The Price of a Sword

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The Price of a Sword ISBN # 978-1-906328-78-8 ©Copyright Ellie Tremayne 2008 Cover Art by Lyn Taylor ©Copyright January 2008 Edited by Janice Bennett Total-e-bound books This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Total-e-bound eBooks. Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Total-e-bound eBooks. Unauthorised or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution. The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork. Published in 2008 by Total-e-bound eBooks 1 The Corner, Faldingworth Road, Spridlington, Market Rasen, Lincolnshire, LN8 2DE, UK.

Warning: This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers. This story has been rated Total-e-sizzling.

THE PRICE OF A SWORD Ellie Tremayne

THE PRICE OF A SWORD

Ellie Tremayne

Dedication

To Janet, Fiona and Amy

4


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Chapter One

North Cornwall, 1156

Rain lashed the stout wooden doors of the convent as the party of horsemen drew up. The front rider slid off his mount, dragging down the smaller rider beside him too. “Open up!” he bellowed above the noise of the storm. The small peephole in the door opened, and a pinched, white face peered through. “Tell the Reverend Mother her brother is here, and open up, I say. Open up,” the rider shouted at the soaked wood. The shutter snapped closed, and the sound of iron grating on iron ground out. The other riders dismounted and, as the gate creaked open, they led their horses through the high stone wall and into the courtyard of St. Nevis’ convent. The leader of the band propelled the shorter rider forward and up the granite stairs towards the main refectory. The party followed with their shoulders hunched against the sting of the icy rain. Before they reached the dining hall entrance, it opened and a nun stepped out, and the tails of her wimple swirled in the blustering wind. “Is that really you, Hugh?” she shrieked over the storm. “That it is, Nell. Now for the love of the Saints, let us in before we are washed away by this accursed rain.” The nun stood back and the party entered the relative warmth of the tall chamber where the holy women took their sparse meals. Nell grasped the head rider’s arm. “What brings you here in such weather, brother?” “I want you to hide this for me, Nell,” Sir Hugh Noirville said to his elder sister as he yanked the cloak off the second rider. Lady Rosawyn Liskard stood dripping water onto the tiled floor. She shivered and then glared at her captor and his sister. Nell’s mouth dropped open. “Your wife’s sister!”


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“You’ll pay for this, Noirville,” Rosawyn spat at him, wringing out her hair, its usual auburn sheen now almost black with rainwater. “How dare you drag me out of bed and haul me across the country?” She ripped off the sodden cloak and dropped it with a plop on the floor. Drawing herself up to her full five foot three inches, she glanced around. “And where, in the name of all that is Holy, is this place?” Hugh’s gaze slithered over her and the corners of his mouth lifted a fraction. “You will release me at once,” she commanded, forcing her voice to retain an even tone although her heart thundered in her chest. Nell came and stood beside her then ran her crooked fingers down Rosawyn’s cheek. Rosawyn smacked the nun’s hand away and the reverend mother gasped. Hugh’s men clustered around and craned their necks to see what was happening. Nell’s fingers grasped Rosawyn’s chin. As Rosawyn tried to jerk it from the nun’s grip, the dirty nails bit into her flesh and held her head firm. “You’re very pretty, my dear, very pretty indeed.” Nell’s gaze travelled down and rested on Rosawyn’s breasts. “Well rounded too.” Rosawyn suppressed a shiver and sent the woman before her a chilling look. “Take your filthy hands off me,” she ordered. Nell sneered. “Why do you need to hide her?” she asked, her gaze remaining on Rosawyn. Rosawyn fixed Hugh with an unwavering stare. Behind him, his large frame made a long shadow on the whitewashed wall, and even in the low light of the entrance hall, his blond hair shone. Some would have called him fair, but Rosawyn would not. “Stephen is dead, Nell, and Henry FitzEmpress reclaims the throne,” Hugh told his sister. “And under our new King, Lady Rosawyn becomes a threat to our family. If he marries her to someone of his choosing, then we will have to fight for every foot of land we hold.” Alarm flashed in the Reverend Mother’s eyes. “Our lands in the north?” she asked. “William holds them firm, and we must do the same here in the west.” His eyes flicked over Rosawyn.


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She pulled her shoulders back, and both Noirvilles resumed their study of her breasts. She forced herself not to flinch under their scrutiny. The Reverend Mother ran her finger along Rosawyn’s collarbone, and Rosawyn shifted her head to the side. It was common knowledge throughout Cornwall that Nell Noirville had a fondness for the young novices in her care. It was noticeable that since she took over as the Mother Superior of St. Nevis’, the number of wealthy families willing to send their daughters into her care had sharply declined. “Do you want her to take holy orders?” Nell asked. “No—not just yet. Maeve is due to deliver in three months, but childbirth can be uncertain. Keep her a novice until then,” Hugh replied. Rosawyn gave them both a disgusted look. “Go ahead! Concoct your devilish plans, if you choose,” she told them. “And enjoy your brief moment of power. But remember, the King is loyal to his friends and he will come to my father’s aid and set me free from this Godforsaken place, and I’ll have the pleasure of seeing you both hang for this outrage.” Nell grasped Rosawyn’s upper arm and shook her. “Have a care, I am in charge here and although it would pain me to mark your soft skin,” she raised her free hand and traced the index finger along the neckline of Rosawyn’s gown and across her breast, “I will wield the birch myself to quell your rebellious spirit.” Her eyes slid over her again and her mouth curled up in a thin smile. Fury burst out of Rosawyn and she drew her arm back. Hugh caught it before her palm slapped Nell’s cheek. The nun gave a dry laugh. “Now then, my pretty, watch your temper.” She lifted the sleeve of Rosawyn’s sodden gown. “We had better get you out of these wet clothes.” She grabbed hold of the neckline of Rosawyn’s gown and wrenched it apart. The fabric ripped and Rosawyn took a step back, then checked herself and raised her chin. With only her thin underchemise covering her body, her instinct was to turn from Hugh’s men, but she didn’t. Determined not to show fear, she threw back her shoulders and, ignoring the lustful eyes that gazed at her, stood unbowed. The icy air of the convent swirled around her and her nipples sprang erect. A low mutter came from Noirville’s pack of scoundrels surrounding them.


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The Reverend Mother discarded the tattered gown and turned her gaze back to Rosawyn. Her eyes flickered over the erect peaks thrusting through the semi-transparent undergarment. “That too.” Her fingers scratched the top of Rosawyn’s breasts and, grasping the diaphanous chemise, she rent it asunder. A low growl rumbled from the men in the chamber as their faces took on primitive expressions. Rosawyn’s right hand shot downwards to shield the tight triangle of hair at the apex of her legs while the left crossed her breasts to conceal as much as possible. Hugh took a step closer and his eyes grew dark. Extending his hand, he flicked her hair away from her shoulder and then encircled her left forearm. He pulled it away. Rosawyn’s breasts bounced free, and another groan escaped the men in the chamber. Hugh and Nell’s gazes focused on her raised nipples. “She is well endowed for one so young,” Nell said. Her hand reached out and she pinched the stalk at the centre of Rosawyn’s areola. “Broad teats too. You could be forgiven for thinking she’s feeding an infant.” Nell continued to play with the tight tip as bile rose to the back of Rosawyn’s throat. She swallowed it and regarded the woman fondling her with disgust. “‘Tis a pity Lady Rosawyn and her father escaped from England,” Nell said, letting go of one breast and taking hold of the other. “It would have been better if you’d married her instead of her sister.” Hugh let go of her arm and grasped her right wrist. Rosawyn tried to keep her sex shielded, but Hugh was too strong and he forced her arm aside. Rosawyn snapped the other across to take its place, but Nell caught it and held it back. “I am inclined to agree with you, Nell,” Hugh said as he adjusted the front of his breeches with his free hand. Both of them gazed down at Rosawyn’s mons, and the troops behind the sister and brother jostled each other to get a clearer view. Nell’s hand left its caressing of Rosawyn’s breast and slid down over her stomach. Her fingers stroked across Rosawyn’s pubic hair, and Rosawyn shivered.


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The Reverend Mother leant towards her brother. “Do you want to take her to a cell? None will disturb you.” She lowered her voice. “I’ll hold her down while you—” A large figure swirled in front of Rosawyn, and a cloak settled around her shoulders. She turned and gazed into a pair of soft grey eyes. She gave the nun a small, grateful smile. The motherly nun smiled back. “Oh! Sister Hilda, I didn’t see you there,” the Reverend Mother said in a hollow voice. The nun shielded Rosawyn from the onlookers and looked over her head to the Mother Superior. “As ever, Reverend Mother, your own zeal has made you forget the frailty of others.” She indicated the men crowded around them. The Reverend Mother pushed a lank strand of hair back under her wimple. “Frail flesh indeed, but…” She took hold of the covering cloak. “We must mortify the flesh and purge the disobedience out of Lady Rosawyn with the lash.” Sister Hilda drew Rosawyn closer as the Reverend Mother tried to pull the cloak away. Hugh stepped between Rosawyn and his sister. “Leave be, Nell,” he barked at his sister. “A dead hostage is no hostage, but a damaged one is equally worthless. Leave be, I say.” He took hold of his sister’s arm and pulled her sharply to him. “Listen to me. I don’t give the Pope’s tiara what you do to the novices here, but let me warn you, sister. I know some of what your ‘purging of the flesh’ means. Lady Rosawyn is still a virgin, and if you take that from her or damage her in any way, you will destroy her value to me. So keep your spiteful hands to yourself or you’ll answer to me. ” The Reverend Mother’s sallow face took on an innocent expression. “But Hugh, while she is in God’s house, it is my duty to discipline Lady Rosawyn for the sake of her immortal soul.” Hugh’s mouth drew back in a mirthless grin. “Discipline, but not damage. You forget, dear sister, that as a lad I felt your ‘discipline’ and I still carry the scar.” He thumbed a deep gouge on his chin. The Reverend Mother arched her straggly eyebrows. “But if she takes holy orders?” Hugh’s gaze flickered across to Rosawyn for a second then back to his sister. “That is a different matter.”


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The nun crossed her arms and the corners of her thin lips curled upwards. “But remember, Nell. Play with her if you must, but make sure that she comes to no harm, or I’ll be the one with the hunting knife this time.” He stroked his chin again. With her arms possessively around Rosawyn, Sister Hilda guided her towards the kitchen door beyond the cold dinning hall. “With your permission, Reverend Mother, I will take care of our guest.” The Reverend Mother looked at her brother and he gave a sharp nod. Then he marched his men back through the echoing chamber and out into the courtyard. The oak door of the refectory slammed into place and the bolt scraped back into its housing. A cold lump settled over Rosawyn’s heart.

Philip d’Apremont adjusted the front of his tunic and stepped boldly into the King’s Audience Chamber as the page announced his name. He marched swiftly down the large hall, the heels of his boots ringing out on the pale flagstones. He hoped it wasn’t too obvious that he’d dressed in haste. As he neared the dais on which the newly crowned Henry II of England sat, he noticed a noble on a chair beside him. Philip raised his eyebrows. He was surprised, firstly that the King was sitting and not pacing around, and secondly because Henry rarely allowed anyone else to sit in his presence. Then he recognised the man at the King’s side. He stopped ten paces before the throne and bowed low to his monarch and the Earl of Liskard. A small expression of amusement crossed the King’s face. “We thought you would attend us sooner,” Henry said. ”My Lord, I was not in my own chamber,” Philip explained. The Earl shuffled forward on his seat and fixed Philip with a malevolent stare. “I heard the Count of Durham is at court,” he wheezed. Philip’s eyebrows rose for a second time. If the elderly peer harboured any carnal designs on Durham’s lively countess, judging by his rasping breath and the blue tinge around his lips, an afternoon with the enthusiastic blonde he himself had just left would doubtless send that peer to his grave.


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His gaze returned to the King. “I believe you know Lord Liskard, one of the most loyal supporters of the Empress and me,” said Henry. “We met in Normandy some while back. I have long admired the Earl’s staunch loyalty to the Empress’ cause,” Philip answered. Despite Liskard’s unfriendliness, he felt obliged to acknowledge the Earl’s lifelong service to the Plantagenet family. The Earl grunted and chewed the corner of his moustache rapidly. His laboured breath echoed around the lofty chamber. Henry continued, “I’m sure you heard about the terrible injustice done to the Earl by his traitor son-in-law, Sir Hugh de Noirville?” Philip inclined his head. “I have, and pray that he will soon be brought to the King’s justice.” He turned to the Earl. “I would gladly lend my strength to yours in this matter,” he said. He had heard of the slaughter wrought across Cornwall by Sir Hugh Noirville, and from the moment he saw the Earl sitting in the Audience Chamber, Philip had been waiting for the King to ask him to assist Liskard to rout out the rebel. And he was willing to do that. With Henry restored and peace throughout the land, his men would soon lose the battle readiness he had trained into them without some activity. To help the Earl of Liskard would be an ideal opportunity to keep his men’s skills honed. He understood now the Earls’ hostility. It must be humiliating to have to seek the assistance of another, but if he offered then it might help Henry’s old warrior save face. However, rather than take his olive branch, Liskard gripped the arms of the chair and his expression darkened further. He half dragged himself to his feet and then sank back. “If I could settle my own affairs I would,” Liskard wheezed at him, the whiteness around his mouth becoming more pronounced. “But as you can plainly see, my health is failing. I can barely walk, let alone swing my broadsword.” He shot an angry glance at the King. ‘That is why I sent for you, Sir Philip,” the King explained. “What you may not know is that Noirville is married to the Earl’s younger daughter. And the Earl’s other daughter, Lady Rosawyn, has been abducted. She is not yet wed and I—”


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“The King proposes that she marry you, Saracen,” Liskard interrupted. “It seems it is the price I must pay for your sword.” Philip’s eyes narrowed. Very few who called him by his hated nickname to his face ever saw the sun rise the following morning. “I believe the d’Apremont lineage ranks alongside any in the realm,” he told the peer in an icy voice. “And I am no mercenary to sell my sword to any, and you insult me in saying so.” Lord Liskard struggled to his feet. “It’s not your lineage I am questioning, d’Apremont.” He gripped the carved arms of the chair to steady himself. “It’s your reputation, and that band of rogues you lead. You know that women hush their children with your name. ” “I fight hard for my King,” Philip replied in a level tone. “As indeed you did not so many years ago.” ”That may be so. But I already have one daughter married to a brute—I don’t want the other to suffer the same fate. ” Philip’s right hand snatched at the sword hilt at his hip. The King stood up. “Peace. Peace, good sirs.” Henry laid a restraining hand on Liskard’s arm. He turned to Philip. “I’m sure the Earl was not besmirching your honour, Sir Philip.” Henry sent the older man a meaningful glance. “Now.” Liskard grunted and resumed his seat. He struggled to suppress a fit of coughing. “Sir Philip, the King has proposed that I seek an alliance with you, and as a show of my good faith we will seal our friendship by your marrying my daughter, Lady Rosawyn.” The Earl’s face grew red as he forced the words through gritted teeth. “Cornwall is precious to me, Sir Philip. Get it back and I’ll make you its Earl in due course,” Henry said in a level tone. “I cannot have rebels loose in the land flouting my authority. Nor will I have my dear friend Lord Liskard treated so by any.” Philip stared at his King for a long moment then turned to the man struggling for breath beside him. He took his hand off the hilt of his sword and stood straight. He addressed Lord Liskard.


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“It’s most gracious of you, sir, to consider me worthy of your daughter and to give her to me in marriage. Also, as business at court prevents you from riding out with your troops, will you grant me the honour of putting down the rebellion on your behalf?” The Earl gave the barest of nods by way of assent. Henry beamed from Philip, who stood white-knuckled, to the Earl, seething red in the face and struggling for breath. He stepped down and slapped Philip on the back. ”Splendid. Splendid.” He clouted Philip again. “Have you ever visited Cornwall?” Philip shook his head. “Full of bogs and moors. But let me tell you that firstly, to find your future bride you will need all your wits and cunning.” Henry tapped his head to illustrate his point. “Secondly, you’ll have to marry her with all speed. Liskard will furnish you with a letter informing her that you are his choice.” “When my dear Rosawyn reads this, she will know my will in this matter.” The Earl shoved a parchment at him. Henry continued. “Then lastly, capture Hugh de Noirville and bring him to face the Crown’s justice in London.” The King gave him a jovial bear hug around his broad shoulders. “Well, Philip, is your sword arm strong enough for the task?” Philip’s mouth turned into a broad smile. “Noirville will be in chains by Christmas, my Lord,” he said, disentangling himself from the King’s embrace. He turned to Liskard. “I will deliver him to you, my Lord, for judgment.” The Earl nodded and started to cough again. He waved towards him. “It’s clear you’re one of old d’Apremont’s by-blows.” Philip clenched the hilt of his sword once more. “You have his height and breadth of stature all right, and his vivid blue eyes. But for all that, ‘Saracen’ suits your nut-brown colour very well. You get that from your heathen mother, no doubt.” Philip’s knuckles cracked, and the muscles in his jaw stood like cords, but he coolly inclined his head.


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Heedless of Philip’s monumental struggle to control his fury, the Earl continued. “I just wish that I could have spoken to dear Rosawyn to prepare her for such a fierce husband.” “I am going to marry your daughter, not take arms against her,” he told him, taking a firm grasp on his temper. “I wish Catherine were still alive,” Liskard said in a faraway voice. Then his weatherbeaten face creased into a doleful expression and he glanced back at him. “I expect you’re in a hurry to collect your prize, d’Apremont,” he said bitterly and then went into a paroxysm of coughing again. Philip gripped the hilt of his sword tighter, but his newly found restraint held. “I am, and will leave the day after tomorrow.” ”The day after tomorrow!” Liskard scoffed. “It will take a week, at the minimum, to get that number of men ready to march.” ”My men could leave in an hour,” Philip told him firmly. “But I need a day to find out all I can about Cornwall and Noirville from you.” He jabbed his finger at the older man’s chest. “The sooner I find your daughter and marry her, the sooner I’ll bring your other sonin-law to justice.” All the anger drained from Liskard and his shoulders slumped. Philip found himself affected by the sight of the legendary Earl of Liskard reduced to having to barter his daughter away to secure his Earldom. He enjoyed the fact that his contemporaries, for the most part, treated him with a great deal of caution. However, seeing himself through the Earl’s eyes, he wondered if he would be able to give his daughter, should he ever have one, to someone with his bloody reputation. Turning from him, Liskard addressed the King. “My Lord, may I crave your indulgence and retire? The interview has near exhausted me and it seems I now have a long day tomorrow.” “Why of course, my old friend,” Henry beamed. “We will announce the alliance at dinner.” The Earl bowed and made his slow way towards the door. Philip also begged permission to leave and followed. He coughed, and Liskard turned.


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“Sir, clearly under normal circumstances I would not be your choice of husband for your daughter.” Liskard didn’t contradict him. “But I want to assure you that I have never hurt a woman. By my honour, I will treat your daughter with all respect.” He hoped the older man believed him. The Earl regarded him steadily for a moment and his expression softened a fraction. He reached inside his tunic and brought out a small gold ring. ”This was my wife’s. I removed it from her hand when she died. It has never left me. It is for Rosawyn, her wedding band.” He paused for a moment to regain his breath and glanced up to a point just above Philip’s head. “I may have misspoke my feelings earlier. A father’s love for his daughter… You may understand some day.” His eyes slid over Philip’s face and he gave him a considered look. “I fought alongside your father and there was no finer man to have at one’s shield arm. I can appreciate how you have made your way in the world from such a poor start.” He drew in a deep breath. “I beg you, find my darling quickly. I fear for her safety with every passing day.” He grasped Philip’s arm. “Make her your wife, but treat her kindly, carry my blood on in your children. I will then be able to die in peace. ” He slumped after the effort of such a long speech. It had exhausted him and left him struggling for breath. Compassion for the old Earl swept over Philip. His shoulders relaxed. “My Lord, I will treat Lady Rosawyn with all the respect due to her. I beg you, do not question my honour again in this regard.” “Your pardon, d’Apremont, but dear though Rosawyn is to me, I have to admit that she can be a little…um…forthright.” “Forthright?” “In her opinions.” Liskard’s face creased into a fond smile. “I am afraid that since her mother died and we fled, she has been my only comfort and th—that I might have indulged her a little more than I should.”


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Philip relaxed. “I have no problem with a woman who has a strong opinion about how the meat should be prepared or when to change the rushes underfoot.” “I am afraid that my elder daughter has opinions outside those most would consider the womanly sphere. And she can try a man’s temper sorely.” “Can she?” Philip’s mouth curled up at one corner. “Then it will be my duty as a husband to guide her to more gentle interests.” The Earl considered him for a moment from under his shaggy eyebrows. “I have never heard of you treating any woman ill, and other stories no doubt have been embellished as they are retold.” “Just so,” he said. “For example, I have never eaten a baby in my life.” As the words left his mouth, Philip cursed under his breath. He hoped the Earl had a sense of humour. The Earl sighed and gave him a dour look. “I wouldn’t have your confidence, d’Apremont,” he replied after a pause. “The chef here comes from Gascony.”

The evening meal served in the great hall was a merry affair. Henry was happy, therefore the court was happy. The Earl of Liskard had recovered sufficiently to take part in the announcement of the marriage of his daughter, the Lady Rosawyn, to the King’s most loyal subject, Sir Philip d’Apremont, although he withdrew very soon afterwards. After the meal was cleared, the minstrels, so loved by Queen Eleanor, began their evening’s entertainment. Philip sat with his back against a pillar and sipped the sweet red wine in his goblet. A familiar voice cut through his thoughts. “Do I spy a groom dreaming of his forthcoming nuptials?” “Yes, if you must know, I am, Ralph.” Philip raised his eyebrows in amusement at the astounded expression on his long-time friend’s face. “I was wondering where this blasted bride of mine could be.” Ralph de Tourney threw back his head and laughed. “I might have guessed you were planning tactics to win a campaign rather than a fair maiden’s heart. But then tactics under the furs you mastered long ago.”


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Philip grinned. “The problem is, before I can even start the campaign against Noirville, I must find Liskard’s daughter, and no one has the faintest idea where she might be.” “You don’t think she’s dead, do you?” “No. Not yet. But she soon will be if I go blundering about in Cornwall without a proper plan.” He paused for a moment. “My success hinges on locating her quickly and marrying her.” “Is there nothing Liskard told you that could give you a clue where she might be?” He shook his head. “But he has given me one of his best scouts, Ozzy—a wiry fellow with sharp eyes. You know the sort, Ralph, the kind of fellow who’d find the last chicken in a starving town. I’ll send him ahead and we will ride in the hope that he can root out some useful intelligence by the time we arrive. I am sure you understand why I need to find my future bride with some urgency.” “Urgency, you say?” Ralph asked gravely. Then a crafty smile cut across his face. “Urgency. Well, knowing you as I do, I understand. After all, you must have been without a woman for what? Six hours?” Philip ignored the goading. “I must marry Liskard’s daughter to make good my claim before I can secure the territory for my heirs.” “Well, you’ll certainly need to find your bride for the heirs bit of your plan.” “Is this to be your sole contribution to the discussion? Or can I still expect some helpful advice, even at this late stage?” “I would have thought, given your experience, you need very little advice from me on how to find a bride.” Philip sipped his wine as Ralph settled on the bench beside him. He studied his friend for a moment. He had known Ralph since they were both six and they had served as squires under Sir Mont de Vert together. They had also lost their virginity on the same night of their fourteenth year in the same Rouen bawdy house. Although under the light from the sconces above, Ralph’s hair showed almost white in contrast to his own raven black locks, and Ralph’s light colouring made the deep tan of his skin look even more exotic than Philip’s, he and Ralph were as close as if they were from the same parents.


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“I will say though, Philip, Lady Durham seems to be more distressed at your imminent departure than I might have expected for one who—how can I say this delicately? Someone with such a wide experience of court.” ”Damn.” Philip stared at the smoke curling up towards the vaulted ceiling for a long moment. Then he looked back at his friend. “You saw her then?” Henry nodded. Philip ran his fingers through his hair. “She should know better then to accost me in full view of the court.” He nodded his head towards the top table where Queen Eleanor sat swaying in time to the minstrel’s music. “The queen might be enthusiastic about a lady and her lover, but only if it can be wrapped up as romantic love. My friendship with the countess is neither, and I would rather not draw attention to it. I thought she, of all women, would understand that.” “What do you expect? You take these women to places they never dreamt of in your bed and then you get bored with them,” Ralph told him. Philip gave a short laugh. “But women never seem content with just my body, they want my soul too.” His friend punched him lightly on the shoulder “Take heart, mon ami, this jaunt into the depths of Cornwall might help ‘sweet Avril’ to look elsewhere for recreation.” A loud crash rang out to the side of them. Both men turned. One of the young serving maids had dropped a platter of bread, and now she and a comely companion were on their knees retrieving the spilled contents. Their positions on the floor, leaning forward, afforded both men a fine view of firm breasts swaying. “This could be your last night of bachelorhood, my friend,” Ralph told him. The girls noticed them watching and nudged each other, giggling. “It certainly could,” he agreed, smiling at the redhead who replied with a saucy glance. “We must think of some way to mark the occasion,” Ralph said, adjusting the front of his leggings. “Do you want the redhead or the blonde?” Both men stood up and strolled across the floor. “The redhead,” answered Philip. “I’ve had a blonde today.”


