Читать книгу Forbidden Night With The Warrior - Michelle Willingham - Страница 11

Chapter Three

Three years earlier

Rosamund stared up at the Montbrooke donjon with wonder. The keep had a large rectangular tower and stood atop a hillside. The outer wall was three feet thick and stretched from the base of the mound nearly twenty feet high. Another tower stretched above the main gate with sentries posted.

The earl had invited her family here to witness the betrothal of his oldest son Rhys to Lianna MacKinnon, a Scottish heiress. Rosamund didn’t know either of them, but her father was friends with Edward de Laurent. The betrothed couple would marry soon, which would help secure their lands at Eiloch.

She rode alongside her parents and sister across the drawbridge which spanned a deep moat filled with water. The portcullis was made of iron, and she saw dozens of sentries standing guard.

When they reached the inner bailey, several stable boys took their horses and helped them dismount. Rosamund stood with her sister while her father and mother went forward to greet Lord Montbrooke. Edward de Laurent had three children—a daughter Joan who was slightly older than Rosamund, his eldest son Rhys, and another son, Warrick.

It was Warrick who caught her attention from the first. He had dark hair and blue eyes that watched her with interest. He wore leather armour and had a sword at his belt, as if he had just come from the training field. She guessed he was twenty, and the longer he stared at her, the more her cheeks flushed. Never before had a handsome young man shown interest in her, and she wondered if he would speak with her later.

‘Do not even consider it,’ her younger sister Cecilia warned in a hard whisper. ‘Father would never allow it.’

‘Allow what?’

‘Don’t be coy. I saw the way you were looking at Warrick de Laurent.’ Her sister reached out and gripped her hand. ‘Father plans to betroth you to Alan de Courcy. I heard he was already negotiating the marriage contract.’

The thought soured her stomach. Though she knew her marriage would be arranged, she had hoped to have a choice in it.

‘So soon?’ She couldn’t hide the dismay in her voice.

‘Within a year, so I’ve heard.’ Cecilia spoke as if it had already happened. ‘So do not imagine that he would settle for the youngest son of an earl—not when you could have a baron to wed.’

Rosamund ignored her younger sister and straightened her shoulders. Instead, when her parents brought them forward to be introduced, she kept a smile on her face when Warrick took her hand. He gave her fingers a slight squeeze, and her nerves twisted with a rush of giddiness.

Later, his eyes seemed to promise.

I will wait, she answered.

* * *

The opportunity came that afternoon when her family was invited to go riding across Lord Montbrooke’s estate. Rosamund mounted her horse with the help of a groom and joined her sister, Cecilia. They waited with their parents and then began riding across the drawbridge. Her family was in the middle of the riders while Warrick de Laurent rode with his father and sister. After a few minutes, she noticed that he had begun to drop back, slowing his pace to join her. When he risked a glance behind him, he nodded towards the rear of the travelling party, as if he wanted her to join him. But how could she do so without her sister’s interference? Cecilia would never allow him to speak to her.

Fate intervened when her father brought Cecilia forward to introduce her to another member of the group. Rosamund seized the opportunity and slowed her horse even more. In time, Warrick drew his horse alongside hers, and they kept slowing down until they reached the last members of the group.

For a moment, they rode in silence, as if Warrick couldn’t quite think of what to say. He had the demeanour of a soldier, Rosamund decided. Rather fierce and forbidding. She waited a little longer, and when finally she could bear it no longer, she asked, ‘Is everything all right?’

He glanced at her and said, ‘It is.’

‘You look angry with me.’ And he truly did. His blue eyes were glaring as he stared straight ahead at the travelling party.

‘I’m not angry,’ he gritted out.

She bit her lip, wondering if she had misread his intentions. But when she studied him more closely, she saw that his cheeks were reddened. Was he...nervous?

He was one of the most handsome men she had ever seen. With his dark brown hair cropped short and his deep blue eyes, she felt her pulse race just by looking at him.

‘Was there something you wanted?’ she blurted out. ‘Or shall I leave you in peace and rejoin my family?’

‘Don’t.’ His words were clipped, and when she studied him more closely, she realised that he was struggling for words. In a way, he seemed frustrated with his inability to converse. It seemed to be an invisible shield of awkwardness between them.

