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Hostage Bride
Anne Herries

Литагент HarperCollins EUR


CAPTIVE IN THE DARK KNIGHT’S CASTLE…Raphael’s heart is thought to be in the grave with his late wife. He’s certainly thankful for the mission to restore King Richard to the throne; it leaves him with no time for distraction. Lady Rosamunde Meldreth is beautiful, vulnerable, and the prey of a dangerous man.As much as Raphael wants to walk away, he’s forced to keep Rosamunde under lock and key in his castle. Raphael’s interest in Rosamunde seems to be purely one of possession – but then she discovers the dark knight wants to make her his hostage bride…










‘Are you indeed certain you wish to wed me?’

‘It is the only way I can keep you safe,’ he said. ‘As my betrothed wife I put my seal on you. Any man who tries to take you from me will know they become my mortal enemy.’

Rosamunde glanced away. Her heart was racing. She had agreed to wed him, and she sensed—felt—the passion in him. Raphael wanted her, but he had made it clear that he could never love her. He had obviously loved his wife greatly, but she was in her grave. He was only marrying Rosamunde to protect her. He considered it his duty to care for her, and she knew he would keep her safe—but she wanted more from her marriage than that.




About the Author


ANNE HERRIES lives in Cambridgeshire, where she is fond of watching wildlife, and spoils the birds and squirrels that are frequent visitors to her garden. Anne loves to write about the beauty of nature, and sometimes puts a little into her books—although they are mostly about love and romance. She writes for her own enjoyment, and to give pleasure to her readers. She is a winner of the Romantic Novelists’ Association Romance Prize. She invites readers to contact her on her website at www.lindasole.co.uk.

Previous novels by the same author:

MARRYING CAPTAIN JACK

THE UNKNOWN HEIR THE HOMELESS HEIRESS THE RAKE’S REBELLIOUS LADY A COUNTRY MISS IN HANOVER SQUARE* (#ulink_a51edce4-6bb5-51dc-a9ae-47ee125dac30) AN INNOCENT DEBUTANTE IN HANOVER SQUARE* (#ulink_a51edce4-6bb5-51dc-a9ae-47ee125dac30) THE MISTRESS OF HANOVER SQUARE* (#ulink_a51edce4-6bb5-51dc-a9ae-47ee125dac30) FORBIDDEN LADY† (#ulink_a51edce4-6bb5-51dc-a9ae-47ee125dac30) THE LORD’S FORCED BRIDE† (#ulink_a51edce4-6bb5-51dc-a9ae-47ee125dac30) THE PIRATE’S WILLING CAPTIVE† (#ulink_a51edce4-6bb5-51dc-a9ae-47ee125dac30) HER DARK AND DANGEROUS LORD† (#ulink_a51edce4-6bb5-51dc-a9ae-47ee125dac30) BOUGHT FOR THE HAREM

* (#ulink_5e21c627-752f-54a5-ba10-2c4f52418d99)A Season in Town trilogy † (#ulink_5e21c627-752f-54a5-ba10-2c4f52418d99)The Melford Dynasty

And in the Regency seriesThe Steepwood Scandal:

LORD RAVENSDEN’S MARRIAGE

COUNTERFEIT EARL

And inThe Hellfire Mysteries:

AN IMPROPER COMPANION

A WEALTHY WIDOW A WORTHY GENTLEMAN

Did you know that some of these novelsare also available as eBooks?Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk




AUTHOR NOTE


I hope you will enjoy this medieval story about a young woman who is sent as a hostage in her cousin’s place to pay her uncle’s debt. At the very least she expects to be disparaged and returned to her family in disgrace, but what else can she do but obey her cousin? Her father has given all his money away and no longer cares about life. How can Rosamunde find a new life for them when she will lose both her honour and her chance of ever finding a husband?

Raphael has returned from the crusades a rich man, but he carries the memory of the woman he married there and her terrible death. When he discovers what his father has been doing while he was away he is ashamed, and determined to set an example to his men—but the latest hostage is beautiful, and her eyes seem to call to him. If he sets her free she might just be taken hostage again to satisfy Prince John’s greed.

Somehow he must find a way to make sure his lovely prisoner is cared for—for the rest of her life—but she thinks he is his father, a man lost to honour and reputation. How can he forget the shadows that haunt him and convince her that her happiness lies with him?

I know many of you love tales of knights and their ladies. I loved writing this one and hope you will find pleasure in reading it.








Hostage Bride

Anne Herries









www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)




Prologue


In the year of our Lord 1189

Rosamunde looked down from the solar at the top of the tower, watching the activity in the courtyard below. The compound was filled with men, horses and dogs because the hunting party had just returned. The huntsmen seemed to have been successful and there was evidence of more than one kill. That meant that Lady Meldreth and her women would be busy for a few days salting the flesh of wild boar into barrels for the winter. Most of the game and venison would be roasted for the feast the next day.

She was not yet thirteen years of age, but Rosamunde was accustomed to helping her mother in her still room; she kept accounts and embroidered hangings to keep the chill from the stone walls of her father’s keep. She was wise beyond her years and knew that Sir Randolph Meldreth was not as rich and successful as some of the knights he was entertaining. Behind her, she could hear her mother complaining.

‘If you do not watch your spending, husband, you will ruin us,’ she scolded. ‘The King is off to the Crusades and you will earn no favours by entertaining him and his knights with a lavish feast. You would do better to save our money and wait until you see which way the wind blows. Prince John is to be regent in Richard’s place and it is he you should seek to please now.’

‘Hush, woman. Richard asked me to entertain his friends for a few days,’ Sir Randolph replied in his cheerful, easy manner. ‘It is an honour, wife. Besides, I cannot refuse. If my health did not prevent it, I should offer my sword to this holy cause and go with the King.’

‘Then I must thank God that you have the agues and cannot ride for days and weeks at a time.’ Lady Meldreth’s mouth turned down sourly. ‘The King may be gone for years and only God knows if he and his knights will ever return.’

Unwilling to listen to yet another quarrel between her parents, Rosamunde went quietly from the room. She walked down the narrow spiral-staircase to the great hall below the solar. Some of the men were already spilling into the large room, laughing and talking excitedly as they boasted to one another of the day’s exploits. One of them had brought his dogs in with him and they were sniffing at the rushes, yelping and growling as they hunted for scraps that might have been tossed to the floor.

Suddenly, a small kitten rushed at one of the hounds and scratched its nose; it had obviously been startled by the arrival of the dogs and had lashed out in fright. The great hound stared at it for a moment then growled and pounced, intending to crush it between its heavy jaws.

‘No, please, do not let the dog harm my kitty!’ Rosamunde cried and rushed towards them. Somehow the kitten had avoided capture thus far and Rosamunde flung herself on it, clutching it to her breast as the dog snarled and jumped at her, trying to reach its prey, its sharp teeth snapping inches from her face. ‘Get down, you brute. Leave my poor kitty alone.’