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The next evening, Philip lay staring at the bed canopy above him with one hand behind his head and his mind racing. Despite last night’s activity between the sheets, he had risen relatively early and arrived at Liskard’s chambers just after breaking his fast. The Earl, recovered from the previous day, had produced a great many land deed documents of the county. Philip had then spent the morning grappling with the intricacies of Cornish loyalties and alliances to master the rudiments of the land and the major families living on it. Most of these he remembered. Others he wrote down to read through again later. However, it was Liskard’s knowledge of the Noirville family that he’d listened to with particular attention. While Hugh held the western lands of Cornwall, the head of the family, William, held the family lands on the northern border and had apparently changed his loyalty between Scotland and England more often than the tide ebbed and flowed. One sister had married an Irish chieftain, and the wife of one of the other sons had leaped to her death from a castle turret after a year of marriage. The elder sister had taken holy orders and was now the Mother Superior in one of Cornwall’s wealthiest and most prestigious convents, St. Nevis’. After hearing the long list of the Noirville family’s infamies, Philip reckoned to count them among the Devil’s followers rather than God’s. Despite their animosity of the day before, he and the Earl soon become embroiled in the details of the campaign. The Earl told him that his daughter had an extensive understanding of Cornish ways and that he should heed her advice. Philip wasn’t convinced. “My daughter Rosawyn is the figurehead for your campaign. She knows the main families of Cornwall and will rally their support. She has roamed the hills and moors all her life,” the Earl told him. This description conjured up a vision of a wild woman, and he wondered in passing what she might look like. He glanced down at the woman wrapped around him and frowned. Avril had draped herself languidly across him, flexing her hips and brushing his thigh with the bush of her pubic hair. He shifted position, and her arm and leg snapped taut over him. She turned her face up to him and stroked his chest lightly. “Will you forget me when you are married?”


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He put his hand over hers to still its motion. “Never.” She freed her hand and started to smooth it down his stomach. It was pleasant enough but not as exciting as it used to be. “I suppose that your bride is young?” she said, moving her fingers further down and caressing across his stomach below his navel. As he had already spent himself twice in Avril in as many hours, Philip could ignore her stimulation for now and let his mind drift back to the forthcoming campaign. She kissed his skin through his chest hair and cupped his balls with her hand. Philip’s cock sprang back to life. He glanced down at the woman lying on his chest. He couldn’t fault her skills but in truth, as Ralph had said, he was now becoming extremely bored with her cloying manner. A little smile spread across her lips as her index finger traced around the head of his penis now free from its foreskin. “I suppose you and she will have to breed a couple of sons before you can resume your other interests. But after that you could hide her away in a convent somewhere.” Philip shot upright and dragged Avril up to face him. “What did you say, Avril?” She stretched her hand out to capture his cock again but he caught it. “Say it again,” he ordered in a firm tone. “I just said when she’s given you a couple of sons you can send her to a convent.” He flung himself off the bed and scrambled for his discarded clothes. “What is it, Philip? Why are you going? There is an hour still. Can’t it wait? I want you to stay!” Avril scrambled onto her knees and spread her legs wide. She ran her hands over her body and through the moist lips of her vulva. “Surely I’m more important than whatever it is you have remembered?” Philip ran his gaze slowly over her and an amused smile tugged at his lips. “I’m afraid this is much more important. I thank you for the many pleasurable hours we’ve spent together. But I thank you more for telling me where I will find my wife!”


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Chapter Two

Rosawyn kicked the milking stool across the quiet still-room. “I can’t believe the King has not yet sent troops for me. Surely after eight weeks someone should have stormed this place and set me free.” Hilda slid the fragile glass jar containing Aloes of Damask out of Rosawyn’s reach and hugged her around her shoulders. “Patience, my dear. The King will send someone, never fear.” She kissed Rosawyn on the forehead. Rosawyn forced a smile. It wasn’t Hilda’s fault of course, but patience was one of the Godly qualities Rosawyn had yet to master. Her first instinct at prayer each morning was not to fall to her knees and pray for her deliverance but to dash to the altar, take up the gold candlestick and strike it across the Reverend Mother’s head. Rosawyn’s fingers gripped the marble mortar and she took up the pestle in her other hand. She smashed it onto the rosemary leaves at the bottom of the bowl. “There’s nothing for it, I will have to look once more to my own escape,” she said, pounding the stone plunger onto the aromatic plant. “If it hadn’t been for that snake, Sister Enid, I’d be across the county by now.” Hilda’s face registered alarm. “You’re not going to try to climb over the wall again?” the nun asked, her usual level tone rising to a shrill one. “I don’t think my heart could take seeing you dangling from the stonework again.” Rosawyn continued to pulverise the herb. “It was a risk, I know, but if Enid and her furry top lip hadn’t strolled by before I reached the parapet, then I would have been over the wall and free. I certainly wouldn’t be sitting here now.” Rosawyn’s eyebrows rose. “Of course she won’t be so quick to run to Nell the Devil next time, not after being caught redhanded in the cellar, siphoning off Nell Noirville’s best wine and making up the measure with local brew.” Hilda’s lips twitched. “I wonder how our spiritual leader knew exactly when she was there.” “Divine intervention, probably,” she said in a neutral voice.


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Hilda studied her for a moment and Rosawyn tried to keep a straight face, but then a smug smile tugged at her mouth. “It served her right. Maybe now she’s felt the mother superior’s twitch across her buttocks she’ll think twice before telling tales,” Rosawyn said, raising the pestle again. Hilda took hold of her hand on the upward arc. “The potion needs ‘bruised rosemary’ not powdered,” she said. “And promise me you won’t attempt such a dangerous escape route next time.” Rosawyn gripped the stone crusher. “I can’t. Now that Maeve has given Hugh a son, I know the Reverend Mother will try to force me to be a nun.” Rosawyn pressed her lips firmly together. “I love you, Hilda, and I admire your calling but, as God is my witness, I will never voluntarily speak the words of accession to become a bride of the church.” She smashed the pestle onto the scrubbed bench. “They can beat me until my back is raw, but I will never, never become a nun.” “You are not meant to be. Your destiny is that of a wife and mother, but you’ll never be so if you break your neck scaling the convent walls,” Hilda said, taking the marble plunger from her. “You are not before the Lord Bishop yet. Everything is for a purpose, you will see that, my dear,” Hilda told her. “Trust the Lord, He will not leave you at the mercy of the Noirvilles. You will escape. I know it, I just know it.” Rosawyn glanced up at the older woman. “Oh, Hilda. You have been such a comfort to me to be able to confide in you and know that you actually care for me.” “Tush, tush. You’ve a sharp mind there, my girl, and you have been of great assistance to me in the infirmary,” Hilda told her. “I’ve learned so much caring for the sick working alongside you, and it’s kept me out of the Reverend Mother’s path.” Rosawyn’s brows drew together. “It’s a pity I can’t keep out of her way during the daily offices.” A shiver ran through her. Although she had tried hard to avoid being alone with the Mother Superior, a couple of time she had found herself trapped by her and been subjected to Nell Noirville’s unwelcome fondling. Of course, Rosawyn hadn’t let Nell come out of the encounters unscathed, as the scratches on the senior nun’s face and arms bore witness. A sad expression settled on Hilda’s face. “My dear.”


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Rosawyn gave a hard laugh. “After she cornered me in the brewery and I elbowed her in the nose, I thought she had learnt her lesson, but two days ago when she caught me in the dormitory, she instructed that snivelling creature, novice Margot, to hold me while she put her hand over me as a man would.” Rosawyn’s eyes flashed and her mouth set in a determined manner. “I know you urge me to caution, but when she started after me yesterday she was carrying a small club. Thankfully, I kicked Margot in the shins and escaped but I am sure she intended to ruin my maidenhead with it. So unless the King sends me a liberator soon, I will have to take matters into my own hands again.” Hilda pinched the bridge of her nose. “Are you unwell?” Rosawyn put the back of her hand to the older woman’s forehead. “It’s nothing, just one of my headaches,” the nun replied, putting on a brave smile. Rosawyn could see pain clouding Hilda’s eyes. She stood up and collected some willow powder from the shelf. “Now, you go to your cot and lie down. I’ll infuse you some of this and bring it to you. It’s at least six hours until Nocturne’s bell, so you will be able to sleep undisturbed until then.” “If you’re sure you’re all right, my love,” Hilda said. Rosawyn nodded. “I’m fine, truly. We’ll talk tomorrow,” she said and started to prepare the medication. After she’d taken Hilda the bitter tasting willow tea and settled her to sleep, Rosawyn made her way along the cold corridor to her own narrow room. Alone in the novice cell, she threw herself onto the pallet and stared up at the bare ceiling. She ran through some of the escape plans she’d been trying to formulate. Most were half-formed and all of them were dangerous, but now that Hugh wouldn’t need her to secure his grip on her father’s lands, she had to escape. A local farmer brought provisions to the convent twice a week, and if she hid herself under the sacking she might be able to slip through the gate unnoticed. Or she could hide in the bakery loft on the next full moon and… She realised she must have dozed off when she woke to the noise of men’s shouts echoing down the corridor. She got to her feet and glanced around. The candle in the room


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was spluttering in the bottom of its holder. She should have put it out when she lay on the bed. The sound of doors swinging back on their hinges and crashing into the granite walls rang along the passageway outside. There were screams now too. Was Maeve dead? Her heart thundered in her chest as she thought of the laughing girl whom she hadn’t seen for five years and who had been her playmate and friend. Please God, don’t let it be that something has happened to my sister or the baby, she prayed silently. And if her dear sister was no longer troubled by this world, that left Rosawyn with the awful prospect that Hugh Noirville was now coming for her and she was about to become his next bride. It was only slightly less alarming than being forced into holy orders, as there was at least the hope of early widowhood. But if he was coming to take her for his wife, why was he searching? If he meant to wed her, surely he would just come during the day and claim her. She drew in a deep breath as she gathered her thoughts. No, this night visit didn’t mean that her sister and the baby were dead, quite the opposite. They must be alive and prospering. Relief flooded though her. She thanked God that her sister, at least, would know the joy of motherhood even if it was denied her. If Hugh had his heir, then he had come to rid himself of the threat to him that she posed. Even if she were forced to take the veil, a papal dispensation could be obtained to release her from her coerced vows, and she would then be free to marry and produce sons, so only her death would serve Hugh Noirville’s ambition. He had not come to fetch her from this place, he had sent assassins to bury her here. The door of the cell next to hers cracked against the wall and she heard a deep voice. In the dark of her cell her brows drew together. If their intention was her death, why were they searching? Surely the reverend mother or one of her underlings would have told the killer where to find her.


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Something fell against her door, sending splinters into the room. It withstood another onslaught then crashed in. A giant of a man wearing an enveloping cloak marched into the room, and Rosawyn shrank back. “Are you Lady Rosawyn?” he asked, his deep, resonant voice echoing around the stark cell. Ashamed at her initial fearful reaction, she straightened and planted her feet firmly on the flagstones. She was a Liskard and a descendant of King Arthur and she would die facing the enemy’s sword, not cowering from it. “I am. Who the devil are you?” “Your husband,” he answered in a low, vibrant voice. Rosawyn’s brows pulled even tighter. “Husband? I don’t understand. My father—” “This is for you.” He handed her a crumpled parchment from inside his tunic. It was still warm from his body. She held it close to the remains of the candle. Squinting and tilting it at an angle to make out the words, she read that she was to marry the bearer of the letter. She twisted it back and forth trying to decipher the name of the knight to be her husband, but she couldn’t read it as it sat in the crease in the parchment. At the bottom was her father’s signature. “We must make haste to leave. We are deep in Noirville’s territory and I need to rejoin the main body of my troops,” he told her, propelling her towards the door. Outside in the chilly corridor several men stood with their swords at the ready. “To the chapel,” he barked. Within minutes, Rosawyn entered the dimly lit chapel alongside her future husband and a dozen or so well-armed men. They stopped before the altar, and the local priest, Father Adrian, stepped forward. He regarded Rosawyn and the man beside her down his razor sharp nose. “This is most irregular,” he said, sniffing a drip of snot back, his thin face pulled into the sourest of expressions. He glanced down at the mud splattered over his cassock. “As God’s representative in these parts, I should not be dragged from my bed at such an hour and brought here by your band of heathens.” The tall knight stepped forward to within an inch of the priest and loomed over him.


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Alarm showed in Father Adrian’s pale eyes, and his Adam’s apple wobbled up and down several times. “Marry us now,” the tall knight commanded. Father Adrian ran the flat of his hand over his tonsure and he glanced at Rosawyn. “This woman is in holy orders. No power on earth will compel me to perform this ceremony.” The knight who now stood back at her side cursed roundly under his breath. “I have taken no vow,” Rosawyn said before her betrothed could threaten him again. He gave the man beside her a wary look and then set his lips in two stubborn lines. At that moment Hilda toddled across the flagstones to join them in front of the altar. “Her ladyship speaks the truth,” she told the priest. “She was brought here against her will. I swear by the Virgin’s cloak that she has taken no vows.” “Now can we get on with this?” the knight ground out. Father Adrian chewed his lips for a moment then began the ceremony. As her new husband put the ring on her finger, Rosawyn glanced down and recognised her mother’s gold band with her parent’s entwined initials etched around the centre. A lump rose in her throat as the knight beside her gave his name, Sir Philip FitzRoger d’Apremont. It was familiar for some reason, but she couldn’t think why. He held her fingers in his firm grip and repeated his vows in a gravelly voice. She glanced down at the clean, tanned, strongly made hand. When the brief ceremony finished, she beckoned Hilda over. “Are you ready to travel, Hilda?” The sister glanced toward Rosawyn’s new husband. “If your Lord will allow.” She went to wave the notion away. Her new husband caught her hand in a vice-like grip. “I will not take a gaggle of nuns with me across hostile territory, woman.” She tried to pull away, but he held her tight. “Sir, Sister Hilda is coming with us,” she said. “We are in enough danger as it is without adding to our burden,” he said, propelling her forward.


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Rosawyn tried to free her hand again but only increased the pain in her wrist. She stifled a cry but planted her feet firmly on the flagstones. “I insist!” Her husband growled a profanity then he snapped around. “Can you ride?” he barked at Hilda. The nun nodded. “Ride with Ozzy,” he waved towards a nut-brown, wiry individual lounging by the wall. The knight shoved Rosawyn out into the courtyard. His mount was led forward and he swung onto it in one movement. “You ride with me,” he said, as one of his men cupped his hands for her. She stepped up and settled herself in the saddle behind her new husband. “Wind your hands through my belt. It will be many hours before we stop, and I don’t want to lose you, now I’ve found you,” he told her over his shoulder and with just a trace of humour in his voice. She did as he told her and pressed into his unyielding back, her legs hard against the backs of his thighs. With a flash of a spur, the horse sprang forward, galloped through the convent gates and into the night.

The party of horsemen stopped a few hours before dawn to rest. Her husband dismounted and Rosawyn slid down from the saddle, but before her feet touched the ground he caught her. As his soldiers made camp and tended the mounts, he marshalled her across the clearing and settled her under the cover of a tree to sleep. Hilda snuggled down next to her. Although a fine horsewoman, she had not been on horseback for eight weeks. The hard ride across country left her sore and bruised, but she was so weary that she slept the remainder of the night through. When she awoke, Ozzy handed her a hot meal of beef stew. No sooner had she finished than she found herself in the saddle behind her husband again. After the good sleep, and with the joy of being free from the convent, her senses reawakened. As she clung to her new husband, she became aware of the feel of his hard,


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muscular back as it twisted in response to the horse. With her legs butted against him, every time he flexed to guide the horse, an unaccountable thrill of excitement shot through her. It was very difficult for her to form any real judgment about the man she had just married. From the way he lifted her effortlessly from his horse, she judged him to be young and strong. He was clean, his hands testified to that, as did the fact that he had changed his shirt since the night before. A morning breeze stirred. “Where are we heading?” she called to him. “We are bound for Lostwithiel Castle. We will be there by late afternoon,” he shouted over his shoulder. “My home,” she shouted back and hugged him with pleasure. Her breasts pressed into his back and her pubic bone nudged into his buttocks. He tensed, and she mumbled an apology, thankful he could not see her flaming cheeks. They rode on through the chilly morning until they were joined by another body of men waiting for them at the crossroads. The united force proceeded towards the coast. Well past noon, Rosawyn smelt a fresh saltiness in the air as the breeze changed direction. Her husband twisted in the saddle. “If I am not mistaken, that is Lostwithiel there.” He pointed in front of him. Rosawyn followed his gaze and in the distance saw her home perched high on the cliffs above the river. A gasp escaped her and tears sprang into her eyes as the emotion of seeing the castle overwhelmed her. “Yes, it is.” A small sob caught in her voice. “Before the sun rolls much farther, we will be there.” Full of emotion and unable to speak, she clung to him for the last few miles. Philip raised his hand and the company stopped on the soft green bank across from the portcullis and drawbridge over the moat. A voice bellowed from the parapet. “I am Allan Bowhand, steward and keeper of this castle for the Earl of Liskard. Who, in the name of the blessed saints, are you?”


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The horse beneath her took two steps, but the rider steadied it. “I come in the name of the Earl of Liskard, rightful overlord of this land under King Henry, to take possession of this castle. Open the gates.” “Do you take me for a fool?” came back the answer. Philip pulled something out of his jerkin and held it aloft. It fluttered in the afternoon breeze. “Here are his lordship’s instructions. And be warned, my patience is wearing—” Rosawyn’s lips pressed firmly together. She was dirty and sore and inside those stout walls were her clothes, a bath, good food and a proper bed. “For the love of the Saints! Let me talk to Allan,” she said as she swung down from the horse and marched to the edge of the moat where the drawbridge settled. She cupped her hands around her mouth. “Don’t you recognise me, Allan? It’s me, Lady Rosawyn! Open the gates.” She ripped the veil off and waved it furiously above her head. The activity on the ramparts ceased for a moment, then the rattle of the portcullis chain sounded across the water’s surface. She swung around and smiled broadly up at her new husband. “There, see? Al—” She stopped and her gaze ran slowly over the man sitting on the horse. He had thrown back his hood and now gazed at her with incredibly blue eyes. His thick black hair was caught at the back of his neck. The white shirt he wore under his tunic gaped open some way down from his throat and revealed his dark tanned skin and a spray of chest hair. Strength oozed from his muscular frame and he was large, but she guessed without more than a ladle of fat on his entire body. An unfamiliar pounding started in the depth of her stomach. It coiled around a few times then settled at the apex of her legs, centring around the nub at the front of her sex and the fleshy lips behind. He swung down from his horse and strode towards her. Rosawyn stood staring up at him with her mouth open. His arm shot out and grabbed her around the waist. He pulled her against his chest and his other arm went around her shoulders. Her head tilted back. “In my urgency to get you safe, I’ve forgotten something,” he said. The sound of his voice vibrated though her body and his blue eyes locked on hers.


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“Forgotten what?” she murmured. “To kiss the bride.”

When she pressed into his back for an instant, Philip thought his abrupt halt had unseated his bride. But when he heard her oath he realised she was in fact dismounting. His gaze followed her as she paced across the grass, then curiosity got the better of exhaustion. He’d already calculated that she stood about two hands short of his height, but he hadn’t expected the rounded hips under the formless habit. She shouted up at the fellow on the parapet then tore the veil from her head, dislodging the binding that had confined her tresses. The effect was devastating. Her rich auburn locks, set loose, tumbled and shimmered down her back, well past her hips. The sun, as if in response, sent a shaft of light through the clouds and settled on her. It was the most beautiful hair he had ever seen, thick, alive, with myriad warm reds and browns in its depths. He’d just about come to terms with her back view when she turned around. The soft afternoon sunlight lit her face. She smiled up at him with her eyes sparkling with happiness. Her high cheekbones glowed pink and her full lips, slightly parted, showed perfect white teeth. When his gaze locked onto her large, dark brown eyes with their thick, sweeping lashes, he all but tumbled from his horse. The nun’s habit had untied and slipped off one shoulders. The shapeless garment secured around her middle with a length of cord emphasised her nipped-in waist. His cock thrust upwards at the sight of such a display of feminine promise. Although absorbed by this unexpected vision of loveliness, he did notice she had stopped in mid-sentence and was now staring wordlessly at him. It was the expression of wonder on her face that drew him to her in an instant. Now, with her in his arms and her breasts pressing pleasantly into his chest, Philip lowered his lips onto hers. Her body melted into his instantly, and her mouth opened under the pressure of his. His arm tightened around her and he slid one hand up her back to anchor her firmly to him. Her hand rested on his upper arm and he felt its presence through his whole body. His other hand slid downward to the top of her buttocks while keeping her close to him with pressure from his forearm. She must have felt his erection against her


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stomach because she tilted her hips just a fraction. He doubted she was aware of her action, but excitement shot through him at her response. A cheer rose from his men and from the castle garrison. He released her mouth and gazed down at her flushed face. “Let’s enter together,” he said, raising her hand to his lips. “Let them greet their Lady and her new husband, Sir Philip FitzRoger d’Apremont.” She gazed up at him, then her brows drew together a fraction. "Sir Philip FitzRoger d’Apremont?” He heard the slight tremor in her voice. He smiled coolly at her. “The same.” Her jaw dropped. “The Sir Philip FitzRoger d’Ap—? The Saracen?”


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Chapter Three

“You seem deep in thought, Rosawyn,” Sister Hilda observed as they passed through the antechamber and entered Rosawyn’s bedchamber. “Oh, I’m just thinking how good it feels to be home,” Rosawyn answered, glancing over the counterpane on the wood-framed bed and twisting a loose thread on her habit. The nun tilted her head. “Didn’t you hear Sir Philip’s full name during the ceremony?” Rosawyn sat down heavily on the bed. “Yes, but as I was too intent on escaping the convent, I didn’t stop to ponder why it was familiar.” “Just so. But it still must be a surprise to find yourself married to the Sir Philip d’Apremont.” “You’ve heard of him, too?” “Who has not? Such daring deeds. I wouldn’t be surprised if there weren’t ballads about his battles already.” “I hope not. He is far too sure of his own worth as it is. And now he is here in my chamber.” She waved her hand towards Philip’s luggage and armour stowed in the corner. “His chamber,” Hilda corrected. Despite the revelation of who her husband was, the impression of his arms around her, his lips on her mouth, continued to send tingles through her. “I must go, my dear.” Hilda stood up stiffly. “The steward found me a snug little sleeping place with Peggy, the housekeeper, at the other end of the hall, and I’m desperate to ease my old bones before supper.” “Of course,” she replied, and gave Hilda a wan smile as the sister left the chamber. Rosawyn fell back onto the soft mattress. I am married to The Saracen. She stretched out her hand and smoothed it across the linen cover. And we will sleep together in this chamber!


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Her mind raced on. What would it be like? Would he find her acceptable? The memory of pressing against his hard back brought other thoughts to mind, like his strong hands and the scratch of his beard when he pressed his mouth on hers. She ran her fingers over her lips where the tingle of his kiss remained. That kiss had set a bolt of something straight through her that robbed her of breath. If that weren’t bad enough, when he pressed his erected shaft into her stomach, little stars started exploding in her mind. His cock had been so hard that for an instant she thought the hilt of his dagger had come between them. Her hand went to her stomach. Pushing the thoughts away, she went over to her chest of clothes and pulled out her favourite light green gown and the delicate chemise her chafed skin craved after months in a nun’s rough habit. Two maids arrived with a large barrel cut around the middle, followed by three of the kitchen’s heftiest male servants carrying two buckets of hot, steamy water apiece. After several trips back to the kitchen, the tub was finally filled and the male servants bowed respectfully and withdrew. Rosawyn stripped off the loathsome habit and put her toe into her bath. She then lowered herself into the tub, sinking up to her shoulders. Picking up the tablet of lavender soap, she cleaned herself all over, including her hair. The water started to chill, so she stepped out and dried herself. She had just slipped on the silk undershift when Philip strolled in. “I forgot you were here,” she told him as she hugged the thin shift around her. He clutched his chest and assumed a face of mock dejection. “I’m heartbroken.” “I meant I had forgotten that you would be in this chamber as well.” A sensual smile spread across his face as he gazed at her and he rubbed the tough bristles on his chin. “I’ve told them to bring me fresh water and a man to shave me.” He took off his shirt and threw it on top of her discarded habit. He wrestled off his boots and sent them in the same direction then casually sat down in the large oak chair with his legs apart, smiling at her.


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Try as she might, Rosawyn could not drag her eyes from him. Even at rest, his strong arms rippled with muscles, as did his chest. A mass of black hair spread across his chest, fanning upwards towards his shoulders and tracking neatly down the middle of his taut, well-defined torso into the top of his leggings. Unusually, he had some blue-black shapes in the form of a band around the top of his left arm. Her gaze ran over him again, and she imagined what it might feel like to trace her fingertips along the ridges of his muscles. Then she wondered what his skin would feel like under her lips. Having already experienced its hardness as they rode across the county, she tried to imagine how it would feel to have his muscular body on top of her. A small dart of excitement shot through her and fanned out at the apex of her legs. She squeezed the top of her thighs together, and a heavy pulse of desire travelled along the crevice of her sex. And what about his chest hair? She had always admired this particular mark of manliness, from a distance of course. Finding her new husband had such a fine crown of curls added a new dimension to his appeal. She glanced across at her bed with the heavy drapes. When he was beside her under the covers without his shirt, her breasts would surely scrape over that hair. Would it tickle? And would he mind if she ran her cheek and lips over it? A more definite streak of pleasure shot through her this time, and the cleft between her legs contracted. She took a long breath. Her gaze shifted lower. He raised one arched eyebrow. Rosawyn thought of her nipples erect and probably outlined through her shift. Excitement coursed through her again. It gathered in a throbbing knot around the bud of her clitoris and then shot back to the dark peaks of her breasts. Trying to retain the impassive expression on her face, her gaze glided across his shoulders, down his arms and onto his hands. His fingers!