‘If you are not angry with me, was I wrong to join you? I mistakenly thought you wanted to speak with me.’ She waited a moment, trying not to stare. His arms were corded with muscles, as if he spent hours training with the other men. Even his chainmail armour moulded against his body like another skin.

‘I did want to speak with you,’ he admitted, but he kept his attention fixed upon the horses ahead.

She waited a little longer, and when the silence stretched again, she couldn’t help her smile. ‘Do you not know how to talk to women?’

Warrick turned back as if to snap at her, but when he saw that she was teasing, he shrugged. ‘I’ve little experience with women.’

‘Well, then, we should start with names. I am Rosamund de Beaufort.’

‘I know who you are.’

‘Of course you do, but it’s a way of talking to a woman for the first time. Now tell me your name once more.’

His expression remained a block of granite. ‘I am Warrick de Laurent.’

‘There. That wasn’t so hard, was it?’ She brightened and was rewarded when he glanced back at her. His face still appeared uneasy, and she tried to start a conversation. ‘Your lands are quite beautiful. I do love the forest here. Such tall trees. And look at the way the sunlight glimmers through the leaves. It’s like the fairies cast a spell over them.’ She continued to talk about whatever came into her mind, understanding that conversation was not easy for him. But then, when he still didn’t say anything, she wondered if she was simply irritating him.

‘Shall I stop talking?’

His blue eyes softened, and he shook his head. ‘I like listening to you.’

The confession warmed her in ways she hadn’t expected. There was more to this quiet man than she had realised.

Warrick reached out and took the reins of her horse. ‘There’s a forest path that cuts through the land over here, if you want to see it better. It ends along the same path as the others.’

She hesitated, wondering if she dared to part ways from her family with a man she barely knew. Though she wanted to explore the woods, she was uncertain whether it was wise.

‘Or if you would rather stay with the others, it’s all the same to me.’ His tone was matter of fact, but she wondered what effort it had taken for him to voice the suggestion. Warrick truly was a man who didn’t say a great deal.

‘Only for a short while,’ she said at last. ‘My family will be angry with me if they discover I’m missing. And I cannot go far.’

At that, his mouth curved in a slight smile, and the sudden warmth stole her breath. ‘For a moment, then.’

He walked his horse towards the right, and she saw a trail that led through the forest. Again, she glanced back at her father and sister, hoping they would not notice. Then she guided her horse behind Warrick’s, following him into the woods. The moment she entered the trees, she slowed her pace and caught her breath. Moss covered the ground like an enchanted carpet, and lush ferns grew in the shadow of the trees. The sunlight painted the leaves gold, and she drank in the sight of the beauty. In her mind, she imagined creating a tapestry with the same bold colours, and she wondered if it could be done.

‘I do love it here. It’s beautiful,’ she told him.

‘Do you...want to see more?’ he offered. ‘Just for a moment or two?’ He glanced back towards the open meadow where the rest of the riders were.

She nodded. ‘But I cannot stay long. Both of us will be missed, and I don’t want to cause you any trouble.’

‘This forest runs parallel to their trail, so we will join up with them quickly.’ He led her a little deeper into the woods, but she could still catch glimpses of the riders. Ahead of them was a small stream dotted with rocks. It ran along the edge of the path, and she stopped to watch the water slosh against the stones.

‘This looks like the sort of place where one might encounter magic,’ she said in a whisper. ‘Or an enchantment. Thank you for bringing me here, Warrick.’

He remained stoic, but in his blue eyes, she saw an intensity that caught her interest. Of all the men she had ever encountered, he was the quietest. And yet, she sensed that there was far more beneath his serious exterior.

‘I suppose we cannot stay any longer.’ Her voice revealed her regret, and she turned her horse back to the pathway. ‘Shall we race back to the others?’ She didn’t wait for him to agree, but spurred her horse quickly, not waiting for him to catch up.

‘Rosamund, wait!’ he called out. ‘It’s not safe to ride fast along the pathway.’

My goodness, she’d never heard him speak so many words in one sentence. She slowed down and turned to look at him. He was riding hard towards her, and then abruptly, he ducked in the saddle to avoid a low branch.

His horse reared up at the sudden motion and threw him off. Warrick went crashing to the ground, where he rolled down the embankment and into the cold stream.

