April Munday (25 page)

“And you have the gall to suggest that my daughter favours you. Guy!”

Guy stepped forward and bowed. “Yes, my lord.” He looked at the duke expectantly.

“Take him to the dungeon,” the duke ordered Guy, pointing at Richard. “He can stay there until he sees sense.”

“But father,” protested Rosamunde.

“No,” said the duke. “I will not hear it. He might have seduced you with his good looks and clever words, but he will not have you.”

Seeing that Guy hesitated, Richard turned to him and said, “I will not struggle. I will walk with you.” Guy nodded sadly and led him away.

Rosamunde tried again, “Father, please.”

“No. You have taken leave of your senses if you think I will hand you over to such a man. He is here because of the dishonesty of his father. That is not the kind of family I should wish you to marry into.”

“He is here because he is too honourable,” she said bitterly, “And could not bear the shame of what his father had done.”

“Rosamunde, I did not expect to find you a husband that you could love as well as Simon, but I have found you one who will give you the status that you deserve.”

“No,” said Rosamunde, as she defied her father for the first time in her life. “I will go into a convent before I marry anyone other than Sir Richard.”

“You are behaving like a foolish lovesick girl.”

“It is true that I love him,” she said. “But I do not wish for position or riches.”

“No,” said the duke angrily, “It is I who must make sure that you achieve those things. Now, leave me, I have much to consider.”

Rosamunde obeyed with a heavy heart, unsure how she could make her father change his mind, but certain that she must do so.

The duke was not a cruel man and Richard found his dungeon reasonably comfortable. There was a palliasse for him to sleep on and even blankets, although he slept little when night came, thinking of Rosamunde. Since it was above ground, the dungeon was not even very damp. He had spent the daylight hours pacing the small space, trying to work out what he had done wrong and what he could do to retrieve the situation. Short of escaping and managing to abduct Rosamunde himself he could not see how he was to achieve his aim of marrying the woman he loved. Richard did not doubt that Rosamunde, unlike Louise, would wait for him forever, but she would also obey her father if he wanted her to marry someone else. He knew her well enough to know that she would respect his wishes, as a good daughter should. She would not want to marry another man, but if that was what the duke wanted, she would obey him. Richard was not even sure that she would come with him if he tried to make her leave the castle. Although she loved him and had said she would marry him, her word was worthless if her father said no. The virtue that he prized in her was the very thing that would frustrate his desire.

He punched the wall in frustration. He should have waited longer and let the duke get to know him before he had asked for Rosamunde. He should have found out the terms of his ransom; it might have been possible to achieve his freedom and then marry Rosamunde. Now it was too late. The duke had someone else in mind for Rosamunde and Rosamunde’s own preference was to be ignored. The duke’s choice would obviously bring Rosamunde the status that she deserved. For a moment Richard considered whether it would be better for Rosamunde to forget him and marry this other man. Love counted for very little among the nobility when a woman was to be married. If the other man had status and wealth it might be better for Rosamunde to marry him rather than an enemy with no money. Then he remembered her anguished cry. Rosamunde knew the man. She had said nothing to him, but she knew who her father intended her to marry and she had not seemed happy at the prospect. He had heard her protest that she would enter the convent if she could not marry him, but she would not be able to do even that without her father’s permission. No, unless he could convince her to leave with him, she would end up marrying her father’s choice and she would be unhappy.