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They were long and slender but, like the rest of him, powerful, as every time he held her she felt their strength. But they were dexterous too. She studied the way his fingers flexed as he regarded her and thought about how they would touch her intimately. Her mouth suddenly dried out as the area between her legs pulsed with an unfamiliar ache. He crossed a well-shaped leg, put his hands behind his head and gave her a disarming smile. “Please, pretend I’m not here and I’ll just sit here and admire the view.” She forced her eyes away from his body and back to his face and smiled. Thank goodness I have my shift on. And—is it possible that any man can be so handsome?

Philip could see Rosawyn’s wanton thoughts written all over her face and liked it. Similar thoughts bounced around his head too. Unknown to her, the light from the window behind her shone through her shift, affording him the silhouetted view of her shapely body. I must have done something right for the saints to favour me so. Not just an Earldom but also a beauty to go with it. She cleared her throat. “Er—how is my father?” “He was still walking and talking when I last saw him, but long conversations tire him. He seems well enough in other ways, even managed a little humour.” She smiled at him and again he caught his breath. “Why did Papa consent to me marrying someone—I mean—you—” He regarded her levelly but his jaw clenched. She gave him a wary smile. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply that you are cruel or that you kill people for pleasure, but your reputation is savage.” “I’ve killed many men in war although never for pleasure. I fight to win and that, my dear, is why your father agreed to our marriage.” His eyes drifted down onto her gossamer garment as it moulded around her shapely form. “You need not be afraid of me. I assured your father I would treat you with all respect. And he believed me.”


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She shifted her weight from one leg to the other, allowing light to shine between them. His eyes flickered down to the dark shadow of her pubic hair showing through the shift. He then slowly returned his gaze to her blushing face. “My—my gown is behind you,” she told him, making no attempt to retrieve it. “Get it if you must. But for my part, I am happy with you as you are.” After a moment’s hesitation, she stepped towards him. He caught her gently by the wrist, drew her to him and pulled her onto his lap. Her eyes widened for a second as her weight settled on his cock that strained through his leggings He slid one arm around her waist while the other held her against his chest. Her fingers splayed out through the hair there and a faint hint of lavender surrounded him. “Rosawyn,” he said in a low rumble, “you are so very beautiful.” She let out a long sigh and pressed against him. His hand began to stroke her side and hip rhythmically, his fingers gently massaging her soft flesh beneath the gossamer fabric. He slid his hand up her side and towards her breast. Glancing down, he could see the dark circle of her areola under the thin fabric. He hooked his finger over the edge and lifted the cloth away. Peering down, he studied her nipple, taking pleasure in the breadth of the dark areola and the length of the central stem. Tempted though he was to explore further, this was not the time. He wanted to have all night to inspect every part of her beautiful body, so he let the fabric fall back. He cupped her breast instead and weighed it in his hand. He squeezed it gently and rolled it around to savour the wonderful fullness of it. She let out a low moan as his thumb lightly scratched across the hardened tip of her nipple. By the stars, he was going to have hours of enjoyment sucking and nibbling those. He wound his fingers in her hair and whispered softly in her ear. “I love your hair. I can’t wait to see it shimmering across the bed.” She tilted her head back into his hand. He needed no further invitation and placed his lips on her throat, kissing lightly down onto her shoulders. He glanced up at her. Her eyes were half closed and there was a deeper flush on her cheeks. Her hands roamed across his chest and gripped his shoulders. He made his way back up to her jaw line and then to her mouth. He pressed his lips full onto hers and kissed her hard. She opened her mouth under his and kissed him back. He probed with his tongue and her mouth opened more.


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Philip was enjoying himself immensely. The woman on his lap was not only beautiful but also spectacularly responsive. What began as light flirtation was now serious foreplay. A knock sounded on the door. He lifted his head and gazed down at her. Her breathing was heavy now as she held her lips in readiness for his next kiss. He cursed the interruption, wanting to explore her further. “My bath is here. “ “What? Your bath— Oh! My gown.” She jumped up and shook her head as if to bring herself back to the present. “I’ll leave you to your bath then, my Lord,” she told him in a faltering voice. She fumbled with her surcote, slipped her gown over her head and tied the laces. After winding the decorative girdle around her slender waist, she secured it firmly. He smiled. “Aren’t you going to help me? After all, it is the duty of the lady of the castle.” She stood motionless as he rose and walked across the floor towards her. With an almost imperceptible tremble of her hand, she repositioned a stray lock of hair and gave him a shy smile. “Why of course,” she said, lowering her gaze. Having already sampled some of her charms, he wasn’t content to wait. Every part of him wanted her and wanted her now—but no. He would remain in control and make her want him. He took hold of her hand and kissed the palm. “Come in!” he shouted as he drew her to him. The door opened and the same two girls and the three male servants appeared, ready to empty her bath and fill Philip’s. “Refresh the tub and then leave us,” he said to them without taking his eyes from her face. “My wife will assist me.”

Rosawyn‘s mouth dropped open as she heard his words. In the space of little more than an hour she had found the man she had married possessed a reputation for savagery second to none, been robbed of her senses by his hard kisses only to have him caress her in a


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way that left her throbbing from head to toe, and now he was going to strip naked and have her clean him with a washcloth. It was all very unsettling. It wasn’t just that he had a cleanly cut face, angular jaw line and ice blue eyes, or that his shoulders and chest were the consistency of seasoned oak. No, it was something else over and above his physical looks that sent shivers through her and her mind spinning every time his gaze settled on her. Having escaped his embrace and struggled into her clothes, she thought she might regain the use of her mind by being alone for an hour or two. But she had forgotten her duty. Her hand rested lightly on the springy hair of his chest. His skin beneath was warm, and without thinking she stroked her finger back and forth. His arm clasped her tighter and he raised her head with his forefinger. She gazed into his eyes, noting their colour wasn’t a flat blue but several shades intermingled. They were dark as they locked on hers. A slow smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “You feel just right in my arms,” he told her, planting a small kiss on her lips. He raised his head slightly and his warm breath glided over her cheek. “You seem to fit snugly into all the right places.” His hand crept down from her waist, grasped her bottom and anchored her mons firmly into his crotch. She drew in a breath as his erect shaft nudged against her stomach. Although she didn’t have any real experience of such things, it did seem to be a rather permanent feature and a large one at that. A quiver of anticipation sped through her as she pondered what his shaft would actually look like. She had seen men unclothed before. Although she and he father had had private quarters in Rouen at King Henry’s exiled court, the soldiers and servants often washed themselves before the fire in the great hall in full view of everybody in the castle. She stole a glance at the male servants, who had emptied about half of the water from the tub and now left with their buckets. The girls began pouring in the fresh hot water. Her gaze returned to where the line of hair tracked down Philip’s stomach into his leggings. Well, she wouldn’t have to wonder for much longer because in a moment or two she could satisfy her curiosity. He reached up and ran his finger along her cheek. “Oh, my dear, you’re trembling. Are you cold?” he asked, smiling at her.


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“No, I’m quite warm, actually,” she answered in what she hoped was a cool tone, but she heard the waver in her voice. The two servant girls finished their task, stepped back and waited. Philip kissed Rosawyn again then released her. Turning his back on her, his hand went to the front of his leggings and he untied the fastening. Rosawyn studied him and wished he would face her. She spotted the towels on the chair. If she went over to collect them then she would be in front of him and not behind him. She sidled over to the chair but he turned and dipped his finger into the water. Then he stripped off his legging and dropped them on the floor. In front of Philip, the two servant girls stared. Their eyes flew open and their gazes fixed on his crotch. In unison, their mouths fell open. It was perfectly acceptable to disrobe in front of servants, but seeing the reaction of the two girls, Rosawyn felt a trickle of annoyance start in her chest. All she saw was the muscles of his buttocks tighten. Not that it wasn’t worth studying. Like the rest of him, his rear was lean and well defined. The scooped out clefts under his hips almost invited her hands to trace over them. He half turned towards her. “My love? Are you ready?” he asked. Her gaze flickered down and caught a glimpse of his dark pubic hair. And maybe something nodded at the front, but nothing she could see clearly. She dragged her eyes back to his face only to find him regarding her with an amused look. She rolled up her sleeves. “I am ready when you are,” she told him. “But you’ll have to get in the tub.” He lifted one leg and hooked it over the edge of the barrel. Now Rosawyn’s mouth dropped open as her eyes fixed on his cock and balls hanging between his legs. She couldn’t believe it. She blinked twice to ensure it wasn’t a trick of the light. But no, there it was, huge and heavy, swinging back and forth. The reason Philip’s cock felt so massive against her was that it was. The urge to cup her hand under him and cradle his stones swept over Rosawyn. She strolled across and snatched up the washcloth just as he lowered himself into the water.


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She glanced at the two girls. Both were still staring at Philip with wide-eyed wonder. She knew that before the roast pig was off the spit, the news would be around the castle that the new master of Lostwithiel was not only deadly with a sword in his hand but hung like a horse. No doubt as soon as that news was out, she’d have every woman on the estate with teeth still in her head trying to confirm that piece of information first hand. The servant girls continued to watch Philip wide-eyed. Rosawyn’s gaze narrowed as they studied her husband languishing in his bath. A small niggle of doubt started in her chest. A wife didn’t have any say in what company her husband kept, even under her very nose. But if he thought she would suffer that sort of business under her roof he would be very disappointed. “You can go,” she told the two girls with a sharp wave of her hand. They curtsied and shot towards the door. She held up the flannel. “Do you want me to start?” She kept her eyes on his face, but at the edge of her lower vision the head of Philip’s penis floated just under the surface. He stretched his arm along the top of the barrel. “I wouldn’t want to interfere with your duty, so scrub away.” She knelt beside the tub and took up the soap. His slow caresses had driven her almost to distraction only a few minutes ago and now he wore the air of a man who thought he was master of all. She studied him as he grinned at her. He was too bloody sure of himself and his charms, she thought, casting her gaze over him. He had good reason, of course. She guessed those two young women who’d just left probably weren’t the first to be awestruck by his cock, and there was no denying that his masculinity was overpowering. It had overpowered her only a little while before and was still scrambling her mind. However the sight of him, lying there with the water barely covering his hips and a smug grin on his face, caused her temper to flare. Well, two could play his little game.


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She lowered her lashes and looked sideways at him. “What do you want me to rub first?” she asked in a low tone. His Adam’s apple bobbed but his casual expression remained. “Shoulders, I think,” he replied. Rosawyn held his gaze but lathered the soap into the cloth. She shuffled around behind him and placed her hands on either side of his neck. With a long movement, she smoothed the flannel across one side then back and across the other. Then she scrubbed under his hair, dissolving the dirt from his four day ride with the soft soap and copious water. She then wiped down his arms in an unhurried manner, noting how the dark hair on his forearms lay plastered to his skin. He turned his head to watch her, and she smoothed back up and under his outstretched arm. Their gazes locked and she arched her neck and smiled seductively at him. He drew in a breath and shifted. She lathered up the cloth again then leant over his shoulder to reach his chest. She tried to see between his legs, but the soap had now clouded the water so she could only see a shadow. “Are you all right, my Lord?” she asked. “Perfectly,” he replied, smiling coolly at her. She spread her fingers under the fabric and placed it on his chest. Leaning over him closely, she ran it back and forth, swirling the mass of hair as she did. Philip let out another sigh. She glanced down into the water to where the head of his cock remained just under the surface. It wasn’t clear, she could really only see the outline, but nonetheless the sight of it started rivulets of excitement in her stomach which trickled down to settle in the cleft between her legs. His head fell back and rested on the wood of the tub. Rosawyn dropped the washcloth in the water and picked up a clean towel. With her lips very near to his ear, she placed her hand under his head and lifted it. “My Lord, you’ll get a splinter in your neck on the bare wood. Let me put this here for your comfort.”


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She settled the towel over the edge of the tub then, placing her hands on either side of his face, guided his head back. He looked up at her as she hovered above him. His eyes grew dark once more and he raised a hand. She straightened up and shuffled around to the side again. Philip studied her. One corner of his mouth rose slightly. “You’ve lost your flannel.” As he sat in the barrel, both knees were clear of the water’s surface and he spread them further. “It’s down there somewhere,” he told her as his smile widened. Inside, a little tremor started as she contemplated plunging her hand in the water and searching around for her lost washcloth. He was already too assured of his own powers and she would not let him see that he could get the better of her. Taking a slow breath, she lowered her hand into the water. Her forearm scrapped along the inside of his thigh as she searched around on the bottom of the tub for the cloth. Her hand touched his ankle. “I think you’ll find it’s further up this way,” he told her, indicating his crotch with his gaze. He’s bloody well enjoying this, she thought, glancing up at his grinning face, and he deliberately teased me by turning away. She pulled back her shoulders. Well, let’s see if he’s still grinning in a moment or two, shall we? “Maybe it’s down here,” she said, reaching over him and sliding her hand along the inside of the tub. Her fingers made contact with his thigh and he sat up slightly. Rosawyn looked him squarely in the eye and ran her hand up and around his hip, feeling the hard muscle as she did. Philip’s relaxed grin began to look a little strained. “Found it?” he asked, as she pressed into him more and grazed her fingers over his buttock. “No. Maybe it’s this side.” She retracted her hand and plunged it along the side of the tub nearest to her. She again caressed his hip and curled her fingers around his bottom as she searched. His studied grin was defiantly faltering now but, to his credit, he managed to retain it.


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His gaze never left her face and the deep intensity of his eyes stoked the excited vibration in her lower stomach and between her legs. He might be working hard to appear calm as her hands roamed around his nether region, but she was struggling too. She brought her hand out of the water and smiled at him as she rested it on his knee. Philip’s fingers gripped the sides of the barrel and his nostrils flared, but the smirking smile remained. Their gazes locked for a long second, and the pulsing built to match the rhythm of her pounding heart. She took a long breath and, without taking her eyes from his face, she ran her hand over his knee and into the water between his legs. Her fingers reached the bottom of the tub. “It must be here somewhere,” she said, searching along the wood. Her fingers glided under his bent leg to where his buttock pressed on the bottom. The back of her hand glanced across his skin as she did so. She caught the rough fabric of the flannel with the tips of her fingers but she left it where it was. “Maybe in the middle,” he said, swallowing. She searched along the tub bottom and something rolled over the back of her hand. She glanced down into the water. The head of his shaft was still straining upwards under the water’s surface. Twisting her hand, she took hold of his ball sac. He gasped and she let go. “I am so sorry, my Lord.” She lowered her eyelashes and simpered at him. “I have very little experience of men and I thought I’d found the washcloth.” Philip said nothing but his nails scraped against the wood of the tub. His casual expression changed to one that spoke straight to the moist area between her legs. She smiled sweetly at him. ”You seem tense, my Lord. Are you in some discomfort? Is the water getting cold?” He straightened and took hold of her upper arm. “Rosawyn,” he said. The deep tone of his voice and the almost black intensity of his eyes drew her breath from her. He pulled her to him and the water in the tub splashed over the side. His other hand anchored her head and he lowered his mouth on hers, forcing her lips apart. Her head whirled but she forced herself to resist the needs of her body. Who’s in control now, Sir Blistering-Blue-Eyes? she thought as she tore her lips from his.


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She retrieved the cloth. She sat back on her heels and held it aloft. “Found it,” she said, smiling at him. He grasped hold of the tub edges and started to rise from the bath. A loud knock sounded on the door and Rosawyn sprang to her feet. She dashed over and flung the door wide. Edmund, the barber, stood with his bowl, clearly astonished to see his lady opening the door. She spun around. Philip had resumed his position in the bath. She beamed at him, trying to ignore the heavy thumping of her heart as his eyes raked over her. “It’s Edmund come to shave you,” she said. “Are you ready?” Several emotions passed through Philip’s expression and then his broad, self-satisfied smile returned. “You haven’t finished your duty yet, my dear.” Rosawyn formed her face into an expression of exaggerated regret. “The lady of the castle has many duties, and I fear I must attend to some of the others now. I’m sure Edmund will be able to help you to finish your bath. Or shall I ask the girls to return?” Philip rested back in the tub. “Yes. They seemed willing enough.” Although a small dart of annoyance shot through her at his readiness to have the girls attend to him, she gave him her most dazzling smile. “I’m sure they are.” She unrolled her sleeves and smoothed out the cloth. “I thought we might dine alone tonight, if you agree.” He nodded. “Good. I’ll tell cook.” She swept a low curtsy. “I will see you later, my Lord.” “Not too much later,” he replied, fixing her with a look that made the area between her legs grow suddenly heavy and hot. “After all, you have another duty as yet unfulfilled.” “Of course.” Rosawyn arched her neck, sent him what she hoped was her most seductive, come-hither look and blew him a slow kiss. “Although I am now confident it will be more pleasure than duty.” His mouth dropped open and he gripped the sides of the tub again. However, she didn’t wait. She spun on her toes and, with her own smug smile plastered across her face, left the chamber.


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Chapter Four

After Edmund finished scrapping four days’ worth of bristle from his face, Philip tried to wallow in the warm water, but he couldn’t. The two girls returned to help him but he sent them away immediately. He didn’t want them. He wanted his wife. Not much experience of men! Well if that was true, she had a well-honed instinct of how to tease them. When her hand had closed around his balls, he actually thought he would spurt his seed. By the cock and cods, what a minx. Playing the innocent with that look and that slow kiss. A grin spread across his face. It was his own fault. He had started it. When he’d seen her trying to sneak a look at his body he had purposely teased her by turning away and making her wash him. He glanced at the door and wondered where she’d gone. He toyed with the idea of going to find her but dismissed it. She would have to come back soon and then… Well! His grin spread wider. He scrambled out, dried himself and dragged on a pair of black leggings. He snatched up his only clean shirt and poked his arms and head through the openings in the white linen then shrugged on his dark red leather sleeveless tunic. It wasn’t what he would have chosen to wear on his wedding night but it would have to do until the wagons arrived from Winchester. He glanced at the door for the umpteenth time, then to the fading light of the window. There was a faint knock and he ran his fingers through his hair. She was back. He smoothed his hair again and sat down casually on the chair. His cock registered its readiness for action. “Enter.” His smile disappeared as Allan and three maids carrying platters of food and a jug marched into the chamber. The girls deposited the supper on the table and left. Allan poured some of the wine into a silver goblet and handed it to Philip.


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The steward studied the vessel as Philip raised it towards his lips. Philip paused. The steward’s gaze wavered for a second, then he spoke. “My Lord, I was so relieved that you rescued our lady from St. Nevis’ convent.” Philip lowered the goblet a fraction. “Who told you where she was?” Allan wrung his hands then wiped them down his tunic. “Ah—her—her ladyship mentioned it to Thomas, my sergeant.” A guileless expression settled on his plump face. Philip took a mouthful of the wine. It was a thin Rhenish and not to his taste, so he put the goblet down. “If it pleases you, sir, I will leave you to your supper?” Allan asked and backed towards the door. “Hold!” Allan stopped him. “I want the garrison assembled tomorrow, three hours before noon. After which I want to see all the weapons. ” Allan bowed and left. Philip’s stomach growled. His eyes rested on the lavish feast before him then he scowled at the door. What was keeping the woman? It was almost an hour since she’d left the chamber. Philip sat eyeing the food and drumming his fingers for another quarter of the candle, then he ripped off a chicken leg and broke a wedge of bread. Having eaten his fill, he found a flagon of ale and swallowed that down. Then he settled back in the large oak chair and put his feet up on the bed. Tiredness swept over him and his eyes started to close. He shook himself awake and glanced at the door again. This won’t do. Standing up, he took off his tunic and boots and lay down on the bed. He would have a doze for a couple of minutes. After years of sleeping with one ear open on a battlefield, he would hear Rosawyn as soon as she turned the handle on the door.

”There you are, child.” Hilda’s voice cut across Rosawyn’s thoughts. “It’s growing dark outside.” She settled herself next to her on the wooden pew.


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Rosawyn glanced around the quiet chapel and ran her hand along the polished stall. “I was thinking how Maeve and I played together as children.” She turned back to the sister. “I dreamt of raising my own family here in Lostwithiel.” “And so you shall, my dear.” Rosawyn glanced down at her hands. Children. A vision of Philip sitting bare-chested in the chamber came back to her, and the demanding inner throb started again. “Well of course, Hilda, I naturally want children, and now that I am married to Phil— Sir Philip, that is a possibility.” “I’d say more like a certainty,” Hilda told her, a small smile playing on her lips. “He is very handsome.” The sight of his heavy shaft as he stepped into his bath flashed into her mind. She shifted her seat on the hard bench “Oh, is he?” she answered, focusing on a point just above Hilda’s head for a moment. “I suppose he is. But he knows it and he is practiced, too practiced.” Hilda shrugged. “He is a man after all, my dear.” “Um.” She folded her arms across her chest. “Well, he should remember who I am and why he is here. He’ll soon learn that I’m not one of those soft-minded women I’m sure he’s used to dazzling with his handsome face and his tall, strong, masculine, golden tanned bo—” She stopped abruptly and caught Hilda’s amused expression. “I—if Father still had his health, I…we would have no need of Sir Philip or his men.” The feel of his ball sac in her hand stole over her. “But I suppose if we have to seek help, a ruthless killer like Sir Philip is perfect for the job.” Oh yes. Perfect. “His person is of no consequence. All he needs to be, as far as I am concerned, is able to win against that swine Noirville.” Hilda opened her mouth to speak. Rosawyn hurried on. “Naturally, like any young woman, I dreamt that I would fall in love and that a handsome knight would marry me.” “Well you have half of that dream. The other half may follow, my dear.”


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Could it? “I’m not going to fall into the trap of thinking my marriage to Sir Philip is a romantic tale. He would have wed me even if I’d been old and toothless.” She stood up and smoothed the front of her gown sharply. “No, this in not a romantic tale, this is real life.” “Of course, of course. Is Sir Philip expecting you to join him for supper?” “Oh.” Rosawyn continued to worry at the fabric. “It is past suppertime now.” Hilda squeezed her slender shoulders. “Let me help you prepare for your husband.” Rosawyn, followed by Sister Hilda, made her way across the courtyard, through the keep and towards her chamber. At the top of the spiral stair, she stopped and bit her lip. “Sir Philip is still in there. How can I make myself ready with him lying on the bed?” “Is there somewhere else?” Hilda asked. “We’ll go to the old nursery along the corridor.” Wedged in the corner of the nursery stood another chest packed with her clothes. After some searching, she pulled out a gossamer item and held it aloft. “There.” She beamed at Hilda. “Father brought this back from France, and Mother put it by for my wedding trousseau as it was too fine for ordinary wear.” Hilda helped her change into the shimmering garment then unbound her hair and combed it through. Despite Hilda’s encouragement, nervousness ran down her spine and curled in her stomach. Hilda stood back and admired her. “There, just look at yourself in the mirror.” Rosawyn did. She ran her hands down the silk, feeling the sensual pleasure of the softness against her skin. Pleased how the delicate garment hugged her figure, she shook her hair and let it shimmer around her. She pulled back her shoulders. Philip! The tightness in her stomach returned along with the restless feeling between her legs. Hilda offered her a large, fur cape. “Put this on, sweetheart. It’s a little hot for this time of year, but it’ll save your modesty should any see you. Go, my dear, I’ll see you on the


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morrow.” She accompanied Rosawyn to her antechamber, kissed her on the forehead and left her outside her bedchamber door. Rosawyn hesitated. What’s the problem, you silly girl? A week ago, you were ready to throw yourself off the cliff because you didn't want to take Holy Orders. Go and do your duty. She turned the handle and pushed on the large oak door. It opened silently on wellgreased hinges and she slipped through. A candelabrum with five candles lit the room, and the open window shutters let in the cool evening breeze and the pale moonlight. As Rosawyn’s eyes adjusted to the dimness, she saw that Philip was on the bed, fast asleep. He lay with his head turned towards her and his hair unbound and loose around his face. He wore a contented expression and the corners of his mouth turned up in the faint hint of a smile. His legs splayed out in a relaxed fashion across the counterpane. His shirt was open at the neck, with the sleeves rolled up. She let out a heavy sigh. Every part of Rosawyn wanted to leap on the bed, shake him awake and have him touch her all over again…and more. She wandered over to the table and put some of the supper onto a plate, sat down heavily on the oak chair and worked her way through it whilst watching Philip sleep. What am I supposed to do now? She glanced back at him and her annoyance vanished a little. He’s been riding for days and he must be exhausted. Rosawyn walked over to the table again. She clattered the silver goblet against the flagon, creating a ringing sound around the room. Philip reacted, but not as she’d hoped. The sound caused him to turn and throw out his arm. He flexed his hips and now lay almost diagonally across the bed, legs wide apart, showing a decided fullness in the crotch of his leggings. Her stomach fluttered and the pulsation started again throughout her whole body. She stepped over to the side of the bed and studied him closer. Although he was freshly shaved, the dark colour of his bristle showed under his skin. Casting her eyes further down, she looked over his chest and then down to the outline of his cock at the front of his leggings. Slowly she stretched out her hand and gently, with her index finger, traced the outline upwards.


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She glanced up, but Philip remained motionless. Slowly she uncurled her fingers and laid her whole palm gently over the bulge. His shaft hardened under her touch and expanded. The base sat at the heel of her hand but extended well past her middle finger, probably by a thumb’s length. He shifted and she pulled away. She watched him for a moment, expecting his eyes to open, but they remained closed although his smile increased. The cleft at the joining of her legs ached almost unbearably. She held herself with the hand that had just caressed Philip. It didn’t help! Oh—what a wonderful wedding night this is turning out to be! She picked up the cloak and, instead of putting it around her shoulders, she gently draped it over Philip, who snuggled down further. She shrugged. He looked peaceful, sprawled across her bed. For pity sake, girl, you can’t resent a man sleeping after such a dangerous and exhausting expedition, she told herself. Irritation, need and frustration twisted together in her stomach. But why couldn’t he have stayed awake until afterwards?