Rosamund abandoned her horse and hurried towards him. He was lying in the water, and she guessed he had struck his head on one of the rocks.

‘Warrick, are you all right?’ She waded into the stream, heedless of her skirts, and rolled him over. Saints, but he could drown in this pool if he was unconscious.

His head was swollen and bleeding, but she breathed a sigh of relief when she heard him groan.

‘Can you stand up?’

‘I need a moment,’ he answered. ‘I’m feeling dizzy.’

‘Then hold on to me,’ she bade him. She sat on one of the rocks while the water coursed around both of them. He did hold her waist, steadying himself. Rosamund felt terrible for what had happened. He had only meant to show her the forest and now he’d been injured as a result. She could see the pain in the lines of his face, the taut tension in his hands.

But then, he seemed to gather control. Something shifted between them, and this time, he looked into her eyes. There was wonder in his expression, and a yearning she’d never expected. His hand moved to her cheek, and the coolness of his caress awakened a contrasting heat in her skin.

‘So beautiful...’ he breathed.

His dark hair was wet from the water, and droplets covered his bristled face. Those blue eyes burned into hers, as if he wanted to kiss her. Saints above, but he was handsome in a forbidding, almost dangerous way. She saw a tiny scar at his temple, as if he’d narrowly blocked a sword from slicing his face. Time was slipping away from them, and she was no longer aware of the freezing water or anything else but this man.

‘Are you badly hurt?’ she whispered.

‘I don’t even feel it.’ His thumb edged her cheek, and his gaze slid over her face, down the lines of her body. She went motionless, not daring to move or even breathe. The heat of his eyes burned through her, and she felt an answering call within her body.

She grew sensitive to the slight touch upon her face and the gentle pressure of his thumb. For a moment, she closed her eyes, uncertain of whether she should pull away. But his palm lingered upon her face, learning the lines of her jaw and chin. A thousand warnings crashed through her, of what could happen while she was alone in the forest with a strange man.

And yet, not once had he threatened her. His touch was inviting, drawing her closer. She felt an invisible connection with this man, making her crave more.

Then he leaned forward and captured her mouth with his. It started out gentle, a slight brush of his lips against hers. She was shocked to feel herself responding to the kiss, tasting his mouth in return. The unexpected kiss heightened her awareness of this man. The cold and the heat mingled together, and he cupped her face with his wet hands, stealing the very breath from her. His lips were firm, claiming her kiss as his own. Never had she imagined a moment like this, but Warrick de Laurent was clearly a man of actions, not words.

He did like her. And with the way he was stroking her wet hair, plundering her mouth, she hardly cared that he wasn’t speaking. All she knew was that she wanted this kiss, wanted to know more about this man. His mouth had tempted her, drawing her closer to him. Heat and need poured over her like water wearing down the resolve of her virtue.

‘I think we should—’

‘No. Don’t think.’ He stood from the water and lifted her off the rock, bringing her to the banks of the stream. And when he lowered her to stand, she found that he was right. She couldn’t think at all. Her thoughts slipped away like grains of sand.

‘Why did you kiss me?’ she murmured. ‘We’ve only just met.’

‘Because I wanted to.’ He leaned down and stole another hard kiss, and it was all she could do not to embrace him, pulling him as close as she dared. She didn’t understand the desires he evoked in her, but this man reminded her of an ancient conqueror, seizing what he wanted.

‘Why did you kiss me back?’ he asked against her lips, nipping them lightly.

She didn’t know what to say, truly. In the end, she was honest with him. ‘Because I wanted to know what it was like to kiss a man.’

‘I was your first.’ His words weren’t a question.

‘Yes,’ she admitted. Her cheeks bloomed with the flush of embarrassment. ‘They will be looking for us now,’ she said, feeling the rise of anxiety. ‘We’re both soaking wet, and you’re hurt, and—’

‘Rosamund,’ he said, touching his finger to her lips. ‘Do not be afraid. I’m not a threat to you.’

She grew silent, and Warrick led her back to her horse. His hands lingered upon her waist a moment before he helped her mount. He swiped at the blood on his head and winced before he returned to his own horse. So he had been hurt but was hiding his pain from her.

When they reached the path beyond the edges of the forest, she saw that the travelling party had stopped and everyone was staring. Shame suffused her, and she felt as if her actions were branded upon her face. ‘What should we tell them?’

