Knight of Her Heart (Conquering the Heart) (8 page)

She stared at the Earl of Romsey and her pulse skipped a beat. This was the man of whom the troubadours sang. The knight whose tactics had been responsible for Henry’s victory at Harfleur, and whose bravery was instrumental in the French defeat at Agincourt.

Lord Rowan, Earl of Romsey.

He truly was a handsome man. The most arrestingly handsome man she’d ever witnessed. A formidable, commanding man, he’d already proved he was more than capable of standing up to her beast of a guardian. This knight had already slain a dragon for her.

Her prayers were answered. Heaven had sent her a champion of the highest order to wed. She was certain this man was a truly worthy knight.

Worthy?

Her head drew back and her mouth fell open as the full horror of her situation slammed into her more forcefully than the blow of a battering ram.

The Earl of Romsey may be worthy of her, but she was certainly not worthy of him.

Panic set her blood racing through her veins. The wicked wrong she had committed in the judgement of the church had returned quickly to haunt her. Deceiving Lord Collins in the marriage bed had been a cross she could bear considering the alternative, but to carry out her deceit with this man who was surely her saviour? A chivalrous knight who had sworn to uphold the values of honour, honesty, valour and loyalty, did not deserve to wed a fallen woman.

The words of the
Song of Roland
had been sung many times by the troubadours visiting Bridlemere Keep. Some of the words played around now in her head, haunting her. Lord Romsey lived by the code set down by Charlemagne. He was charged to protect the weak and defenceless, live by honour, to respect the virtue of women and at all times to speak the truth.

To deceive this man was unthinkable. She could not do it. The king’s champion surely deserved better.

But what could she do?

In her desperation to find a solution she glanced around the assembled crowd. Finding Ysabel, she saw horror reflected on her maid’s face. Ysabel, too, was most likely contemplating the terrible wrongdoing about to be visited upon the Earl of Romsey.

“The papers are in order,” the priest told the gathering in a clear, confident voice. “This wedding ceremony will proceed.”

Lord Blake stepped toward Lisette. Her guardian delivered a withering look that spoke tomes of his fury that she should make such a good match when he had planned a husband who he thought would do naught but visit harm upon her. The visible pounding of his blood through his temple was an indication of his rage, but he was left with no choice other than to place her hand into the keeping of the Earl of Romsey.

First, she steeled herself not to flinch as her guardian took her hand in his clasp. Then the heat of her guilt flushed through her cheeks as Lord Blake moved a little to her right. Lord Romsey had come to stand on the porch in front of the church doors. Lisette was tall and strong for a female, but standing beside this knight she felt diminutive. Lowering her head she saw the large, masculine palm that was held out, ready to accept her hand in holy matrimony. She bit down nervously on her lower lip, unable to meet his gaze.

The moment their hands touched, her body trembled as his heat warmed her. No clammy palms for this warrior. No painful grasp that spoke of a need to dominate her and bend her to his will.

Forgetting the discomfort of her conscience, she raised her head until she looked into the most intense, moss-green eyes she’d ever encountered. Darts of desire flared through her as his expression willed her to be calm. His other hand closed over the top of hers in a gesture which was surely meant to reassure her. She tore her eyes away from his as she fought to swallow down on the guilty sob which threatened to burst from her lips.

Far from being reassured, Lisette’s emotions seethed in the turmoil of inner conflict. On her own private inner battlefield, a yearning to be wed to this fierce, noble warrior waged war with her guilty conscience.

Nay!
Her brain screamed.
’Tis so wrong. He attempts to calm me when he has no knowledge of the terrible injustice I have unwittingly wrought upon him.

The priest re-commenced the wedding ceremony. When he reached the words that asked if anyone had just cause why they should not wed, Lisette felt faint.

Confess!
Her conscience berated her.
In all the wrong you have done, at least do this much that is right!

She half-expected someone to step forward and denounce her. Ysabel must feel equally as guilty to keep her silence when she knew of just cause as to why this union should not proceed. Thankfully John and Frederick had not accompanied the party that travelled to Collins’ keep but had stayed behind at Bridlemere. But here or not, what she had done had surely cursed all of them by making them privy to her crime.

Inwardly, she berated herself for her lack of courage. Honour demanded that she denounce herself, and yet she could find no voice as her tongue stuck to the roof of her dry mouth.  Shame churned her gut. The image of the priest blurred, causing her to blink rapidly to clear her vision. Her heavy limbs swayed and it took every ounce of her strength to keep herself upright.

The priest was solemn. “I require and charge you both, as ye will answer at the dreadful day of judgment when the secrets of all hearts shall be disclosed, that if either of you know any impediment why ye may not be lawfully joined together in Matrimony, that ye confess it. For ye be well assured, that so many as be coupled together otherwise than God’s Word doth allow are not joined together by God, neither is their Matrimony lawful.”

Lisette trembled in earnest as though she had been plunged into a cold river. Each of the priest’s words was like a millstone around her neck, weighing down on her conscience—sinking her into deeper despair so she was drowning in a fast flowing tide of her sins and could not breathe.

“My Lady, are you well?” Lord Romsey’s deep voice broke through her thoughts as she struggled for each shallow breath. His left armour-clad arm went around her waist to support her. “You are faint?”

Speech was not possible. All she could do was incline her head slightly as she fought to control her breathing.

“All will be well, Lady Lisette,” the Earl of Romsey told her in hushed tones. “I vow upon my life that I will take care of you and honour you as my wife.”

Oh, Dear Lord.
His words only made her feel worse—just twisted the dagger a little further into her sickened stomach and pulled more thread from the frayed edges of her conscience. The knowledge that he was so chivalrous and she was now so immoral by the one shocking deed she had perpetrated, caused her an agony of anguish.

