Читать книгу The Viking's Heart - Jacqueline Navin - Страница 12

Once they were through the castle gates, the group bypassed the stables and headed directly to the upper ward. The comforts of the hall beckoned. The men were tired and hungry and there were servants who would see to the horses.

Rosamund was bone weary, bedraggled, caked with mud and covered in dust from riding in the open. She was heartsick. And deep down, she was terrified.

Taken out of her thoughts by the sound of her name being called, she saw a beautiful woman rushing toward her. Agravar dismounted and his large, capable hands lifted her down.

“Rosamund, welcome,” the woman said. “I am your cousin, Alayna.” Rosamund turned to her, unexpectedly finding herself in an embrace.

The momentary closeness brought a shock. Alayna was heavy with child, her rounded belly unmistakable as it pressed against the slim lines of Rosamund’s own body. Rosamund froze, a cold strike of shock slicing straight down her spine.

Her mother in silhouette, her ripe form swelling before her. Her hands laid over it, folded, as if to protect the wee life within. Turning now to Rosamund, her lips parting as she said…

Alayna held her out at arm’s length with a smile ready, then frowned. “What has happened? Was there some mishap?”

Thank goodness, Alayna was in no way similar to Rosamund’s mother’s ethereal golden beauty. This woman was strong featured, with dark hair and blue eyes. The lack of resemblance brought Rosamund back to herself quickly.

“Some highwaymen, I am afraid,” Rosamund supplied in a voice still a tad shaky in reaction. “We had a chase. Or two.”

Alayna’s eyes widened. “Lucien, how did this happen?” she demanded, whirling to face her husband, who had come up behind them.

A tiny tick showed at his temple as he ground his teeth together. “We shall discuss this later. Privately.”

Rosamund’s heart skipped a beat at the low sound of the warning in his voice. “All is well, cousin,” she said, placing a restraining hand on Alayna’s shoulder.

Alayna ignored the plea in Rosamund’s tone. “Did I not ask you to ride this day to the edge of your lands to see my cousin safe? Did you not promise you would?”

“’Tis my fault,” Agravar said, coming to his lord’s side.

“Oh, hush, you overgrown Viking. My husband hardly needs you to defend him.”

Rosamund covered her mouth to keep from crying out in alarm. But Agravar only tucked his chin to his chest. She noticed his shoulders were shaking.

“Well?” Alayna demanded, once again facing Lucien.

“I did forget my promise, Alayna.” The words were nearly choked, as if they cost him much to say. Rosamund’s heart raced as she waited for the explosion to come. Yet, he continued, apparently remorseful. “Forgive me.” He paused and then nearly growled. “Please.”

“I want to hear what happened before I grant my pardon. Honestly, Lucien. Do you think I make idle requests…ah!” Placing her hand over her belly, she stopped.

Lucien turned pale and was upon her in a flash. “What is it? Is it the pains? Oh, Jesu! Pelly, call the apothecary! Call the midwife!”

Alayna slapped him away. “Nay, nay, you madman, stop hovering over me. ’Tis only a twinge. You shall not escape the questioning I have planned for you. Come.” She whirled and moved with ponderous steps toward the studded oaken portal to the hall.

Lucien raked his hand through his hair a few times and glared after her with a murderous scowl. Softly, and to no one in particular, he muttered, “More likely ’tis the gibbet you’ll have me dangling from if the whim suits you.”

Rosamund cringed at his angry words. She nearly fainted with alarm when Alayna whirled and narrowed her eyes at her disgruntled husband. “Did you say something, Lucien?”

“Nothing of import,” Lucien called back. Casting a dark look about that dared anyone to snicker, he fell into stride behind the stately lady.

“Come, Lady Rosamund,” a soft voice said at her side. She recognized it as Agravar’s.

“Will he beat her?” Rosamund cried, whirling to face him. She forgot herself enough to place a hand against his massive chest.

He appeared taken aback. “Beat her?”

“Oh, please stop him—” She snapped her mouth shut when she saw the look on his face. “She meant no harm,” she finished lamely.

“Rosamund, Lord Lucien would never lift a hand against his lady wife. She is beloved to him. Why, he would cut off his right arm for her. He would never do anything to cause her the slightest pain.”

Wrapping her arms about herself, she turned her face away from him. She was suddenly chilled.

He didn’t know. He didn’t understand. No one had known about Cyrus, either.

She could never make him see. “I would like to freshen up,” she murmured.

“Go with Margaret. She will show you where Alayna has arranged for you to sleep. I shall see you at supper, Rosamund.”

“Aye.” She almost said thank you, then thought better of it. He had robbed her of freedom and delivered her to this, the next step closer to a dreaded destiny. She had little to thank him for.

She followed the servant he had indicated. As she passed a small gathering of women, she caught one—a buxom lass with hollows under her cheekbones and a bright head of pale hair spilling about her shoulders—staring at her. With a hand on one jutting hip, she regarded Rosamund over her shoulder with a sneer curled on her bee-stung lips.

One of the two others with whom she was standing said something and there was a chorus of laughter. The woman smiled coldly and turned around with an arrogant sniff.

