April Munday (27 page)

“I will not bother her.”

“Then you may have the run of the castle once more. But if I hear that you have tried to speak to my daughter, or caused her any inconvenience I shall leave you to rot in my dungeon until you die.”

Richard would not go back on his word. From now on he could not speak to Rosamunde unless she spoke to him and she would never want to speak to him. There was nothing for him; he might as well be dead.

With an effort he remembered that the duke was his lord. “Thank you, my lord. I will not let you down.”

“You have already let me down. Remember that your life is forfeit if you do so again.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“We will talk about the terms of your ransom later and I will think about sending you to another estate. Leave us.”

Dismissed, he left the room without looking at Rosamunde. He could no longer be anything to her.

Chapter Thirteen

Over the next month Rosamunde saw little of Richard. She did not look for him. There was no need; he was not there to be seen. He never ate in the hall at the same time as she did, but ate with the servants. Each night he found a reason not to stay in the hall with everyone else when the storytelling and singing began. He always had something in the still-room to attend to, or a weapon to mend or some French saint to honour in the chapel. If she was walking down a passage and caught sight of him, he turned and walked away quickly. He had asked the duke’s permission to go to mass in a different church in the town rather than in the garrison’s church. He seemed to cut himself off from everyone in the castle - not just from her. She had become used to seeing him together with Guy, but the friendship that had been so newly forged seemed to be broken already.

She was grateful for his discretion, but would rather not have had to think about him at all. The duke had decided not to send Richard elsewhere. The knight was not a farmer and such skills as he had were more useful in the castle. The terms of his ransom had been agreed, although Rosamunde did not know what they were. Her only object was to avoid Richard and not to think about him. Each glimpse of him was a reminder that she still loved him. She would always love him. Even when she married Ralf she would still love him and for the first time in her life, she would have to lie: she would have to say that she would love and obey Ralf forever, when she knew that she could not. She could obey him; she would be a good and dutiful wife, but she could never love him. There was only one man to whom she could make that promise and she wondered at that. She could have promised in a heartbeat to love and obey Richard, indeed, she wanted to love and obey him. When she had run from his dungeon she had thought that she must hate him. In that moment she had understood that he must have seduced many women in the same way that he had tried to seduce her. What she did not understand was why he had failed to seduce her. She had trusted him and even as he had begun to caress her and touch her she had thought only how right and proper it was that he should do so. The virtue that she valued so greatly had deserted her and she was ready to do whatever he wanted. It was something in him that had alerted her that this was not right. It was as if he paused in their kiss and it was this hesitation that brought her to her senses. She didn’t even think that he had been aware of his own uncertainty, but it had been their salvation. Or would have been, but for Ralf. It had taken Rosamunde a mere two days to realise that she still loved Richard and another day to realise that she could have persuaded her father to let them marry. After his initial enthusiasm for Ralf, the duke seemed to cool. Rosamunde knew that he wanted position and wealth for her, which she would achieve with Ralf, but he was an indulgent father and he wanted her happiness as well, if it could be managed. But, having once given it, Rosamunde could not go back on her word and neither could her father. The messenger had left to travel north the day she had said she would marry him. She had promised to marry Ralf, so she must.

She loved Richard and knew that he would know that she did if ever he was with her long enough to look at her. So she was glad that he was avoiding her, for she did not know what he would do if he knew that she still loved him. She could not doubt that he loved her; he had risked his life to defy her father and might yet lose it if he attempted to win her back. It seemed that she had loved him for so long and it had taken a few moments to destroy that love. Almost from the day he had arrived it seemed that she loved him. At first she had put it aside as a betrayal to Simon, but Simon was dead and could not be betrayed in that way. No woman could be expected to mourn forever. She should marry and raise children and Rosamunde had realised very quickly that she wanted to bear Richard’s children. There had been a quick and easy familiarity between them. When he had come upon her in Sir Walter’s chamber she had been aware that she was as good as naked. It had taken Sir Walter a long time to get her that way and it was a wonder that his blows had not rendered her senseless. But when Richard had entered the chamber she had not felt ashamed that he should see her like that, rather it had seemed to her that he alone had the right to see her like that. She had felt his appraisal of her body, even as he was urging her to leave with him. Even in her fear and anguish she had accepted all that it implied to be almost naked in his presence. Why, then, had she been disappointed when he had taken her visit to his cell as an invitation? She had not intended it as one, but how else could she expect him to think of it? And had she had merely gone to keep her promise to him? She had not been sure that night and now she could not guess.

