April Munday (8 page)

Chapter Four

Rosamunde willingly gave permission for Richard to study with Margaret, but despite his promise, she insisted on the presence of someone else for the sake of propriety and this in turn induced Thomas to give his permission. Richard was slightly disturbed that Thomas had not given his permission freely and was even more disturbed when he realised that the woman Rosamunde intended to chaperone Margaret was herself. He had found himself enjoying her company more and more and frequently forgot that he was her prisoner when he was with her. Her beauty brought light each day to the castle that was every bit as cold and damp as he had feared. But he could not afford to forget what she was and who he was. She was his gaoler and no matter how pleasant she was making his imprisonment and no matter how much she relied on him, and he was coming to believe that she relied on him as much as she did on Thomas and Guy, he could not forget that she was not the woman he was looking for, could not be the woman and he could not allow himself to imagine that she might be. At least her presence should keep the other women away. That would make it easier to keep his promise to her. It had not taken him long to realises that none of the women was suitable, even for a temporary mistress. He had not regretted giving his word, but still they found ways to brush past him in passageways, to stand closer than was necessary in the hall after the evening meal. And always there was Berthe, following him with her scheming little eyes. It seemed to him that every time he looked around she was there. Threatening her with the wrath of her husband had failed and he was now trying indifference, ignoring her presence and only speaking to her when she addressed him directly, which she did infrequently. Whatever Rosamunde had said to her had had more effect than his own words.

He knew that Rosamunde had spoken to the women and expressed her displeasure at their behaviour. They would not risk her further wrath by venturing to the still-room when she was there. Although he could spare little attention from his exertions whilst training in the morning, he had noticed that some of the windows that overlooked the courtyard were full of women and they were watching. He knew from the comments of the other men that the women were watching him. It gave him no pleasure to be such a focus of attention. Eventually, he had found himself scanning their faces and he realised that he was looking for Rosamunde, although he knew that she would not be there. Whilst he was glad that she set her women a good example, the vain man in him had wanted her to see him doing what he did best, although he had to admit that at the moment he wasn’t doing it particularly well. It was as well, he realised, that she did not, if he was to keep his distance from her. He sensed that she held him in high regard and he did not want to encourage any further closeness between them, much as he enjoyed her company. It was rare for him to enjoy the company of a woman. He usually found them weak and their conversation inconsequential, but Rosamunde was witty and intelligent and even had a good grasp of politics, better, Richard suspected, than his own. Spending even more time with her could only make him appreciate her more.

Richard learned a lot from Margaret. She was as knowledgeable as he had suspected and happy to share her knowledge with someone with knowledge and enthusiasm of his own. He felt that Rosamunde struggled to keep up with them, but he did not worry about that. It was always good for a woman to learn more about salves and potions. It Rosamunde’s case it was knowledge that she might have to put into practice sooner rather than later. Although they did not go beyond the castle walls to see the wild herbs where they grew, Margaret’s descriptions were precise. She also showed him pictures that she had drawn on bits of parchment. She did take him out to the castle’s herb garden on a number of occasions. Although there were a few herbs that he recognised, many were new to him. He knew that Margaret was impressed with his knowledge, although little of it would come in useful this far north. The plants were so different and the growing season for many of them was so short.

“Why are you so interested in herbs?” asked Rosamunde one afternoon as she stood beside him grinding something in a bowl.

“Because when you’re fighting there’s not always a physician or a surgeon nearby and after a battle there is always illness. It is useful to have someone who understands about herbs.”

“So you make poultices and healing draughts for the sick and wounded.”

“And I can stitch too,” he said grimly, “And set bones.”

Apparently satisfied, Rosamunde asked no further questions, concentrating instead on the potion she was making and Richard was grateful for the silence. Margaret, who did like to chatter and talk, followed her lady’s lead and Richard learned to enjoy the silence that they shared in the small still-room. Even though he was never alone there, it had become his place of solitude and reflection.

The more he learned about Rosamunde, the more he valued her company and the more he came to believe that she was not like other women. She was not foolish and her head was not full of men. She did not look hungrily after the men when they were together in the hall in the evenings. When she spoke to him she looked him in the eye as if she were a man and he could see no desire in her eyes. When they were working together in the still-room, she did not touch him as if accidentally and there were many opportunities for such touching. Once, he touched her to see what her reaction would be. She merely apologised and stepped away from him. It was his own reaction that surprised him, a sudden burning desire of which he was ashamed. He felt that such desire could only tarnish the increasing esteem in which he held her. But he found that desire grew hand in hand with respect and he was constantly looking for opportunities to touch her. He refused to give in to the temptation, however, realising that he would be no better than the foolish women who tried to touch him.

He was no stranger to desire or the sating of that desire, but it seemed wrong to desire Rosamunde in that way when she treated him so well and relied on his advice. It was becoming clear that Rosamunde was not like other women, but he knew that he was all too much like other men. He had not been surprised to hear that Sir Walter lusted after her enough to kill to get her. It was easy to lust after a woman such as Rosamunde, perhaps even to fall in love with her.

And he had sworn that he would not go that way again. He had gone that way once before and it had cost him everything. But he did not think Rosamunde would want anything from him. Although he was the son of a count, he had nothing. He had no money to provide for the duke’s daughter and since he was a prisoner and could not fight, he had no means of gaining any money. There was nothing about him that would make him an attractive husband to Rosamunde and he suspected that she would not have him on any other basis and he was not sure that he would be satisfied to have her just as a mistress. So he tried not to notice her beauty.