Guilt threatened to overcome her. Only a week ago she would surely have made this man a good wife.

Why, oh why had she taken things into her own hands?
She should have trusted in God to right this situation for her in His own way.
She would surely repent her actions for ever more. She had failed in her faith. Her prayers had been answered but she had been too impatient to wait for God’s response. Instead she had deceived herself being convinced that she had only one option available to her that did not involve murder.

Confess now!
Her conscience shrieked.

Confession could have her sentenced to death. What would become of Genevieve then?

The church would surely punish her servants for aiding her in her wickedness. And what of the peasant man she’d used? Would the church torture John and Frederick to learn his identity and then punish that innocent man as well?

Nay. She could not confess now. Her atonement would come on the dreadful day of judgement, just as the priest had declared.

The priest’s words went on but she could not focus on any of what he said. Then, she heard Lord Romsey’s firm, authoritative voice as he pledged himself to her as her husband. She was in a whirlpool of confusion and regret, unsure of how she would go on.

The Earl of Romsey’s hand squeezed gently at the indentation of her waist. “’Tis expected that you make your vows now, my Lady Lisette.”

God forgive me.

The saints have mercy on my soul.

“I, Lisette, take thee Rowan to my wedded husband...” She faltered, swallowed hard and willed herself to continue. “To have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, to be bonny and buxom at bed and at board, to love and to cherish, till death us depart, according to God’s holy ordinance; and thereunto I plight thee my troth.”

’Twas done. Her part in the ceremony was over as she’d responded with the words that would bind her to this man.

She didn’t deserve him. He deserved so much more in his bride.

She’d found the idea of marriage to Lord Collins repugnant. Would her new husband view her with the same degree of contempt and loathing when he learned what she had done? ’Twould be unbearable.

“God, the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit, bless, preserve, and keep you; the Lord mercifully with his favour look upon you; and so fill ye with all spiritual benediction and grace, that ye may so live together in this life, that in the world to come ye may have life everlasting. Amen.”

The Earl of Romsey used his hand at her waist to turn her slightly so she faced him. His head lowered toward hers and she realised his intent to seal their souls together with a kiss as tradition demanded. Reflexively, she recoiled as memories of her guardian’s lips upon hers rolled over her with distaste. This time, all in the crowd would witness her humiliation.

For a moment, the Earl of Romsey appeared to register her recoil and he hesitated. Then his hand firmed against the small of her back and he urged her toward him. Her eyes flew to his and she saw him willing her to relax. In the depths of his steady green gaze there was promise not to harm her, yet insistence that she comply. The gentle concern in his expression was undeserved and she could not endure it.

She closed her eyelids, unable to bear his misplaced consideration any longer.

Her neck stiff, she held still, hoping his kiss would be more bearable than her guardian’s had been.

Lisette was not disappointed.

Mm.

Her husband’s light touch had her eyelids flying open and her mouth forming a small, delighted ‘oh’. Lord Romsey’s lips brushed gently over hers, grazing them softly in an almost-there kiss. Her senses were overloaded by the tantalising, teasing feel of his lips.

Warm. Firm. Dry. She tried to analyse her response to his insistent, brushing caresses. The very tip of his tongue traced the outline of her lips and, far from repulsing her, his touch sent arrows of delight spearing to the juncture of her thighs. The explorative tongue movement sent her into a state of fabulous confusion. This kiss was her first true kiss. Her first awakening to how a kiss could be—should be. Her thoughts were confused as her body clamoured for more.

The awareness of his height and his broad shoulders as he stood before her and encircled her with his arms, overwhelmed her. She wanted him to take off his armour so she could feel and melt into his strength. Instinctively she believed she could take comfort from him. His warrior’s body promised her security and safe haven from any who would dare to harm her.

The Earl of Romsey was more than she’d ever hoped for.

Wonderful.
Was the word that bounced around her brain as he straightened and the kiss was over. ’Twas closely followed by another word—
More—
for the tension in his body suggested that he was reining the kiss in as he would do a wild, spirited mount
.
The passion in his expression told her there could be much, much more and suddenly she found herself wanting to understand what else there could be.

“We will do well together, Lady Lisette,” he told her steadily over the cheers of the crowd.

You don’t deserve him
. Her conscience raged at her.
He deserves a better woman to wife.

’Twas true. When they were alone she must be firm in her resolve to confess her transgression and brave enough to accept whatever castigation she must bear from her husband. She would throw herself upon the mercy of this gallant knight and pray that he mete out a punishment rather than handing her over to the church for her sins. At least Genevieve was out of danger from Lord Collins.

Lisette could not, would not, deceive the Earl of Romsey when it came time for her to join her flesh with his.

Chapter 5

The instant Lord Rowan was out of his suit of armour, he led Stormbringer into a stall at Collins’ keep and dismissed the stable boy. Today he would unsaddle his own war horse and brush him down.

The events of the last few days swirled around in Rowan’s brain like a whirlpool of muddied water. He needed time alone before he joined the planned wedding feast. Time to steady and clear those muddied waters, to let the silt settle and put things into perspective. He needed an opportunity to regroup and focus on the man he was, rather than the man he had been reduced to in the last few days.

Humiliation churned in his gut and made rage pound through his bloodstream. That he—the king’s first knight, leader of men in warfare and victor over the enemy on the bloodiest of battlefields—had been drugged and held captive for three days and nights and...used...by a woman for...her pleasure?

Only once before had he been overpowered and dishonoured. On that occasion he’d been but a youth expelled from his home. He’d vowed it would never happen again, but now it had. His recent humiliation at the hands of an unknown foe had brought back all the demons he’d tried so hard to exorcise. This time he hadn’t been a youth overpowered by soldiers at the bidding of a jealous brother. This time his mortification was greater for he’d been a knight abused by a woman. A mere woman!