Philip awoke with a start and grabbed for his sword. Oh, by all that is holy. I only lay down for a moment. Why didn’t she come to bed? Then he noticed a cloak. He stared at it. It was a woman’s, with fur around the edge. She must have come in and found me asleep. Some nuptials! What on earth should he do now? If he demanded that she be found, he would look like a fool. But equally, he wanted her here with him now. After making love to her all night in his dreams, his body was catching up with his mind and demanding some action. How had he not heard her? He glanced at the goblet of wine and a cold shiver snaked through his guts. If he’d drained the cup, would he have woken at all? He was just about to find Allan and make him drink what remained of the wine when the door flew open and he forgot about the steward, the wine and all else as Rosawyn entered.


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There were dark smudges under her eyes and her stance was somewhat unbending compared with her fluid movements of the day before, but his memory was true—she was utterly beautiful. Philip’s gaze roamed over her and he anticipated the feel of her pinned under him. She signalled for the maids who had followed her in to take the previous night’s meal away. She fixed him with an icy gaze. “Did you sleep well?” “Very well, thank you. I assume you left this.” He held up the edge of the cloak. “Were you expecting some other woman to meet you here last night?” He gave her his best smile and raised an eyebrow. “I’m sorry about last night, my love. I hope you weren’t too disappointed.” “Not at all.” She gave a tight smile. He swung his legs over the end of the bed and sat up further. “Not even a little?” “Well—uh—we do have our duty to—” “—pleasure.” He gave her his smile again. “Duty!” Despite her sharp tone, he heard the frustration in her voice. “I understand your disappointment.” “Yes—no—but I do have to produce an heir and I would like to do that as soon as possible.” “I’m flattered that you think I can speed up the process, but even I can only manage the usual nine months.” Her eyes narrowed. “You know what I mean.” Oh, my dazzled eyes. Sweet or sour, every expression she has is beautiful. Philip raised his eyebrows into a high arch and smiled. “I see.” “You seemed eager enough yesterday.” He leant back on his hands. “I was. I still am. ” He flexed his hips and his cock remembered her curiosity the day before and surged forth. Rosawyn’s eyes flickered down. “In fact, if you come over here now, I’m certain I can oblige you, my Lady.”


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Her eyes flashed back to him. “You’re making fun of me.” She turned to leave but stopped and sent him a seductive glance that caused semen to leak from his cock. “Perhaps yesterday you were making fun of me too. Maybe you are one of those men who prefer the company of their own sex after dark?” She turned gracefully and reached for the handle of the door. He stood up and strode across the floor. Catching her, he spun her around. “Let me dissuade you of that idea, my love, right now. “ He slid his arms around her and crushed her to him. Lowering his lips on hers, he kissed her hungrily. She responded in kind. There was a knock on the door and before either of them could answer, it flew back. Allan stood there, an innocent expression on his well-fed face. Still pressing Rosawyn into him, Philip turned. “Explain yourself.” “The troops are ready and await you,” Allan informed him. “I have to go. I have to get this garrison ready for the campaign. It is my obligation to do so…as soon as possible.” She smiled at his play on her words and nodded. He began to get ready for the day. Allan turned to Rosawyn. “Shall I get the priest to inspect the sheets, my Lady?” “What?” “The sheets. To confirm the marriage is valid and consummated. ” “Oh, of course, well, you see—” She trailed off, then with a serious expression continued. “Allan, I should have explained this to you. There is a tradition in my Lord’s family that the newly married couple sleep on the same sheets until the second morning. It’s to encourage a child to arrive within the first year of the marriage. Is that not so, my Lord?” A small smile started to play across Philip’s lips. “Indeed. And please ensure the maids know the tradition, or no end of bad luck could result to those who look at the bed” “As you will, my Lord. Can I expect you in the courtyard soon?” Allan asked. “Directly. And if you ever enter a room without me calling you, I’ll run you through where you stand.” Allan bowed stiffly and left.


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“I am surprised at you, my Lady, being such an imaginative liar. I can see that I’ll have to watch you closely,” he said, taking a step nearer. She smiled with sweet humility. “But my Lord, I only lied to save your reputation.” Philip laughed. “I have to go, unless you can think up another one to make me stay.” Still smiling, she shook her head. He pulled her to him again and kissed her swiftly on the lips. “I will see you later to make a start on that heir.”


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Chapter Five

“Seeing you here, my Lady, it’s like your mother come back to us. She would have been right proud of you, she would,” Peggy, the housekeeper, declared, wiping a tear away. “And you with the most feared and handsome husband. Times are for the better, I don’t wonder. That blackheart that has your sister had better beware. Now what can I be doing for you, m’ duck?” Rosawyn raised her eyebrows at the familiar address, even though she had long since gotten used to it. “I need to see a full inventory of the supplies and inspect the stores to ensure that my Lord has enough to feed his troops throughout the summer and into the autumn. Is old Ulfic still the carpenter here, Peggy?” “That he is. But in truth ‘tis Young Ulf who does all the work while his father supervises.” “Good. Tell them to meet me by the old granary in an hour.” Rosawyn strolled over to the dilapidated storerooms against the west wall and rummaged through them. Peggy arrived with old Ulfic and Young Ulf. “I want the scullery maids to scrub and clean this until we could eat a banquet in here.” She kicked the remains of a barrel out of her path. “And Ulfic,” both carpenters touched their forelocks, “I want the roof re-thatched and ten cots made. And fetch clean bedding for them all.” Old Ulfic scratched his head. “What are we building, my Lady?” “You’ll see. I want you to make a start right away while I fetch Sister Hilda.” She put her hands in the small of her back and gazed up. The flagpole on the keep was bare. She stared at it for a long moment then told one of the stable boys to locate Ozzy. Ozzy arrived and bowed low. “My Lady.” “Ozzy, get my father’s standard run up.” She pointed at the empty pole with her finger. “Let Noirville see that his defeat is close at hand.” Ozzy shuffled on the spot. “Are those Sir Philip’s orders, my Lady?”


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A little chill ran up her spine. “No, they are mine.” Ozzy turned to go and then turned back, rubbing his chin slowly. ”Maybe I’d better ask Sir Philip, like.” She bit her bottom lip for a second and then set her mouth in a straight line. “I don’t want that devil Noirville to think we cower here. Now run up my father’s standard. If I think Sir Philip needs to know, I’ll tell him later.” Ozzy gave her a doubtful look and then touched his forehead. “Yes, my Lady.”

Philip swore roundly and fixed his eyes, unseeing, on the distant hills. William de Quentin, his senior commander and long-time companion, stood beside him on the parapet. “Something troubling you, my Lord?” William asked. One side of Philip’s mouth curled upwards ironically. “I have always thought myself to be a fair, reasonable man.” “None fairer.” “Am I wrong, then, to expect the Lostwithiel garrison, which is, after all, in the middle of disputed territory, to be equipped and ready for service?” “I should think not,” William replied. “I’ve seen milkmaids in better battle array than this garrison.” He fixed his eyes on the troops who fumbled with their weapons in the courtyard below. William sucked in his lips. “It’s that bag of wind Allan. The man is a fool to let the weapons get into such disrepair. Most of those I found are rusted together, and those that are not need a deal of sharpening before they would cut through cheese, let alone mail.” A rider fell from his mount as he swung a sword into thin air. Philip winced but answered William. “I agree. However, his sergeants, Gilbert and Thomas, are tried and tested. Served in Normandy under the Empress.” “That alone gives me hope of knocking this garrison into shape,” William told him as two soldiers collided with each other and ended up sprawled on the ground. With tight lips, Philip raised his eyes to the heavens. “I never expected to stroll in and find a crack army, but this garrison is a shambles.”


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“I think, my Lord, they would have to improve a great deal before they merited being called a shambles. But we have a few things in our favour. Firstly, Gilbert and Thomas are good men. Thomas tells me their suggestions and advice on the garrison have largely been ignored.” Philip grunted. “Secondly, some of our men have been talking to the folk hereabouts.” Philip lifted the corner of his mouth. “I knew it wouldn’t be long before they started getting to know the women.” William nodded. “Indeed they have. In truth, Noirville is so hated for his cruelty that the local folk will follow anyone who will rid them of him and restore the Earl and his family. ” “Even me, the blood-soaked Saracen?” “Just so. Apart from the fact that everyone seems to think you practically invincible, the Earl’s family have ruled here for generations, before the Conqueror, back to Saxon times. They love and trust him and they love her ladyship too.” “I can understand that,” Philip said as an image of Rosawyn’s body under the fine shift filtered into his mind. William grinned. “The Earl has given his daughter to you and that is enough for them. They will follow you to the ends of the earth. They are very loyal, these Cornish. In addition, Lady Rosawyn’s presence has raised their morale. Do you plan to send her to her father?” “Good Heavens, why would I?” “It would be safer. Didn’t the Earl ask you to?” “No—no. He told me she would be a figurehead for the people. I confess I didn’t understand how that might be, then, but now, having seen her—” Philip now imagined Rosawyn lying naked across the bed. “With her ladyship in the castle, the locals will fight through hell itself for you both,” William said. Philip gave a mirthless laugh. “They will have to.” He signalled for Gilbert and Thomas to join him. Gilbert was in his mid-forties, of middle height and almost bald. Philip knew his type. Solid, dependable and with an instinct


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for survival. Slightly behind, and topping Gilbert by a hair’s breadth, came Thomas. He was ten years or so younger but possessed the same, hard-bitten countenance, and his cropped, sandy-coloured hair hugged his knobbly skull. Philip addressed Gilbert. “You fought with the Empress’ brother, FitzWilliam, I understand.” The old solider pulled his shoulders back and straightened to attention. “Aye, and a bloody fine leader he was too, sir. If you please.” Philip studied Thomas. “And you?” “I fought under the Count of Anjou, King Henry’s father,” Thomas replied. “How came you here, Thomas?” “I fought with Thomas’ brother, Stephen,” Gilbert cut in before Thomas could speak. ”Devil got your tongue?” he asked the younger man. “I do speak when I has to, sir,” Thomas told him. Gilbert touched his forelock. “Quiet as the grave is Tom here, but a good man.” Philip regarded them for a moment longer. “From now on you take your orders from my second in command, Commander de Quentin. He will drive your men hard and they will be calling for their mothers to save them before he is through. But when he’s finished, they’ll be able to fight the devil’s hordes.” Gilbert’s face lit up with enthusiasm and Thomas managed half a smile. “You will also learn that I never wait until tomorrow, so although the sun is well past noon, I want you to chop back the trees all around the castle. They afford an enemy too much cover.” Both men nodded. “I want further land cleared to the left of the castle where the ground is flat, and made into a training field. I want every smithy within ten miles of here to start repairing weapons and producing new ones.” The men nodded again. “You may have heard I’ve a hard reputation. It is well deserved in my treatment of my enemies, but I reward loyalty with loyalty. We are brothers-in-arms and we will look out for each other, but I have certain rules that I will not waive. Firstly, if I find a man too drunk to


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fight, at any time, I will have him flogged. Secondly, any man who betrays me will hang. Lastly, any man guilty of raping a woman, friend or foe, high or low-born, I will have his balls from him with my own knife.” He fixed them with a hard stare. “Make sure the men know, as I will make no exceptions. Now, get to it.” The sergeants saluted and started to make their way back down the stone stairs from the battlements. “Tell Bowhand I want to see him,” Philip called after them. “And tell him to be quick about it.”

After meeting the two sergeants, William and Philip spent time supervising the repair of the weapons and making themselves familiar with the garrison. It was therefore quite late in the afternoon before Philip finally had a chance to discuss the castle provisions with Allan Bowhand. Perspiration sprang from Allan’s forehead as Philip drew the castle inventory from his jacket. “These accounts.” “Ple…please…understand, my…my Lord, Noirville demanded that we su…supply him with foo—” Allan started, his eyes fixed on the parchment in Philip’s hand. Philip’s glacial expression stopped his words. “You supplied the Earl’s enemies?” The steward wrung his hands. “But—but my Lord, you don’t understand the terrible problems and the difficulties—” “Enough. I expect you—” he jabbed Allan in the chest with his index finger, “—to have supplies ready for my men when they march.” “When will that be, sir?” Allan asked. “Whenever I say. All you need to do is have them ready.” “Aye, sir.” “Good.” Philip’s eyes drifted across to the keep and fury burst in his chest. “Who in God’s name ordered those standards raised?” he barked. “Her ladyship.”


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Not trusting himself to speak, Philip waved the steward away. Allan gave a quick bow and rushed down the stone stairs back to the courtyard. Philip went to the battlements and gazed out unseeing into the distance. This is what Liskard meant about ‘trying a man sorely’. He strode off, but a vision of Rosawyn swaying her hips back and forth came to his mind, and the thought of rebuking her faded a little. You have to have the upper hand with women or they’ll run rings around you. She may be comely, but a wife, especially my wife, has to know who is master. He regained his resolve. He stopped a young man carrying a long plank of wood. “Your name,” he barked. “Young Ulf,” the carpenter replied, trying to touch his forelock and keep hold of his plank at the same time. “Have you seen Lady Rosawyn?” he asked, trying to take some of the ferocity out of his voice. “I saw her heading towards the herb plot over by the north wall. There’s a gate leading to it by the Water Tower.” “Thank you, Ulf,” Philip said and headed across the courtyard. Ducking low, he entered the fragrant tranquillity of the castle garden. He glanced around. Where is the woman? I doubt my temper will hold if I have to search the whole castle for her. He kicked a stone and sent it skimming down the path. He was just about to turn and leave when he heard a small sigh from behind a rose bush. He slid silently around the corner and halted, all anger and annoyance evaporating instantly. On the bench, with her head at one end and her feet at the other, lay Rosawyn, asleep. One arm hung over the side, the hand, with its delicate fingers, turned outwards. Her long dark eyelashes fanned out against her cheek while a hint of a smile played about her mouth. She drew her hand back. Her lips widened as she stroked her fingers across her breasts and then traced them down to between her legs. Philip anger over the castle’s flagpole faded as his own rose. Noirville will know I am here by now, standard or no, he thought.


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As if she knew that he was there staring at her, Rosawyn awoke with a start. “I’ve just come to find you,” Philip told her, unexpectedly uncomfortable at intruding on her private world. “Find me?” “You are my wife, and as such we should go in to dinner together, don’t you think?” He held her hand to help her up from the seat. “I’m sorry. I’m not used to being married,” she said, giving him a dazzling smile and a view of the mounds of her breasts over the top of her bodice as she bent forward. He planned to gather them together later, burying his face between them and kissing them in turn. “That’s understandable.” He brought her fingers to his lips and kissed them. “You’re not married properly yet.” Fire ignited in her gaze and she lifted it to meet his. He suppressed the urge to take her straight to their chamber. He pulled her into his arms and lowered his lips to hers, opening her mouth with his and plunging in his tongue. He held her supported with one arm while running the other up and down her back. He clasped her bottom in his hand and pulled her pubic bone into his shaft. He heard her gasp as his hardness pressed into her, but she did not try to draw back. “We should go in and eat,” she whispered as he released her lips. He planted light kisses around her neck. “I am.” He nibbled across her shoulder. “Please.” She pushed him off slightly. “Even you must be hungry.” He gazed down at her and raised one eyebrow. “I am, but not for food. But I’ll wait.” He took her hand and led her across the wide expanse of the inner bailey. The company stood while they took their seats for the main meal of the day. Through the various courses they shared the same plate, as was customary, which meant they sat very close together. Feeling her shift next to him, he turned and glanced down at her. Her breasts rose and fell with increasing rapidity. She was gazing up at him intently, her mouth slightly open. If we don’t leave the hall soon, he thought, we won’t need to look at the sheet because the whole company will witness me deflowering the mistress of the castle on the top table.


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He lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed her fingers lightly. “Shall we retire, my dear? You look ready for bed.” She raised her eyebrows. “But it is early yet and I’m not tired.” “I’m very pleased to hear it, as I don’t intend to let you sleep until dawn.” She lowered her eyes, but not before he saw a flicker of anticipation in them. He signalled to Allan who came over so swiftly he tripped over a small dog in the process. “My Lady and I are retiring. I do not want to be disturbed,” he said, keeping his eyes on Rosawyn. ”Do you understand, Allan?” “My Lord.” “Arrange for food to be brought so we can break our fast at nine of the clock, not before. Leave it outside. You can knock, but not enter. Do you understand?” “Yes, my Lord.” “Be sure you do, because I will hold you personally responsible if my orders are not carried out.” He gave Allan an icy stare. Allan bowed low. “I will obey your orders to the letter, my Lord.” The company bowed their heads as the couple left the hall, and Philip swiftly led Rosawyn upstairs to their chamber, dismissing the two hovering chambermaids. “I will need someone to help me undress,” she protested “Not tonight, my dear. Allow me that pleasure.” He discarded his outer tunic and boots then strode across to where Rosawyn stood.

Her own words, It’s my duty, shot through Rosawyn’s mind, but in Philip’s arms all thought of duty evaporated. He pulled her head back gently to tip her face towards him. She found herself drowning in his eyes as he lowered his mouth onto hers. The kiss started slowly then, as his hands encased her face, it became demanding. His arms wound around to her back and pulled her close, entwining her in his embrace. He worked his mouth on hers and his tongue darted back and forth. Instinctively, she leant against him, her body wanting to feel his. Philip responded by nibbling her lips and then pressing her again with an ardent kiss.


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He released her mouth and made his way to her ear, kissing the small area behind and down from it. Rosawyn’s head fell back to afford him room to explore. He accepted her invitation and continued the trail down her neck and onto her shoulder to where he had stopped earlier in the courtyard. The unfamiliar feeling that had started almost the moment she had set eyes on Philip intensified. Thoughts that had never entered her head before suddenly flooded in. She wanted him to touch her skin on the top of her breasts. She bunched her shoulders together in the hope that her gown would fall away from her. He hungrily kissed her bare flesh as she revealed it. Of course, she knew it wasn’t the way an innocent bride should act on her wedding night. It was too brazen, wanton even, but she didn’t care. All she cared about was that he didn’t stop. His fingers went to the laces at the side of her surcote. With one hand, he tugged her gown from her shoulders, holding her close with the other. She shrugged a couple of times to assist him and was rewarded with a shower of kisses across her collarbone then over her chest. He pulled at the fabric again to free her breasts. She glanced down and saw the arc of her areola peaking above her neckline. He saw it too and he kissed his way towards it, then traced the curve of it with his tongue. “Oh, Philip.” “Say my name again,” he told her but didn’t give her the chance. Leaving his quest to uncover her nipple with his lips, he captured her mouth again. Giddiness swam around her head for a moment. She needed to touch his skin as he was touching hers, so she slid her hand under his shirt. He released her and pulled off the garment. The heavy pulsing between her legs intensified as she ran her gaze over him. At the front of her sex, sensation seemed to gather then spread backwards. She rested her hands on his chest then wove her fingers through the mass of curls and raked them up and across.


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Having spent most of the day thinking about her fleeting glimpse of his cock and the feel of it against her palm the night before, her curiosity now was overriding all other considerations. He studied her every move, his blue eyes darkening under her touch. “You are a delight, my love,” he told her huskily, as her hand made its way downward to the top of his leggings. He leaned back to give her access, and her fingers trailed across the top and ruffled the line of hair on his stomach. She started to untie the fastenings of his clothes but his hand covered hers. “In a moment. But first let me get rid of this.” He tugged the shoulder ties of her gown and it slid to the floor. He released the ribbon around the neck of the silk undercote and let this flutter down too. He drew in a sharp breath as she stood there naked before him. She straightened up and her breasts rose to meet his gaze. “I didn’t think any woman could be this lovely. You are truly the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.” He reached out and traced his forefinger down the side of one breast. “So large yet so firm,” he said, sliding his hand underneath and bouncing it in his palm. A shaft of undiluted pleasure shot between her legs, touching every nerve in and around her vulva. “Philip,” she groaned. She pulled at the laces of his leggings again. His shaft sprang out of its confinement and stood rigid as his lower garments fell to the floor. He stepped out of them and let her study him. She gasped as her eyes took in every detail. The head pointed upwards towards her with the protective foreskin fully back and a glistening of moisture over the head. Veins stood out along its full length and although she’d gauged it longer than her hand, Philip’s cock, now fully erect, was a great deal longer. However it was not only its length that gave her a moment of unease but its circumference too. A part of her asked, how on earth was she going to take that inside her, while another part eagerly wanted to. Her face must have reflected her thoughts because Philip took her in his arms. “Don’t be afraid, my love.”


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“Oh Philip.” She caught her lower lip with her teeth. “You’re so…so…you’re so— substantial.” “Very ladylike,” he laughed, then pressed his mouth on hers again. He kissed her long and hard. With his lips still on hers, he lifted her onto the bed where he lay beside her. His mouth roamed over her shoulders, neck and chest, then he made his way back up to her lips. He wedged his body against her, and the heaviness of his cock rested across her thigh. As his hands continued their exploration of her, he flexed his hips, nudging his shaft into her stomach. Without thinking, she caught it with her hand. Philip groaned and a small droplet of moisture from the slit at the centre of the head wet her palm. His hand slid across her hipbone and down her thigh, moving up again to cup her breast. He glanced down and so did Rosawyn. “By the heavens, they’re beautiful and so full.” He lifted her breast up and planted a light kiss on the tip. “And these,” he traced the edge of her nipple with the tip of his tongue. “If I didn’t know better, I’d have thought you were feeding a child. They are so broad and dark.” He flicked the raised stem at the centre of her nipple and this time she moaned. The motion of his cock became firmer in her grasp and Rosawyn began to feel a rolling rhythm within. His finger and thumb started to squeeze and pull the taut berry-red nipple, then Philip drew it into his mouth. A shiver of pleasure travelled down to the nub at the front of her sex and small waves of her climax swirled around her. She caught her breath then cried out as he sucked and nibbled, then she threw her head back and a low, sensual moan escaped her. “I want you, woman,” he told her. “You’re making me behave like a raw squire. Touch me again, Rosawyn, touch me here.” He guided her hand away from his shaft and curled it around his ball sac. Philip turned over on his back and she rolled onto her elbow beside him. She caressed around his stones for a moment then she left them and ran her hand over his lower stomach a couple of times. The head of his cock bounced against her palm and Rosawyn caught it again.


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He let out a low groan. “You are incredible.” His words sent tingles though her body. Still holding his member, she slid her leg across his and caressed his thigh with hers. She was awash with so many sensations. The fullness of his shaft resting in her hand, the feel of his skin on hers, the roughness of his leg against her inner thigh. All of them were new and unbelievably wonderful. He stretched and his cock surged in her hand. He rolled over to face her, forcing her onto her back, and ran his hand up the inside of her leg slowly. “My turn,” he said, smiling down at her. Rosawyn drew in a breath as his hand reached the tangle of hair. He parted it and slipped his finger between the fleshy lips. He pressed her hymen gently and then smoothed back to her clit at the front. His smile widened. “You’re soaking my hand, my love,” he told her, paying a great deal of attention to the raised nub of flesh at the front of her cleft. “Oh Philip—that is so good—” “I know, that’s why I’m doing it.” His second finger joined his first and they rolled back and forth over her sensitive bud. She took hold of his cock again, and the hard feel of it stoked the waves of the orgasm that built within her. His two fingers continued their teasing of her clitoris, and Rosawyn’s eyelids fluttered down as his fingers slid into her vagina. Her breath caught in her throat and her free hand gripped his upper arm. Inside her, his fingers kept up their rhythm but now the stimulation within, coupled with the stimulation without, changed the wave of her climax from lapping around her open cleft to crashing though her entire body. She felt Philip on and in every part of her and heard herself cry out. “That’s it, my sweet, now again,” he whispered in her ear as pleasure burst up in her. “Grip me in you while I ride you.” Rosawyn managed to open her eyes and gaze up at him. The expression of raw need she saw there started the tumultuous waves of pleasure rising in her again.


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Her eyelids fluttered down once more and she gave soft little gasps in time with the motion of his hand. Philip rolled between her legs and she opened them wide, drawing them up, moaning. She clasped her legs against him, trying to pull him in. “Philip, I need you now. I…” she said breathlessly. The head of his cock nudged between the lips surrounding the entrance of her womb. There was a sharp pain, then the wonderful sensation of his shaft opening her for the first time.

Philip closed his eyes and let the pleasure of her enveloping him flow over him. She was tight, but then this was her first time. Thankfully the flimsy barrier of her maidenhead tore with his first thrust. He gathered her to him, kissed her lightly, then drew back and thrust again, building up momentum. As he drove into her, she flexed and rose to meet him. Her juices flowed around his shaft as he repeated his motion. Her virgin sheath caressed his cock, urging him to spill his seed. He glanced down to see if the time was right to release his sperm into her. Although other men shot their load irrespective of the woman’s needs, he did not. He had learnt that satisfying women gave him almost as much pleasure as satisfying himself. He studied her face. Her eyes were almost unfocused and she breathed in short gasps. She looked almost at the point of coming again, but he had to be sure. He raised himself up on one elbow and caught the tip of her breast between his lips. She let out a mewing sound. He tugged hard on the nipple as he thrust again. Her gaze locked on his and she let out a low primeval growl. Then her nails bit into his flesh as the muscles inside her contracted and rippled to milk his cock. Lights and emotions collided in his mind as his body shuddered with the intensity of his climax. His seed gushed from him with a force he’d never felt before. By sweet Venus’ fountain, will it never stop pumping? he thought as yet another surge ran along the length of his shaft.