The dog saw only the kitten. It reared up on its hind legs to growl and bark as it attempted to grab its prey from her. Rosamunde screamed as the dog’s saliva dripped on her and its yellow fangs scraped her hand.

‘Down, you cur,’ a voice cried and then a youth, dressed in a short parti-tunic of blue and silver over black hose, caught hold of its collar and dragged it off her. The dog snarled and fought but the youth hauled it to the door and thrust it outside, where it could be heard barking fiercely.

Rosamunde ran to a corner of the hall and sat down on the stone floor, hunching her knees to her chest and hugging the terrified kitten. Tears trickled down her cheeks because she was frightened, and her hand hurt where the dog’s fangs had scraped her skin.

‘Are you hurt, little mistress?’

Rosamunde glanced up as the youth spoke. He was perhaps sixteen or so and handsome, with dark-blond hair and blue eyes. His mouth was wide and generous and there was concern in his eyes as he looked at her.

‘I thought he would kill my kitten,’ she said and wiped her hand over her cheek. ‘I’m not frightened for myself.’

‘Of course not,’ he said and smiled. ‘Did the dog’s teeth break the skin?’

Rosamunde showed him her hand. His fingers were gentle as they examined the red marks the dog’s fangs had made.

‘The brute has not drawn blood. I think you will not take harm from it.’

‘You were in time to save me,’ she said. ‘I thank you, sir. What is your name? Are you here because you’re going to the Crusades?’

‘Aye, that is my reason for being here.’ His eyes lit up. ‘It is a wonderful chance for me to win glory and fame, and perhaps a knighthood. My father will not join the King’s cause but I think it an honour.’

‘Shall you fight the Saracens? My mother says they are fierce fighters and many will die in a foolish cause.’

‘We fight for a holy cause, little mistress,’ he said. ‘Your mother does not understand that men will gladly risk everything for such honour and glory.’

‘I do not think I should like you to be killed,’ Rosamunde said, looking at him shyly. ‘You are so brave. The hound could have bitten you but you did not think of yourself.’

‘It was nothing. I knew the dog was too strong for you. He would not have stopped until he had the kitten and, since you would not let go, you could have been seriously injured.’

‘Raphael. Here to me, sirrah. I need you.’

‘My master calls me,’ Raphael said. ‘Sir Harold of Fernshaw trained me as his squire and I owe him allegiance. If it were not for him, I should not have this opportunity. Excuse me, little mistress. I have work to do.’

‘My name is Rosamunde,’ she whispered but she did not know if he heard her. ‘When you return to England, visit us again, sir. I shall be here waiting for you.’

The young man turned his head and smiled at her once more. Rosamunde’s heart raced, her breath quickening. She was only a child, but the men would be many years at the Crusades and by the time they returned she would be a woman.

Would Raphael remember her? She would never forget him but perhaps he believed her merely a child. His thoughts were only of the Holy Land and the adventures he would discover there.

‘Come back safely,’ she murmured as she stroked the kitten and kissed its soft head. ‘I shall not forget you, Raphael. One day I pray we shall meet again.’




Chapter One


In the year of our Lord 1193

‘Messalina! God help me …’ Raphael awoke from the nightmare, his body dripping with perspiration. Putting out his hand, he discovered that the bed beside him was empty and cold. He had been dreaming of his late wife, of the terrible day a few months ago when he’d discovered that she was dead, lost to him for all time. ‘Forgive me. I should have been there. I should have protected you, my dear one.’

He moaned as the agony swept over him. His beautiful, young and lovely wife was dead and it was his fault. She’d begged him not to leave her that fateful night, but he had unwound her soft white arms from about his neck and told her he must go.

‘This is war, Messalina. I have been summoned by King Richard to a meeting and must obey his orders.

Things do not go as well as Richard would have liked and we may have to leave the Holy Land without gaining all we came for.’

‘Leave? You speak of leaving, of returning to your own land?’ Messalina’s eyes filled with tears. ‘Will you leave without me?’

‘You are my wife. When I return to England you will come with me.’

‘What of my father? How can I leave him here alone to face his last years without his daughter?’

‘I shall speak to your father tomorrow when I know more of the King’s plans,’ he’d promised—but in the morning both his wife and her father were dead, murdered by renegade Saracens.

His guilt lay heavy on his conscience for he knew that he need not have attended the meeting but had gone because he wanted to spend a little time with the knights who were his friends that night. Messalina was beautiful and he had been fond of her, like a man might be fond of a spaniel puppy, but she had clung to him and wept, and soon after wedding her he had realised that he did not love her as he ought.

He was not sure why he’d wed her, except that her father had offered her to him, and her shy smile had been appealing to a young man flushed with success from fighting a holy war. He had rescued both her and her father from ruffians who had sought to rob the wealthy merchant, and their gratitude had been flattering. Jacob had begged him to give them his protection and take his daughter and her fortune as his reward. He had wanted to protect both Messalina and her father and now felt that he had betrayed them. Yet it was more than that. Perhaps he was not capable of giving the deep love Messalina had needed, but he had genuinely cared for her, and now that she was dead his guilt haunted him day and night.

Leaving his bed, Raphael found cold water in the ewer and washed his face and body. His skin was bronzed by the sun of the Holy Land, his muscles honed by years of fighting and training in the art of warfare. The scars he’d received in battle had faded with time. He was drying himself when the door of his chamber opened and his servant Janquil entered.

‘Yes?’ he barked and then checked himself for he alone was to blame for the betrayal of Messalina. Janquil held no blame of any kind. ‘There is news?’

‘We have discovered the goldsmith you seek, my lord. It is but a day’s ride across the border into Normandy.’

‘Then we shall leave as soon as the others are ready. I must settle this business and then perhaps I shall have peace.’

The squire inclined his head, his dark eyes inscrutable. Raphael knew that the man was part-Saracen and part-Jew, a combination that had led to him being reviled and spat upon by the people of Acre. His mother’s people hated him for being the son of a Muslim and his father’s people thought him unworthy to be one of them. His parents had lived as outcasts in their village and when they had died of a virulent fever Janquil had sought work in Acre. For some years he’d worked as a house servant to a wealthy Jew but when Saladin took the city his master had been murdered.

When King Richard recaptured the city, Raphael had found the young man shivering and ill, near to starving. He had taken him to his quarters, nursed him and fed him, refusing to give him up as a prisoner. Janquil declined to leave after he recovered, saying that his life belonged to Raphael.

When Raphael and his friends had decided to make the long journey back to England, Janquil had asked to accompany him.

‘My country is very different to yours. You may wish you had stayed here, my friend.’

‘My life is yours. If I cannot serve you there is no purpose for me.’

Raphael put the memories to one side. He had become wealthy in the Holy Land, as had some of his friends, but there was also a fortune in Normandy lodged with a Jew his late father-in-law had trusted. Jacob would expect Raphael to claim it; they had been friends, and more than friends—almost as father and son. It was because Raphael had saved Jacob’s life that he had given him his most precious treasure—his daughter, Messalina.

