid with wooden trenchers. At the high table there was a huge silver salt and either silver or pewter goblets stood at intervals down the board. Dishes of fruit, dates and nuts brought from overseas were set along the centre of the board for the guests to nibble at between courses, and the platters of pewter shone like dull silver.

She was conscious that all eyes were on her as she was led to a place of honour beside him. He waited until she was seated, then turned to the expectant gathering.

‘As you see, my friends, we have a special guest this evening. I ask you to lift your cups to toast the lady Angelina.’

The men stood, lifting an assortment of horn, pewter or wooden drinking vessels according to their status. Having drunk her health, they sat down and the meal began. Fresh bread, soups, messes of meat and worts, neats’ tongues, roasted boar and a great carp covered in rich sauce and onions were brought in succession to the table.

Rosamunde ate sparingly of the dishes presented to her. Neither her uncle nor her father had kept a table like this other than when entertaining important guests; she thought Lord Mornay must be rich. How much of his wealth had come from robbing his neighbours?

She sipped her wine and found it sweet, much more pleasant on the tongue than the rough vintage she was accustomed to. She tasted the pigeon in red wine and ate a little roasted capon followed by stewed plums and a junket of wine and curds.

‘You hardly eat, lady. Is the food not to your taste?’

‘I am not used to such rich fare, sir. I have eaten sufficient, thank you.’

‘You must try a peach. I insist.’ Lord Mornay reached for a succulent peach and began to peel it for her. He handed a slice to her on his knife. ‘I had these brought from Normandy. I have inherited an estate there and if the fruit is picked before it is quite ripe it travels well enough to be pleasing at table.’

Rosamunde stared at him, because to send for fruit from his estate in Normandy was such an extravagant thing to do, and she could not imagine what it must have cost to bring the fruit to a ship and then across the channel. She tasted the slice he had cut for her and smiled.

‘That is truly delicious. My uncle had peaches growing in his garden in Normandy but they were not as sweet as these.’

‘Your uncle?’ Raphael’s eyes narrowed.

‘Yes,’ Rosamunde dropped her gaze because she’d spoken without thinking. ‘My uncle of Saxenburg—my father’s brother.’

‘Ah, yes, I see. I know little of your family, lady. Do you have brothers, sisters, cousins?’

She could not look at him as she replied, ‘My uncle of Saxenburg has two sons. I have also a cousin on my mother’s side; her name is Rosamunde Meldreth.’

‘Then she must be the very beautiful lady I saw you with at the harbour in France.’

‘Yes, my cousin is very beautiful.’ Her heart was beating wildly and she dared not look at him.

‘You are beautiful too,’ he said. ‘In a different way.’

‘I do not think I am beautiful,’ she contradicted him flatly.

‘You should leave such judgments to others.’

Rosamunde could feel her cheeks burning. She reached for her wine and sipped it. Her hand was trembling and she had to hold the cup with both hands to steady it.

‘Why do you tremble? Are you afraid of me?’

Rosamunde raised her eyes to his. ‘I—I’m not sure. Should I fear you, Lord Mornay?’

‘Will you not call me by my name? I am Raphael to my friends. I travelled home with them but only one remains; the others have gone on a mission of importance. Sir Jonathan is here and you shall meet him later.’

Raphael? Her heart jerked because it was the name her hero had given her all those years ago. Could it be him after all? No, the youth who had so gallantly saved her kitten could not be the evil man of whom she had been told.

Her mouth was dry as she said, ‘You ask me to use your given name but I do not know you, sir. I am here as your hostage for my father but I beg you will treat me with the honour due to a lady of good virtue.’

‘Supposing I told you that I had already set your father free?’ he murmured in a low voice that did not carry.

Rosamunde’s eyes flew to his face. ‘Why would you do that when the ransom has not been fully paid? What is it you want of me, sir? I beg you, tell me so that I may prepare myself.’

‘You think I mean to disparage you and send you back to your family in shame.’ His gaze narrowed and his voice remained soft. ‘I believe it is time …’

What he meant to say was lost as a commotion was heard from the door and a struggle ensued as his men tried to stop someone entering. Raphael rose to his feet.

‘Who demands entrance here?’

A tall man stepped forward, at least ten armed men at his back. ‘I am Lord Danforth and here on Prince John’s business to see Lord Mornay.’

‘May your business not wait? Come, sir, bring your men and join us. You see that we are at table and there is a lady present.’

‘My business is urgent,’ Henry Danforth said. ‘I have travelled at some speed to bring you the prince’s commands, my lord.’

‘Yet I would ask you to wait, sir. I dare say your errand is important, but I am the master here.’

‘And I am your prince. Will you defy me, sir? I am come to call the traitor Count Torrs to account.’ A sudden hush fell as a man stepped from amongst the cluster of men at Danforth’s back, throwing back the cloak that had hidden his rich clothes and the jewels of state that proclaimed his rank as Prince John himself.

‘The count is not a traitor. He is loyal to the King.’

