Virginia Henley Read online

  Ravenspur bowed formally and without hesitation said, “Lady Joanna, before we discuss the betrothal, I wish to speak privately with Lady Roseanna.”

  “Certainly, my lord.” She smiled brilliantly, wondering wildly whatever she was going to do. “Kate,” she called brightly, “inform Roseanna that Baron Ravenspur has arrived. Come, my lord. I will show you to your chamber. You know how long it takes young girls to complete their toilet these days.”

  He knew immediately that something was wrong. It was unlike Joanna to be so fluttery. And the look she had exchanged with her servingwoman spoke volumes.

  He was pleased with the richly appointed chamber she had plenished for him. Joanna immediately poured them two goblets of her best Chablis. As he sipped the wine, he was alert to the signs of her agitation as she made animated small talk. Finally, Kate Kendall arrived. Her plain features were set in grim lines. She parroted the words she had been rehearsing ever since she had been met with silence at the turret-room door. She was worried to death, in actuality; the child’s safety meant more to her than Joanna’s desire to save face in front of the baron. “Lady Roseanna begs to be excused today. Perhaps tomorrow,” she said vaguely.

  Joanna’s lips tightened. “Go back and tell her she will not be excused, Kate. I insist that she come down.”

  Ravenspur added, “Explain that I wish to have a word with her in private and that it won’t take more than a moment.”

  The servant bobbed a brief curtsey and went on her hopeless mission. As soon as Roseanna learned that Ravenspur had returned and wished to see her, she hurriedly put on the maidenbelt. Her mischievous heart leaped, and her wicked juices bubbled with anticipation as she slipped into a fawn-colored underdress, exquisitely embroidered with stalks of wheat, that she’d purposely chosen because it emphasized the pallor of her skin. Satisfied with her ethereal appearance, Roseanna was ready to indulge in the very theatrics her mother had accused her of.

  When Kate returned to her mistress, she said plainly and simply, “I can get no response.”

  Joanna set her empty goblet down with a bang. “I’ll handle her,” she said with determination. Indeed, if Roseanna refused to open the door this time, she would send for Neville and have the door forced open. How dare her daughter show her up before the baron?

  As soon as Joanna had left, Ravenspur turned to Kate Kendall. “What is upsetting you so much, ma’am?”

  Flattered to be so addressed by such an exalted personage, she expelled her breath and proved the old adage that when under stress, women confess. “Oh, my lord, Lady Roseanna has been locked in her room all week without food.”

  “Good God!” he exclaimed, and strode out of the room and up the staircase that led to the turret. Taking Joanna firmly by the shoulders, he removed her from the doorway. “I had no idea you would punish her, ma-dame,” he said coldly.

  Joanna’s eyes widened in disbelief. “She is punishing me, sir, I would have you know!”

  He pitted his great strength against the door by wedging his foot firmly beside the lock and kicking with all his might. At the first loud thud Roseanna fell to the floor in a very appealing faint. At the third kick the lock gave, and the door swung in to reveal the small, limp figure. Roger was on his knees instantly, his hands upon her body searching for signs of warmth and life. His fingers encountered the metal chastity belt. He raised condemning eyes to Joanna and said, “I would never have believed a mother could be this cruel!” He lifted the delicate girl and strode from the turret room down to his own chamber; Joanna followed him.

  With eyes tightly closed and heart hammering wildly, Roseanna knew she had aroused his vow of knighthood to protect with his life a maiden in distress. Good God, she’d gone too far, as usual. Somehow she had to find a way to make herself unattractive to him.

  Gently, he laid her upon his bed and chaffed her hands. He poured her a little Chablis and lifted it to her pale lips.

  She opened her eyes slowly and said weakly, “Where … am I?”

  “You wicked girl! Stop this play-acting at once!” demanded Joanna.

  Ravenspur turned on her instantly. “Outside! I want to be alone with her.” His eyes blazed with such dark fire, that she dared not goad him further. She swept past him, taking Kate with her. Very well, Joanna thought angrily, the little wildcat could face him alone. They deserved each other!

  “Roseanna, are you feeling strong enough to talk to me?” he asked.