He punched the wall again and tried to be reasonable. Rosamunde had said that she would have married Sir Walter if her father had said she should. She was pragmatic about marriage. Since she had lost Simon, her first love, she had learned not to hope for love. She would make the most of any marriage, even if she did not love her husband and she could not love him while she loved Richard. Now he was assailed by doubt. She had not told him that she loved him, as he had not told her that he loved her. She had said only that he was pleasing to her. Perhaps she did not love him. She had loved Simon; her grief had been evidence of that, but she had forgotten him quickly enough and pledged herself to another man. Perhaps she would forget her new love as quickly. But that couldn’t be true. Rosamunde was a woman of her word. She had loved Simon, but he had died. He, Richard, was alive. Rosamunde would surely not give him up while he still had breath in him. But still there was that cry. Rosamunde was not a woman to defy her father, yet she had told him no for Richard’s sake. Richard smiled to himself. Rosamunde was sensible. She did love him and she was not made foolish by her love. She knew the man her father intended for her, knew his status and his wealth and still she thought that Richard would make the better husband. Rosamunde was a woman of good judgement.

Once more he thought about abducting Rosamunde. Even if he could persuade her to leave with him, it would mean harming his friends. He doubted he could take her without fighting and that would mean fighting against Thomas and Guy. He liked and respected both men and did not wish to harm them.  Then there was his word to the duke. He had promised not to escape. He would be doubly foresworn if he escaped and took Rosamunde with him. This was not what he had wanted! The man was his lord and Richard was here only because of his own honour. He hit the wall with his fist again, noting dispassionately the smear of blood that glistened in the moonlight.

He needed find a way to see Rosamunde. She was sensible and he would be guided by her. He had gone wrong by following his own path with the duke. Love had not made her foolish, but it had made his senses flee.

The duke had had food brought to him this evening; doubtless he would be fed again in the morning. He would attack and disable whoever came and make his way to Rosamunde. He would try not to hurt whoever it was. No, he would not hurt whoever it was. He had come to know everyone in the castle during the siege and they were his lord’s people. He would find a way to disable them without hurting them.

He lay down on the palliasse and pulled the blanket over himself. Drifting in and out of sleep he remained alert for any sound at the door.

He was surprised when it came during the middle of the night, then afraid. Had the duke sent someone to solve his problem by killing his troublesome prisoner? Richard was out of his bed and by the door before he thought about it. Whoever it was turned the key quietly in the lock, opened the door and stepped into the room. He heard the rapid shallow breathing of someone who was nervous.

Richard grabbed the man, placing a hand over his mouth and an arm around his chest. He was shocked to discover that he had grabbed a woman as his hand encountered a full, firm breast. With relief he realised that this must be Rosamunde. She had come to him.

As he relaxed, he allowed himself to fondle her breast gently. She was wearing a cloak over her shift – she had come from her bed. Rosamunde’s head fell back on his shoulder and she sighed into his hand. He smiled; his virtuous woman was enjoying this. A terrible thought crossed his mind – perhaps she was not as virtuous as he had thought. Why would a virtuous woman visit a man in a cell at night? They had barely touched since he had made his declaration, let alone kissed. They had not been alone since they had returned from Sir Walter’s manor. She was certainly enjoying his touch now. He released her mouth and she moaned softly.

Richard was torn between enjoying her presence and testing her virtue. All thought of escape was gone. A woman of virtue would not be alone with a man in the middle of the night in little more than her shift. She would certainly not allow him to touch her in the way he was touching her now. And he remembered that she had not covered herself when he had come upon her in Sir Walter’s bedchamber. She had seemed unaware of her nakedness and had not seemed to mind that he had seen her.

Perhaps she was the same as Louse after all. She had never spoken of what had happened with Sir Walter and he had never asked, but perhaps she thought that having lost her virginity to such a man it did not matter what she did now. But she had behaved with perfect propriety in all the time had known her. She had not betrayed her feelings for him by a look or a touch.

Richard considered the possibility that Rosamunde was trying to force her father to let them marry by claiming that he had taken her virginity, but they would all know that this was not true. It was never spoken of in the castle, but it was understood that Rosamunde had not returned from Sir Walter’s a maid.

With a heavy heart, Richard resolved to test her virtue. If she had lost her virtue as well as her virginity he might as well remain a prisoner in the duke’s dungeon for the rest of his days.