Perhaps if he settled his business the nightmares would leave him to rest in peace.



Rosamunde was mending a tunic. It was her second best and she had torn it while out gathering herbs and berries for her cures. Her stitches were neat and she could not afford cloth to make a new one, because she would not ask her father for money. He had none to give her and would merely be distressed that she was in need.

Sir Randolph had almost beggared himself entertaining the King and his knights before they had gone on the third crusade. Since then he had contributed generously by sending young men from his manor to join Richard in the Holy Land, and he had recently given three-hundred gold talents towards paying the huge ransom demanded for Richard’s release.

When Sir Randolph had finally discovered that his debts were too deep to allow for a decent life for his daughter, he had decided that she must enter her cousin Angelina’s service. So Rosamunde had been sent to her uncle, Count Torrs, only to discover that he was leaving England for the Low Countries. The count had accepted his late sister’s daughter and Angelina had taken her into her service. Angelina was to stay with her uncle in Normandy until such time as her father returned from his travels, and so Rosamunde had travelled to France with her cousin.

At first, Rosamunde’s life had not been too bad, but as time passed Angelina seemed to dislike Rosamunde and gave her all the tedious tasks to perform. Rosamunde knew that her father had hoped she would make a life for herself in her kinswoman’s service, because there was little for her at home. She had no dowry to give to a husband and it was unlikely that anyone would offer for her without at least a small portion. Since coming to France, she had tried very hard to please her cousin, but Angelina was selfish and uncaring, and Rosamunde found it more and more difficult to accept her life. If she had not believed that her father would find her a burden to support, she would have returned home months ago.

Her only hope lay in King Richard’s return. If he were restored to his throne, he might find it in his heart to reward her father for past loyalty. A small pension would make all the difference and then perhaps Rosamunde could return to her home.

Sighing, she placed the tunic she’d been mending in her coffer and then went to look out of the narrow window. Since Rosamunde had no further work to occupy her, she might as well go in search of their hostess, Lady Saxenburg, and enquire if she could be of assistance to her.

About to leave on her errand, she was surprised when the door of her chamber opened and Angelina entered. Rosamunde felt a prickling sensation at the nape of her neck. It was not often that her cousin came to find Rosamunde; she was normally sent for by one of the other serving women.

‘Cousin, may I do something for you? I was looking for work since I have finished all the mending.’

‘You will be pleased to know we are to journey to England,’ Angelina said. ‘You should pack your things, Rosamunde, and then come to help me. I have set my other ladies to packing my things but only Margaret is to accompany us. Sir Thomas, who is a family friend, and his men will be our escorts.’

‘England?’ Rosamunde’s spirits lifted. ‘I am so glad, cousin. Perhaps I shall find time to visit my father. Do we go to your father’s home? Has his mission in the Low Countries been successful?’

‘We go on my father’s behalf,’ Angelina said. ‘It may be that you will have time to visit your father, but we shall speak of this when we reach England.’

‘I cannot thank you enough. Your uncle and aunt have made us welcome here in Normandy, but I prefer England. You must be glad to be going home too?’

‘I have no choice in the matter.’ Angelina’s gaze went over her. ‘That tunic is shabby, Rosamunde. Have you no others?’

‘This is the tunic I use for every day but I have two others.’

Angelina’s eyes narrowed. ‘You have grown shabbier; I had not noticed. I shall make you a gift of three tunics and a surcoat. You cannot attend me looking as you do, cousin. You will have time on the ship to make any adjustments you need.’

‘Cousin …’ Rosamunde’s cheeks stung. Angelina’s gift was generous but made in such a way that it humiliated her. ‘I … You are generous.’

Why was her cousin being so generous to her? Angelina had made it plain from the start that she did not like her cousin or wish to have her as one of her ladies—so why this sudden kindness? Something was not quite right.

‘I wish you to look well, cousin. We shall pass your home on our journey. You may visit your father, but remember your loyalty is to me. Perhaps if you serve me as I wish a marriage might be arranged for you. I dare say a knight might be found to wed you for fifty gold talents.’

‘I do not have even ten gold talents, cousin.’

‘No, but I may have.’ Angelina’s eyes glittered. ‘I cannot tell you just yet, but soon I shall ask a service of you and, if you please me, I may arrange something for you.’

‘What kind of a service, cousin?’

‘I cannot tell you yet—but it is important to me and my father.’

‘I am always willing to serve you and my uncle if I can, Angelina.’

Rosamunde could not help but be suspicious. Angelina always had a reason for what she did. If she was giving Rosamunde such a costly gift it must mean she wanted something from her in return.

‘Yes, perhaps. See to your packing. We leave within the hour.’

Rosamunde took her leave of the lord and lady of Saxenburg, thanking them for their hospitality, and then went up the twisting stair to her cousin’s chamber at the top of the tower. The door was open and as she paused she heard voices—Angelina and Sir Thomas. Without meaning to eavesdrop, she heard their words clearly.

‘What are we to do? My father is a prisoner of his enemy, Lord Mornay, and he demands one thousand gold pieces as a ransom to release him …’

‘It is an iniquitous sum. But the ransom must be paid or Mornay will not release his hostage. I have heard of this man, and I fear for Count Torrs if Mornay’s demands are not met.’

‘But you do not know it all,’ Angelina cried in a wailing tone. ‘He is not content with ruining my father by demanding this huge sum—he also wants me to take him the ransom myself.’

‘You cannot. I shall not allow it. You are promised to me, Angelina. Had your father not been captured in England we should have been wed before this,’ the man responded.

‘My uncle says that I must go to England and take the ransom, for if my father is not released his lands will be forfeit and he will have nothing left—and that means we cannot marry, Thomas, unless our plan works,’ Angelina said.

‘Your cousin suspects nothing?’

‘She is a fool and will do as I tell her,’ Angelina said scornfully. ‘But I still do not see how sending Rosamunde in my place will help us to recover my dowry.’

‘Listen and I shall explain once more …’

Shocked to the core at what she had heard, Rosamunde turned away, sick to the stomach and unwilling to hear more. Now she understood the reasons for the new gowns: her cousin meant to send her to this Lord Mornay in Angelina’s place.

Trembling, she ran back down to her own chamber.

What was she to do? She had no money of her own and there was no way that she could return to England without her cousin.

How could Angelina plan such a terrible thing? She had always known her cousin was selfish but this was beyond anything. Rosamunde was distressed and angry. She would not go to this man in her cousin’s place—but for the moment she had no choice but to hold her peace. Perhaps when she was in England she could go to her father and ask for his protection.



It was some ten minutes later that she followed her cousin down to the waiting horses. Angelina was to ride her own white palfrey, but Rosamunde had ridden pillion behind one of her uncle’s men-at-arms when they had come here and expected to ride that way once more. However, to her surprise, Sir Thomas led a lovely chestnut mare forward.

