stilled the surging desire. She was false and not to be trusted, so even if his body still burned for her, his mind rejected all that she was. ‘Show me where you left the man…we should go and see whether his wound is fatal. You have been foolish and wilful, lady, and we must hope that the loss of your serf is the worst that befalls you.’
‘Owain is not a serf,’ Melissa said, and her eyes flashed with fire as she was aware of his scorn. ‘He is his own man but chooses to give his affinity to me.’
Rob knew that he was right to distrust her, for plainly she was as haughty and proud as she was beautiful. ‘To you, lady?’ he asked, raising his brows. ‘It is more usual for a man to offer his affinity to a nobleman for his good lordship.’
‘Owain was my mother’s kinsman,’ Melissa said. ‘When she died in childbed, he gave his loyalty to me. He asks for nothing more than a roof over his head and the food he eats.’
‘And wears your father’s livery no doubt?’ Rob said, mocking her in the hope of some reaction. She did not fail him, her eyes sparking as she raised a hand to strike him a blow. He was too quick for her, seizing her wrist and holding it in an iron grip. Against the fairness of her skin, his was dark toned and bronzed by the sun of France.
‘Let me go, you devil!’ Melissa blazed at him, feeling angry now. He hated her for what had been done to him, and perhaps he had the right—but his scorn pricked her and her anxiety for Owain had brought her close to tears.
‘Let you go?’ Rob asked, wild thoughts of revenge in his mind. He could take her now, ride off with her to his home and teach her what it felt like to know despair, and yet her beauty moved him and he smiled oddly. ‘No, no, lady, let us not come to blows. I shall take you up with me since your horse has been lost. If your ladies wait here my men will arrive at any moment and they may follow us to the Abbey, bringing your horses if they can be found nearby. If your faithful kinsman still lives we shall take him there for the monks to nurse. If he is slain my men will bury him and a candle shall be lit in the house of our Lord and the priest paid to say a mass for his soul.’
‘You are kind, sir,’ Melissa said, her manner proud and reserved, for she had seen the mockery in his eyes. ‘I do not know why, because you have been served ill by my family.’
‘The cruellest blow of all was yours, Melissa,’ he told her. ‘Yet I shall not take foul advantage for it would not set well with my honour.’
Melissa stared at him for a moment and the look in her eyes gave him pause for thought. It was almost as if she were accusing him of something, though he could not imagine what—she was the one who had betrayed him.
‘I will help you because my father was once, long ago, your father’s friend,’ Rob said. As young men, Rob’s father had pledged his affinity to Lord Whitbread, as many did to the most powerful lord in their district. But they had quarrelled years ago, and of late the divide had grown wider because they were now on opposite sides.
After King Edward died and the throne fell to Richard, Duke of Gloucester, Sir Oswald Melford had changed his allegiance to another powerful lord. The rumours that King Richard III had ordered the murders of King Edward’s sons in the Tower of London had caused Sir Oswald, like many more freemen of England, to become disaffected. Lord Whitbread remained loyal to King Richard, but Sir Oswald had sent his son to the Earl of Richmond.
‘Why does my father hate yours?’ Melissa asked. ‘What is between them that…’ she choked back the words and shook her head. If she once faltered, if she gave way to the emotions swirling inside her she would weep—but she must not.
‘An old quarrel, I do not know. We waste time, lady,’ Rob said, a note of impatience in his voice. ‘Come, I am in a hurry. I must return home in all haste for my father is ill, but I shall see you safe to the Abbey before I continue my journey.’
Without more ado, he brought his horse forward, swept her up upon its back and leaped up behind her. Even as the great horse began to move ahead, his retainers were pouring into the sunlit clearing.
‘Follow to the Abbey and bring the women with you,’ Rob cried to his squire and urged his mount into the forest. He turned his attention back to the lady he was holding lightly against his chest, clamping down on his senses though her perfume was a bittersweet memory that hurt him still. ‘How far did you travel after your kinsman was struck down?’
‘It cannot be far for they pursued us and soon fell upon us,’ Melissa said as they moved on to the track that wound between the trees. After a few moments she pointed to a figure that lay sprawled upon the ground just ahead of them. ‘See! There lies my faithful Owain…’ As Rob drew his horse to a standstill once more, she slipped from its back without assistance and ran to where her servant lay. A little cry escaped her as she saw that his eyelids fluttered when she touched him. ‘I think he lives. The saints be praised, he is not dead!’
Rob dismounted and went to her side. He saw at once that although the man had received a blow to his head that ought by rights to have slain him, he clung stubbornly to life. Turning him over to look at his face, Rob knew at once that this was the man who had saved him and carried him back to his home, departing the next day before he was well enough to thank him.
‘This man is your kinsman?’
‘Yes, his name is Owain Davies.’
‘I am glad to tell you that God has seen fit to spare him, lady,’ Rob said, bending down to examine the wound. ‘He lives yet, though for how long I know not. We shall carry him with us to the Abbey.’ He was glad that he had not given way to his baser nature because this man needed his help, and he owed him his life.
Some of his men had followed hard upon their heels and he summoned them to his side, giving orders that a sling was to be fashioned so that the man might be carried between two of the baggage horses—just as Owain had carried him home that night. He stood up, taking hold of Melissa’s arm, tearing her from her weeping examination of her faithful kinsman. For some reason her tears made him angry. She wept for Owain Davies, but she had cried none for him!
‘Come, lady. I have no time for this. I must see you to the Abbey and be on my way.’
Melissa looked at him. ‘I owe you my life and that of my ladies,’ she admitted. ‘Since you are in haste to be on your way, I must not detain you. Perhaps if you were to give us horses and the escort of three of your men it would suffice?’ She felt that she could hardly bear to be near him and know that he despised and hated her.
‘Perhaps,’ Rob said. It would be convenient for he was impatient to continue his journey, and yet something held him. He knew he could not rest easy in his mind if he abandoned her to his men. ‘But it is not my way to desert a lady in trouble. I shall see you safe to the Abbey for those robbers are not the only danger a lady of your standing might face. You were foolish to venture out without at least ten of Lord Whitbread’s men to protect you.’
‘We do not live in the days of poor mad King Henry,’ Melissa said, becoming proud and haughty once more, though she knew he spoke truly. ‘My father has told me that the kingdom was indeed lawless in those days, but it is not thus now.’
If she believed that then she was indeed a fool! King Edward had managed to subdue some of the lawless nobles for a while but they had too much power and would never be brought into line while they were allowed to continue the custom of livery and all that that implied. Many of the earls and barons had set up a court to rival that of the King himself with hundreds of followers through various affinities, and were likely to take the law into their own hands. Only strong rule would break their power, which had grown so strong during King Henry VI’s reign.
Rob was tempted to tell her that England was once more on the brink of war. Yet it was best to keep a still tongue whilst nothing was absolutely certain. Henry Tudor had promised to bring an army to these shores soon, but until he actually arrived it might be unwise to speak of these things—especially to the daughter of a man who was the King’s stalwart and his enemy.
‘I shall not argue with you, lady. Come, your kinsman