Warrick led the way and shrugged. ‘The truth.’ His eyes grew hooded as if in memory of the shared kiss. But there was a hint of amusement in his eyes.

‘We cannot tell them that.’ She was aghast at the idea. ‘I will say that I wanted to see the forest, and you accompanied me. I fell into the stream, and you rescued me.’

‘But you rescued me,’ he contradicted, bringing his horse alongside hers.

‘They will never believe that,’ she argued. ‘My father certainly won’t. For my sake, please don’t deny my story.’

‘I will say nothing.’ But as they drew closer to the group, he lowered his voice. ‘Will you meet with me again?’

His words slid over her in an invisible caress. And although she knew she shouldn’t do this, she felt a rush of forbidden desire for this man. She hardly knew him, and it wasn’t at all wise. But her lips still tingled from the kiss.

‘I don’t know,’ she whispered. ‘My father would be angry.’

His expression sobered as if he had expected her to refuse. In his blue eyes, she saw the guarded look of a soldier who possessed no emotions at all. Looking at him now, she would never have imagined he had such hidden passion.

Someone had hurt this man in the past, she decided. And he had closed himself off from everyone because of it.

‘All right,’ she answered. ‘Where?’

He appeared taken aback by her sudden change of heart. The coldness receded, and in its place was a look of disbelief. Then he answered, ‘Meet me by the stream. Tomorrow at dawn.’

* * *

Over the next few weeks, they continued to meet in secret. Warrick was well aware that Rosamund’s father, Harold de Beaufort, did not want him anywhere near his daughter. He had made it clear that Warrick was not to speak with her again.

But the man’s insinuation, that he wasn’t good enough for Rosamund, burned through him, igniting the desire for rebellion. Rosamund was the most beautiful woman he’d ever laid eyes on. From the first moment he’d seen her, one word had been branded upon his soul: Mine.

Her black hair held a slight wave to it and curled to her hips. Her green eyes held joy, and by the bones of St. Christopher, the woman never ceased talking. She talked enough for both of them, which was fine by him. He preferred to listen and to judge people by their actions.

But after Rosamund had rescued him from the stream, he’d given in to primal instincts. He’d craved the taste of her lips, and he’d taken them without any regret. What startled him was the fact that she’d kissed him back. Why this exquisite woman would grant him her favour was impossible to understand.

He knew better than to imagine she would care for a man like him, landless and hardly more than a soldier. But he savoured every moment of their meetings, knowing they would not last.

Today, Rosamund was seated upon the stone stairs that led towards the battlements. She had brought her sewing, and the light summer breeze lifted strands of hair back from her face. The very sight of her was a distraction that quickened his pulse. He knew she had come to watch him train with his brother and the other men. When he stole a look at her, there was a faint smile upon her face.

He wore chainmail armour this morn, and his brother Rhys came up behind him. ‘Are you wanting her to watch, Brother?’

He turned and saw the knowing smile on Rhys’s face. ‘It matters not if she is there.’

‘I’ve seen the way you stare at her.’ Rhys handed him a quarterstaff. ‘Spar with me a moment. I’ll make you look good.’

‘Her father would be furious if he saw her here. It’s dangerous with so many men about.’

‘That is her risk to take. And she does want to watch you.’ Rhys grinned. ‘I think we should show her more.’

He had no idea what his brother was talking about. Then Rhys stripped away his chainmail hauberk and tunic, until he stood bare-chested. ‘If she’s going to look, shouldn’t you give her something to look at?’

He wasn’t at all certain of this, but Rhys was already reaching to help him with his hauberk.

‘I’ll wager her gaze is upon you this very moment,’ his brother said in a low voice.

‘This is foolish.’

‘Not for quarterstaffs,’ Rhys argued. ‘You don’t need heavy armour.’

He was right. Although Warrick felt awkward about it, he stripped to his waist. Just as Rhys had predicted, he caught Rosamund eyeing him. She gave a secret smile and continued sewing.

At that moment, Rhys lunged at him, and Warrick deflected the blow out of instinct. His brother was merciless, striking with speed and strength. Warrick dodged a blow and followed up with a hard strike to his brother’s ribs.