  Instinct told her that she would get more from this man by appealing to his chivalrous heart than by making demands.

  “Whatever have you done to provoke your mother to such extremes?” he asked gently.

  She allowed one tear to slip down her cheek. “It’s because we wish to dissolve the betrothal, and”—she spoke softly, but passionately—“because … I love—another.”

  A frown came between his heavy brows. “Who?” he demanded; some of the gentleness had left his voice.

  She shook her head woefully. “Alas, I cannot tell his name. He would suffer greater punishment than I.”

  “Is this why she’s forced you into the maidenbelt?” he asked, his eyes holding hers.

  He was no longer carrying her, but the closeness of his body to hers reminded her of his great strength. She lowered her eyes. She knew the question that hovered in his mind as if he had spoken it aloud, and she also knew that her fate rested on the answer she gave to that question. Suddenly, brilliantly, she knew how to free herself from this man, knew how to devalue herself in his eyes. “The maidenbelt was in vain. I am no longer a virgin,” she lied, and the intimate words stained her cheeks a delicate pink.

  His eyes clouded with anger. He got up and took a turn around the room as if he were trapped in a place too small for his great vitality.

  Holding her breath, she waited for him to repudiate her and hoped his anger would not explode into violence. Slowly, he turned to face her. “I have decided not to dissolve the betrothal. I have decided to take you for my wife.”

  “No!” she cried, aghast, springing up from the bed.

  His dark eyes narrowed. “For one so close to starvation, you have amazing recuperative powers! Why do you prefer a union with the other man? Has he gotten you with child? Do you need an abortifacient?” he shouted.

  “How dare you?” With all of her strength she slapped his cheek.

  He grabbed her wrist and held it in a cruel, ironlike vise until she thought he would snap the fragile bones.

  “I dare do anything, Roseanna Castlemaine—never doubt it! I dare strip you and verify your virginity or lack of it this very moment. Now you will apologize for slapping me.” His dark eyes bored into hers as if he were reading her thoughts.

  She pursed her lips stubbornly and kept silent.

  “When you do that with your lips, I don’t know if you want to kiss me or spit on me,” he said with glittering eyes. Seeing her eyes darken with anger, he dipped his head to take possession of the lips that seemed to have been fashioned solely for his kisses. He held her mouth firmly with his, not wanting to give her the opportunity to bite him again.

  She had the same inflaming effect on him that she’d had the night he’d found her in his bed: He was like iron, erect and ready. He pressed against her softness so she would have no doubts about his desires. His kiss took and took and took, plundering her mouth, deeper and deeper while one hand cupped her round, full breast, his thumb stroking her nipple until it hardened like a diamond. His scent of jasmine made her dizzy, and where their bodies touched, her nerve endings burned with a mixture of pain and pleasure that she’d never before felt. He let her go, and she backed away, rubbing her wrists to restore circulation.

  “Why are you doing this? Why do you insist on having me?” The fine-spun robe seemed to shiver against her breasts as they rose and fell with her great agitation.

  He pulled his gaze from her breasts and looked into her eyes. “We are pledged. ’Tis as simple as that.”

  As she looked at him, s
he knew him for a man who made his own rules. He wouldn’t keep a pledge unless it suited his own purpose. “There must be other reasons. Tell me!”

  As he looked at her, he thought her beauty magnificent. He wanted to rip the filmy gown from her body, lay her back upon the bed, and fuck with her all night. Her eyes blazed defiantly. She wanted none of him and made no bones about it. The challenge she offered was impossible for Ravenspur to resist!

  He smiled, and it reached all the way from his sensual mouth to his night-dark eyes. “We are two of a kind, Roseanna. You will make me happy.”

  “I will make you wretched!” she vowed.

  The evening went surprisingly well for a day that had begun so disastrously. Kate Kendall’s motherly qualities came to the fore as she took charge of Roseanna. She gave her the key to the maidenbelt, helped her bathe, put her to bed, and brought her a tray that held broth, calf’s-foot jelly, and restorative egg custard. When Roseanna wrinkled her nose and asked for roast boar, the good woman was off to the kitchens at double speed.