He was coming to respect her. She was his equal in intelligence and education. She commanded the men around her with ease and the townspeople went in awe of her. He did not understand this need to find a fault in her, save that she was impossibly perfect. She was a woman and would surely betray him just as Louise and every woman since had betrayed him.

 “Why were you not at Poitiers?” Rosamunde asked Richard one night as they sat by the fire in the hall playing merelles. Although most of the household was also in the hall, they had a measure of privacy. Thomas and Margaret had left for their bed some time before and Guy’s horse was ill, so he was looking after it in the stables. The other members of the household kept their distance and they could talk without being overheard.

“My leg,” Richard answered, as if that was the whole story. Rosamunde waited, looking at him expectantly and he sighed.

 “I was patrolling villages some distance from the English army and we stumbled across an English raiding band. My horse was injured and rolled onto my leg. We managed to defeat the English …” he paused and bit back the epithet that sprung to his lips. He could curse fluently enough, but he did not think Rosamunde would appreciate what he wanted to say. “I was still recovering when the battle took place.”

He looked deep into the fire and Rosamunde knew he did not want to tell her the rest of the story, but she wanted to know how this man came to be here and why her father had entrusted her life to him.

“You were not caught in the raid. Yet you are my father’s prisoner.”

The silence hung heavy between them and neither pretended to play.

“Please tell me why.” She spoke gently, but she was determined to get an answer.

He turned his face back to her and his expression scared her. She had understood that he did not want to talk, but it seemed that even thinking about it pained him greatly.

“You ask me to talk of something shameful.”

She placed a hand on his arm. “I do not think you could do something shameful.” It was true. Everything she knew about him indicated that he was honourable, at least as far as men and war were concerned. She was beginning to have her doubts with regard to his behaviour towards women. He treated every woman in the castle except her and Margaret with a distant disdain as if they were not worthy of his notice. She did not know whether this was the Frenchman in him, or whether he just did not like women. And that way lay more questions for another quiet evening, but first she had to know this.

“Rosamunde, you do not know me, but in this you are correct. My father and brothers fought in the battle and my father was captured by your father. We had to pay ransom for my brother Philippe a few years ago, so there was no money to pay for my father, but he claimed that there was. He gave the duke his word that he would return to his lands in the south and send back the ransom. The duke let him go; he is an honourable man and believes that other men are also honourable. On their way south my father and brothers stopped to take me with them, but my father told me what they were doing. He and my brothers were proud that they had fooled your father and I was angry. He told me that his word given to the English did not count, since you are the enemy. I told him that his word was the same whether given to a prince or a thief, since it depended on him and not on the person to whom he gave it. Then I told them that I would hand myself over in his place. My father said that I was a fool and there would be no ransom for me.”

He fell silent and Rosamunde did not question him further. Her father would respect and trust a man of his word as Richard had shown himself to be. A man who would go against his own father for a matter of honour would be a good man to protect her. Unlike Thomas and Guy he could not be distracted by other responsibilities. He would not have to worry about his wife and children like Thomas, or his sister and his nephew like Guy. The only duty he had was to protect Rosamunde or die trying.

“Thank you. I understand why you did not wish to speak of it, but I am glad that you told me.”

He fixed his eyes on her and she could not look away.

“I accept that it was important for you to know. I had thought your father put it in his letter.”

“There was much he did not write.” There was so much she did not know. She was curious about this man, but she sensed that it would be futile to expect him to reveal himself quickly. He did not seem to have a need to communicate anything about himself.

She watched his face carefully. He seemed to be undergoing some kind of internal struggle. Then he sighed.

“Rosamunde, your father sent me here to help you or to die in the attempt. My life has no value to anyone, except in that I can save yours.”

Rosamunde made no response. She knew what her father had done, but it would not have been her choice.  “You are a sensible woman,” he continued, “And I trust that you will only question me where you think it is necessary. Therefore I commit to you that I will answer your questions truthfully and hold nothing back.”

Rosamunde bit back the appreciative smile that threatened to overwhelm her face. How clever he was. By promising to answer her questions he had made sure that she would ask none. Instead she said, “Thank you. I shall hold you to your promise.”

Even when she saw his frown she held back her grin. “Your move, I think.”

If her father had known the effect that Richard was having on her he would not have sent him. For he was indeed having a strange effect on her. She looked forward to his company in the evening. That was understandable. He was of her own rank and educated. They could discuss things she could not discuss with Thomas or Guy or Margaret. Two days ago he had helped her down from her horse when they returned from their examination of the castle’s defences. As he had held her about the waist she wondered how it would feel to be kissed by him. Her thoughts must have shown on her face, for he set her down quickly and led her horse away. She wanted him to touch her again, but he did not. Something, however, had changed and he became even less communicative with her than he had before. He was getting a reputation within the castle for being aloof. Thomas said it was because his English was so poor that he did not want to risk being misunderstood, but Rosamunde knew that it must be something else. Of course, he did not want to be here. He was a prisoner and far from home, but Rosamunde now knew that he did not want to be at home, either. He could not, in fact, go home.

She decided to broach the subject to him. She did not think it would be covered by his promise to hide nothing from her if she asked, but she was the chatelaine and if there was the possibility of discord in her father’s castle, it was her responsibility to stop it.

She did not talk to him in the still-room, but sent for him to come into her father’s solar, hoping that the formal request would show him how seriously she took this.

He was wary as he approached her and she wondered if he was thinking about the incident by the stable. Knowing how much his leg pained him, she permitted him to sit.