‘I believe you can ride, lady?’ ‘Yes, sir. Is this fine mare for my use?’ ‘Yes, if you can manage her.’ He smiled but something in his manner caused a shiver at Rosamunde’s nape. Had she not overheard their plan, she would have wondered why she was being so favoured. Now she understood why she was being given new clothes and a horse to ride. She must look the part of the count’s real daughter to fool the evil Lord Mornay.

Rosamunde longed to tell them that she knew what they planned, but her only chance was to reach England and her father. If he knew that she was being sacrificed to save her cousin from shame, he would surely not allow it. So, steeling herself not to flinch, she took Sir Thomas’s hand and allowed him to help her mount.

Rosamunde took the reins. Despite her anger, she felt a surge of pleasure at being able to ride independently. Not since her mother’s death had she had the joy of riding her own horse. Until that unhappy day her father had kept horses for both Rosamunde and her mother’s use, but afterwards he had sold them in an effort to stave off ruin.

Rosamunde took her place amongst Sir Thomas’s train. She saw that Angelina’s maid, Margaret, was riding pillion behind one of the grooms. The men-at-arms rode at the head and tail of the small procession, guarding their lord and his promised bride. Rosamunde followed just behind her cousin. It was a lovely warm afternoon and pleasant for riding. A few hours in the saddle would bring them to the coast where the ship would be waiting. How much she would have enjoyed the prospect, had she not understood what awaited her when they reached England.

Somehow she must find a way to get away from them once they reached England. Surely her father would be pleased to see her and would protect her?



Sir Raphael de Valmont sat his horse and looked out to sea. The ship that was to have taken him and his companions from France to England had been battered by a storm in mid-ocean and its mainmast was now being repaired. Unless he could find another vessel with space for five passengers, he might be forced to linger here another week.

‘The Southern Star sails with the morning tide,’ a voice said to his left and he turned to look at his friend Broderick. ‘But her captain says he has been asked to take a knight and his entourage to England and there is no room for us.’

‘Would he not let us find a corner of the deck on which to sit?’

‘He says that if we wait until the knight comes he will enquire how many there are in his party. Should there be room he might allow us to sleep on deck.’

Raphael nodded, his gaze brooding as he saw a party of horsemen arriving. His journey had become urgent ever since the news of his father’s illness had reached him as he had journeyed through France.

‘I believe the knight has arrived,’ Raphael said, his eyes narrowed, intent. ‘There are three ladies, a knight and ten men-at-arms, besides some five servants. The Southern Star is not large enough to take us all as well. We should search elsewhere.’

‘I’ve been told there is a cove just down the coast and two merchant ships are in port,’ Jonathan de Vere said as he rode up to them. ‘It will take us no more than thirty minutes to ride there. If we cannot find a berth for us all there, you must go on alone, Raphael.’

‘We vowed we would stay together until we reached England.’ Raphael’s mouth was unsmiling as he looked at his four friends: Sir Broderick, Sir Jonathan de Vere, Sir Michael Borthwick and Janquil. He had been some months on the journey from the Holy Land to Normandy, for it had now been a year since Messalina’s death. His friends had pledged to journey with him so that he might place his claim to recover from the goldsmith what should now have been his. In return, Raphael had promised that he would take them all into his service if he became rich.

They had eventually found the wealthy but elusive goldsmith. Markoff had at first been reluctant to part with the money and jewels lodged with him, but after verifying Raphael’s proof of marriage and the subsequent death of the whole family had admitted that he was the rightful owner. Raphael had considered making his home in Normandy, where he had purchased an estate, but then a message had reached him: his father was very ill and wished to see his son as soon as possible.

‘I have no intention of leaving you behind, my friends,’ Raphael continued. ‘My father may even be dead for all I know. The messenger told me that he had been searching for us for several weeks.’

‘Your father may have yet recovered. Tis a pity the ship did not wait here for you as was promised.’

‘The captain returned to England with a cargo. No doubt he intended to meet us here on time in the Broken Vows but the weather was against him.’

‘Shall we ride in search of these other ships?’

‘I shall speak to Captain Middleton and advise him of our intention.’ Raphael dismounted, giving the reins of his horse to his squire. ‘Wait here, Janquil. I shall not be long.’

Approaching the captain of the Broken Vows, Raphael told him of his intention to seek a berth elsewhere.

‘I shall be ready to sail in two days, sir, once the mainmast is mended,’ the captain said. ‘If you do not return before then, I shall seek another cargo and sail for England.’

‘Yes, you should do so. We shall return in good time if we fail to find berths elsewhere.’

Raphael turned away, intending to rejoin his friends. As he did so, he saw that the ladies had dismounted and were waiting to go aboard their ship. One of them was very beautiful with golden hair and a proud bearing; one was clearly a serving woman, but the other was less easy to place. She was very lovely but in a quieter way, her hair hanging down her back in a thick plait and the colour of burnished copper. Her eyes were green, her mouth soft and generous, and there was something about her that made him wonder if he’d seen her before. Her tunic was more modest than the proud lady’s and yet she had the bearing and look of nobility. Perhaps she was a relation rather than a serving woman.

The knight’s party was moving towards the ship as Raphael left the water’s edge. Just as they were about to pass one another, the woman with red hair seemed to stumble. Instinctively, Raphael reached out his hand to steady her.

‘I caught my heel.’ Her cheeks were flushed as she looked down at her boot, the heel of which had wrenched from its socket and was hanging loose. ‘Forgive me, sir.’

‘It was nothing. That boot will need mending,’ he commented.

‘Yes, I should have worn my others …’ She glanced up, her eyes widening, as if shocked. For a moment she seemed to hesitate and he thought there was a look of appeal in her eyes, but then her gaze dropped. ‘Excuse me, I must join my friends.’

‘Yes, of course—as must I.’

She moved away towards the ship but Raphael stood where he was, staring after her as she boarded the ship.

She seemed to become aware of him staring at her and for a moment she turned towards him. Their eyes met and another delicate flush touched her cheeks but she did not immediately glance away. Raphael felt a stirring of interest; he crushed it immediately. She was not a whore to be taken to his bed and dismissed the next morning, and he would never allow himself to care again.

As memories of his dead wife stirred, his expression hardened and he averted his gaze. The woman was lovely but she could never be anything to him. The memory of that night when he’d found the family home burned to the ground and his wife’s body lying in the yard was so strong and so sharp that he actually felt a stabbing pain in his chest.

Raphael realised that he had been staring at the English knight’s party without really seeing them. The women were being taken belowdecks now. Raphael felt a sudden sense of loss. He did not even know her name—the woman with the plait—yet it could not matter. They would never meet again. As her turn came to go below, she looked back and he sensed that she was searching for him. For a brief moment a smile touched her mouth, almost as if she knew him. Once again he felt that she wanted to speak to him, perhaps to ask for help, then her companion spoke to her and she walked onto the ship and was lost to his view.