Rhys grunted and retaliated by slicing the quarterstaff at Warrick’s knees. He jumped out of the way, only for his brother to strike his back and knock him to the ground. He rolled away and caught his brother across the ankles, tripping him. ‘I thought you were going to make me look good.’

His brother cursed and got to his feet just as Warrick did. ‘I lied. But even so, she’s watching you.’

Warrick turned his head and moved out of the way at the same time. His brother’s blow missed him entirely, and Rosamund smiled.

He struck Rhys’s quarterstaff over and over again, moving with speed and intensity, until his brother was forced to retreat. He lunged hard, about to knock his brother to the ground, but Rhys dodged the blow, laughing.

‘Go and talk with her.’ His brother clapped a hand on his back, half-pushing him towards the beautiful maiden.

Warrick gripped his quarterstaff, pausing a moment. Rosamund remained on the stairs but set her sewing down. Her face softened at the sight of him with the hint of another smile. God above, she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. He couldn’t think of what to say to her, for his tongue tangled up.

The sparring match had ignited his desire for this woman. When he crossed the inner bailey, she stood to meet him. A faint blush stained her cheeks, but she never took her gaze from his. He stood two steps below her, and glimpsed the fallen sewing. It was like nothing he had seen before, with all the colours of the sky and clouds blended into a scene. It reminded him of a stained-glass window, with all the colourful pieces creating the whole.

‘You fought well,’ she said quietly.

Her face was so close to his, he could imagine sliding his hands through her thick dark hair and bringing her mouth to his. She was the sort of woman men would fight for, hoping to win her as a conquest.

Warrick wanted to tell her this or to compliment her sewing. But the words were caught in his throat, stifled by his own awkwardness.

Rosamund reached over her shoulder to pull a ribbon free from her braid. Her green eyes studied him with interest as she ordered, ‘Hold out your arm.’

He obeyed, and she tied the ribbon to it. The light touch of her fingers against his bare skin evoked a searing ache. He wanted to press her back against the stairs and kiss her until she could no longer stand. But he was aware of the others watching over them.

When she had tied the ribbon, she let her hands linger a moment before she lowered them to her sides. The small scrap of silk was a visible binding to this woman. In a low voice she murmured, ‘Now you have my favour.’

Warrick reached for her hand and held it a moment. His thumb brushed over the centre of her palm, and he answered, ‘Just as you have mine, my lady.’

A blinding smile crossed her face, and she gripped his hand in answer. Several seconds passed before she released his palm. ‘I should go now. My father will be looking for me, as will my mother. Or my sister Cecilia.’

Before he could speak a word, she grasped her skirts and walked down the stairs past him. ‘Farewell, Warrick.’

Only after she had gone did he realise that she’d left her sewing behind. He picked it up, not knowing whether to follow Rosamund and return it.

He studied it, and his brother approached. ‘Are you thinking of picking up a needle yourself, Warrick?’ Rhys’s tone held a teasing air.

‘She dropped it,’ was all he could say.

‘Did she? Or did she leave it on purpose, to give you a reason to see her again?’

The thought hadn’t occurred to him, but it was possible. He was about to pursue Rosamund when Rhys caught him by the arm. ‘Not yet, Brother. Wait another day.’

Warrick reached for his tunic and pulled it over his head. ‘I’ll give it to one of the servants to return to her.’

‘Why would you? She deliberately left it to you.’ His brother shrugged. ‘Claim a kiss from her as thanks.’

He wanted nothing more. But he was also a man of reason. ‘Her father would never allow a match between her and a man like me.’

‘You desire her. Just as she desires you,’ his brother answered. ‘At least one of us might have a good marriage.’ Tension slid over his face, the tension of a man who welcomed execution over his own betrothal.

‘Lianna MacKinnon is a beautiful woman.’

‘With a heart of ice,’ Rhys finished. ‘She despises the air I breathe, and with good reason.’ He shrugged. ‘Were it possible, I would take her to Scotland and leave her there. That would make her happy.’ But then he masked his frustration. ‘One day, you will understand what it is to be powerless to command your own life. God help you then.’

* * *

Later that afternoon, Rosamund stood still while her maid braided her hair and tied it up with a new ribbon. Her mother shook her head in exasperation. ‘Really, Rosamund, how could you lose a hair ribbon?’ She chided her about being more careful, but Rosamund paid her no heed.