  In the hall, seated between his host and his hostess, Roger Montford broached the subject of their daughter before the first course was served.

  “Sir Neville, I formally request your daughter’s hand in marriage.”

  Sir Neville, ignorant of the day’s details and the week’s events, gave his wife a congratulatory look and wondered how she had pulled it off.

  Utterly surprised but nonetheless delighted with the turn of events, Joanna picked up her goblet and raised it to Ravenspur. “My lord, let me be the first to congratulate you. I offer a toast to Roger and Roseanna.”

  If Ravenspur noticed that two young knights sitting farther down the table did not respond to the toast, he gave no sign of it. Joanna rapidly calculated when the best time would be for the marriage to take place. Harvest was almost upon them; since Roseanna was stubbornly opposed to the match, she would need time to be brought around. Christmas was a festive time of the year when everyone was free to celebrate and indulge; if the wedding were then, the months between would give them time to sew Roseanna a spectacular trousseau.

  “I think Christmastide is lovely for a wedding, my lord.”

  Ravenspur frowned. “The betrothal has already been overlong.”

  Joanna hastened to suggest November eleventh. “Martinmas, then?”

  His frown deepened. “I thought next week, but perhaps I am precipitate. Let’s say the first day of Autumn.”

  “But September twenty-first is less than a month away,” she pointed out. When she saw his brow slant like the wing of a raven, however, she acquiesced. “We will be hard pressed, but I will see that all is ready.”

  “Sir Neville, Lady Joanna, please don’t think I am being difficult, but it will be impossible to have the wedding here. The King wants me in the North, where there is unrest,” he explained shortly.

  Joanna’s eyes went quickly to his. “There’s trouble between Edward and Warwick, isn’t there? Men’s ambitions! I told Edward he would make a mortal enemy of Warwick if he offered Warwick’s daughters husbands from the hated Woodville tribe.”

  Since Joanna seemed to know the King’s business, Roger was free to speak of it. “I suppose that is at the bottom of it. Warwick wants no less than both the King’s brothers to marry his daughters.”

  She replied, “It is a great wonder to me that Edward refused him; he is too easygoing.”

  “Easygoing, perhaps, but a fool he is not. If Warwick got George for his son-in-law, the kingmaker would be at it again.”

  Sir Neville was aghast. “You mean he would pull Edward from the throne and set up George as King?”

  “Let us not even speak of treason,” warned Ravenspur.

  “Warwick holds the North in the palm of his hand,” worried Joanna.

  “That’s why I go north, madame. I have three strongholds. Ravenglass in the west, Ravensworth in the center, and Ravenscar in the east.”

  “You wish the wedding that far north?” asked Joanna.

  “Nay. The King goes to York shortly. I think York would be best,” he decided.

  Joanna smiled complacently. York, Edward, and the King’s Court. How fitting!

  Ravenspur turned to Sir Neville. “Allow yourself at least three days for the journey to York. I know you have ample men-at-arms, sir, but I will send thirty of my own men to assure safe escort.”

  Ravenspur departed at dawn, so when Roseanna came downstairs to break her fast, he and his men were long gone. She let her mother and her women, including Alice and Kate, chatter on incessantly about the wedding details. An air of such urgency had befallen the household that they even seemed to speak more rapidly; their brains were even ahead of their tongues as they planned for the wedding.

  Roseanna was totally unconcerned with it all, for she had no intention of going through with these particular nuptials. She cast Sir Bryan a devastating smile and knew he would follow her out into the orchard.

  “Sweetheart, I’ve been nearly mad. Jeffrey has kept me informed as best he could, but last night when I had to sit and listen to Ravenspur’s wedding plans, I almost committed murder.”

  “Bryan, Ravenspur’s wedding plans and mine have nothing in common,” she assured him.

  “You daydream, Roseanna. Your parents have agreed to it all,” he said miserably.

  “Bryan, do you wish to marry me or not?” she demanded.

  “You know I do!” he swore with fervor.

  “Then we’ll elope!” she said, laughing.

  “Run away?” he questioned. “Where? How?”