Raphael crushed the urge to go after her, sweep her up and carry her off with him. For a moment he had seen something in her that he’d believed long forgotten, the spirit and joy he’d felt when he had first set out for the Crusades. No, that was ridiculous. She was nothing to him and never could be. He had built up a barrier, shutting out the pain of grief and loss. To allow softer feelings in would be to relive the pain that had almost destroyed him.

As he remounted his horse, Raphael put the red-haired woman from his mind. She was lovely, but he would not seek beauty or sweetness again. If he married for a second time it would be purely to get himself an heir.

‘What are you thinking of?’ Angelina’s sharp voice cut into Rosamunde’s thoughts. ‘I was speaking to you, cousin. Why did you not answer me?’

‘Forgive me. I did not hear you, cousin. What was it you wished me to do for you?’

‘I have a headache,’ Angelina said. ‘There must be something in my baggage to ease it. You are skilled with herbs—pray attend to it this instant.’

‘Yes, cousin,’ Rosamunde said. ‘I am sorry that you are feeling unwell. I shall make a soothing drink for you at once.’

Leaving her cousin to harangue her maid, Rosamunde went to find the herbs and beg some water from the ship’s quartermaster. She had been so lost in her thoughts that she had not heard Angelina speaking to her. The knight who had saved her from a tumble and then had stared at her—surely it could not be Raphael?

No, she was letting her imagination run away with her. The youth she’d remembered all these years had had such a merry smile, but this man looked harsh—and weighed down with sorrow.

She had been tempted to beg for his help but then, as she had seen him frown, had known she must be mistaken. He could not be the young knight she had met so many years before at her father’s castle. And even if he was, he had not known her. True, he had stared at her, but even when he had touched her there had been no recognition in his eyes.

This knight was a stranger and she had not dared to approach him for help. She must simply wait for her chance to slip away to her father’s house.




Chapter Two


‘I am not sure I understand you, cousin.’ Despite having overheard her cousin plotting with Sir Thomas, Rosamunde still found it difficult to believe that Angelina intended to go through with what she had just told her. ‘You wish me to lie to Lord Mornay—to pretend to be you. Why would you expect me to do such a thing?’

‘Because the ransom must be paid,’ Angelina said, a flash of temper in her eyes. ‘If I take it myself, Lord Mornay might decide he wants me as well as the money. He will accept it from you. You are not beautiful enough to arouse his interest and he is bound to let you go. Just give him the gold and then you may go home. I will give you fifty talents as your dowry, as I promised—though whether anyone will marry you for that sum I do not know.’

‘What makes you think Lord Mornay wishes to wed you? Does he know you?’

‘No, of course not. If he did I could not send you in my place,’ Angelina replied. ‘It was a condition of the ransom that I must take the gold myself—but Sir Thomas wants me to go to his home where we shall be married. After all, what can it matter to you? You have no prospect of marriage, even if I give you the money.’

‘No, but he may discover the truth and then he might refuse to release Count Torrs. Do you not think you should do as Lord Mornay demands?’

‘No, I shall not,’ Angelina said sulkily. ‘You must do this for me, Rosamunde. It is not so very much to ask considering what your father owes mine. If you oblige me, the debt will be cancelled. If you refuse, I shall ask for it to be repaid at once.’

Rosamunde felt coldness at her nape. Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. ‘I did not know my father owed yours money.’

‘Why else would he send you to me? You were to serve me until the debt was paid—but if you will not oblige me I shall send you home and demand payment at once.’

She was lying! Surely she was lying? Rosamunde could not believe that her father owed so much money to his brother-in-law and had not told her. If it were true, it would make her little better than a bondswoman.

‘My father never spoke of his debt. You said I could see him when we pass my home. I beg you to allow me to speak with him before I give you my answer.’

‘Are you accusing me of lying?’ Angelina glared at her furiously.

‘I am not accusing you of anything—but I must speak to my father before I give you my promise.’

‘If he agrees there is a debt, will you do as I ask?’

‘If I do, the debt will be paid?’

Rosamunde felt as if she were suffocating. She had meant to escape from her cousin and beg her father’s protection, but if he owed his brother-in-law a great deal of money she was honour-bound to serve her cousin in whatever way she demanded. Indeed, she would be a bondservant and tied to Angelina until the other woman gave her leave to go. Serving her cousin as one of her ladies was one thing but to be bonded through a debt was very different.

‘Yes, of course. Have I not said so?’

‘Then I shall do what you want—providing my father admits there is a debt,’ Rosamunde reiterated.

Angelina glanced at Sir Thomas. He inclined his head and she did the same.

‘You may see your father—but remember that he is old and sick and his mind may play tricks on him. However, I have a deed that proves he owes my father more than he could ever pay.’

‘May I see it?’

‘Yes, if you wish.’ Angelina turned to Sir Thomas. He handed her a small wooden coffer bound with iron. She lifted the lid and took out a roll of parchment, handing it to Rosamunde. ‘There, look at the signature on the bottom—is that not your father’s?’

Rosamunde looked and her heart sank. It was indeed her father’s hand and the sum of money mentioned was five-hundred gold talents, far more than his land and keep were worth.

‘Yes, this is my father’s hand,’ she said, her throat dry. ‘It seems you have proof. However, I still wish to see my father.’

‘Remember what I’ve told you. If you refuse me, I shall demand payment of the debt.’

Rosamunde returned the parchment. Her eyes pricked with tears she refused to shed. ‘I shall visit my father and then I will give you my answer.’



‘Your father lies on his bed sick to the heart,’ Maire told her when she kissed her old nurse and asked for him. ‘We’ve done our best to care for him, my lady, but he eats hardly anything and will not leave his bed.’

‘I shall go up to his chamber and see him,’ Rosamunde said. ‘If he is truly ill, we must have the physician.’

‘There’s no money for such things. I bought a cure in the village from the wise woman but he refused to take it. ‘Tis my belief that he wants to die.’

Rosamunde nodded, her throat tight with tears. It seemed that her father’s financial situation had not improved while she had been away, but at least he still had a bed to lie on. If Angelina demanded the return of the loan, he would be forced to lie under the hedgerow. How long would he live then?

She saw the signs of neglect everywhere. The servants might care for her father but no repairs had been done. The yard had not been swept and it looked as though no one had changed the rushes in weeks.

The room was dark and smelled of stale urine when she entered. Rosamunde felt angry. The servants had little enough to do; they could at least keep her father clean and his room smelling sweet.

‘Who is it?’ he asked as she approached the bed. ‘I want nothing. Leave me be. How many times must I tell you to leave me in peace?’

‘It is I, Father,’ Rosamunde replied. ‘Angelina has returned to England and she gave me permission to visit you while she rests at the inn this night.’