She hadn’t forgotten the sight of Warrick sparring without his tunic. His skin held a darker cast, and every muscle appeared carved from stone. A sheen of perspiration had beaded upon his chest, and she had been spellbound by him. Though he spoke little, his eyes had burned into her as if he’d wanted to kiss her again. She had never experienced a kiss like his, and perhaps it was a sin to long for it again.

‘Did you hear me, Rosamund?’ her mother demanded.

‘Of course,’ she lied.

‘Now remember, if you are among the women chosen for the game, you may grant a cake as your favour, but nothing more. And Cecilia may not be chosen. Even if she begs it of you, tell her no.’ Agnes de Beaufort sent her a strong look of warning.

Rosamund mumbled her assent, though she had no idea what game her mother was speaking of. She was accustomed to games of skill like archery or swimming, but nothing involving a favour. It might be a game that was meant to kindle the courtship between Rhys de Laurent and his bride, Lianna MacKinnon. She knew that something had caused hatred between the pair of them, but could not imagine what it was.

‘You look beautiful,’ her mother pronounced, and took her by the hand to lead her from the chamber. ‘And by this time next summer, you will be celebrating your own wedding to Alan de Courcy. He will make a fine husband for you.’

Rosamund slowed her steps, startled by her mother’s words. Although her sister had mentioned it earlier, she hadn’t paid Cecilia much heed. ‘I have never met the man.’ And he isn’t the one I want. Her attention was caught by the stoic, handsome warrior who made her heartbeat quicken.

‘He is wealthy and is a strong ally of King Henry. That is all that should concern you.’ Agnes’s clipped tone brooked no discussion on the matter. ‘Trust that your father and I will choose an appropriate man.’ She touched Rosamund’s hair, adjusting the ribbon. ‘My father chose Harold as my husband, and I have never lacked for anything.’

Except love, Rosamund thought.

‘Was there never anyone else you wanted to wed?’ she asked her mother.

Agnes stiffened at the question before she shielded her response. ‘Of course not. I was content to be an obedient daughter. Just like you.’

But she questioned whether her mother had ever held any secret desire of her own. Or whether she had ever loved anyone else.

Rosamund fell silent and walked alongside her mother until they joined the other guests. Lord Montbrooke was seated at the high table upon a dais with his wife beside him. His eldest son Rhys sat with his betrothed wife Lianna MacKinnon, while Warrick sat on the far end, furthest from all of them. Lianna was tall and beautiful, with long red hair that curled to her shoulders. She wore a deep green kirtle and a circlet made of beaten silver. A simple cross hung around her throat. But it was the expression of grief and misery that caught Rosamund’s attention. The young woman appeared devastated at the prospect of this marriage, and she would not even look at Rhys.

Heaven help them both.

The thought of her own marriage troubled her, and she prayed her father would change his mind. She had no wish to marry Alan de Courcy, whether he was wealthy or not. And it felt as if she were becoming a pawn in a game she could not win.

Rosamund joined her parents at the table closest to the dais, fully aware of Warrick’s presence. Despite being at the high table, he appeared distracted and separated from all of them. It almost seemed that he would have preferred dining among the soldiers. Even his father never spoke to him at all. It was as if he were invisible.

Strange.

Men and women raised their drinks to toast the health of the betrothed couple, but the veiled enmity between Lianna and Rhys was undeniable. The young woman never spoke to him, only to Lord Montbrooke and his wife.

For a moment, Rosamund let herself imagine what it would be like if she were betrothed to Warrick, sitting in their places. The very thought warmed her, for she liked him very much. Not only was he a strong fighter and handsome, but she would never forget his words—I like listening to you.

The feasting continued, and her sister Cecilia leaned in. ‘Let him go, Rosamund. I don’t want to see you hurt.’

‘Why could they not arrange a betrothal with Warrick?’ she whispered. ‘He is the son of an earl and from a noble family.’

‘But he is the youngest. He will have no property of his own.’

‘Surely he has something,’ she argued. ‘They have vast holdings.’

‘Rhys has everything,’ Cecilia said. ‘And their sister Joan has the rest as part of her dowry. His father left him nothing at all.’

It made no sense at all. ‘How did you learn this?’

‘I eavesdropped when Mother was sewing with Lady Montbrooke. She told her everything. Did you know that Warrick didn’t speak for nearly two years, after his baby sister died?’