One morning she was walking alone towards her solar. Passing a window that overlooked the courtyard she had stopped and looked around. There was no one else in the passageway.  She stepped up to the window so that she could look out of it. She did not attempt to deny to herself that she wanted to look at Richard, although she did not know why the desire to do so had come upon her so suddenly. All through the winter she had resisted the temptation to look at his body. Even when she had run into him in a passageway as he came in half naked from the yard she had looked away. Now she had to feast her eyes on him, so she looked out of the window. And she saw him. He was easily the tallest man in the courtyard, so was not hard to find. Like the rest of the men he had stripped off his tunic and undershirt and was fighting dressed only in his hose. This was not the same man who had arrived at the castle pale, thin and frail. He moved gracefully and his muscular chest glistened with sweat. Even his crippled leg was more muscular. He made short work of his opponent and moved on to the next man. She knew she would never love another as she loved him. Even the love she had felt for Simon was as nothing in comparison. She loved Richard not just with her mind; her whole body longed for him.

She was about to turn away when Richard looked up and saw her. His opponent took advantage of his momentary lack of concentration and struck him to the ground. As he fell, his eyes never left hers. Then she turned and walked away, afraid of what she had seen in his eyes, but more afraid of what she had felt within herself.

Now, she was to go north to marry Ralf. Henry had begged her to reconsider. He also remembered Ralf, but not as an illiterate who couldn’t dance. Ralf had fought at Poitiers, but without bringing any glory upon himself. He was, it seemed, as poor a knight as he was a dancer. Henry thought him a poor choice for his intelligent and graceful sister. He had even spoken to their father in an attempt to talk him out of the marriage, but the duke had said that Rosamunde had given her word and she would keep it.

Rosamunde was beginning to regret her decision, but she had to leave her father’s castle and get away from Richard. The longer she was near him, even seeing him as little as she did, the more difficult it was. She was afraid that she would spend her mornings leaning out of windows to get a glimpse of him in the training yard, or start to venerate obscure French saints so that she could sit with him in the chapel. She dared not; she must marry Ralf as soon as possible. She knew that she would be unhappy, but at least she would not have to be reminded of what she had lost every moment of every day.

Finally Rosamunde was packed and ready to leave. Her father had left the day before to complete the negotiations with the duke and his son. He was travelling light, leaving Rosamunde a full escort. Thomas, not recovered sufficiently to leave, was to be in charge of the castle, under Henry, and Guy was to lead her escort. She would be leaving Richard behind and she tried to tell herself that she was relieved, but she was afraid. In a moment of rage she had condemned herself to marriage to a man who she could not love and was not only not as handsome as Richard, but who was not as clever as him. She knew she could not be happy. Even life as Sir Walter’s wife would have been better than marriage to Ralf. Sir Walter, at least, had been intelligent and held her in some regard. Six months ago she had been betrothed to a clever and handsome man who loved her and who she loved. Now she had nothing. She would only know misery with Ralf.

Her escort was gathering in the bailey. The open space was full of those who were leaving and those who were to be left behind. Wives and children were saying goodbye to their men. Rosamunde spotted Isabelle following Guy around and smiled briefly. At least there was one couple for whom things would end well. Guy had asked for Isabelle’s hand and been accepted. Isabelle had suddenly become a happy young woman, rather than a morose child. It seemed they had each loved the other without daring to show it. When Guy returned, they would be married. Rosamunde wished that she had not thought about that. She looked distractedly around the bailey and it took her a while to realise that she was looking for Richard. She had not expected him to come and bid her farewell, but she had expected him to want to watch her leave. She looked up at the windows overlooking the courtyard, but could not see him there.