‘Rosamunde?’ His eyes opened and he looked at her. ‘You should not be here. There is nothing left for you, child. I have wasted my fortune and there is nothing but debt. Make your life elsewhere and leave me to die.’

‘I do not wish you to die, Father. Before I leave I shall see to your bed and have the room cleaned.’

Her father pushed himself up against the pillows, looking at her warily. ‘If you’ve come to me for money I’ve none to give you. I can hardly feed the servants, let alone pay my taxes. Next time Prince John’s collector comes, he will take what little we have left, but I shall not see it. I shall be in my grave.’

‘Are you in pain, Father?’ Rosamunde bent to plump up his pillows. He shook his head. ‘Then you should try to get up and come down for your supper. It will be easier for the servants to clean if you are not here.’

‘You want me to live but there’s no hope left, child. All hope fled when she died.’

‘Mother would be so angry with you!’ Rosamunde exclaimed. ‘The servants have neglected the house and the yard. She would not have liked that, Father.’

‘I know it. She would also be angry that I sent you away to your cousin, daughter, but what else could I do? If you stay here you will end in poverty.’

‘Could we not petition the King for a pension?’

‘If Richard were home he might do something for us, but he will need money himself. His ransom has not yet been paid. I gave all I had, but I should have thought of you instead, Rosamunde.’

‘Do not worry about me, Father. Perhaps I shall find someone who will marry me.’

‘If I had a dowry for you it would give you a chance, but I have spent even that, child. Your mother would not let me while she lived, but when she died I spent it on building a tomb for her.’

‘Do not look so sad, Father.’ Rosamunde reached for his hand. ‘Tell me, why did you borrow money from my uncle? Where did it go?’

‘Where did all the money go? I wasted it on others instead of saving it for my child. Did I borrow from your uncle?’ Her father wrinkled his brow. ‘I cannot recall the debt, Rosamunde, but your mother’s brother is a good man. If he says there is a debt, it must be so. He has helped me many times and I owe him more than I could ever repay. If he asks something of you, you must oblige him for my honour’s sake.’

Rosamunde’s heart sank. She’d thought for a moment he would deny the debt, but the truth was he was too old and sick to know. He had beggared himself by his generosity and now he was ill. At least she could make sure that he died in his own bed. Angelina had promised the debt would be paid if she took her place, and she’d also promised a gift of fifty gold talents. It was a large sum of money and would feed the household here for months, as well as pay her father’s taxes.



‘Well?’ Angelina demanded when she walked into the inn bedchamber the next morning. ‘You’ve seen your father—what did he say?’

‘He does not recall the debt; he is too old and ill to know. But it does not matter if you are lying. You promised me fifty gold talents if I help you—will you keep your word?’

‘Come to me after you’ve delivered the ransom and I will pay you.’ Angelina’s eyes gleamed suddenly. ‘I shall give you my bond and seal it. It will be binding in law.’

‘Very well, I shall do as you ask,’ Rosamunde said. Her father had told her she must do all she could for her uncle for his honour and, though he could not have guessed what that entailed, Rosamunde felt duty-bound to obey him. Unless she took the ransom her uncle might languish in prison for ever. ‘If Lord Mornay does not accept me as you, I shall forfeit all right to the money, but if he does I shall return to claim my dues.’

‘Yes, of course. There is paper in my coffer. Bring me a quill and ink and I shall write the bond for you,’ Angelina said.

Her cousin sat down at a board. Rosamunde went to her coffer and brought her parchment, ink, a pen and sealing wax. She read the document. Angelina promised her fifty gold talents and the cancellation of her father’s debt, once Count Torrs was released, and she sealed it with her own ring.

Rosamunde placed the parchment inside her tunic. ‘If I am to pose as you, I should have servants. Is Margaret to come with me?’

‘No, I need her myself. I will arrange for one of the inn servants to go with you.’

‘I asked Maire to accompany me here, so I will take her with me. She is old and my father’s other servants will care for him until we return.’

‘What will you do afterwards?’ Angelina asked, though for once she could not look her cousin in the face.

‘I shall return to my father. I shall send Maire for my money and care for my father until he dies.’

‘You should use the money to buy yourself a husband. Not many knights would take you for so little, but you might find a freeman who would wed you. It would set you up in a modest inn where you might earn your living.’

‘I thank you for your advice, cousin, but my father needs someone to care for him.’

‘Well, you must do as you please,’ Angelina said a little uncomfortably. ‘We shall send three men as your escort, but once you reach Lord Mornay’s castle you and your nurse will go in alone.’

‘But why? Surely they will wait and escort me home?’

‘They will wait outside the castle for three days. After that, they will leave you to make your own way.’

‘Why will they not come in with me?’ Rosamunde frowned. ‘What are you not telling me, Angelina?’

She sensed that her cousin was hiding something but could not tell what it might be.

‘I am telling you how it must be. Lord Mornay demands that your escort leave once you are inside the castle. He will not admit armed men into his bailey.’

‘I think there is more to this than you have told me,’ Rosamunde said, suddenly suspicious. ‘Will you not tell me the truth, cousin?’

‘There is no more to tell. You should leave now. Lord Mornay expects you before nightfall.’

Rosamunde inclined her head and turned away. What had she missed that day when she’d overheard her cousin plotting with Sir Thomas to send Rosamunde in her stead? There was something more than the simple payment of a ransom—but what?



Rosamunde noticed the odd looks her escort gave her as they waited for her to approach them. She wondered what they were thinking, but did not ask. She was certain that Angelina had not told her the whole truth.

‘Why are you going to this man?’ Maire asked. ‘I have heard of Lord Mornay. He is an evil, wicked man and people fear him.’

Rosamunde frowned at this; perhaps the old woman was simply exaggerating. ‘I am to take the ransom for my uncle—I told you, Maire. When Count Torrs is free, my cousin will pay me fifty gold talents and my father’s debt is cancelled. I shall come home and look after him—and the rest of you. Somehow I will earn a living for us all.’

‘What could a girl like you do to earn money?’ Maire looked scornful.

‘I can sew and cook. Perhaps I can make dresses for the wives of noblemen. Even if I earn just enough to buy hens and a cow it will help. We could raise our own pigs and grow our own worts and soft fruits.’

‘And what of the taxes? The prince’s collectors took much of what we had the last time they came—armour, silver and pewter that would have fetched far more than your father owed them. If he had been stronger he could have forced them to take just what was due, but they knocked us aside and stole what they pleased.’

‘If King Richard returns he will put a stop to his brother’s unfair taxes,’ Rosamunde said. ‘It is not right that people should be treated so badly.’

‘Aye, that’s what everyone hopes, but it is not likely that the prince will pay his brother’s ransom. Why should he when he has the power?’

‘I am sure that the King has enough loyal supporters to raise the money. In time he will return.’

Rosamunde gave her hand to the groom and was helped to mount the horse she had been given for her journey. She decided that she would keep both Maire’s pony and this horse. Angelina could deduct their worth from the fifty talents if she chose, but at least Rosamunde would have something. She did not trust her cousin at all, for there had been an odd, sly look in her eyes when she had given her the paper.