‘No, I didn’t.’ And yet, it didn’t surprise her. A grieving brother would have little to say. But she couldn’t understand why his own father had cut him off. When she lifted her gaze to his, Warrick met it with his own intense stare. In that moment, it was as if everything else disappeared and it was only the two of them.

It might only be infatuation, but she could not deny the feelings he conjured within her. She wished that she could sit beside him now and speak with him.

As the meal ended, Lord Montbrooke called for everyone to gather outside for evening stories, contests, and games. Rosamund followed the others and took her place beside her sister when Lady Montbrooke called her forward.

‘Will you join the other ladies in a game of stoolball?’ she enquired.

She had never played the game, but it sounded intriguing. ‘If you wish.’

Several other young ladies were gathered together, along with Lianna MacKinnon. Lady Montbrooke gave each of them a small tansy cake wrapped in linen, explaining, ‘I know we usually play this game at Easter, but it’s one of Rhys’s favourites. These are the prizes.’ Then she led them to an open clearing where six wooden stools were placed. On the opposite end, there were several wooden balls and a stick with a paddle on one end.

‘Go and choose a stool to stand upon,’ she directed the women.

Lianna hung back, unwilling to join them. ‘I have no wish to play. Let the others enjoy themselves.’ But after Lady Montbrooke spoke with her quietly, Lianna reluctantly chose the stool nearest to the men.

Rosamund didn’t understand what they were meant to do, but she followed what the other girls were doing. One of the women nearby was giggling, and Rosamund asked, ‘Why are you laughing?’

The girl stepped onto her stool and said, ‘Because the men can choose which prize they want. Either the tansy cake or a kiss.’

Rosamund felt her face burn with apprehension at the idea. Especially since Warrick was one of the men competing. Now her mother’s earlier warning made sense. She had no desire to be kissed by a stranger. But if Warrick wanted a kiss...she didn’t know what she should do.

At the far end, the men lined up for their turn. She soon realised that one man was attempting to throw a ball at the stool Lianna was standing upon. Another man defended her by striking the ball away with the stick. He ran hard around the line of stools, and his ball struck the base of it. After he had scored a point for his team, he returned to stand before one of the maidens. She offered him the cake, but instead, he took her face between his hands and brought her down for a deep kiss.

The men cheered, and the winner escorted the maiden away from the stools. Another young woman took her place.

Rosamund studied the crowd of men and women and saw Rhys pick up his ball. Warrick took his place with the bat and waited.

‘Don’t hit it, Brother,’ Rhys warned. His betrothed wife, Lianna, stood motionless while he prepared to aim the ball towards her stool. Rosamund almost pitied the woman for if Warrick did nothing, she would certainly be kissed in front of everyone. But Rhys’s anger made it an uncomfortable moment. It seemed that he wanted to humiliate Lianna, to force her to accept him.

Rosamund lifted her gaze to Warrick, hoping he would understand her unspoken message. He glanced at her and gave a single nod. The moment Rhys released the ball, Warrick struck it hard with his bat. It bounded across the grass and struck Rosamund’s stool hard.

She should have realised he would aim it towards her. It might have been luck that he’d hit it there, but she wasn’t certain. But as he ran past all the stools, she glimpsed a hard smile.

Would he try to kiss her in front of everyone? If he tried, her father would be furious. And yet, she wanted nothing more than to feel his mouth upon hers again. Her heart pounded when he approached the stool.

She remained frozen, feeling terrified that he might actually kiss her. But there was a way around this. In the barest whisper, she said, ‘At dawn, I will meet you by the stream for the kiss. For now, please accept the tansy cake.’

He made no effort to hide his interest. But when he took the tansy cake, he unwrapped the linen and broke off a piece. In front of everyone, he fed it to her, his thumb brushing against her lips. The gesture startled her, and she tasted the cake.

It was terrible, and she made a face at the herbs. With a laugh, she broke off a piece and fed it to him in return. ‘You try it. It’s awful.’

But his mouth closed over her thumb, gently kissing it as he ate the cake. There was no doubting that he wanted the kiss. ‘Tomorrow, Rosamund.’

She took his arm, and he guided her away from the others. With a soft smile, she answered, ‘I promise.’