For a moment she thought that she would not leave with her escort. She would stay here in the castle and when they had gone, she would convince Henry to take her to the convent and leave her there. The barren life of a nun would be better than life as Ralf’s wife. It would be better than any life that she could not share with Richard. She thought again of bearing Ralf’s children, of watching them grow in a loveless household, of growing old with Ralf. She did not want to bear Ralf’s children; she wanted to bear Richard’s. The convent would be better. She was surprised at her stupidity when she realised that the escort could hardly leave without her. She sighed heavily and walked out towards the gatehouse where her horse waited for her. She had made her bed and she must lie in it.

There was a sudden commotion by the stables and she turned to watch a tall knight leading a horse towards her. Silence fell as people stepped aside to let him pass. She did not know him at first. His hair had been cut short and his beard shaved off, revealing three unsightly scars on his left cheek.

“Ah, there you are,” said Guy, his voice loud in the silence. She had not noticed that he was standing just behind her, with his arm around the waist of the smiling Isabelle. “I thought you had changed your mind.”

“No.” Richard’s eyes never left hers.

Guy disentangled himself from Isabelle and gave her a slight push. The girl kissed his cheek and ran away with a laugh. Guy looked after her briefly with a smile. When he turned back to Rosamunde his face was serious. “I asked him to come with us,” he explained, but Rosamunde could tell from his voice and from Richard’s eyes that it was a lie. “Get on with your work!” Guy shouted and the bailey was filled with noise once more. “He is devoted to you.” He lowered his voice so that only Rosamunde could hear. “There is no one better suited to be your bodyguard.”

Now she dragged her eyes away from Richard’s face and stared at Guy. “You do not fear he will try to escape?” Her voice was heavy with irony. The joy she felt at his presence scared her. She had been avoiding him so that he would not know how she felt, now she pretended scorn to hide her feelings from him.

“No, my lady. But if he does escape, my duty is to protect you, not to pursue a prisoner.” He said it loudly enough for Richard to hear.

“You need not worry, my friend, I have given you my word. I have learned what it is to betray one who trusted me and I will not do so again.”

Both Rosamunde and Guy knew that his words were intended for her alone, but Guy’s expression softened.

“It is a pity, then,” said Rosamunde scathingly, “That you have started this new era of trust and humility by asking a friend to lie for you.”

“My lady…” Guy protested.

“Be quiet, Guy.” She turned to Richard, “I will accept you as my bodyguard, because that is the post that my father intended for you from the beginning, but I will send you back at the first improper word or action.”

Richard bowed, “I will not give you cause, my lady.”

She turned towards her horse and felt his strong hands about her waist as he lifted her. She knew they were his, not simply from the gentle, but firm way he held her, but from the way he breathed against the back of her neck. No one else had ever made it their duty to help her on and off her horse. She was a skilled horsewoman and had needed no help since she had come of age, many years ago. Richard alone felt that no woman should be permitted to mount a horse unaided. She was surprised that he had touched her, but gave no sign. He obviously intended to take his duties as bodyguard very seriously. He would be close to her day and night, touching her if he thought it necessary. She was not going to leave him behind after all. She settled herself on her horse, noticing her sudden shortness of breath. Surely that was her fear of going to meet the husband she barely knew, rather than excitement from Richard’s touch?

All day he rode by her side, so close that their knees almost touched. He said nothing, but kept his attention focused on what was happening around them. She had only ever felt as safe as she did now when he had brought her home from Sir Walter’s house. That feeling of safety warred with her anxiety about being with him. How could she go all the way to her husband in the company of the man she loved without revealing her feelings? She would surely be lost and her reputation would be destroyed. She had little enough left after Sir Walter had abducted her. It was only thanks to Richard who had returned her home early the next morning that she had any good reputation at all. She could not rely on him to be strong enough to protect them both a second time.