‘I would help you if I could, lady.’

Rosamunde looked at the man who had spoken in surprise. An icy shiver ran down her spine despite the warmth of the day. It was late September and, though overcast, very warm. ‘I do not understand you, Fitzherbert.’

‘You will be in great danger, lady. The Lord Mornay is not a good man.’

It was what Maire had tried to tell her. ‘Why do you say that?’

‘He preys on his neighbours, takes them prisoner and holds them to ransom. Sometimes he steals their womenfolk and holds them until …’ The man stopped, his cheeks red. ‘It is wrong that Lady Angelina sends you in her place. In all honour, she should pay the price demanded, not you.’

Rosamunde felt chilled. What price exactly was she expected to pay? Something told her that Fitzherbert was not speaking only of the thousand gold talents strapped to the packhorse.

‘What price is that, sir?’ she asked.

‘She has not told you? The last woman who took a ransom for her husband was disparaged and returned to her home after a month. She took her life by walking into the river, because her husband no longer respected her. He said he would rather have rotted in prison than have her lie with such a man.’

Rosamunde felt the heat sweep over her as she finally realised what Angelina had not told her—that Lord Mornay might force her to lie with him against her will. She hesitated. She could get down now, return to the inn and refuse to take the ransom for Angelina—but what then? Her father would be turned from his home when the prince’s tax-collectors came for their money and there would be no fifty talents to restore their fortunes.

Surely Lord Mornay could not be as evil as rumour painted him? Besides, he would likely not think Rosamunde beautiful enough to bed. After all, Angelina was very lovely and Rosamunde knew she was not as beautiful as her cousin. Lord Mornay might simply accept the ransom and let her go.

Yet what if he did not? She would be ruined, shamed before the world. Only, she had no hope of marriage, so what did it matter if she lost her innocence? She had no choice but to do as her cousin had bid her. Even if Angelina had lied about the debt, there was a debt of honour to be paid. Her uncle could not be left to languish in prison until he died. Perhaps when he was free he would know the truth—and he would force his daughter to pay Rosamunde the fifty gold talents she had promised her.



‘I shall pray that this time he will be moved to mercy,’ she told the groom. ‘Mount up, sir. Time is wasting.’

‘My father has been dead these past three weeks?’ Raphael crossed himself as his steward finished telling him the news. ‘God have mercy on his soul. If what you have told me is true, he will have need of it.’

‘He changed much after you left, my lord, and became extremely bitter and angry. He quarrelled with neighbours and took them or their wives hostage for vast sums,’ the steward revealed.

‘So I have heard.’ Raphael’s mouth thinned. ‘I do not like to hear these things, Mellors. My father was a stern man and forbade me to follow Richard to the Crusades—but before I left he was an honest man. I am sad to hear he changed so greatly in my absence.’

‘Forgive me …’ Mellors glanced over his shoulder. ‘I risk my life to tell you, but it was the prince’s influence. Your father became Prince John’s lackey and it was on the prince’s orders that he took Count Torrs hostage. The ransom he has demanded is exorbitant and I doubt it can be paid.’

‘Is the count still a prisoner here?’ Raphael asked, and frowned as the steward nodded. ‘You will have him brought here to me instantly, please. Has the man been ill-treated?’

‘He has been kept in a tower room rather than a dungeon, because your father knew he had powerful friends. Others have not fared so well.’

‘I shall hear more of this another time. Release the count at once and then have wine and food brought to us. I must beg the count’s pardon and hear his story before I give him his freedom,’ Raphael said.

‘You will not demand the ransom?’ Mellors asked nervously.

‘I have no wish to beggar any man,’ Raphael said.

‘The prince may be angry. He may demand his share of the ransom,’ the other man pointed out.

‘Prince John is not the King,’ Raphael said. ‘I have heard that Richard is still a prisoner in the Holy Land. Now that I am home, it is my intention to do what I can to have him freed.’

‘I am heartily glad to hear it, my lord. We are all pleased to see you home again—and shall be happy when the King is back on England’s throne—but you must be careful. Prince John does not suffer traitors to live in peace.’

‘He is the traitor, Mellors. Leave me now and ask the count to give me the pleasure of his company at my table,’ Raphael ordered.

‘Yes, my lord.’ Mellors bowed his head respectfully. ‘Everything shall be as you order.’

Raphael watched as he walked from the room, then sat in his father’s chair. It was heavy and carved from English oak, its arms smooth with wear. His grief for his father was muted by the knowledge that the man he knew had obviously died long ago. In his place a monster had come into being and he could not regret the passing of such a man. Lord Mornay had committed crimes against his neighbours and no doubt it would take some considerable time to mend fences.



The attack came suddenly towards dusk that evening. Rosamunde was deep in thought when she heard a cry from ahead of her and then saw a band of armed men rush out from the trees at them. They were on foot but armed with cudgels and swords, and there were enough of them to surround the small train that Angelina had sent with her.

Fitzherbert had been pulled from his horse and one of the robbers was threatening him with a sword. Money was being demanded and Rosamunde knew that at any moment they would steal the packhorse and ride off with everything—the money for Count Torrs’s ransom and all her possessions.

She would have failed her cousin and her father would be forced to repay his debt. Without thinking, she took the reins of the packhorse and started to ride off, calling to Maire to follow. The robbers were immediately alert to what she was trying to do and two of them lunged at her, causing her horse to shy.

‘Leave me alone,’ she cried as she struggled to hold both her horse and the packhorse. ‘How dare you attack me? I am the daughter of a nobleman and you will hang for this.’

‘Not afore we’ve ‘ad our way wiv yer,’ one of the men said and laughed evilly as he grabbed her arm and tried to pull her from her horse.

Rosamunde screamed, realising the full extent of the danger she was in as she saw the naked lust in his eyes. These men would not be satisfied with her gold; they would rape her and leave her for dead. Angelina should have sent more armed men with her. The heavy load the packhorse bore had attracted the attention of these robbers and her escort was not strong enough to defend it.

The sudden cries and the sound of thudding hoof-beats drew her gaze in the direction of a party of men riding towards them. They charged, swords and lances at the ready, their leader giving a blood-curdling war cry that sent shivers through all that heard it. The robbers knew that they were beaten and immediately retreated, leaving Rosamunde’s men to gather their dignity as best they could as the knight came up to them. Some of his men had followed the robbers into the woods to the side of the road and she could hear screams as the men-at-arms cut them down.

The knight who had come to their rescue was wearing chain mail under his tunic. The tunic was white and bore a red cross on the tabard, proclaiming him as a Crusader well-hardened in battle. It was hardly surprising that the robbers had fled; they had attacked two women and three men-at-arms and been confronted by a Crusader and at least nine men-at-arms in full battle-cry.