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He gazed down at her and shook his head. He scooped her into his arms and rolled them over, savouring her warmth and softness against his skin. Rosawyn drew sideways on the pillow and smiled. “I think I’m going to enjoy married life.” He didn’t answer, he just smiled.


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Chapter Six

The next morning as the rays of the sun cut through the chamber, a tap sounded on the door. Philip slid out of bed and, without bothering to dress, retrieved the tray from the antechamber, closing the door behind him. As silently as possible, he placed the meal on the table, moving last night’s stale wine away. It had been a warm night and he had opened the shutters to allow more air into the room. He glanced back to the bed. Rosawyn lay on her side facing away from him with the sheet draped across her, exposing her shapely back and abundant hair but tantalisingly covering her bottom. Quietly he set the large oak chair next to the table and sat down to eat his breakfast. I’m not surprised she’s so soundly asleep, he thought. A smile crept over his face. He couldn’t remember ever making love to a woman so in tune with his body rhythm. His crotch twitched at the thought. Poor girl. She will be sore this morning after such a night, and she won’t thank you for such early attention, he told his cock while he smiled smugly. He put his feet up on the end of the bed, broke off a piece of bread and began to chew on it. It was fresh baked and tasted marvellous. He cut some cheese and continued to eat. Life was pretty good. The gods had smiled on him in spectacular fashion. He would have been happy to assist Lord Liskard to regain his lands, but to be offered the chance of being made an Earl was more than he’d hoped for. Rosawyn sighed and shifted her arm onto her hip. The delicate fingers splayed out across the white sheet that covered her and he nearly whistled through his teeth. Thank you, Henry, Philip thought as he raised the cup of sweet mead towards the bed. Thank you for your friendship, thank you for the future Earldom, thank you for my children’s inheritance. But most of all, Henry, for my most beautiful, exciting, passionate wife, who I think is just about to roll over and make my day complete before it’s even started.


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She kicked out and dislodged the sheet, showing a long, slender leg. She lifted her arm, pushed a strand of hair out of her face and rolled onto her back. She lay with her face turned towards him. The sheet remained where it was and now just covered her hips. Philip drew in his breath at the sight of her lying with only a flimsy covering over her loins. He allowed himself the indulgent pleasure of studying her in greater detail, the roundness of her breasts and their large dark peaks, the slim line of her stomach and waist. He could just see the hipbone jutting out on the side nearest to him and remembered how he had smoothed his hands over both hips as he pinned her under him. He finished the mead but left the remnants of the bread. Other appetites now demanded satisfying. He hooked his toe around the end of the sheet nearest to him and gently pulled it down. Slowly, slowly, he told himself. If she wakes she is likely to grab it up and that would not do at all. Not at all. Philip inched the sheet down. Twice he had to change his hold on the fabric, but his patience was rewarded as the sheet fell away to reveal her naked. Half of him wanted to slide along side, wake her up and bury himself deep inside her again, while the other half wanted to stay where he was and gaze at her. Putting down the wine, he leant forward. His gaze roamed over her breasts and he wondered again at their fullness and relived how they felt in his hands. He then focused on her nipples that he’d sucked and nibbled almost constantly the night before. They must be sore, he thought, noting how the areolas gathered together and pushed the centres upwards. Resisting the urge to close his mouth over them once again, Philip let his gaze travel down over her stomach towards her hips. Her leg nearest to him was bent and out to the side, allowing him to study every detail of the half-open area between her legs. He drew in a long breath and smelt the salty mix of his semen and her juices. His gaze lingered on the springy hair that crested her mons in a neat triangle, and travelled onto her fleshy outer lips that were slightly apart and revealed the moist, pink area


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between. The feathery inner lips glistened with their moisture and the bud of flesh at the front of her labia still sat proudly to attention. A sudden gust of cool air through the window took the decision from him. It fluttered the curtain in the room and made Rosawyn shiver. She awoke and blinked at him. “Oh!” She scrabbled to catch the sheet, but his hand reached it first. “Don’t be shy,” he told her, moving onto the bed beside her. His hand rested on her thigh. “But it’s daylight—and the sun is full up,” she said, still tugging at the sheet. “What are you doing, anyway?” “Just inspecting your beautiful flower.” He ran his hands slowly up her leg. “My beautiful flo—?” She coloured. “Oh. Well, I had better—” He rolled her over, lifted her legs apart and knelt between them. “I haven’t finished.” He grabbed a pillow and lifted her hips. Tilting her up toward him, Philip settled her on it. She now lay with her legs apart and he could see absolutely every intricate part of her sex. He ran his finger around the fluted edge of her labia and then brushed it over her clitoris. “Beautiful.” He bent and kissed the inside of her knee. “And it smells sweet.” “Oh, Philip,” she said giving him a coy look, but her hips flexed upward. He kissed her inner thigh. “I think I’ll taste its nectar.” Her mouth formed into an ‘O’. “Will you? I mean, can you?” He smiled at her astonished expression and kissed a trail up the inside of her thigh until her pubic hair tickled his nose. “I can and I most certainly will,” he said, his gaze glued to her face. He flicked his tongue over her clitoris and then licked in a long, unhurried stroke along the whole length of her cleft and back. She let out a ragged cry and grasped his hair. He drew the raised nub of flesh that strained upward into his mouth, sucking it as he had her nipples, but more gently.


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Her moisture glided out of her and over his chin, and her hands gripped his hair as little, rhythmic murmurs escaped her. Pulling himself free of her grasp, he lifted her hips higher and kissed her pussy. She clenched the covers in her hands. Holding her hips firm against him as she bucked, Philip continued to work his mouth over her inner and outer lips. His cock was now painfully full of semen but he held back from mounting her as his shaft begged him to do. He would do that, of course, in a very few moments, but only after she climaxed on his lips. Just as the need to sheath himself in her overcame his resolve, a primeval moan escaped Rosawyn and she slumped in his grasp. He lifted his head and gazed down at her. For one moment he thought she had fainted, but then she opened her eyes and smiled up at him in such a way that his balls collected together and his cock surged. With her bottom raised on the pillow, the tops of her legs were in line with his groin. In a swift movement, he pulled her ankles together and rested them on his right shoulder. He pulled her against his torso and her moist slit dampened his hipbone. He slid her arm around his waist and held her legs with one hand while the other reached lower, and he wedged his hand between the now closed lips of her cleft. Then he buried his cock in her until his balls pressed into her broken hymen. He thrust into her a couple of times more. She watched him avidly then her eyes grew dark and unfocused as he quickened his pace. He smiled down at her as the first few spurts of his orgasm started. “I tell you, my dear, there are a number of things I can do, and you’ll love all of them.”

Rosawyn snuggled against Philip and ran over the events of the past few days. Despair, rescue, marriage and now screaming pleasure. He shifted and eased himself out of bed. “You’re leaving?” “I am meeting William. I have to inspect the castle,” he said as he grabbed his clothes.


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She rose to her knees, holding the sheet around her. “Why don’t you let me show you the fortifications?” “How sweet of you to offer, my love, but I need someone who knows about defence, not where the sun shines on the lavender.” He smiled at her vaguely whilst tucking in his shirt. She squared her shoulders. “I know about defences.” “Of course you do, my sweet.” Now fully dressed, he leaned over and kissed her again, but this time briefly on the forehead. She gathered the sheet around her and jumped off the bed. “I know the land and its people. Now we are here, Noirville knows his days are numbered. ” He gave her an icy look. “I understand you told Ozzy to raise the Earl’s standard.” “I did,” she said, trying to match his chilly tone. “You will not order my men to do your bidding, madam.” Philip smashed his sword into its scabbard. She lifted her chin defiantly. “Ozzy is my father’s man and I am—” “I give the orders in this castle.” He dragged his hand through his hair. “We are in the middle of a war, and by raising the Earl’s standard, you have told Noirville we are here.” “Let him know. Are you a coward to hide from him?” He raised his hand as if to take hold of her but let it fall to his side. “I am no coward, madam,” he growled. “Noirville can save the gold he is paying his Lowland mercenaries, because a troop of nuns could defeat this garrison.” He jabbed a finger at her. “Your poorly thought-out act of bravado will cost me three weeks of preparation. Three weeks that the troops in this garrison can ill afford to lose. “ “I must prote—” “Enough. You will do as I say. ” Her mouth dropped open. “Without question,” he added in a harsh tone. She tugged the sheet around her. “I don—” “Without question.” He loomed over her. She tilted her head up to match his gaze but fell back on the bed.


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“Your father told me of your interference in things outside your proper sphere. He might have indulged you, but I will not. I can’t risk losing men in battle on a woman’s whim.” He turned to leave. She caught his arm and pulled him back. “Whim! It was no whim.” The sheet fell away slightly and his gaze flickered down. His eyes softened, but his mouth remained an unbending line. “And don’t think you can sway me with such tricks.” “How—how dare you think that—?” His mouth curled up at one corner and he leant over her. She studied him, and her body tingled with the memory of his hands on it. Her temper subsided a little. He ran his finger gently down her cheek and, to her annoyance, she heard her own indrawn breath. Swiftly he put his hand on the back of her head and drew her face close to his. “No matter why you raised the flag, Rosawyn, you will not order my men again.” She gave a quick nod. His eyes softened as his gaze searched her face. Then he stood up and spun on his heel. He stopped at the door and smiled at her charmingly. “Oh, and meet me in the kitchen garden before supper. I want us to enter the hall together again. I think it adds to the castle’s morale to see us in harmony.” Before she could summon up her voice to reply, he left. She jumped off the bed and wound the sheet around her. She dashed to the door and flung it back so hard it bounced back on itself, almost hitting her. “Is that an order, my Lord?” she shouted after him.


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Chapter Seven

The sun dipped toward the horizon on another fine late summer day. In another hour the light would be gone but for now the whole castle was bathed in a soft golden glow. Philip had finished another long day drilling his troops and, as they stumbled towards their barracks nursing their aching muscles, he strode purposely across the inner court, raising the dust as he went. For the past month he’d spent most of his waking hours barking orders and running them ragged, and it was at last paying off. He was actually starting to believe that they might just be able to hold their own against Noirville’s mercenaries when the time came. His brows pulled tightly together. Other matters in the castle were not so satisfying, as yet again he was searching for Rosawyn. His mouth was a grim line and he blew hard through his nose. Why can’t the woman be where she should be—in her bower or in the stillroom? His foot sent a stone skidding across the cobbles. He glanced around and muttered an oath, his temper building with every passing second, but he knew the problem he faced was of his own making. Was there ever such an obstinate and contrary woman as my wife, or a more beautiful one either? The frown smoothed from his forehead. What came over me? When have I ever countenanced such disobedience from a woman before? Why on earth did I let her defy me like this? He knew the answer and didn’t like it. In the past, if a woman had crossed him he simply found some other beauty to spend his leisure time with. However, despite her constant flouting of his orders, rather than distancing himself from her, he wanted her all the more. In fact, he daydreamed about her when he should be concentrating on other things. Hitherto he had prided himself on the fact that women, although very important to him in a physical sense, never interfered with his life as a soldier.


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Although he’d tried to exclude her from military matters, he glowed like a beardless boy when she complimented him on the progress his men were making. He even found himself going into detailed explanations about his methods. And that was his mistake. Liskard had indulged her and he had now fallen into the same trap. He reached the bottom of the stairs and glanced around the parapet. His eyes caught a small movement on the narrow walkway above the stable block. Rosawyn. He bounded up the stairs two at a time and planted his feet firmly on the stone of the parapet. He could now see her clearly as she leaned against the stone of the outer wall. She was wearing her homespun russet workday dress with the edges of her white chemise showing around the neck. Her under-sleeves were turned up to keep them out of the way. She still wore a small, white kerchief to keep her unbound hair out of her way in the same way the other castle women did when they were about their tasks. From somewhere below, a flute and a woman’s clear voice rose in the still evening air. Rosawyn tipped her head to one side and she started to sway. Her provocatively weaving hips drew his attention, forcing him to remember just why he was searching for his wife.

Rosawyn stood lost in her thoughts. Having finished packing the last of the early apples away for use over the winter, she’d decided to take advantage of one of the last fine evenings before autumn set in to enjoy the landscape she loved so well. The harvest celebrations would start soon. The corn dollies were made and, in a week or two, Father Theobald would let the locals decorate the church for thanksgiving. I wonder how they celebrate harvest where Philip comes from? she thought, then frowned. Philip. So bloody exasperating and so bloody enthralling. Once again, two contradictory emotions fought in her mind. She had tried to reconcile them, she really had, but still they battled with each other every time she thought of him. She understood how the campaign took most of his energies and concentration, and she could not fault him for his diligence, but if he would only listen to her, she could save him a great deal of time and trouble. Having spent most of his life fighting, he didn’t have experience of the day-to-day running of an estate.


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She had tried to speak to him about the people and other things when they were alone, but her thoughts became lost as soon as his hands started to wander all over her. And that was the other thing. Half her waking hours she spent arguing with him in her head and the other half getting herself into a frenzy as she relived their lovemaking and contemplated another night in his arms. Merely thinking of his hands and lips on her caused her to throb from head to toe. When she thought of his body and particularly his shaft, the pounding between her legs intensified. The feel of him pressing down on her and the thrill of his lips could cause her to lose concentration in an instant, but she constantly summoned images just to feel the exquisite shivers they caused. There were other experiences too that she had never known existed. She’d even sought him out the day before because she couldn’t go another hour without having him inside her. She’d made some lame excuse about needing him in the chamber to move the clothes chest, but she’d practically ripped his clothes off as soon as she closed the door. And when he took the bud at the front of her sex in his mouth—well, she didn’t know herself. But there was more. She hadn’t known that a woman could come twice or even three times in as many moments or how her climax changed with different positions. She never even knew there were different positions. On the bed, against the wall, on the chair. She had even sat on him twice and rocked herself back and forth. He had rolled her over and finished the task himself. It was all very, very exciting. I wonder if I could try to sit— The low rumble of his voice cut through her thoughts. “Rosawyn.” He stepped out of the shadows and towards her. She turned and smiled up at him. “Beautiful evening, isn’t it? I was just standing here thinking how well the preparations for the winter are going.” She replaced a stray lock of hair. “And about …” her eyes ran over his shoulders and down to the open neck of his shirt. The now familiar coil of excitement


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started in her stomach and travelled down between her legs. “And about…how…” She glanced at his face and noted his brows pulled tightly together. She bit her lower lip. “How happy I am to be home.” She smiled again but his expression didn’t change.

All rational thought evaporated from Philip’s mind as the passion in Rosawyn’s gaze washed over him. His cock took up the task of thinking for him and he took a step forward, arms outstretched. His body registered that she was sliding towards him but his mind brought him up short. “Rosawyn! Did—” “Do you hear that beautiful singing, Philip?” “Yes, very sweet.” It was true. Whoever the woman was, she had a fine voice and a good ear for music. He started to speak again. “Now…” “It’s an old Cornish lullaby.” Rosawyn swayed up to him and put her hand on his arm. “My mother used to sing it to me when I was little.” “Really? Now, er…” Philip struggled to remember what he was about to say as the faint lavender from Rosawyn’s hair assaulted his senses. “Did your mother sing you any lullabies when you were a boy?” she asked. The sensation of her hand on his bare forearm further scrambled his brain. “Uh?” “Or your nursemaid?” Several old childhood memories collided into his head, and from somewhere an old tune floated back. He couldn’t remember the words but the melody was clear in his mind, vivid and strong, as was the sound of his mother’s beautiful voice. “Yes. I remember one my mother…” She clasped her hands together and beamed at him. “How did it go?” “What?” “The lullaby. How did it go? Sing it.”


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He tugged the bottom of his tunic down sharply. Sing a lullaby! Take hold, man, take hold, he told himself severely. She’ll be demanding flowers and poetry from you next. “Rosawyn,” he snapped. “Yes?” “Did you give William orders for the men?” “I told him to stop the men relieving their ale-filled bladders up the sides of townspeople’s houses, yes, if that’s what you mean. It’s a trivial matter I thought not to bother you with,” she replied, her face a picture of innocent bewilderment. “I thought I made myself clear. You order the household and I order the men.” “But men loosing their water up the side of houses in the castle is household business,” she replied with a slight lift of her head. The fading light set her skin aglow and the subtle shadows accentuated the soft curves of her face. He thought of planting kisses along her cheekbone. “I didn’t think I’d have to explain this to you yet again,” he told her, irritated that being near her was distracting him so. “I fail to see how I have interfered with a military plan by asking the men stop acting like animals.” She raised an eyebrow and regarded him with a small upturn of her lip. “Unless you think that the way to win over my father’s subjects is to let your men foul their yards and watercourses?” He took a long, deep breath. “No, I don’t. Which is why I spoke to William about the problem not an hour before you harangued him on the subject.” “I did not harangue him, as you put it. I merely asked him.” She paused for a moment and glanced towards where the last rays of the sun could still be seen. “I thought I would mention it to William to save you the trouble. You understand, I’m sure,” she said. His gaze settled on the delicate shape of her neck, and he thought about kissing it again. He cleared his throat and once more pulled his wandering thoughts into line. “I understand perfectly. But in future, come to me with all matters regarding the men.”


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“I will, if you will have the courtesy to listen to me,” she replied, regarding him levelly. “And what do you mean by that, may I ask?” “I mean that you pay me no heed. I tell you things that could help you, and you brush them aside.” “That is untrue.” He shifted his feet on the flagstones. “Then why, after I told you that the land rents were due on Midsummer Eve, did you, not two days later, ask Allan when you could expect the summer rents?” Rosawyn put her hands on her hips. “I don’t recall you mentioning the rents,” he said, noticing that the shoulder ties on her gown were loose. “Well, I did.” She planted her feet wider, mimicking his stance. “I also told you that the marriage grants had to be signed and mentioned the dispute over the Magpie’s ale.” A cool breeze swirled between them, and he forced himself to keep his gaze on her face and not on the faint trace of her nipples standing out under the fabric of her gown. “I haven’t time to deal with such things.” “I know. But without land rent and taxes, the revenue to pay the troops would very soon dry up. That is why I did it myself. To help you.” She threw her hands up then sharply down, gazing up to the emerging stars as she did. “For an intelligent man you can be very stupid.” No one called him stupid, not even a beautiful woman, without feeling his anger. But just at the moment his mind was concentrating on something else, her breasts to be precise, and the pleasing way they bounced as she moved her arms. “If you listened to what I said, it would save you a great deal—Philip!” His eyes left her breasts and returned to her face. “You’re not paying attention to me now, are you?” A smile spread across his face. “On the contrary, I am paying you a great deal of attention, my love.” He straightened up. “In fact I would say you have my undivided attention at this moment.” She pressed he lips together firmly. “That is what I mean. Oh!”


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She turned around and stamped five or six paces along the walkway then turned and stamped back. Her stalk along the fortifications caused her breasts to bounce again and the shoulder of her gown to slip further. He loved it when she got all fiery. He met her halfway along the parapet. “This is not a game, you know. It is not your will against mine.” She stared at a point above his head. “Your father told me I should keep you with me here as you could help me with your knowledge of the local people.” She glared at him and folded her arms tightly, pushing her breasts up. He forced his gaze to remain on her face and not slide down to the exciting swell bursting from the neckline of the gown. “And I will concede that until now, maybe I have not taken your opinions into account as much as I should have. It was—unwise of me,” he forced out. “And I will try to listen to you more readily in the future. But Rosawyn, do not defy me again.” Her arms remained folded and she gazed across the landscape. He dragged his fingers though his hair. “Why can you not say ’yes’ as a wife should to her husband’s command? Are you trying to goad me? Like a newly broken horse, are you seeing how far you can run off the reins?” Her cheeks flamed pink at his words. “How dare you compare me to a newly broken mare?” she demanded. “Also, I can never find you when I want you. Instead of being in the sewing room or our chamber, where do I find you?” He paused, inviting her response. She didn’t make one. “I’ll tell you. I find you in the marketplace surrounded by pig men.” “Surrounded by swine herders,” she corrected in an icy voice. He glared back at her. “Or in the changing house overseeing the taxes.” “Overseeing the tithe rents.”


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“Anywhere but where a woman should be,” he yelled. “Don’t you have some sewing to do?” Her mouth fell open. “This is just what irritates me so much about you. I’ve been standing here dreaming about—” Her eyes flicked down to his crotch. “Never mind.” She took a step forward and a sweet smile spread across her face. “Now you mention it, I have a great deal of sewing to do.” At last! He gave her an indulgent smile. “I thought so—” “And the reason you can’t find me in my bower is because all the sewing and mending is in the infirmary where I stitch and mend your men’s heads.” Rosawyn bent forward and poked a finger at him. “After you’ve dragged them through bushes on training exercises.” By the furies, she is marvellous. Absolutely marvellous. All fire and spit. His cock surged in his leggings and stood ready. His mind tried to assert itself. It was his over-interested dick that had gotten him into this situation in the first place, and he was not going to let its demands deflect him from his purpose. “I will have your promise of obedience to me in all matters regarding the garrison and all the soldiers under my command, be they your father’s men or my own,” he told her forcefully. “There is danger everywhere, and even the smallest of details might make us vulnerable to our enemies.” Should he tell her about the wine on their wedding night? He hadn’t mentioned it before, mainly because, even after questioning all of the kitchen staff and the cellar steward, he had found nothing to indicate that the wine Alun brought him that first night had been tampered with. The wine! She came to our room that night and found me asleep. What if the wine had been drugged and she’d drunk it? Instead of lying in his arms these past weeks, she could have been lying in her grave. The blood pounded in his ears as his gaze returned to Rosawyn. An image of her lying dead in the family chapel across the bailey materialised in his mind. What if she had drunk the poison? Those beautiful eyes, flashing defiantly at him, would have lost their bright sparkle and her warm lips their sweetness. A heavy ache settled around his breast bone. A world without Rosawyn?


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I won’t have it. She will obey me. He dragged her to him. “You have a busy tongue, wife,” he forced out between gritted teeth. Her indignant expression changed to one of alarm. “But I will hear you say ’yea’ to me over this matter.” Almost before the words had left his mouth, he slid his arms around her tightly and lowered his lips on hers, stopping any retort. He kissed her hard and deep. She struggled against his embrace but he held her firm. He lifted her off her feet and across his body with her legs to the side of him so that if she kicked out it would be into thin air. The head scarf slid back and set her hair free. It cascaded over his arm and down her back. He strode across the parapet to the edge overlooking the stables. He set her feet on the ground and she struggled to free her mouth from his. She twisted in his arms, but he tightened his grip on her. The smell of new mown hay, bundled in the stable, wafted up on the evening breeze. He shook her. “You are my wife and you will do as I say, do you understand?” She wrenched from his grasp and reached up as if to hit him, but he caught her hand and forced it behind her. Crushing her to him, he kissed her hard again. She struggled and he leant her backwards over the edge of the parapet so she had to hold onto him tightly to keep herself from falling. She tried to swing around at him but he held her suspended over the hay beneath. He saw her eyes flash angrily at him and a smile spread across his face. He would show her who gave the orders in this castle, so he would. After which there would be no more defiance. She would be a good and dutiful wife and like it. “Go on, fight me, Rosawyn. I’ll enjoy it. But know this, you will do as I say.” He crushed her lips again, this time clamping his hand on her bottom, ramming his hard erection into her pubic bone and grinding her against him. She pulled away and gasped. Philip let out a low rumble.


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“God, you are beautiful, wife, and have fire and passion like no other.” He kissed her, forcing his tongue between her teeth and plundering her mouth. “And I like it. But I like it in the bedchamber, not on the battlements.”

Rosawyn opened her mouth to reply, but before she could, Philip scooped her up into his arms and tossed her off the low parapet towards the stable yard just beneath them. Fear swamped her, but before she could scream out she landed on the sweet smelling, newly mown hay beneath. She clutched hold of the wall to right herself, but Philips caught her as he landed beside her. He pulled her under him, stifling her protest with his mouth. She struggled against him. He released her lips, ripped the gown away from her shoulders and kissed across her collarbone. Her passion burst within her the instant he touched her, shooting need the length of her body. He usually made love by teasing and caressing her with agonising gentleness, but there was no tenderness in his embrace now. She should have been afraid but she was not—she was excited, very excited. Her climax already bubbled between her legs. A moment ago they were locked in combat, and now she couldn’t even remember what they had been arguing about because her mind was full of Philip as his mouth worked on hers. His passion, even his anger, focused on her and it was wonderful to have a man so strong and so masculine. It seemed as if every part of her was touching his body and the sensation of it robbed her of breath. She tried to speak, but he resumed his assault on her by prising her lips further open and plunging his tongue in. He held her to his cock, and a thrill shot through her stomach as she felt its hardness. She made him so and she loved the power she had to do that. She clung to his upper arms, still braced in defiance, but as his kisses deepened, she slid her hands around his neck. He released her mouth, lifted his head back and gazed down at her.


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“Phil—” she whispered, tilting her head to have him kiss her again. “You will obey me?” “Yes.” Lying in his arms she could say no other. The expression in his eyes became dark and fathomless as he gazed down at her. She didn’t understand all they said but it was deep, so deep that it smothered all other emotions in her. They smiled at each other and then Philip stroked her cheek with his finger, turned her head to the side and started to kiss down her neck. A groan escaped her. As waves of sensation lapped through her, his voice cursed her and loved her in the same breath. The deep vibration of it rumbled through her very bones. She slid her fingers through his silky hair and clasped them together behind his head, pulling him closer. His hand holding her bottom against the hardness of his crotch squeezed. He reached around to her breast and she arched back to allow him more access. It was so wonderful. His finger hooked the fabric downwards. She moaned again as his thumbnail scraped her nipple. “I’ll never grow tired of seeing these grow in my hand,” he said. Then he brought his thumb into play, pinching and pulling the nipple as taut as he could, then flicking it. He plucked at the shoulder laces, releasing them with ease before tugging the fabric fully away from her upper body. He held her breast and lifted it upwards to meet his lips kissing their way over the upper swell. Rosawyn groaned as his mouth latched onto her nipple and tugged at it. She ran her hand down his arm to the opening in his shirt and over the warm flesh beneath. Over the hard muscle and around to his strong back and downwards. She slid her hands into his leggings and, grasping his firm buttocks, dug in her nails to hold him against her. “Philip,” she breathed.