The words left Rosamunde’s lips before she realised, and brought a sharp look from Prince John.

‘He is a traitor, lady, and you would do well to mind your manners in the presence of your prince.’

‘Be quiet, lady,’ Raphael reiterated urgently in a low-toned voice and left his place. ‘You are welcome, sire.’ He walked towards the man, who was a head shorter and seemed almost puny beside him. Making an elegant bow, he apologised. ‘Had I known you were come in person, I should of course have acquiesced to your wishes immediately. Yet even so I would offer you food and wine.’

‘In private, sir.’

‘Yes, of course. I shall have food and wine brought to my solar.’ He turned his head, ‘Master steward, conduct His Highness to my solar and arrange for food and wine. His men can be accommodated here.’ The steward came hurrying forward, bowing his head. ‘I shall join you in a moment, Highness. I must speak with someone first.’

Raphael returned to his place at board amidst the sound of shuffling as the men closed up to allow the newcomers to find seats. One of the men sitting at the high table got up and offered his place to Lord Danforth, who took it with a word of thanks. Servants hurried to bring him a cup of pewter and a trencher of bread to which was added a mess of meat, worts and rich sauce.

Raphael looked at Rosamunde and his voice dropped to a whisper. ‘I believe you should return to your chamber now, lady. Stay there and do not leave it unless I send for you.’

‘My lord? I do not understand. What is happening here? Why has the prince come? Why does he call my father a traitor?’

Raphael’s hand gripped her wrist. ‘Do not ask questions. Go to your chamber and await my coming. Trust no one else if you value your honour and your life.’

Rosamunde’s heart jerked. She inclined her head. There was something about the sudden arrival of Prince John and his escort that frightened her. Her fear of Lord Mornay had lessened as they had eaten their supper. His warning seemed to imply that she was in danger—

a danger that came from somewhere beyond the walls of his castle.

Leaving the hall with her head held high, Rosamunde wondered what had brought Prince John here—and what Lord Mornay might have said to her had they not been interrupted.

Upstairs in her chamber, Maire was waiting to help her prepare for bed, but she dismissed her, sending her to her own blankets.

‘I shall not retire just yet. I should not sleep if I did and …’ She shook her head as Maire’s brows rose in enquiry. ‘Do not ask for I cannot answer you. I know only that something has happened and I may be in more danger than I was before.’

‘May I ask what brings you here, Highness?’ Raphael said once they were alone. ‘I have prepared a letter informing you of my father’s death and my return and was about to send it to the court in London.’

‘I learned of your father’s death as I travelled from Nottingham and thought it best to speak with you in person. You have here a dangerous enemy of the state—a man I require you to hand over to me immediately.’

‘I do not believe I understand you, Highness. Of whom do you speak? There is no one in my service that would seek to harm England. We are loyal to the crown.’

‘I speak of Count Torrs. Your father had him captured on my behalf, and a ransom was demanded from his family, but I have since learned that he plots with others to murder me and bring havoc to the land while my brother rots in prison.’

‘Where did you learn such a thing, Highness?’

‘From my friend the Shire Reeve of Nottingham. He has served me well on more than one occasion, though as yet he fails to bring the notorious outlaw Rob-in-Hood to heel. That rogue defies my laws and robs my tax collectors. I believe Count Torrs to be in league with outlaws and robbers.’

Raphael’s mind worked swiftly. If the prince learned that he had set free a man he considered his enemy, he might send his army against them. If the King was to have friends when he returned, there must be someone prepared to rally support in secret. Robin of Loxley, a man Raphael had known slightly in the Holy Land, was now an outlaw and lived by his wits; alone he could not rally the noblemen of England to support their king, but perhaps Raphael might. First, he must convince the prince that he was a friend rather than an enemy.

‘Then you have solved a mystery for me, sire. On my arrival I discovered that some rogues had bluffed their way into the castle and rescued an important prisoner. I did not know then that he was held on your behalf.’

A look of anger flared in the prince’s eyes.

‘You tell me the count has escaped? This is outrageous. Your steward has been neglectful and you should punish him and others for this man’s escape.’

‘My steward was in a difficult position, Highness. He did not know when I would return—nor could he have known that my father held the prisoner on your behalf.

He understood it was purely a matter of a ransom. Indeed, I am not certain of the count’s crime or the nature of your agreement with my father,’ Raphael said calmly.

‘He would have kept half the ransom and the count would have been recaptured as he tried to reach a ship. Your father has contributed to my funds on more than one occasion and I have been grateful to him; because of this, I ignored the demands from his neighbours that he should be punished for his crimes against them,’ Prince John replied.

Raphael inclined his head, because the underlying threat was clear. The prince could if he wished charge Raphael with some crime of his father’s and the estate might be forfeit. John’s treachery towards those that displeased him was well known, which was why Raphael had taken care to leave his fortune with the French goldsmith. His father’s estate meant little to him, and he might return to Normandy in time, but if he had a power base in England he might help Richard regain his throne.

