innocent men.’
Owen eyed him with a sly expression. ‘You’ve done it many times in the service of your king. How many have you slaughtered in battle? They call you the Blood Lord, do they not?’
Tension knotted within him, but he betrayed no emotions. ‘I am no lord.’
‘Indeed you are not. And that is why you will help me—because you possess nothing at all. I will give you land in Ireland where your poverty will not matter. You can begin again as the lord you always wanted to be.’
It was true that he did want land. The desire for his own demesne burned through his blood. As the youngest son, he possessed hardly anything, and he had no wish to live with his father or his older brother Rhys.
But Warrick wasn’t about to reveal this to de Courcy. His hand returned to his sword. ‘If land was all I wanted, I could take it for myself.’
‘You haven’t enough men to lay siege to a fortress,’ Owen pointed out. ‘And it isn’t only land that you want. You want vengeance against Rosamund and the man who stole her from you. I am giving you the chance to take her back. Punish her if it makes you feel better.’
He did still harbour anger towards Rosamund, after the night she had turned her back on him. But he could not help but wonder why Alan de Courcy had summoned him. What did the man want? Undoubtedly, it was connected to Rosamund.
Warrick knew that the moment he set eyes upon her again, it would only rub salt in his wounded pride. He had tried to spend time with other women, attempting to forge a life without Rosamund. And yet, he could never forget the way she had smiled at him with love, pressing her hands against his heart. He had wound his hand around her long black hair, kissing her until she made soft sounds of yearning. Those green eyes had looked upon him as if no other man in the world existed.
A part of him was still furious that she had chosen someone else. Her father had forbidden them to be together, since Warrick had nothing to offer her. But he’d believed that Rosamund would defy her family and stay with him. He had suffered a brutal whipping on her behalf after her father had caught them fleeing together. But instead of holding fast to the promises they had made on holy ground, she had denied everything and had chosen Alan de Courcy.
Warrick needed to look into those treacherous green eyes and understand why she had done it. Rosamund was married to a man of wealth, yet she had no children and now her husband was dying. Did she regret her choice after all these years?
‘Find out what my brother wants,’ Owen said. He tossed a heavy bag towards Warrick. ‘Take this as proof of my offer.’
He opened it and found it full of silver—rather appropriate for blood money. Warrick placed the bag back on a nearby table and shook his head. ‘I will not kill on your behalf.’
‘Not even for her?’ Owen ventured. ‘Not even if it meant she would belong to you after her husband is dead?’
Warrick had already made up his mind to find out what Alan de Courcy wanted. But he had no interest in becoming Owen de Courcy’s assassin.
‘I will go to Pevensham,’ he said. ‘But only to satisfy my own curiosity. If you want your brother dead, it will not be by my hand.’
Owen’s expression turned thoughtful. ‘We shall see, de Laurent. We shall see.’
* * *
Rosamund had never been more uneasy in all her life, save her wedding night. She had prayed that Alan would change his mind about this reckless plan, but her husband was steadfast in his wishes. A part of her wished she had the courage to stand up to him and refuse his wishes. The lie weighed upon her conscience, but silence was easier than confrontation. Adultery was a graver sin than breaking a promise, and since her husband had put her in an impossible position, it was one or the other.
She had stared out of her window for hours, days, waiting for Warrick to arrive. It was evening when she saw him riding through the gates. From the tower, she could hardly see his face, but his posture made it evident that this was indeed the proud man she had once loved. His gaze lingered upon the inner bailey for a moment before he turned to stare at the tower. She froze, fully aware of the moment he locked eyes upon her. There was no doubt that he had seen her.
From the tower window, her blue kirtle was as visible as a banner flying above a troop of soldiers. She had chosen her best gown with long tapered sleeves and a silver girdle studded with sapphires. Around her throat she wore a silver chain with another sapphire hanging upon it. Her maidservant had braided her dark hair and coiled it on to her head like a crown.
Did Warrick know why he had been summoned? Her skin tightened with fear, for she had not forgotten the look of hatred in his eyes on the day she had married Alan. He had wanted her to walk away from the wedding, to leave behind her family and all she had known, for his sake.
Sometimes she wished she had. But it was too late to change it now.
Rosamund’s fingers dug into the wooden window frame. Did he despise her still after all these years?
Her heart was beating rapidly in her chest, but she tried to calm her nerves. He would refuse Alan’s proposition, she was certain. All she had to do was remain quiet and obedient, and Warrick would go away.
If only she could silence the doubts and fears roiling within her. But Warrick was a proud warrior, a man who would not forget the wrongs done to him. It didn’t matter that she had agreed to wed Alan as a means of saving his life. Or that she’d had no choice in the matter. He remembered only that she had given promises to him and then broken them. Warrick was not the sort of man who would forgive her for it.
A knock sounded at the door and when her maid answered it, the steward bowed. ‘My lady, Lord Pevensham wishes you to greet his guest in the Great Hall, since he is unable to leave his bed.’
‘Of course,’ Rosamund murmured. Inwardly, she wanted to curse Alan. He had done this on purpose, forcing her to face the man who frightened her most.
But with every step she took towards the stairs, she thought of her husband’s unholy command. It reawakened her anger and frustration. She didn’t want to obey Alan’s wishes, despite his need for an heir. It was far better for her to remain a loyal wife, shielding herself from the heartache it would conjure.
I cannot betray him, she thought. Even if Alan demands it of me.
For she could not trust herself in this. The slightest touch would evoke all the years of buried desire. Warrick’s very presence shook her to the core.
Rosamund entered the Hall, and from the moment she stepped inside, she could feel the warrior’s gaze upon her. The air was charged with tension, but she walked to the dais as if nothing were wrong. Her heart was beating so fast, her knees were shaking beneath her skirts.
Calm down. He is only a man.
She focused her attention upon the clean rushes, steadying herself until she dared to look up. With her shoulders squared and a serene expression upon her face, Warrick would not see the fear beneath the surface.
‘My lady,’ he greeted her, bowing low. But even with the courtesy, she could feel his veiled anger. It was there in his blue eyes, in the fierce bearing of his stance. His dark hair was cut short, and he carried his helm beneath one arm as if ready for battle.
He remembers everything, she realised. The taut lines of his muscles were filled with a rigid cast, as if he still blamed her for refusing his offer of marriage. Did he honestly believe she’d had a choice?
‘It has been a long time, my lord.’ She tried to muster a smile but couldn’t quite manage it. I never meant for it to end with you hating me, she wanted to say.
It never should have ended, he seemed to answer. His blue eyes held an unnamed emotion, and he studied her as if trying to discern her feelings. She saw the edge of anger in his eyes, but there was something more.
‘I received your husband’s missive, asking me to come. But he never said why.’ Warrick