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He let go of her breast and made his way back to her lips, kissing and nibbling, his tongue plunging into her mouth and leaving her breathless. He rolled her over flat on her back and pressed her into the hay. He pinned her hips under him while opening her legs with his own. Pulling her skirt up around her waist, he ran his hand up the inside of her thighs and then took a firm hold on her mons, thrusting two fingers into her immediately. He grinned at her. “I see our little skirmish has made you wet and ready, my sweet. You’re already oozing over my fingers.” She wanted to argue, but with the palm of his hand rubbing over her raised clitoris, she couldn’t. The waves of her climax rolled over her and then retreated only to return stronger. As his fingers increased the surge of her orgasm, she clung to him. Then his caresses became lighter, barely touching her, certainly not enough to stoke her passion further. Tilting her hips towards his hand, she heard him give a low chuckle. She grabbed the front of his leggings and slid her hand between him and the fabric, finding what she sought almost immediately. She turned her gaze up to him and smiled slowly. “I’m not the only one spilling juice,” she said, feeling his escaping semen on the head of his cock. Curling her fingers around his shaft, she rolled the mobile outer skin up and down over the hard core beneath. This time Philip moaned. He thrust into her hand, and his fingers returned to plucking at her nipple. She let go of his shaft, twisting out of his grasp and kneeling beside him. His gaze rested on the tips of her breasts and his eyes darkened. “Very nice,” he said. “You are still in your clothes,” she said, lowering her gaze to his crotch. With his gaze locked on her face, he opened the front of his leggings and held out his cock. Rosawyn raised an eyebrow and the corresponding corner of her mouth. “Very nice,” she echoed. “What else have you got?” he asked, slowly moving his hand up and down. She lifted her skirt up and spread her knees further apart. “This.”


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“I like that, and so does my old man,” he said, the rhythm of his hand increasing as his gaze rested on her mons. The cool air chilled her thighs and she felt her outer lips part. From the heavy feeling surrounding her cleft, she guessed that her inner lips were probably visible to him even in the poor lighting, but she sat back on her heals to be sure. “Still like it?” “I certainly do.” He grabbed hold of her. “Come here, woman.” He pulled her to him and under him, spreading her legs and wedging himself between them. His shaft thumped between her outer lips. He gave a little thrust that rolled the head of his cock over the tip of her clitoris. She smiled seductively up at him. He shifted position and the bulbous head parted her soft folds of skin. She shifted her hips and wriggled away from him. His shaft butted into her buttocks. He swore under his breath and then his hands went under her and grasped her bottom, fixing her firmly. With a grunt, he slammed into her with a decisive thrust. She forgot her teasing game as her world, both inside and out, filled with Philip, his lips on her neck, the press of her breasts against the hair on his chest, as he emptied himself into her. With a primeval moan, she shuddered under him as her climax burst through her and she shouted his name.

Philip’s own need drove him on. He had always stood alone in battle, not needing to look to another for emotional strength, but now it seemed natural to picture Rosawyn at his right hand. He had been furious with her but now all he wanted was to possess her, to have that fire and passion for himself, only for himself and no other. She was a lioness fighting, and he wanted her to fight for him and with him. It was a strange thought indeed, but as compelling as his physical need to bury himself inside her. She flexed her hips against him as he rocked in her with the steady rhythm of their lovemaking. Now fully enfolded by her, he struggled to govern the overwhelming urge to


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plunge into her again and again. He wanted to savour the pleasure of her private muscles caressing his throbbing cock like gentle fingers as they urged him to spill his seed, but he mastered himself to judge the moment right and ride her to satisfaction again. Her lids half-concealed the excitement in her dilated pupils while the pink blush on her cheek and her relaxed mouth showed him that she teetered on the edge of her orgasm. A smile spread across his lips. He was in control and he had subdued her. Her eyelashes fluttered open and she gave him a teasing smile then bit him on the shoulder, not hard but firmly, while raking her nails down his back. Arching over her, Philip roared as the wave of his climax rolled down his spine, between his clenched buttocks “Now. More, more, more,” she called in a throaty voice. His seed gathered in his balls and rushed up his penis. “Harder, oh, yes, yes, harder.” It was impossible, he could not hold back. She had caught him at his own game. He had tried to master her with his lovemaking and instead her unbridled responses had left him struggling for control. She gave a low moan, and he gave up. Splaying both hands wide under her hips, he drew back then thrust forward hard. He gripped her onto him as his orgasm erupted from him. She rose to meet him, matching him thrust for thrust. Her fingers gripped his shoulders, and his mind melted as he drenched her with his seed.

Philip lifted his weight off Rosawyn, and her fingers raked his hair from his forehead. He smiled but didn’t open his eyes. He was about to roll off when he heard a warbling voice. The area they had been cavorting in was the yard just outside the main stable. He had seen the field hands bringing in cartloads of hay earlier in the day and the pile they lay on awaited tying and storing. The castle mounts were all inside and munching away at their fodder. This was the area usually used for harnessing the horses and was edged on two sides by walls as tall as himself. The third wall enclosing the area was the parapet where he had found Rosawyn. At the sound of the voice he sat up and rearranged his leggings. “You, whoever you be, come out, I says,” called a youthful voice.


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“There’s someone coming though the gate,” Rosawyn said, burying her face in his chest. “I know. Probably come to investigate your screaming.” She gave him a furious look and then pressed her nose back into his chest. He glanced in the direction of the open door. “Come you out, I say,” demanded the voice, and two faces appeared around the edge of the yard gate. Rosawyn hid behind him and he could feel her hastily rearranging her clothes. “Oh. Your pardon, my Lord, we were ju…” “It’s Harry and Alf, is it not?” he asked. The two young guards stood to attention, pikes turned upwards. Their eyes flashed to his right where he suspected Rosawyn’s skirt was visible, then snapped back to his face. “Yes, sire,” the taller youth answered. “Well done, men. It’s your job to investigate unusual er…noises.” The shorter boy’s shoulders relaxed and he beamed. “You see, my Lord, Alf and me, we thought like, someone was being strangled or—” He stopped when his companion nudged him forcibly. “Your pardon, my Lord, Lady.” “No harm done. But as you see, I am in possession of the barn tonight,” he told them in a relaxed voice. “Aye, sir.” Both guards touched their forelocks and scampered to the door. Rosawyn slid around to the side of him. “That will be around the castle by first light.” He leant back in the hay and put his hands behind his head. “I’m not the first Lord of a castle to be found in a stable with a beautiful woman.” “But you’ll be one of the few found with his own Lady,” she replied, picking straw out of her clothes. He grinned. Although they were now inside the stout stone curtain wall that protected the inner court and way from the tavern, because of the still autumn night the singing drifted over to them. The sweet voice of the woman had changed to several deep male voices, and he recognised the song. It was about a soldier and a fair maid and it was very, very bawdy. He wondered if Rosawyn knew it too.


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As the words of the song floated in, he watched her reclining on the straw, a small, satisfied smile on her face and her eyes closed. Her beauty swept over him again. She was adorable. In truth, in her torn gown and with her hair unbound, she looked like she’d thrashed the harvest single-handedly. The verse where the soldier stormed the fair maiden’s defences drifted in. “Sweetheart,” he said, smiling across at her and fishing out a silver penny from the small purse at his waist. He twirled the coin in his fingers. “You look like the sort of willing wench who might favour a solider with a tumble in the hay.” Her mouth dropped open for a long moment, then she laughed. “You have the nerve of the Pope,” she told him. She straightened her skirt and picked a stalk out of her hair. She frowned at him. “And you’re self-opinionated, irritating and arrogant.” He grinned wider and winked at her. “And you can’t get enough of me,” he told her, holding his cock through his leggings and thrusting his hips upward. Her gaze flickered over him but she didn’t deny his words. “And what do you know about the price of a bit of company?” she asked, snatching for the coin. He caught her hand and pulled her under him. Taking his weight on his elbow, he gazed down at her. Her expression was cool, but excitement was building in her eyes. He kissed her noisily. “Nothing. I haven’t paid for a woman since I was seventeen.” She struggled under him but he held her fast. “Now I’m married, I don’t have to as I can have it for free.” “Why you—” He captured her mouth and kissed her. The he lifted his head and gazed down at her. “You were saying something, my love?” A smile started at the corner of her mouth. “Only that you’ll need more than one penny.”


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Chapter Eight

After the incident in the stable yard, Rosawyn gave herself a stern talking-to. She decided that since she loved her father she should obey his wishes. Philip was her husband and, difficult and irritating though he was, she would obey him…well, as much as she was able. As the weeks wore on, with the joy of him in her bed at night and her pleasure at being in her own home and amongst her people again, she could barely have been happier. However, three weeks after their marriage she’d had her monthly flow and had had two more since. In the infirmary one afternoon, she told Hilda of her disappointment. Hilda cuddled her. “You have to be patient with these things. It might take a couple of months for the stopper in the bottle to pop, but once it has, you’ll soon be with child. With a man like that husband of yours, it won’t be too long.” Rosawyn sighed and Hilda hugged her again. “Now, let’s get on with the store cupboard and the herbs.” Hilda walked across the room to the shelves of neatly stacked earthenware and collected what she needed. “I am very pleased with the infirmary,” Rosawyn said, reaching up and untying a bunch of dried marigolds from the airer. Hilda nodded. “So am I. Old Ulfic and Young Ulf have made a good job of those cots, and the drainage is just right. We already have people coming from miles away to see us.” The nun stretched her hands in front of her and rubbed the knuckles. Rosawyn glanced down at her mentor’s knobbly joints. “Are they bad today?” “A little bit. I though the sun would ease them some.” Hilda stretched her fingers but they remained stubbornly curled. “And they only hurt if I have to grip something very tightly. They are fine for most of what I do, but I’m pleased I taught you to sew up torn flesh. Holding a needle is not as easy as it used to be.” Hilda’s care-wore face creased into a smile. “Now, let’s see what today has brought us.”


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Just as Rosawyn called two of the maids over to give them their tasks for the afternoon, the door flew open. Two of Philip’s men rushed in, carrying William between them. The lieutenant was as white as the walls, covered in blood. An arrow protruded from his shoulder. “Oh, my goodness!” she said, dashing to the injured man. “An accident,” explained Gilbert as they lowered William onto a cot. Rosawyn tore away the remains of the tattered shirt and Hilda inspected the wound. Philip burst through the door. He glanced around the room then strode over to where William lay. His gaze rested on Rosawyn for a brief moment and her heart ached with the pain in his eyes. She gave him an encouraging smile. “How is he, Sister?” he asked, hunkering down beside William. “I will have to remove the arrow, but I believe he’ll live,” Hilda replied. Philip’s shoulders relaxed. “Praise be. It there anything vital damaged?” Before Sister Hilda could answer, Allan puffed into the chamber. “Is he alive?” he asked, glancing nervously at Philip. Philip sent him a chilling look then turned back to the man on the bed. Picking up a pitcher of clean water, Rosawyn knelt and ran its contents over William’s shoulder. He winced but pressed his lips together. Philip laid his hand on the man’s other shoulder. “I’m sorry,” Rosawyn said. “That’s alright, my lady,” William gasped out. She picked up a clean cloth but started to tremble. Philip reached over and caught her hand. He gave her just a trace of a smile. He held her gaze for a long moment, then Hilda knelt beside them. “It seems to have missed his collar bone and shoulder blade and just pierced the muscle, but we will have to push the arrow through,” she said. “I’ll hold him,” Philip said, standing up. The corners of his lips curled up. “I’ll pay the old sod back for the times he kicked my arse when I was a squire.” William grinned up at his commander but there were beads of perspiration on his forehead.


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“If you would allow me, Sister, my hands are stronger,” he said to Hilda. She gave a short nod. Philip grasped the arrow shaft between his fists firmly and William gripped the sides of the cot. He snapped the feathery flight clean off and threw it behind him. William gave a short cry. He shuffled across so that his shoulder was clear of the bed. Philip pressed down on his chest. “Ready?” William took two deep breaths through his nose and gave a quick nod. “I’ll do it, Hilda,” Rosawyn said. “Are you sure, my dear?” Hilda asked. She wasn’t, but another quick glance at the nun’s inflamed knuckles strengthened her resolve. “Quite sure.” She positioned herself over the man on the bed. “Have you done this before?” Philip whispered as their foreheads touched. “No.” Firmly she wrapped a protective cloth around her palm and positioned it over the broken end. She then held the shaft steady with her other hand. “Press your weight down on it, and whatever he does, don’t stop,” he told her under his breath. She glanced up at his face, and the warmth in his eyes washed over her. She drew in a long breath, braced her shoulders and shoved downwards on the arrow as hard as she could. William bellowed and bucked, but Philip held him firm. Rosawyn closed her eyes as the flesh under the arrow tip gave way and it passed through to the other side. As she pulled the last piece of the shaft free, William fainted. Her heart thumped and the floor threatened to rise up and meet her. She swallowed bile twice and then Philip took hold of her hand. Blinking away the blackness at the edge of her vision, she looked up at him. “Well done, my love,” he said holding her gaze. “I am thankful you are here to care for Will.”


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Leaving her to sprinkle on dried marigold powder and bind William’s wound, Philip cast his eyes slowly around the men surrounding William. “Who shot the arrow?” he asked. Gilbert took a step forward, fidgeting with the hat in his hands. “My Lord, it was an ac—” “I asked, who shot the arrow?” “My man, Ted, my Lord,” Thomas said. Philip grabbed him by the scruff of his jerkin. Thomas’s head fell back as he loomed over him. Gilbert raised his hand to take hold of Philip’s arm but let it fall back as Philip scowled at him. “It’s my fault, my Lord,” Gilbert said. “I knocked into Thomas’s man, just as he was letting loose an arrow. It missed its mark and found de Quentin.” Allan now came into the centre of the group. “Thomas is afraid that you will blame him, my Lord.” Philip spun around and slammed the palm of his hand flat against an upright pillar. The three men before him blinked. “You’re supposed to be killing the enemy, not each other.” Gilbert cleared his throat. “It was an accident, my lord.” “It wasn’t an accident. It was carelessness or worse.” Philip fixed them with an icy stare. None of them met his gaze. “Praise the Virgin, it missed you, my Lord,” Allan ventured. “It didn’t miss Will,” Philip blasted at Allan. Rosawyn paused in the bandaging and stared up at her husband. “You were near?” she asked him in a faltering voice. He glanced at her and gave her a distracted smile. “I was at least three feet away.” Gilbert spoke. “I’m truly sorry, my Lord. I didn’t know that Thomas’s man was so close. I didn’t even feel myself touch him.” An image of Philip lying in a pool of blood with an arrow lodged in his chest swam into her mind. “Three feet! You were an arm’s length away?”


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Philip smiled. “Don’t fret, sweetheart, I’m perfectly fine. Accidents happen in training.” “You accept that it was an accident then, my Lord?” Allan asked, still twisting his hat in his hands. “For now,” Philip said. There was an audible sigh from every man in the room. “Now about your business. But mark you,” he jabbed his finger towards them. “I want no more accidents.” Thomas and Gilbert saluted sharply then disappeared through the door. ”My Lord—” William croaked. Philip knelt next to him on the other side of the bed from Rosawyn. “Take care, Philip,” William whispered. “First your wine and now a stray arrow. There is a traitor in our midst.” He coughed and lay back. Ice trickled through Rosawyn’s veins. “Wine? What wine?” Philip glanced around. “Allan brought me wine on our first night, and after one mouthful I didn’t wake until morning.” “But you were tired,” she replied, hardly able to believe what she was hearing. “Maybe. Nevertheless, I’ve gone weeks without proper rest but always woke at the slightest noise or danger. And I didn’t hear you enter the room.” His eyes flickered over her face and the corners of his lips lifted up. “And believe me, I wanted to.” “You didn’t heard me crashing the tankard and plate either,” she said. Philip’s mouth pulled into a tight line. “But you were exhausted and in no danger. It doesn’t mean the wine was drugged.” She drew her brows together tightly. “None of my people would betray you.” “Gold can always sway a man’s loyalties,” William told them. Philip nodded. “The traitor must be found.” “Well, it won’t be one of my men,” Rosawyn said, as Philip supported William to sit up for her to bandage around the commander’s chest and upper arm. An image of Philip drugged and at the mercy of an assassin materialised in her mind, but she shoved it aside and concentrated on her task.


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Philip’s gaze held hers. “Think on this. Someone who knew you and your father’s movements told Noirville where to find you. And that couldn’t have been any of my men.”

Philip stood in the great hall and glared at the assembly of locals and castle officials in front of him, a damning letter tucked inside his leather tunic. Only four men in the room knew that he had the letter and Philip was going to keep it that way. While William had been recovering under sister Hilda’s care, Philip had made discreet enquires about Allan, Thomas, Gilbert and other members of the castle staff, but he’d found nothing. He was almost at the point of believing that the incident with the arrow was indeed an accident—until he came upon two pieces of information by an incredible piece of good fortune. He guessed that in a place like Lostwithiel, the local militia would think everyone a friend simply because they knew them. Therefore, he set a couple of his most trusted men to keep a close watch on the comings and goings in the castle. After painstakingly noting all the regular visitors to Lostwithiel, Simon, one of the captains in his guard, became aware that the youngest member of the Tiree family, Oswald, always arrived with a nearly empty wagon just as the gates opened on market day. Then, rather than setting up a stall as one would expect of a farmer, he spent all of his time outside The Three Cocks. Again, nothing particularly unusual. On market day, local farmers packed the taverns in the town that nestled beside the castle. But Simon also noticed that on the days Oswald came with a light wagon, he joined the old women and the deeply religious for the midday service at St. Peter’s—usually after which he packed up and left, long before the market finished. On the next market day when Oswald arrived with a half-empty wagon, Simon followed him into the church and saw him receive a letter from a monk in the shadows. When Oswald again came to the market the day before yesterday, Simon instructed a couple of his men to follow Oswald and apprehend him if the monk passed him a letter. The holy man did indeed hand over a letter to Oswald, and when Simon’s men tried to arrest him in The Three Cocks, the youth fought like the devil himself to get away. One man suffered a broken head and another a gash across his thigh that needed a number of stitches. What Oswald lacked in brains he certainly made up for in brawn.


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Thankfully, after almost destroying the inside of the tavern, Simon and his men overcame him and threw him in one of the cells under the castle keep. Philip had examined the letter as soon as it was brought to him and it made chilling reading. It was clear from the text of the correspondence that Edgar Tiree, Oswald’s father, had thrown his lot in with Noirville and was helping some other traitor within these stone walls to furnish Noirville with Philip’s troop numbers and whereabouts. Now, beneath the vaulted ceiling of the castle reception hall, the remaining male members of the Tiree family, Old Edgar, Young Eddie, Walter and Cedric, stood before him. “I don’t normally involve myself in petty squabbles, but this is different. Your son would have killed my men had others not intervened, and that won’t go unpunished,” he said, glaring at them. With an ingenuous expression on his weather-beaten face, Edgar Tiree, stepped forward. ”Begging your pardon, my Lord, but this is the old story of too much ale and too thin skins,” he said, sweeping his hand back over his thinning blond hair. “My son was unwise and let his feelings get the better of him. We have all been young once.” He appealed to the men in the room, some of whom nodded in agreement. “Being young and deep in your cups is not an excuse to murder,” Philip countered without humour. Tiree shifted uncomfortably. “From what I hear, your men will recover.” Philip regarded the old man coldly. You bastard. “I am going to make an example of Oswald, to stop such youthful high spirits costing me the use of another man. He will hang tomorrow at dawn. William, make the arrangements,” he told his commander. A gasp ran through the hall. There was a great deal of shouting, then suddenly the door burst open and Rosawyn, followed by Allan, entered. He watched her come towards him. Whoever wrote that traitorous note had a good understanding of the castle and its defences. Although Allan gave the impression of indolence and lack of interest in military matters, it could be a ruse. The note was written by a confident hand, which narrowed down the possibilities considerably. Now Allan had fetched Rosawyn and brought her into the hall.


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He scowled at them both and waited for her to speak. “My Lord,” she began, her voice coming out as a squeak. She coughed and started again. ”My Lord, I understand from Allan that you are considering hanging Oswald for attacking your men in The Three Cocks.” “I’m not considering it.” Her shoulders relaxed. “I have decided to.” “Please, Philip.” She ran to him, grabbing his arm. “I understand it was a drunken brawl, nothing more. The family Tiree have been my father’s tenants for many generations.” ”So I understand.” Philip glanced across at the Tirees and then back to her. A phrase written in the intercepted note shot into his mind. Lady Rosawyn will be yours once again to dispose of as you feel fit, or as is your particular pleasure. The meaning of the phrase was quite clear, his guts had twisted when he read it. This family she was now pleading for aided a traitor to plot with Noirville against her. Gazing down at his wife’s innocent face, the urge to take up his war-axe and split old Tiree and his sons in two overwhelmed him. With some difficulty he resisted it. “Please, my Lord.” “Enough! I’ve made my decision and that is an end to it.” He took hold of her by the elbow. The company stepped aside as he strode between them, taking Rosawyn with him to their chambers. He passed through their general antechamber and on into the sleeping quarters. The moment the adjoining door closed behind them, Rosawyn rounded on him. “How could you be so cruel?” “Cruel! You think me cruel. Have you seen what that boy inflicted on my men?” “He was drunk and lost his head.” “There’s more to it than that. I’m not hanging him for fighting in the town. In fact, I won’t be hanging him at all. I get no pleasure from hanging half-witted boys.” She stood motionless for a second, then astonishment spread across her face. ”Then what are you going to do?”


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“I expect I will soon receive a deputation pleading for his life. In addition to your eloquent pleading, my dear.” ”Then why didn’t you say all this in the hall? Why put the family through this anguish? Just for your own pleasure to see them suffer, or so you could show your power over them?” Does she think me so brutal? He dragged the letter from the inside of his tunic and thrust it at her. ”Read this.” He walked to the window and stared over the countryside without really seeing it. Yours once again to dispose of as you feel fit, or as is your particular pleasure. The words screamed in his mind. He glanced down at his hand gripping the iron frame of the window. He would win. A military campaign was unpredictable, but Saint Peter was already scoring Noirville’s days off in his book of life. He glanced at Rosawyn as she read. His gut twisted again. Up to this point in his life, other than his mother, he had never had to consider the safety of anyone but himself. People got hurt, that was part of life. But now… As he studied her averted profile, his gut tightened further. I should have sent her to her father. Despite his strangled innards, a wry expression stole over his face. Old Liskard had been right. She was a figurehead. In truth, without her at his side, he doubted he would have had such wholehearted co-operation from the local folk. After the tussle in the hayloft, he had listened more closely to her advice and it had saved him a lot of time and effort. She let the letter fall from her hands and her shoulders started to shake. I should have told her more gently, he thought. He stepped away from the window, collected the letter from the floor and tucked it back into his tunic. He reached out to take her in his arms, but a knock sounded at the door. “Wait here,” he told her. He left her to join his men in the antechamber. As he closed the door behind him, Philip glanced at Rosawyn. She gave him a forlorn look that almost took him back to her side. William cleared his throat and Philip turned his attention to the men waiting for him. “The Tiree family requests an audience at your pleasure, my Lord,” William told him.


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“Execute them all, my Lord,” Thomas burst out, his hands clenching and unclenching as he spoke. “String them all up, traitorous scum. It’s a pity the priest slipped away before I got to him.” Philip nodded. “Someone must have warned him.” “Damn bastards, God rot their livers,” Thomas spat out. Philip raised his eyebrows high. Tiree’s betrayal seemed to have hit a nerve in the otherwise impassive Thomas. “Does my Lady know?” Thomas asked, glancing at the closed door. Philip shook his head. “What will you do with the letter?” William asked him in a low voice. “If we say we have it, those who are betraying us will know we have discovered the conspiracy and go to ground,” he said. Philip’s mind flashed back to Rosawyn waiting for him in their private chamber. He wanted to go to her and assure her that while he had breath in his body he wouldn’t let Noirville hurt one hair on her head, but he had to set his counterplot in motion first. ”I’m sure that the Tiree boy doesn’t know who is betraying us. The traitorous swine’s too clever to let a raw lad know his identity. However, if I release Oswald after his family and my wife plead for him, we may yet smoke this weasel out of his hole.” Philip gave them a questioning look and all three of them nodded. ”We must catch this traitor.” Gilbert cleared his throat. “My Lord, Thomas informed me that Allan has been approached by the family, who ask to see the boy in the dungeons.” Allan again. “It would be a kindness to let his parents see him, it would give credence to your intent to hang him,” Thomas added. “All right, but not alone, and not with Allan.” “Let me go, my Lord,” Thomas volunteered. Philip gave a sharp nod and motioned them out. He returned to the bedchamber where his wife stood motionless. “Rosawyn?” “How could the Tirees? To betray us like this…” she sobbed.


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He noted she’d said ‘us’ rather than ‘me’. Despite the many problems and emotions jostling in his mind, a smile creased his lips. Her mouth pressed into a firm line but her eyes shone. “At least we have the evidence of their guilt.” He slid his arm around her and pulled her near. She clung to him, burying her face in his chest. He kissed her hair tenderly. “I don’t want them to know we have the letter. I’m going to slip it back into his jacket when I return him to his family.”