The knight’s hair was covered by the hood of mail and a heaume, which hid his face from her. He drew his horse to a halt and saluted her with his sword.

‘I trust you came to no harm, lady?’

‘None. My thanks to you, sir. Had you not arrived in such good time I think we should have been robbed—and worse.’

‘I dare say they would have killed you all, lady,’ the knight said. ‘You take risks riding with such a small escort in these parts. There are ruthless bands of robbers that take the law into their own hands.’

‘I have heard that there is one such ruthless robber—a powerful man whose castle is close by.’

‘Do you speak of Lord Mornay?’

‘Yes, sir. I am on my way to deliver something to him and if you are travelling in the same direction I would crave your protection.’

The knight seemed to hesitate, then inclined his head. ‘Your men will follow us, lady. It is to the castle of Mornay that we are bound.’

‘You know Lord Mornay?’

Again the hesitation, then, ‘Yes, I know him. Tell me, why do you visit this lord, since you fear him?’

‘I have business that I may discuss only with Lord Mornay. Please do not ask for I may not tell you.’

‘Very well, lady. Ride beside me. I shall escort you to the castle.’



‘This is as far as we go,’ Fitzherbert said as he drew his horse to a halt and looked at Rosamunde. ‘Our orders are to wait three days and then leave—but if you wish I will leave a man to watch for you.’

The party had halted outside the castle while the drawbridge was let down. The sound of chains rattling and the sight of high, forbidding walls sent a chill down Rosamunde’s spine. A growing sense of foreboding had come over her as she rode beside the knight who had rescued them, and now her courage almost ebbed away.

‘Would you wait at the village we passed an hour since?’ Rosamunde asked Fitzherbert. ‘We may need an escort when we return to my father’s house.’

‘I shall wait for two weeks,’ he said. ‘Send me word if you wish me to wait longer.’

‘I thank you for your kindness,’ Rosamunde said. ‘We shall leave you now. Maire, ride close to me and lead the packhorse.’

‘Forgive me,’ Fitzherbert said as Maire tried to take the leading rein from him. ‘I would come in with you, lady, if it were up to me—but I must obey my orders. However, I shall wait in the village, as I have said, and the others can return to Sir Thomas.’

Rosamunde looked at him steadily. ‘Are you sure you wish to disobey your master? He may be angry with you for not returning to your post.’

‘I shall risk his wrath willingly in your service, my lady,’ Fitzherbert replied. ‘I have watched you since you first came to serve Lady Angelina and admired you. I am but a soldier with no hope of becoming a knight—but I would give my life for yours, lady.’

‘Oh …’ Rosamunde felt her cheeks grow warm. The man’s look said more than any words and she felt her eyes sting. ‘I do not wish you to die for me, sir—but I shall be grateful for your support. I—I do not know what awaits me, but if I need your help I shall send word to the village. Please do nothing that would draw Lord Mornay’s wrath upon yourself. It will serve no purpose.’

‘I shall merely observe and wait in the village, my lady.’

Rosamunde could not help but be comforted by the thought that he would be close if she needed him. Lord Mornay’s stronghold was built of grey stone and its walls were stout, almost impregnable once the drawbridge was raised. A prisoner within those walls could not expect to be rescued.

How hopeless her uncle must feel as Lord Mornay’s prisoner. Even had she been tempted to run away, Rosamunde could not have deserted him now. She had brought the ransom in her cousin’s place and she must pray that it would be sufficient to secure her uncle’s release.

The knight who had rescued her, and his men, had gone in ahead of her. He and his men were dismounting even as her horse clattered over the wooden drawbridge. The knight had taken off his heaume and was speaking to a thin man who wore the robes of a steward. The steward glanced at her and then leaned forward to say something no one else was meant to hear.

Rosamunde’s throat felt tight and her heart was beating fast as someone came to help her down. She breathed deeply, because she had a terrible feeling that her escort was no other than Lord Mornay himself. He must have been angered when she’d accused him of being a ruthless robber, no better than the rogues from whom he had saved her. As she struggled to compose her thoughts, the steward came hurrying towards her.

‘Lady Angelina? Am I right—you are the daughter of Count Torrs?’ he asked, and bowed low as she nodded her assent. ‘I am Mellors, steward here, and my lord has sent me to welcome you to the castle. He has business that keeps him from greeting you himself. I am to show you to your chamber. He will speak to you when he has time.’

‘Lord Mornay knows that I have brought my father’s ransom?’

‘Yes, lady.’ The steward gave her an odd glance before turning to lead the way inside. ‘My lord knows why you are here, but for the moment he is too busy to see you.’

‘You will please tell Lord Mornay that I wish to see him as soon as possible. I have no desire to remain here for longer than necessary.’

‘It may be best if you wait until my lord is ready,’ the steward replied. ‘He has much on his mind at the moment.’

‘You will please give him my message.’ Rosamunde lifted her head in a haughty manner, imitating her cousin.

‘It might be best to wait, my lady,’ Maire whispered at her side. ‘You do not wish to make him angry.’

She bit her lip but made no further request, a little shiver going through her as she mounted the stone steps to the room at the top of the west tower.



‘You have not told the lady that her father has already been released?’

‘You asked me to leave it to you, my lord.’ ‘Had she arrived a day sooner, she might have heard it from his own lips, but the count is already on his way to the Low Countries to meet in secret with others who seek Richard’s freedom. Two of my friends have gone with him, to protect him and keep him safe until his mission is complete.’

‘The lady seems impatient to leave, my lord.’

A wry smile touched Raphael’s mouth. ‘If she has heard stories of my father, it is hardly surprising. She may be in some danger, Mellors. If Prince John hears what I’ve done, he might seek to take her captive and gain his ransom that way. Besides, we discovered her at the mercy of a robber band, and there are many others in this country. Prince John’s taxes have made the people desperate and they care little for his law. It may be best if the lady remains here under my protection until her father comes back to claim her.’

‘Do you wish to see her?’

‘Please ask the lady to join us at supper in the hall. I have more important tasks for the moment—Prince John’s messenger awaits an answer to his letter to my father. I must send him my answer before I attend to other business.’

‘Yes, my lord.’

Mellors inclined his head and walked away. Raphael sat at his board and drew parchment, ink and a quill towards him. He frowned as he began to write. The prince must be informed that Lord William Mornay was dead and his son returned from the Holy Land. It would not do to antagonise the prince, for much might be gained by Raphael appearing to be a man after his father’s heart. If the prince learned that Raphael had sent money with Count Torrs to help King Richard return to England and the throne, he might try to stop the gold reaching its destination. Better for Raphael to keep his silence and wait until the chance came to serve his king. If Prince John was determined to usurp his brother, he might plot to have him murdered when he set foot on English soil.

Besides, Raphael had recognised the woman he’d noticed at the quayside in France. She had not known him because of his heaume, but he knew her. He needed a little time to sort out his thoughts before he saw her again.




Chapter Three


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.’




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