“My lady, this way,” Margaret said politely.

“Oh, aye.” Dutifully, Rosamund fell into step.

Lady Veronica of Avenford, an older, slightly shorter, and perhaps less spectacular version of her daughter Alayna, smoothed the last of Rosamund’s garments and handed it to Hilde to place in the trunk. “There,” she pronounced with a flash of a smile. “Everything seems to be in order. After all of that jostling, they just needed to be refolded and laid again.”

“It is kind of you to help,” Rosamund replied.

Hilde said, “I’ll take out your green gown for you to wear to supper.”

It was Veronica who replied, “Nay, Hilde. She is to rest this night. Was a difficult day for your mistress, and you, I imagine. Let her have her supper on a tray in here, and then you both can find your rest early.”

Rosamund drifted to the window. “You need not trouble yourself, Hilde. I am not very hungry.”

“Go fetch it,” Veronica said in a tone that was gentle but commanding. Hilde—who had a tendency to be bossy herself and was never docile—shocked Rosamund when she muttered, “Yes, my lady,” and scurried out the door.

Veronica had a manner about her, Rosamund considered. One simply didn’t disobey her. “Rosamund, come here. You are restless.”

“My thoughts disturb me,” Rosamund admitted. She sat in the seat indicated.

“I know it has been a trying day,” Veronica said. “Your maid is busy with setting your clothing to rights and fetching your supper. Let me brush your hair for you and you will be ready all the earlier for bed.”

On the small table, Hilde had set out her silver brush and a matched set of pearl-encrusted combs. Veronica picked up the brush and admired it. “Lovely,” she commented, then came behind Rosamund and began to stroke her hair.

“’Twas a gift from my stepfather,” Rosamund said stiffly.

“Ah. It must be a beloved memento.”

Rosamund did not reply.

After a while, Veronica chuckled softly. “I hope my daughter has not given you a poor view of our home here at Gastonbury.”

“Alayna? Why ever would that be so?”

“She is not herself. Lucien is worried sick over it. Oh, he would never admit it, but he fears for her. I can see it in his eyes, the anxious way he watches her. And she makes it not one whit easier with her disposition so sour and her reasoning utterly gone. Bless him, he tolerates much. Even Alayna knows it, yet she says she cannot stop herself from some of the most obnoxious fits of temper I have ever witnessed. And I am her mother!”

They laughed together, then Rosamund asked, “Are you worried about her?”

“Aye. Nay. Oh, I suppose. A mother always worries, but I know ’tis merely the heat and the heavy weight of the babe that makes her cross. ’Twas not like this with the others. This is the third, you know. I have a grandson who you will espy running around the keep. And then there is the pretty little angel who just coos the sweetest song. Bah! What a foolish woman I am to go on so.”

“Nay, my lady. ’Tis pleasant to hear the pride and delight in your voice.”

“You indulge an old woman.”

“’Tis not true. ’Tis I who benefit from your great kindnesses, and I am grateful for your attentions.”

“If my daughter were feeling better, she would be seeing to you and trying to comfort you after your terrible day. I know she feels dreadfully responsible.”

“Nay, my lady, she must not. I cast no blame.”

“Lucien has sent word to Lord Robert. He wishes you to stay with us until we receive a reply.”

“Oh.” The mention of Robert of Berendsfore set Rosamund’s pulse thumping a bit harder.

Veronica twisted the dark blond tresses into a thick braid and fastened the end with a leather thong. “There, now I shall leave you to your supper and your rest.”

“Thank you, good lady.”

Veronica smiled down at her, touching her slim hand to Rosamund’s cheek. A look of uncertainty passed over her features, then was gone. “Rest,” she said with a renewed pleasantness.

“I shall.”

“And eat!” she called over her shoulder.

Rosamund laughed despite her distractions. “I shall try.”

The darkness was absolute when she awoke, panting and sweating from the dream. Her mother falling…

She shook her head, refusing the wispy ghost of memory. Sitting up, she pushed her hair out of her eyes. Tendrils had sneaked out of the braid and stuck to the thin sheen of sweat along her brow and cheeks.

At the washstand was fresh water and a towel for the morning. She wet the linen and rubbed it over her face and neck, down her arms, until gooseflesh pricked her skin.

The night was warm but there was a sweet breeze, and now that she had cooled herself down, it was quite pleasant. She wrapped a sheet about her and went to the window, pulling up a small stool so that she could lean out and listen to the night sounds. The pleasant chorus soothed her. She folded her arms on the windowsill and rested her chin on her crossed wrists.

The dream was gone now, but she was wakeful and troubled. She thought of Alayna, who had been so upset on Rosamund’s behalf. Alayna’s mother, the Lady Veronica, had also touched Rosamund’s heart with her kindness and solicitude. In some ways she reminded Rosamund of her own mother. There was nothing overtly similar save those things common to all mothers. The phrases they are apt to say, a look, a smile—all full of nurturing warmth.

Rosamund thought of Lucien and his terrible scowls, and Agravar and the surprising gentleness of his hands when they had touched her.

She wondered where Davey was, and when he would find her. And she wondered what she would do if he did not.