“Give him the letter and return him to…?” Rosawyn was astounded. “Have you taken leave of your senses?” “Isn’t that what you asked me to do only a little while ago?” “That was before I saw the letter,” she told him. A phrase in it, hack off that bastard Saracen’s head and feed the rest to the dogs, bounced around in her head. A world without Philip was a world she didn’t want to live in. Her hand went to her chest as her heart pounded. “No matter,” he replied in the same unyielding tone. “I want to release him to his family with his traitorous letter without raising their suspicions, and I am counting on you to help me.” “How?” “In a little while we will both go down to the hall and I will tell the family that your tender pleading has swayed me and that I have decided to show leniency.” “I don’t agree with your plan. I want them arrested and brought to justice.” He fixed her with an unwavering stare. “As do I. But if I do that, I fear that the traitor living under our roof and eating our victuals will slip away. I know what I am doing, Rosawyn, all I ask is that you trust me.” “I do. But I don’t want to see you staring up at the sky with an arrow in your chest,” she argued. His mouth lost some of its tightness. “Will you do as I ask?”


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She didn’t want to. She wanted to tear open the door and order the whole Tiree family clapped in iron but instead she nodded stiffly. Philip’s shoulders lost some of their tension. “Good. I will be back presently to escort you to the hall.” He kissed her hand and left the chamber. She screwed the skirt of her gown into tight knots. What if Philip’s plan doesn’t work? She paced across the floor to the window and then back to the bed. I will order Alan to arrest the Tiree family where they stand. Philip’s face materialised in her head. She stopped pacing and picked up a cushion. She stared angrily at it for a long moment then hurled it at the door. Pig-headed, stupid man. He should arrest them now before they have a chance to carry out their threat against him. Does he think an arrow won’t pierce him or a sword slice through him? He should take those threats seriously. An image of him lying in his own blood swam into her mind and suddenly, without warning, tears sprang to her eyes. She tried to hold them back but they continued to flow down her face. She couldn’t appear in the hall like this, all red-nosed and puffy-eyed. She took a deep breath and put the back of her hand to her forehead. She sat slowly down and took deep breaths to steady the sobs still bubbling in her chest. She had to have control of herself before he came back. When she at last stemmed the flood, she reached for her tapestry and poked the needle through the canvas a few times. The cotton snagged and she threw it across the room after the cushion. Springing to her feet, she clenched her fists at her sides while she continued the argument with Philip in her head. She was just at the point of telling him again he was selfish, egotistical and stubborn when the door flung open and he strode in. His gaze ran over her furious face then down to her balled fists, and he gave her a breathtaking smile. By the Virgin’s cloak, he is magnificent, she thought as she took in his dark good looks and the power of him. “You look pleased with yourself.” She forced herself not to smile back.


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“Do I? Well, I suppose I might. The letter is back snug under Oswald’s greasy jerkin so the plotter will not suspect.” He held out his hand. Rosawyn hesitated for a second then took it. His finger closed around hers in a tight grip. He drew her towards him and placed her hand on his arm, patting it in place. He smiled warmly at her. “And now, my dear, we are going back to the hall.”

As Philip led her down the spiral stairs, he said a silent prayer of thanks that she had acquiesced to his orders. Despite her tense shoulders, she walked beside him with her usual gracefulness. “I don’t like to see you weep, my love.” He gave her his warmest smile. She relaxed slightly. They turned the last curve of the stairs and he pulled her to him and encircled her waist with his free arm. She resisted for a moment, then her body leant into his. He pressed his lips on her hair, surprisingly relieved that she wasn’t still angry with him. “I don’t like to lie to people. I’m not very good at it,” she said into his chest. “Just stand by me and I will do all the talking.” She looked up at him and a single tear welled in her eye. He rubbed it away with the pad of his thumb and kissed her briefly. Unlike some women, Rosawyn was not a weeper and, although her distressed condition would make his pardoning of Oswald Tiree more convincing, he didn’t like the fact he had caused her tears. Stifling this distracting feeling, he led her towards the hall. To her credit, she stood throughout the whole drama of the Tiree family’s appeal without murmuring a word. He listened gravely to their pleas and supplications. Finally, he announced that in view of Oswald’s youth, and the pleas of Lady Rosawyn, he would relent and release Oswald to his family on bail to appear at the county assizes at Michaelmas. As the last word left his lips, Oswald’s mother threw herself on the floor at his feet, weeping and kissing them again and again. So much so, that her husband had to drag her away.


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He had no pity for the father and sons, but Goodwife Tiree’s distress troubled him. After he granted clemency to Oswald, Philip took Rosawyn’s hand again and they left to return to their chamber. The image of the boy’s mother sobbing at his feet repeated in his mind as they strolled though the echoing corridors, reviving memories of his mother’s struggles to raise him. He had written her his news before dashing to Cornwall. She would know now that he had married and that the King had promised him the Earldom of the county. From nowhere the urge to see her swept over him. He wanted her to meet Rosawyn, this beautiful, highborn wife of his, through whom he was about to gain everything mama had ever wished for him. Still lost in his thoughts as he shut the door to their chamber behind him, Philip smiled. “I’m glad you find this an amusing game,” she cut in. He whipped around. “Game! Game? This is no game. You read the note, saw what the traitor planned. This is a deadly dance between me and Noirville for the Earldom.” He went to the fireplace and stood with his arm resting on it, staring into the empty grate for a moment before turning back. “Your father’s title dies with him, but the King promised me the Earldom if I put an end to Noirville, and I sealed that bargain by marrying you.” He cut through the air with the flat of his hand and thumped it into the other palm. “And know this. I will not shirk from the King’s commission and I will do whatever I have to do, no matter how ill it sits with me.” She studied his face for a long moment then smiled sweetly. “I know the King gives you my father’s title. I also know that a mercenary has to be paid and I was the price of your sword, bu—” A hundred mocking voices shouting ‘Saracen’, ‘scum’ and ‘mercenary swine’ exploded in his head. He grabbed her and dragged her to him. He glared down at her. “Mercenary!” His grip tightened on her arm and she winced. “Have you ever seen a land visited by mercenaries? Do you know what mercenaries do? Do you? No? Well, I’ll tell you then. They will sell their own families for gold and silver. They will run through a village and kill without mercy, for the hell of it, men, women and children, after torturing them for fun first. They will take everything and kill each other for spoils.”


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She shook in his grasp. “If I were a mercenary, I would have collected you from the convent and then negotiated with Noirville for your price in gold. Never call me that name again, Rosawyn, never.” He let go of her arms and his shoulders sagged. He glanced down briefly, letting himself enjoy the swell of her breast above and the dark cleavage between, then pushed her from him. “It would have been so easy for me sell my blade. Why not? Many would say I’m only a bastard, who could expect more? But no—I have higher standards than that, standards like respect, loyalty, truthfulness and the care of those who are less fortunate. I might be a bastard born, but I live up to my knightly vows.” He drew himself up to his full height and clenched his fists at his sides. “Standards instilled in me by my mother, who, I might add, was treated like shit by the d’Apremont family. They would have left her to starve by the roadside had I not challenged them. I have fought hard to be where I am today and I have done things that I would rather not have done, but this is a cruel world. But you wouldn’t know that, living in a sheltered, pampered world, protected by high castle walls. You don’t know what it’s like to battle through life without privilege and wealth.” Rosawyn’s mouth fell open. “Another thing I want you to understand is no one is giving me this Earldom. I am going to march out there,” he swung round and swept his hand towards the window, “in a short while and wade through blood for it. If that weren’t bad enough, I have had to shape an ill-prepared, ill-equipped group of yokels into a disciplined fighting force in a very short space of time. Now, on top of all that, I have to deal with spies in my camp who, if I don’t find them, will betray us all to slow deaths or worse. So while you stay here and play Lady of the castle, just remember that I will be out fighting for it.”

Rosawyn’s mind swirled as Philip raved and shouted the political reasons for their marriage. She already knew them, of course, but after twelve weeks of his kisses and caresses she’d let them slip from her mind. What a fool she was to forget that Philip had come for the title, not for her.


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But it was too late to remember now because standing in the sun-filled chamber, with him glaring at her, she knew that for all time and without conditions, she loved him. She let the warmth of the revelation spread through her for a couple of heartbeats, then her fury rose again. Those bastard Tiree men should be strung up from the tallest tree. In addition, it wasn’t fair that papa was too ill to come and fight himself. How dare Philip calmly recount his reasons for their marriage and how could she be so stupid as to fall in love with him? And his mother? As he hadn’t mentioned her before, she’d assumed she was dead. But was she? And who was she? And if she was alive, where was she now? And he said ‘I’ and ‘me’, not ‘we’. How many times had he corrected her when she said ‘I’ instead of ‘we’? But listening to him talk, it was clear that for Philip, the world and everything else in it centred around him, and all he saw her as was a pleasant diversion to the campaign. She stood in their chamber, gazing up at this devastatingly handsome man whom she loved, then clenched her fists. He’d had his say and now it was her turn. “Philip,” she said with cool deliberation. “I am playing the Lady of the castle, as you call it, because I am the Lady of the castle.” A look of total surprise spread across his face. “Had I not taken those responsibilities seriously, I doubt that William would be making such a swift recovery or that your troops would have enough food when they march.” His eyebrows shot up into his hairline and, had she not been so livid, she would have found his stupefied expression amusing. He recovered his composure and a sensual smile started across his lips. “My love, dear heart. Do not scold me so. I—” She jabbed her index finger at him. “And don’t try that old trick.” He started to form his face into an innocent expression but gave up and scowled at her instead. “I will allow no argument.” “I am not arguing with you, I am telling you.”


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He raised his eyebrows again. “I will concede that the infirmary is of great service to my men. And I thank you for the quantity of provisions for my troops when they march,” he told her stiffly. “Also, there’s no point in your riding out, resplendent in shiny armour, if there’s no land for you or your heirs to inherit when you’ve won the battle, is there?” Having just finished her third monthly flow, the thought of ‘heirs’ gave her a small twinge of disappointment. She shoved it aside. “Estates don’t run themselves, they need safe roads and markets. They need stability and fair rule. The land supplies the wealth but we have to make it possible. The tenants and farmers are the Earldom. Without the land working for the good of us all, no number of soldiers can create an estate.” “I don’t need a lecture about husbandry.” “I think you do, Philip. I think you do. For example, pigs.” “Pigs?”

To hell with the pigs. Standing so close to her, he could see her thick eyelashes fan out on her cheek as she glanced down and the swell of her breasts over the neckline of her dress. Sod the pigs, he could think of any number of things they could be doing now alone in their bedchamber, and not one of them included a discussion about swine. “Are you listening to me, Philip?” she demanded. Frankly, he wasn’t because his gaze had settled on her breasts and he was enjoying the way they sat. “The pigs around the castle,” she repeated. “I don’t know anything about pigs.” God, she is beautiful. “That’s my point. You don’t know, but I do. The tenants need—” I love that bit of flesh just by her collarbone and the— “Philip!” “My sweet,” He reached for her. “No.” She halted him with the flat of her hand. “I’m going to finish what I have to say.”


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Her voice wavered slightly and her gaze ran slowly over his face. Although her brows were still pulled together as she studied him, her lips parted and her eyes grew wider. Philip smiled. He knew that expression. “You’re upset, my love, let me comfort you.” There was a moment of indecision in her eyes, then abruptly they widened as if some new thought struck her. She folded her arms across her chest and her lips turned up at one corner. “Ah. I think I understand you now. You’re an only child, aren’t you?” “What?” “I’m guessing, of course, because you’ve never told me. Just as you have never told me about your mother or your childhood. And that mark around your arm. What is it? Who put it there? And what does it mean? I’ve shared everything with you, but you’ve shared nothing of yourself.” “I’ve shared a great deal of myself with you, my love,” Philip replied in a low voice. “And I am more than willing to do so again and again.” “You share your body, that’s true enough. Daily.” “Twice daily most days, if you recall.” She shifted her weight from one foot to the other. He let his gaze rest on her. She’s proud and passionate and infuriating and I love— She glared at him. “You call me your love, but that’s empty. I’m not your love. I could have been anyone in that convent. You didn’t care, you would have married me no matter what, because the King told you to.” “What? Of course I married you because the King commanded it.” I love the way her hair bobs about and when it slides over her body, I— “You didn’t care at all who I was, or what I looked like. I’m sure you didn’t expect your marriage to interfere with your nocturnal recreations.” A tear started to form itself in her eye. She dashed it away. “You probably crawled out of some slut’s bed to come and marry me,” she yelled.


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Some slut! He hadn’t given Avril a thought since he set eyes on Rosawyn. In fact, he hadn’t thought of any woman since he’d seen her. He studied her for a moment as a variety of strange, half-formed sensations rose up and mingled together in his mind. “I’d bet a crown to a candle that there are women from here to Paris with notches in their bed-heads to remind them of you,” she screamed, clenching her fists. “Well—” “Don’t deny it and tell me that’s all in the past, or that I’m your only love and that you’ll love me forever,” she said furiously. Love! His love! In his head, the tangled emotions started to spread out and take form. Love! He raised an eyebrow and allowed a small half smile to cross his face. She stood for a moment, frozen to the spot, then her full fury exploded. “I am very pleased we have had this talk. I’m now clear as to the real reason for your being here and my part in it,” she hissed. “I can’t begin to tell you how very grateful I am to you for fighting for your inheritance. Whether you call it payment or not, it’s quite clear that I have not been giving you nearly enough recompense for all the efforts you are putting into this fight. And of course, if you are to pass this Earldom onto your heirs, then I am woefully short on my side of the bargain.”

Rosawyn grabbed hold of the front of his shirt. The fabric tore apart in one mighty rip and her gaze rested on his bare chest. Her stomach churned and a heavy pounding started between her legs. It wasn’t fair. Philip at close quarters was too male, too handsome and too difficult to resist. However, she wasn’t going to resist him, she was going to play him at his own game. She grabbed hold of his shaft through his leggings and slid her hand around to catch his buttock with the other, pulling him against her. He groaned as she caressed his cock up and down a couple of more times then let go. He tried to catch her to him but she slipped beneath his arm and pushed him on the bed.


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“You stay where you are,” she said, jabbing her finger at him. He grinned. “I knew you couldn’t stay angry with me for long, my love.” He took a deep breath and stretched his arms behind his head. She lowered her chin and smiled seductively up at him. She pulled off his boots and slowly ran both hands up the outsides of his calves. Gathering up her skirts, she knelt on the bed beside him. She then continued her exploration of his thigh and on to his chest. Curling her fingers slightly, she wove them through his chest hair, scratching his skin as she did. He let out another moan and, although his expression didn’t change, his eyes grew darker. Keeping her gaze on him, Rosawyn let her hand travel down over his stomach then ran the fastening ties of his leggings through her fingers. She tugged at them and they unwound in an instant. She eased down the top of the garment over Philip’s hips, pulled it off and threw it on the floor. His cock sprang out and thumped on his stomach. Rosawyn rested her gaze on it as it lay there, just a thumb’s width short of his navel. The central ridge tracked down from the bulbous head and disappeared between his balls. It was beautiful in its shape and alarming in its dimensions. Although she welcomed it in her daily, she still marvelled as to how she managed it without pain. She curled her hand around his shaft, leaving the darkly coloured head clear of her fingers. It bucked in her palm and, if she hadn’t known better, she would have sworn there was a bone in it. Slowly she slid the skin sheath around it up and down, covering the head for a second then exposing it again. After a few strokes of her hand, a small droplet oozed from the central slit. Locking her gaze on his, she let the moisture drip onto her index finger. She raised it to her mouth, tasting the saltiness of the fluid. His expression changed now from anticipation to elation as she continued to suck his juices off her fingertip. With deliberate slowness, she ran her tongue around her lips. His gaze remained locked on her face. “Rosawyn,” he said in a cracked voice as he reached for her. She slipped under his embrace and off the bed.


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Knowing how he enjoyed seeing her hair spread over him when they made love, she quickly unbound it and shook it out around her. Her hands then went to the shoulders of her surcote and she slowly slid them off. She wriggled both arms out but kept the loosened neckline up, just covering her nipples. Philip raised himself onto one elbow and shrugged out of his shirt. The muscles of his arms bunched as he supported his weight. She ran her gaze over his broad chest, down to the taut stomach and on to his long, well-shaped legs. “Lower,” he said. The pounding in her cleft intensified and a spurt of moisture dampened the top of her inner thighs. Although her body screamed at her to drop her gown and spread herself naked over him, she ignored it. She was in control now and she was determined that he would know that when she’d finished with him. “Not yet,” she said, turning around and flicking her hair out of the way. She lowered her dress to the floor, showing her back and finally her bottom to him. She glanced seductively over her shoulder. He was still on the bed although he no longer wore a relaxed expression. Instead, his eyes smouldered as his gaze rested on her, his shaft strained as if to burst and his hand gripped the fur covering. She fixed his gaze with hers. With slow deliberation, she turned around and scooped her locks out of the way of her body. She pulled her shoulders back and raised her breasts while planting her feet wider apart. His gaze roamed over her body then back up to her face. “Come here, my sweetheart,” he said, beckoning her to him. “And?” “Do whatever you like,” he told her She glided towards him and climbed onto the bed. Kneeling beside him, she took a moment or two to consider what she would do. And then she decided. Anything she bloody well liked, because that was just what he had been doing to her for the past twelve weeks. She spread her body over him and kissed him on the lips, forcing his mouth open as he had done to her so often and filling it with her tongue.


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Tearing her mouth away, she grabbed his wrists and pinned them above his head. His neck muscles bunched, and she lowered her head and bit his shoulder. He let out a cry but didn’t remove his hands from her grip, so she bit him again. Then she nibbled up his neck to his ear and back down again. He groaned but he rolled his head aside and her lips traced back further. She released his hands and ran hers down the inside of his arms, over the patch of hair underneath and onto his chest. His arms stayed above his head. She caressed over the hard muscles of his chest and stomach, and small shards of excitement darted through her and settled around her clitoris as her fingertips felt the texture of his skin. As she neared his red-headed cock, he curled forward and watched her caress him. Rosawyn traced her fingers around the springy hair at the base of his member then curled them under his sac. Rolling his balls full of sperm in her palm, she returned her gaze to Philip’s face. He stared wide-eyed at his groin as she played with him. She cupped his entire scrotum and Philip drew a sharp breath. A spurt of sticky juice spread down her inner thigh. Philip grabbed his cock and yanked his fist up and down a couple of times. “Rosawyn, you make me so hard,” he said. “I know.” She uncurled her fingers from his scrotum. “Let me do that.” He did. His head fall back and he closed his eyes. She studied the expression on his face as she rubbed her hand up and down, mimicking the pace of their lovemaking. A small smile spread across her face. Still pulling on his shaft, she shifted her position to put her face closer to his. He opened his eyes just as she lowered her lips onto his. After working his mouth for a long moment, she kissed down, over his chin and throat and into the dip where his collarbones met just below his Adam’s apple. Then with light kisses, she traced along his breastbone and followed the feathery line of hair down.


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She whipped her tongue around the indentation of his navel a couple of times then, and still rolling the mobile skin of his cock over the hard core, she continued, allowing the broader line of hair extending up from his pubic bush to guide her journey. Her cheek met the tip of his penis which left a dab of wetness on it. She turned and looked at the head of his member so close to her. Her finger and thumb encircling it didn’t quite meet, and the opening where his sperm shot from parted. She held his shaft firmly and kissed it. He let out a long, animal moan and his cock pulsed. She kissed it again and he grasped the back of her head. She gazed up at Philip and, as his expression changed from disbelief to expectation, Rosawyn closed her mouth around his cock.

Philip’s mind could hardly comprehend what his eyes were seeing as Rosawyn closed her mouth on his shaft. The head skimmed over the roof of her mouth and into the back of her throat. The soft lips closed around him and a shiver of pleasure ran through him. She gagged once but then her tongue rolled around the stalk, encouraging his gathered juices to rise as she licked up and down, sucking him to near oblivion. He shouted her name and she glanced up from her task. With her gaze fixed on his face and holding him firmly, she ran the end of his penis around her lips then licked down the shaft and up again over the top. “Rosawyn—oh my God,” he croaked. “Rosawyn—Rosawyn, stop, stop.” She kissed the tip again. “Why, don’t you like it?” “Like it? I love it, but you’ll have to stop before—” ”Before what?” she asked then continued to trace around the ridge of the head with the tip of her tongue. “You know very well—” He shifted up slightly. She sat back. “You can’t take it, can you? I mean being out of control, someone else setting the pace. You’re not used to it.” With her gaze fixed on his face, she climbed to her feet and stood with her legs wide apart over him. He glanced upward and groaned.


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Her swollen outer lips were parted and the pale pink of her labia glistered with moisture oozing from her vagina. However, what held his attention completely was the bud of her clitoris that jutted at him like a stubby finger. He reached for her but she raised her hand. “I’m not finished yet,” she said and slowly lowered herself on him. His shaft parted her and slipped effortlessly into her pussy. She settled herself on him and he bit his lip to hold the pulsing in his penis at bay for just a few seconds more. She caressed over her lower stomach as if to gauge where he was inside her. Then she leant forward and began to rock on him. He took hold of her bouncing breasts with both hands and tugged at her nipples. She gave a low moan and ground herself into him while he gave up the impossible task of holding back his seed. She screamed his name and he bellowed hers, then she slumped onto his chest. Hot, sweating and motionless. He lay exhausted and stupefied by the experience of her in full flood. She remained draped across him for a moment or two, then she got off the bed. His mouth reconnected to his brain. “My love, that was amazing. Come here.” He smiled. She gathered up her clothes and stood at the end of the bed, casually staring back at him. ”Why?” “Why? Why? Because I want you here.” “It’s all about what you want. But why? After all, I’m just the woman who happens to be the one whom the King ordered you to marry. This is my side of the bargain, how else do you think you will get an heir? Remember, I could have been anyone in that convent, so what difference does it make to you?” She raised her head a notch and regarded him with an icy stare. “You may have ploughed your way through women from here to Paris, but mark you this, Philip FitzRoger d’Apremont. I’ll hear you ask for quarter before I have finished with you.” She stepped towards the oak door then turned. “Oh, and when you think I’ve paid you sufficiently for the price of your sword, you can crawl back to the slut you left to come here.”


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Her gaze settled on his sword lying against the chair. She dropped her clothes on the floor, picked up the sword and turned back to the bed. “I nearly forgot.” His jaw dropped open as his naked wife unsheathed his blade and jumped on the bed. With some considerable effort, she raised it above her head and swung his battle sword around her. On the second arc, she brought it down at an angle onto the headboard and imbedded it there. Raising her leg and placing a foot on the headboard to steady herself, she yanked the weapon out. A faint aroma of their mingled sexual juices wafted over Philip and his spent shaft nodded its head. She swung again, this time bringing the blade down square into the board. A small chip flew off and onto the bed next to him. Having wedged it deep in the wood, she let go of the hilt, and his blade hung quivering in the headboard. She jumped off the bed, gathered her gown again and slipped it over her head. Smoothing her dishevelled hair into some sort of order, she turned and headed for the door. Tearing it open, she turned and glared at him. ”I didn’t want to break your run of notches.”

It took Philip a few moments before his mind registered what had happened. He lay motionless on the bed staring at his sword embedded in the wood of the headboard. When Rosawyn unsheathed his weapon, it crossed his mind fleetingly that she was about to run him through. He still had several visions of his wife recurring in his mind—of her standing astride him, of her kissing and swallowing his cock, of her naked and swinging the sword over her head like some legendary woman warrior, and a less pleasant one of her storming out the door. Where was she? Women who stormed out on him came back before long, full of tears and regret. He was ready to forgive her when she reappeared. How could he not? He waited a little longer. After some thirty minutes, it dawned on him that she wasn’t returning.


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Fury exploded in him. She had jumped all over him, given him the greatest time of his life and then got up, informed him that it had only been her duty and walked out. How dare she? He got up and started to drag on his clothes. That’s women for you, always have to be right. He put his foot on the bed-head to retrieve his sword. What was I supposed to say? Of course I married her because the king told me to. He slammed the blade back in its scabbard and threw it across the room. She only married me because her father instructed her to. Philip glanced at the bed where the covers lay dishevelled from their lovemaking. His thoughts drifted back to Rosawyn kissing his shaft, and it swelled again. Over the last twelve weeks of their marriage, he had been slowly introducing variations to their lovemaking, but this afternoon she had leaped forward, missing several stages of foreplay. Where did she learn that? He wondered, in passing, if women talked about sex like men did. He didn’t know, but even if they did, he doubted she’d heard of that technique in the sewing solar. He kicked the stool by the bed out of his way. I want her here now! I want her in my arms. I don’t want to be standing here alone with a throbbing cock. She had taken her pleasure and left. She had taken him to paradise and— Ralph de Tourney’s voice cut through his thoughts. “What do you expect? You take these women to places they never dreamt of in your bed, and then you get bored with them.” He stopped. Surely she wasn’t bored with him. A knotty lump settled in his chest. Rosawyn bored. No! Furious, irate and incensed maybe, but bored? Never! The hardness in his chest dissolved a little. It’s as I said to Ralph, women never seem content with just my body, they want my soul too. “But, Philip, my boy,” answered a voice in his head that was uncannily like his friend Ralph’s, “she’s given you her body. It’s you who wants her soul.” Philip stood aghast. The earlier flicker in his head now burst into flame.


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Love! I am in love! He laughed aloud. He had ached for a strong, beautiful, intelligent woman to capture his heart and bear his children. But had he been too bone-headed and stupid to recognise Rosawyn as that woman? What a bloody, stupid fool I’ve been. Of course I love Rosawyn. He glanced at his sword lying discarded by the wall. But does she love me?