  “We will make plans. What did you intend we should do?” she prompted.

  “I—I didn’t think. It seemed so hopeless.”

  “You mean you were going to let me go to him?” she asked incredulously.

  “Of course not,” he hastened.

  “We could go to your home at Marston Moor. Oh, I know! We’ll elope across the border. It’s easier to get married under Scottish law.”

  “Yes, yes. Then I’ll go back into service with the King’s brother,” he said, as if just coming to that decision.

  “Jeffrey will help us. Don’t trust a note with anyone else,” she cautioned, “not even Alice.”

  “Roseanna—Ravenspur didn’t touch you, did he?”

  She wondered what he would do if he knew she had shared a bed with Ravenspur. Instantly, blushes suffused her neck and cheeks. She shook her head, and he was satisfied. Later, the errant thought came to her that Ravenspur wanted her, virgin or not; she wondered if the same could be said for Sir Bryan. She dismissed the thought as unmaidenly and vowed to put all thoughts of Ravenspur out of her mind permanently. But it proved to be more difficult than she had imagined, for it seemed that each night when sleep claimed her, Ravenspur was there, beckoning her, luring her, tempting her, and in her dreams she did not resist him. Of course, she had no control over her dreams, she reminded herself.

  As Roseanna made her secret plans, she knew that the first thing they would need was money. She selected certain pieces of her jewelry to take into Nottingham to sell. She mustn’t go too soon or the goldsmith would recognize Joanna’s work, and he would have time to inform her mother that he had bought the pieces from her daughter. She patiently stood for hours while new gowns, underdresses, tunics, and tabards were designed and fitted. She tried not to take pleasure in the pale peacock silk with gray fox fur edging the sleeves, or in the mauve velvet embroidered with silver thread, for she knew she would have room to pack only one change of clothes for her furtive journey north.

  She went to her brother’s chamber; she had a special request of him. “Jeffrey, I want some of your clothes.”

  He looked her up and down and grinned. “You forget, I’ve grown. My clothes would drown you.”

  “Dolt! I mean clothes my size from when you were twelve or thirteen.”

  “I’ll see if I can find where Kate has them stored. Come back tomorrow night for a dress rehearsal.”

  As it tu
rned out, the entire day was like a dress rehearsal for Roseanna. The material for the wedding gown had arrived, and even she had to admit that it was breathtaking. It was white satin with white roses embroidered overall. White on white. It was symbolic of the white rose of York.

  Joanna designed the gown along traditional lines with a train and long-trailing sleeves. Roseanna stood for hours, turning this way and that as the gown was pinned, tucked, and sewn. When she finally removed it and handed it over to her mother’s sewing women, she felt a pang of regret that she would not be able to wear it on her wedding day, for it was truly exquisite. Later, in Jeffrey’s chamber she selected a linen shirt, a mulberry-colored doublet, and a pair of tight black hose. She quite looked forward to wearing the nonrestrictive hose for riding. She caught sight of Jeffrey’s cheeky grin as he asked, “But brat, whatever will you do about your hair and your—er, other female accoutrements?”

  She snatched a velvet cap from the trunk. “I’m not passing myself off as a man; it will just be easier to travel this way.”

  A low knock came on the door, and Jeffrey opened it for Sir Bryan. Roseanna turned to her brother. “Oh, bless you, Jeffrey. I’ll never forget your support and kindness to me. Bryan, what do you think? Should we travel by night and rest by day?”

  “Nay, night-riding is fine for a short run, but my home is nearly seventy miles from here. We’ll rest easy there before we go to Scotland.”

  “I think we should stay overnight at the abbeys where they take in travelers.”

  “Well, it will be cheaper than inns. I haven’t much money,” he apologized.

  “I have enough for the journey, Bryan. We’ll be all right.”

  He took her hands and gazed at her with loving eyes. “You are a wonder. You risk everything for me.”

  “And you do the same for me, Bryan.”

  He enfolded her in his embrace. “How am I to wait until we are wed?” he whispered.

  She lifted her half-parted mouth to his and wished he would not wait. She wished he were more reckless; then she realized that he put her first and that she must be grateful for it.