‘I believe my father became a bitter man in his last years. It is my hope to make amends and live on good terms with my neighbours. If it cannot be done, I may decide to leave England and live abroad,’ Raphael commented.

The prince’s eyes narrowed. ‘The lady at your board—is she the count’s daughter?’

‘What makes you ask that, sire?’

‘Your father demanded that she bring the ransom in person for reasons of his own. If you have her, then keep her under close guard for we may yet gain something from this business.’

‘Do you speak of a ransom?’ Raphael enquired.

‘It is expensive to hold court and keep the loyalty of fickle nobles,’ the prince said. ‘My purse has too many demands on it and I would take half the ransom, as your father agreed—but it might be that we could use the lady as bait to bring her father back. If he believes his daughter’s life forfeit, he might return and offer his life for hers.’

Raphael’s hands balled at his side and it was all he could do to keep them from the prince’s throat.

‘You would surely not murder an innocent lady, Highness? This is not the justice your barons expect in England.’

‘If you wish to keep your own head you will obey me. If the lady has a ransom you will hand half to me—and she is to remain here as your prisoner,’ Prince John demanded.

‘I am sorry to disappoint you, Highness, but the lady is a kinswoman who has come to me for protection. As yet there has been no sign of the count’s daughter, but I shall of course obey your orders if she does arrive with the ransom,’ Raphael assured him smoothly.

The prince’s eyes narrowed in suspicion but at that moment a succession of servants arrived with food and wine, which they offered to him.

‘Taste them,’ he said, glaring at the servant who had offered a dish of lampreys.

‘You need not suspect poison in this house, sire,’ Raphael said and tasted a portion of each dish set before the prince himself. ‘You may eat and drink without fear.’

‘Very well,’ the prince said and took a leg of capon, tearing into the soft flesh and speaking with his mouth full. ‘My men and I will sleep here for one night. Your hall will do well enough for my men. I shall sleep here on the bench by the fire.’

‘As you wish, Highness. If you will excuse me, I must speak to my steward and make the arrangements.’

The prince nodded but made no reply as he investigated a mess of meat and worts with his fingers.

Raphael went out. He summoned his steward and gave him certain orders, then took the stairs that led to the tower room where the lady Angelina was resting.

Rosamunde’s heart jerked as she heard the knock at her door and then saw it open to admit the man she had half-expected.

‘Sir,’ she said, and rose to her feet. ‘What news? What demands did the prince make?’

‘He bid me keep you a captive here on pain of death. You are to be hostage for your father’s good behaviour. Unless he obeys the prince, your life will be forfeit.’

‘No!’ Her throat tightened. ‘My father … the count … it cannot be. He would not surrender his honour for me.’

‘Why? Surely any man of honour would surrender his person for his daughter’s sake?’

Rosamunde’s breath caught. She hesitated, but knew that she must confess the truth. ‘I am not his daughter —I am Rosamunde Meldreth, merely Lady Angelina’s cousin on her mother’s side. Count Torrs would not give his life for me.’

‘Are you telling me the truth?’ Raphael’s hand shot out and gripped her wrist. ‘Do not lie to me or it will go ill with you, lady.’

Rosamunde almost cried out for his grip was firm on her flesh but she would not show fear. She raised her head to look defiantly into his eyes.

‘My cousin did not wish to surrender herself to you. She knew of your reputation and so she sent me in her place.’

‘Why did you come? Surely you could have refused her?’ Raphael asked.

‘My father owes hers money and she said he could be imprisoned for debt. My father is ill and if I do as she asked the debt is cancelled.’ Rosamunde’s eyes pricked with tears. ‘She only gave me half the ransom money and now I do not know what will happen.’

‘You are safe enough for the moment. The prince does not know you came as the count’s daughter. I have told him you are my kinswoman and for the moment he has accepted it. He came here looking for money. I shall give him a small donation to his coffers and hope that he will leave us in peace,’ Raphael revealed.

‘You lied to me!’ she gasped.

‘Because I believed you were lying to me, and I needed the truth if I am to help you. If the prince knew your identity he might still make you his prisoner,’ he pointed out.

‘Where is the prince?’

‘Resting. He leaves in the morning.’

‘Will you let him take my uncle with him when he leaves?’ she asked breathlessly.

‘I have already informed the prince Count Torrs escaped before you arrived,’ Raphael said, deciding that it would be best to tell her as little as necessary. If, God forbid, she was ever held as the prince’s prisoner she couldn’t tell what she didn’t know. ‘You will not be required to pay the ransom.’

‘Will you allow me to leave? One of my escorts is here in the village waiting for me,’ she said.

‘My men knew his intention and it was reported to me. Fitzherbert has been sent away. You will remain here under my protection for the moment,’ Raphael told her.

‘But if …’ Rosamunde’s knees trembled. ‘Am I your prisoner?’

‘We live in uncertain times, lady. You would not be safe if I let you leave here. I cannot be sure you have told me the whole truth but, even if you are Rosamunde and not the lady Angelina, you must remain here until I have time to escort you to your home.’