He renewed his efforts with her breast, taking the nipple between thumb and forefinger and he began to kiss her neck. She moaned softly again and he was tempted to stop. He loved her; that should be enough. But always there was the memory of Louise. Love had not been enough to tie him to her. He knew that Rosamunde was not a virgin, but he had heard her screams and seen her bruises and knew that it had been against her will. What Sir Walter had done to her was not enough to stop him loving her and wanting to marry her.

Rosamunde sighed and turned in his arms, losing her cloak in the process. To his surprise she pressed her body against his and kissed him full on the mouth. He opened his lips to welcome her and, after some hesitation, she responded. He had never known a kiss like it. Rosamunde seemed to offer her entire self to him and he was not slow to take what she offered. He plundered her mouth and felt her nipples tighten through her thin shift against his chest. He drew her closer to him and her hands began a slow exploration of his neck and shoulders. He no longer cared about testing her virtue, he was lost to her, a slave of his own passion.

“Oh!” she said, as she pulled away without warning. “You’re naked!”

He smiled at her innocence. “Of course. I do not wear clothes to bed.” He raised his hand to stroke her face with the backs of his fingers.

She stepped back from him. “I did not know… I have never thought…” She took a deep breath. She stood in the moonlight that came in through the window and he watched her breasts rise and fall. “I came to keep my promise.”

“What promise?”

“To give you another kiss on the day you asked my father for my hand.”

“But he refused me.” Now he was confused.

“I did not say that he had to accept, only that you had to ask.” Now it was Rosamunde’s turn to smile.

In truth, Richard had forgotten the promise, but he would never forget the kiss. He stroked her face again, “And will you finish the kiss?”

“Richard, you are… I could not.”

“Come,” he took her hand and led her to the palliasse. “Sit with me and I will cover myself with the blanket.”

She hesitated, but came after him willingly enough. He wrapped the blanket around himself while she settled herself on the bed. He sat beside her and pulled her to him, torn between the desire to take her there and then and despair at the thought that she might let him.

As they kissed, her hand crept across his naked chest. Her touch was tentative, but became surer. He became lost in her, drawing her closer and increasing the pressure on her mouth. Hers was the generosity borne of innocence. She did not know where he was leading her, but she followed willingly out of her trust in him.

He was wrong, surely, to suspect her of anything more than seeking to please the man she loved, but he had to know.

It was easy enough to untie the neck of her shift and slip his hand inside to her breast. He felt the hardness of her nipple against his hand before he moved on to the firm, soft flesh of her full breast. He savoured it for a moment before Rosamunde pulled away from him and stood up.

“My lord, you forget yourself!” Her anger was unmistakable. She pulled the open flaps of her shift together and he was reminded again of the way she had sat on Sir Walter’s bed without covering herself.

“No, Rosamunde…”

“Is this how you know there are no women of virtue? You tell us soft words of love and then force yourself upon us when we are unarmed. Shame on you, my lord. What woman could resist? It is you who are without virtue. How many honest women have you seduced and ruined in this way? You shall not seduce me. You have known as much of my body as you shall ever know.”

“But Rosamunde!” he stood and the blanket fell away and the full extent of his desire was revealed in the moonlight that flooded through into the room through the large barred window that was designed to make prisoners cold in winter and hot in summer.

“I did not intend…”

“I can see clearly what you intended, my lord, and you shall not have me, not this night, nor any other.” Her coldness stunned him to silence and killed his desire.

She picked up her cloak and placed it on her shoulders, then turned back to him to spit out, “I thought you were an honourable man, but you are not. You are no different from Sir Walter. Worse, for he was at least honest about his intentions.”

She crossed to the door. “I could almost wish that you had not rescued me from him rather than live this moment.” Her voice was so faint that he almost missed it and he knew that she had not intended him to hear.

Then she was gone, locking the door behind her. Richard, unknowingly, had followed her across the room and sank to his knees against the door. He had found his virtuous woman and destroyed the love she had for him.

Chapter Twelve