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Chapter Nine

Rosawyn picked up another bunch of rosemary and tied it tightly around the stems ready for the dryer. Although the mellow smells of the stillroom helped to calm her headache, they did nothing for the agony in her heart. Since she had thrown herself on Philip and sliced into the bed-head, she had forced herself to maintain a cool and polite manner to him whenever they were together. She could not allow him to hurt her further. It was quite clear he was here for his own gain, and she had her pride. If he didn’t love her, then she wasn’t going to let her love for him give him power over her. She had to protect her heart. It hadn’t been too difficult for the first few days, because thinking about how little he cared for her helped to keep her temper raging. But she hadn’t counted on the new Philip who suddenly appeared. She was used to his constant attention in the bedroom and, although it proved difficult, she just about managed to maintain her façade of indifference. What she wasn’t prepared for, though, was Philip playing the chivalrous lover. The day after the argument he brought her some flowers he’d cut himself and told some amusing stories about when he was a squire. The next day he begged her to come and talk to the troops, explaining that it would boost their moral. On market day he purchased a length of very expensive, green silk ribbon, telling her that according to the Queen, green was the colour of true love. He then cut it in half and asked her maid to weave one part of the trimming in her hair and then persuaded her to tie the other around his right bicep—next to his heart, he told her. Then last night after the evening meal, Philip, who had shown absolutely no interest in music, asked the musicians to play an old Cornish melody that she had mentioned in passing a week or so before. Moreover, if that wasn’t peculiar enough in itself, he then sang it to her in a deep, melodious voice as he undressed that night in their chamber—after which he made love to her until dawn.


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When she awoke four hours ago, he had already left their chamber, but there was a single rose on the pillow beside her. She had stared at it for a long time to stop herself from wrapping her cloak around herself and seeking him out on the parade ground and confessing her love for him. The door opened and Hilda came in. She smiled up at her, but a worried expression settled on the sister’s face. “Whatever is the matter, my dear? You have dark circles under your eyes. Are you ill?” Rosawyn’s bottom lip began to tremble and tears welled up in her eyes. She threw down the herbs and fell into Hilda’s arms. “Oh, I love him so much it hurts.” “Your husband?” She nodded. “But how could I have been so stupid?” Hilda looked perplexed. “Stupid?” “I love him, but he doesn’t love me.” “How do you know?” “He told me.” “He told you that he doesn’t love you?” Rosawyn disentangled herself from Hilda’s motherly embrace and sat down on the bench. “Not in so many words, but when I accused him of only marrying me because the king ordered him to, he didn’t deny it.” “Well, he wouldn’t, my dear, because it’s true.” Hilda hugged her again. “You goose. He would have married me if the King had ordered him to.” “That is just what I told him.” “But why did you marry him?” “Because my father ordered me to.” Hilda folded her arms. “When you married him, did you know what he looked like? What type of man he was? Were you in love with him?” “Of course not. It was my duty.” Hilda’s mouth rose slightly at one corner.


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“It’s not the same!” she burst out. “I think it is. Both of you married because someone ordered you to.” “But it’s different now. How was I to know I would fall in love with him?” Rosawyn asked as an image of Philip, smiling, floated into her mind. “If your feelings have changed, maybe his have too?” Hilda suggested. “And he came straight from some trollop’s bed to marry me.” Hilda’s sandy eyebrows shot up. “He said that?” “Not in so many words. But he didn’t deny it when I accused him of it. And do you know what he did?” Hilda shook her head. “He raised an eyebrow and a little smile crossed his face.” Rosawyn pointed to the corner of her mouth to illustrate her point. “He had the nerve to stand there in front of me and look…look…smug.” “Oh, for goodness sake, what do you expect? “ Hilda’s expression of concern changed to one of amusement. “There are only two women in this castle who wouldn’t jump into bed with him, given half the chance. Me and Peggy. And I’m not so sure about Peggy. The man is temptation on legs. Of course he had a mistress. It is the nature of the thing. But has he had one since you have been married?” Rosawyn crossed her arms and looked past Hilda. “Well, no, he hasn’t.” “I doubt if he’s even glanced at another woman. If he had, I am sure the gossip would have gotten back to us by now. What happened then?” Her cheeks became hot as she thought back to her action. “I told him that I understood his reason for marrying me and I would do my best to fulfil my part of the bargain.” ”Your part?” “Provide an heir.” “And that was how this scrap ended—with you agreeing to provide an heir?” “Not exactly.” She glanced up at the beams above her for a moment and then burst out, “All right, Hilda. After I had told him that I—I ripped the shirt off his back and jumped all over him.”


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Hilda laughed. “Now, the way it seems to me, my dear, is that you are assuming a lot about what your husband does and doesn’t feel. After Sir Philip married you, he could have sent you to your father. In fact, he could have sent you anywhere. But he didn’t. He kept you here with him and has shown you every attention.” Rosawyn’s cheeks grew hotter. “If you ask me, I should be telling you to stop playing games and find out how Sir Philip really feels. I think he has more in his heart for you than you credit him with. But whatever you decide to do, you had better do it soon, because the whisper is that the troops march out in seven days.” She put her hand to her mouth. “Oh, Hilda, he’s only been here just over three months.” “It’s well into September now, and you know that Sir Philip needs to weaken Noirville’s hold on the land before winter.” “Hilda, I can’t bear it.” “Of course you can. Women always do. But you can’t let him go to fight believing that you only care about the estate and not him, can you?” “No—No. But how can I tell him?” A saucy grin spread across Hilda’s face. “If you rip his shirt off again, I’m pretty sure he’d understand your meaning.”

Philip stood with one elbow resting on the battlements. Whilst surveying the surrounding countryside, he was making a decision. He knew he would have to tell Rosawyn. However, because of her cool attitude towards him, he was unsure of her reaction. Would she care? Would she be relieved? Busy though he was, he couldn’t keep away from her. The need to make love to her was like a physical pain. He savoured every moment with her. When she cried out his name in passion, he’d pretend to himself that she loved him, and he wanted that feeling again and again. Now, time was fast running out. The first frost sparkled on the ground and Philip would soon have to go.


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Since he had arrived, he had been working hard to mould his own men together with the men at the castle into an effective fighting force—all the while knowing there was a spy in the camp. He’d played his hand close to his chest and now this was his dilemma. He didn’t want to leave without telling her, as it would only confirm her belief that he didn’t care for her. Although it was against every military instinct in his body, he resolved to let her know what was afoot. He made his way back down the winding stairs of the turret, through the great hall where he could hear the preparation for the evening meal and out the main door into the courtyard. He was unsure where she would be at this hour of the day. He glanced around. Men polished their armour and chatted by the well, and Thomas and Allan stood under the portcullis talking to a trader. But Rosawyn was nowhere to be seen. Then one of the kitchen hands came out of the panty, and Phillip asked him if he had seen his wife. On hearing she had gone to the chapel to pray, he strode off in that direction. He had to dip his head to pass through the chapel door. When his eyes had adjusted to the dim light, he saw Rosawyn sitting on the family pew, facing the altar. She was dressed in a pale blue surcote with a dark blue undercote, which perfectly suited her colouring. Her hair was partially bound in two thick plaits that reached below her hips. She was wearing a formal fine veil, anchored to her head by a gold band. Her beauty had affected him from the start, but now that he saw her with his heart and not just his eyes, she was beyond compare. On the brink of achieving all he’d struggled for, a chasm of aching loneliness opened at his feet. If he gained all the wealth he craved, the power he’d hungered for and the recognition his soul needed, they were nothing now without her love.

Rosawyn’s quiet prayer for Philip’s love and safety was cut short by the sound of metal on stone. She looked around and found him standing at the back of the chapel. Love and pride burst through her as her gaze rested on him. Dear God, she adored every last inch of him. He was so handsome in his unique, dark way.


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What will I do if he doesn’t love me and goes back to some other woman when he defeats Noirville? Although his eyes softened as their gaze rested on her, his expression was grave. She smiled at him more warmly than she had for some days. “I hope I’m not disturbing you,” he said. He came across to stand beside her and took her hand to kiss it. You’ve disturbed me from the moment I set eyes on you. “Not really. I was just thinking of my mother. She was married here in this chapel. Maeve and I were baptised and took our first communions here. I’d hoped to be married here one day with my family all around.” “I’m sorry.” “For what?” “Instead of the wedding you dreamt of, you married a stranger in a draughty chapel with no kin or celebration, just armed guards in attendance followed by a dash across the country.” Her heart melted. She had thought such things important, but now they were nothing compared to having Philip love her. He sat beside her and his thigh pressed against hers, setting her pulse racing. “Rosawyn, you may have heard we ride out in seven days.” She nodded, and a lump settled in her throat. Seven days, so soon, and he would be gone for God only knew how long. She bit her lip for a moment and then gave him a dazzling smile. “It’s not seven days.” He lowered his head near to her. “It’s tomorrow.” “Tomorrow! Why so soon?” “Because although I can’t find out who the spy is, the longer I delay, the more dangerous it becomes. I deliberately put the word around that we march in a week to mislead Noirville. I’m sorry to tell you like this, but I couldn’t risk the news getting out.” “I wouldn’t have told anyone.”


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“I know. I trust you with my life, but the fewer people who know the better. Things sometimes slip out by mistake.” He chewed the inside of his mouth. “I did think to send you to your father.” “I’m not going!” “How did I know you would say that?” Philip said with a wry smile. “But I want you to promise that, if you are in the slightest danger, you will go to him.” “But you will win.” “Please God, but skirmishes can be lost, even if the end battle is won. I cannot have my mind distracted by worrying about your welfare. Promise me you will obey me in this.” The closeness of his lips, the intoxicating maleness of him, coupled with the emotion of realising that instead of seven days in which to try to capture his heart she now had only several hours. She gave a sharp nod and his shoulders relaxed. “But I thought—” She stopped. A tear escaped and rolled down her cheek. Ripping away the mask of indifference she had forced herself to wear over the past week, she let her true feelings shine out as she gazed up at him. His arm shot around her waist. She dropped all pretence and clung to him. He lowered his mouth on hers for a long moment then released her lips and kissed his way around her face and then down her neck, his hand running up and down her back all the time. Tilting her backwards, he pressed himself on her while his hand started to lift her skirt upwards. “Philip. Philip!” She punched him on the shoulder to stop him running his hands up her leg. ”We are in the chapel.” She tried to sit upwards against his weight. “Mmm?” He had now let her skirts fall back and was dragging her clothing away from her shoulder. “Stop! For goodness sake, we are in the chapel.” “We are married.” He lifted his head and gazed at her, then ground his hips against her and jammed the hardness of his shaft into her thigh. “Yes, but Father Theobald will be in soon for Compline. We should go somewhere…private.”


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“That’s all very well for you,” Philip answered with an amused expression on his face. “But how am I supposed to walk back across the courtyard like this?” He glanced downwards, indicating the outline of his cock jutting out the front of his leggings. She suppressed a giggle. “Can’t we wait until it—er—settles down?” “It won’t settle down without you,” he said, guiding her hand onto his hardness. “I know.” He stood and swept her up in his arms. “It’s all right, I can walk,” she replied, sliding her arms around his neck and savouring the feel of his around her. He grinned and kissed her noisily. “So can I, now your dress is covering my embarrassment.” He kicked open the chapel door, strode purposely towards the main keep of the castle and up the stairs. ”Set supper in our chamber,” he shouted over his shoulder as he passed through the hall.

Carefully laying Rosawyn on the bed, Philip made short work of removing both her clothes and his own before sliding beside her. He eased one arm under her head and the other hand reached up to cup her breast. He grazed his thumb over the tip a couple of times before lowering his mouth onto hers. Her hand smoothed over his upper arms and then circled around his neck. She let out a little cry as he covered her with his body and parted her legs. She curled them around his waist and drew him to her. The head of his cock nestled between her labia, but he held back. He wanted her. By the stars, he wanted her, but also he wanted her to know everything in his heart. “Rosawyn, I—” She strained upward and stopped his words with her lips. He kissed her back. Her nails scored down his back while her heels anchored behind his thighs and pulled him closer. The tip of his penis slid into the opening to her womb and he bucked but stopped again. He tore his mouth free. “Rosawyn,” he started again.


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“I’m sorry.” She kissed his chin and then his cheek, then gazed up at him with tears hovering on her lower lids. He held her closer. “You’ve nothing to be—” She placed her index finger on his lips. “Don’t waste this precious time talking, just love me,” she said. A tear escaped and rolled down her cheek. Her lips closed over his again. His hand went back to her breast, pinching and tugging at the nipple as he knew she liked. A small moan escaped her. She trailed her fingers lightly down his spine then curled them around his buttock and pushed herself onto him. Impaled on his erection, her moist inner folds enveloped him. A jolt of passion surged up as his seed gathered in the pit of his shaft. He had to tell her now, as in a moment he would loose the ability to speak altogether. He pulled back his head and gazed down at her. “Rosawyn.” “Shhh!” She wriggled further onto his cock, robbing his mind of coherent thoughts. Her nails dug into his flesh and he bucked again. “Love me, Philip.” And he did, telling her with his body the emotions he could no longer speak. He ploughed into her, hard and swift, but she rose to meet him with each thrust. She screamed at him in her climax, drawing blood from his shoulders. He roared and bruised her neck with his teeth as his climax burst in her. All too swiftly, their coupling was over. He rested in her for a few moments then, rolling his hips into her again, he thrust himself erect once more and brought them to orgasm a second time, flooding her to the brim with his sperm. Without moving, she closed her eyes and slept. Philip rose carefully and ate some of their supper that had been left in the antechamber, watching Rosawyn all the while. He slid back into bed and, as midnight passed and morning approached, continued his vigil. He tried to remember every line of her face and curve of her body, because when he left the bed there was no knowing when he would see her again.


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He hugged her and she snuggled into his body. A small, sated smile crept across her face. He kissed her hair. A distant cockcrow called out and he kissed her lips gently. Her eyes blinked open. “My love, my own dear love. I must go.” “No, not yet.” Slowly he ran a finger along her jaw. She caught his hand and kissed his fingers. “Not yet.” He drew her into his arms and crushed her to him. “Kiss me.” She grabbed his hair and pressed her lips hard onto his. He untangled himself from her embrace then lowered her back onto the bed, straightened and, with every ounce of will power in his body, he dressed and left the chamber.


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Chapter Ten

William pulled his horse up next to Philip’s. “You look as if you lost a groat and found a shilling.” “I should think I do,” he answered. “After three weeks of constant riding and skirmishes, we have cleared most of the west of Noirville’s scum.” ”That we have. But you have to give Noirville some credit for your victory. Those Flemish bastards have behaved worse than the devil’s hordes let loose in paradise and done half the work for us,” William said. ”Despite the poor equipment and the sorry excuse for fighting men you found at Lostwithiel, the garrison is starting to look like a disciplined body of men.” “I would have liked a couple of weeks more to sharpen their teeth.” Philip rubbed the stubble on his chin and glanced around. “Where is Thomas?” ”There was rumour of soldiers in the valley ahead. He’s gone to reconnoitre.” As if he had heard his name, Thomas appeared through the bushes and galloped to them. ”They are in the next valley, my Lord, but one group was leaving and must be on the St. Neot’s road by now,” he said, pulling his horse up hard before them. “Can we overtake them?” Philip asked as others crowded around. “Yes, if you send most of the horsemen after them and the rest of us head into the valley.” Philip had fifty mounted knights and a hundred infantry. He could easily overcome a dozen or so foot soldiers. But what about Noirville’s other column spotted on the St. Neot’s road? Philip scratched his chin. “I don’t like splitting troops.” “I agree. But the opportunity is too good to miss,” William replied. It was a straightforward plan, but Philip’s instincts gnawed at him. He trusted his brain but he had never ignored his gut feeling. He took William aside. “Am I missing something?”


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William shrugged. “Maybe we shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth.” “Maybe I’m just getting old and cautious,” Philip said with a short laugh. “Or maybe you’re in love and have something to lose,” William told him and hit the mark square. Philip punched him lightly on the shoulder. “You’ll be telling fortunes next, like the other old women. I’d better get you a crystal ball from the Easter Fair.” “I don’t need a crystal ball to see your fortune, my Lord.” “I think it’s the troop that ran through Lower Tilford two weeks ago,” Thomas said, coming alongside. Philip’s brows pulled together and he drew his sword. “You go west after the main column, Will. I will attack the force Thomas found and swing around to join you, to finish off. How far away is our ally, Sir Henry Forwest?” “Still two days’ march from here,” William told him. “I hoped he would be nearer.” Philip’s mouth stretched into a humourless line. “I have to catch them.” “Aye, I know.” William whistled through his teeth. “God, I’ve seen savagery in the past. Which one of us here has not? But sweet Jesu. At Lower Tilford—” “My Lord, it is a small force and unprepared.” Thomas waved in the direction he had just come. Philip’s gut jumped again. This is ridiculous. He gripped the reins of his horse and signalled a few of his knights to come to his side. “Let’s go!” Philip kicked his horse forward and his chosen men gathered behind. The remaining force rallied to William’s shout. They had not gone very far when they heard the sounds of men through the undergrowth ahead. Philip raised his sword. “D’Apremont!” he yelled at the top of his lungs. Pandemonium broke out and he dug in his spurs. His mount jumped forward through the undergrowth. With a united roar, Philip and his men pounded after the scattering enemy.


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A whoosh sounded close to his right ear as a shower of arrows landed around them and two of his men dropped to the ground. “Take cover and return fire at will,” he bellowed as arrows whistled past his head. He swung his sword around, indicating he wanted his few followers to disperse. They obeyed and disappeared into the forest. Philip kicked his feet out of the stirrups to dismount and spied Thomas drawing his sword. “No time to stand and fight, Tom,” he shouted. Thomas spat on the ground. “This isn’t to fight. This is for you.” Thomas’ blade sliced through Philip’s thigh. Searing agony shot up his leg as he glanced down, and he saw blood oozing through his leggings. His head spun and he crashed onto the grass with the puzzle pieces that had jumbled in his mind falling into place in an instant. The arrow in William’s shoulder. The ambushed patrols and Thomas’ uncharacteristic agitation over the capture of Oswald Tiree. He tried to struggle up as all around him, despite his order to flee, his remaining men were fighting desperately to get to him. But Noirville had planned his ambush well and it was quite clear that his men were outnumbered three or four to one. Philip rolled over and, ignoring the pain burning through his leg, struggled onto one knee. “I order you to take cover,” he yelled and crashed back onto the earth. One by one they vanished from Philip’s sight as a rider emerged from the undergrowth and stopped in front of him. Black spots danced in Philip’s vision but he shook his head to remain conscious and stared up at Hugh Noirville sitting on his horse. “Well, my, my. If it isn’t my dear brother-in-law. How nice it is to meet you at last, and particularly in these circumstances.” He circled his hand. “Your men will soon be rounded up and hanged. Then we shall march on Lostwithiel Castle and I shall renew my acquaintance with the delightful Lady Rosawyn.” Philip glanced at Thomas, who stood by Noirville’s stirrup wiping his blade. “You traitorous bastard,” he spat out.


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Thomas stepped back, alarm registering on his face. Casting his gaze over the men surrounding Philip, his cocky expression returned. “You’re the bastard son of a whore,” Thomas said. “You came for money and you’ve been between sweet Rosawyn’s thighs for three months. I thought you’d like to thank me for that, at least.” “You’re a dead man,” Philip told him in a glacial tone. “Enough of this,” Noirville shouted. “Secure him across his horse. We have to get back to Bodmin Castle and find our guest some suitable quarters. A quick death is too good for him. I want to see him swing and then send his body back to King Henry to show that he’ll need to send more than a half-bred bastard to defeat a Noirville.” Two of Noirville’s soldiers dragged Philip to his feet, bound him and threw him across his horse. The party set off at a sharp pace towards the east. After a few miles, he passed out. He came back to consciousness slowly when the column stopped to water their mounts. He hung from the horse while it drank in the river. The pain from his wounded thigh was agony and he had almost drifted back into blackness when he heard his name whispered. Philip raised his head painfully to see where the voice was coming from. He squinted into the leaves and branches next to him and spotted the scout Ozzie, covered in mud, hiding under low hanging foliage. “Philip, begging your pardon for the familiarity, sir,” whispered the Cornish voice from a bush. “’Ow’s yer faring?” Philip remained motionless but whispered, “Not too well, my friend, but heartened to hear you.” “What are your orders, sir?” “Warn Will of the trap.” “Done.” “Noirville is going to Lostwithiel. Get her ladyship out and to her father.” “Aye, sir. But I cannot say what her ladyship will do when she has news of your capture,” Ozzy said. Blackness still threatened to engulf Philip but he struggled against it. “If she argues, remind her that she gave her word she would go.”


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Chapter Eleven

Rosawyn made her way up to the battlements with one of Philip’s cloaks wrapped around her. With her hair blowing behind her, she looked north to where Philip was. The grey landscape matched her emotions. It was late October and he had been away for almost a month. Although it had not rained much in the past weeks, the temperature had plummeted. Her gaze settled on a column of dust some two miles away. She ran down to find Simon, who stood talking to Allan in the middle of the courtyard. “Have you seen it?” she asked, breathless from her run. “Yes.” Simon paused and scratched at his ear lobe. “And I don’t like it. Sir Philip’s last report said nothing about coming back.” ”Maybe he has changed his mind.” She peered at the cloud of dust, willing it to be Philip and his troops. “I think not.” The smile left her face. “I’m sorry, my Lady, but Sir Philip is not one to change his mind.” “We must count ourselves fortunate, my Lady,” said Allan. “The harvest was plentiful this year. If Sir Philip hadn’t rescued you from St. Nevis’ and recaptured th—” “How did you know I was at St. Nevis’, Allan?” ”You told Thomas.” ”No, I never,” she exclaimed. Simon’s eyes narrowed. “When did Thomas come here?” he asked Allan. “Five years ago,” Allan answered. “So five years ago your Earl was forced into exile and Thomas turned up,” Simon said. “He said he was with the E—Empress in Anjou,” Allan spluttered out. “He told me he was too young.” Simon stabbed his index finger at Allan’s breastbone. “What have you told Thomas?”


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Rosawyn raised her hand. “It hardly matters now with God-only–knows-who bearing down on us.” She gave the old steward a withering look. “You are relieved of your duties and Sir Philip will deal with you on his return. And God help you when he does.” Rosawyn felt her features settle into a determined expression. “Get the people inside and close up the castle.” She and Simon went back onto the battlements and watched the approaching column of men. Hilda joined them. Was this a setback? Had a skirmish been lost? Rosawyn clasped her hands together as the leader halted his troops just out of arrow range, far beyond the edge of the moat. He took off his helmet. Her head swam and she gripped on fast to the stone of the wall to retain her balance. There across the moat sat Hugh Noirville, his fair hair stirring in the breeze, his deep-set eyes scanning the battlements. He cupped his hand to his mouth. ”My dear sister-in-law, it pains me to be the bearer of bad tidings,” he called out in a jolly voice. “Your dear but soon-to-be departed husband, Sir Philip, the Saracen Bastard, was captured with the assistance of our loyal friend here.” Noirville indicated Thomas sitting on the horse beside him. “Scum,” Simon spat. Noirville shouted again. “I advise you to surrender now, my dear. No harm will come to you or the castle.” He leaned forward on the saddle. “Otherwise, when the castle falls, I will hang your people from the battlements.” Rosawyn studied her brother-in-law for a moment or two then took a deep breath. ”You can sit outside this castle all winter as far as I’m concerned.” Her voice quivered but she continued. “And your victory over my husband will be short lived. He will return to send you and the hell spawn who follow you straight to Hades. Any hanging to be done will be done by him.” Hilda took Rosawyn’s hand and squeezed it. “Well done. Sir Philip will be proud of you,” she whispered. “Brave words, my dear, brave words. But will they stand after a winter of hunger? We will see.” Noirville signalled for his men to circle the castle and make camp.


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She turned and glanced around. “Well.” She studied the two before her. “We know two things. One, Philip is not dead.” Her voice quivered again. “And while Noirville is here, he can’t be ravaging the countryside. Now let’s see what we have in the castle and think how we can summon help.” Philip captured. Is he wounded? And if so, how badly? An image of him smiling at her swam into Rosawyn’s mind. He needed her and she would not let him down. Forcing her legs to do their job, she descended the spiral stone stairs to the courtyard with Simon and Hilda behind her. They crossed the square and stopped by the castle well. Rosawyn punched her fist into the other palm. “There is no immediate threat as the walls are strong, but we must be vigilant. We have discovered one traitor and there may be others. We cannot be too careful. And we must get out word of our situation” “I agree, my Lady, we just have to think of a way,” Simon said. “Couldn’t we lower someone over the wall under cover of darkness?” she asked, leaning against the stonework of the well. Simon shook his head. “Too many men out there.” “Maybe someone survived the battle and has gone for help.” “Possibly, my Lady, but we can’t just sit on that hope.” She paced across the courtyard. “If only there was some way in which we could get someone—” An echoing sound drifted up from the well behind them. Rosawyn’s jaw dropped as a hollow-eyed, dirt-covered creature hauled itself over the edge of the well. “Ozzy!” Simon laughed. “My God. I’ve heard of throwing a corpse down a well to spoil the water, but I’ve never heard of one climbing out again.” “I’m guessing that a corpse would look better than I do at present,” Ozzy replied, staggering over the low wall. “Bloody lucky there has been such a dry spell and the water so low,” he said, sitting on the ground. Peggy dashed out from the kitchen and thrust a tankard at him.


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Ozzy swallowed a couple of mouthfuls. “We were betrayed by that turd Thomas. I followed Sir Philip long enough to see he was being taken to Bodmin.” “Did many escape? And what of William?” asked Simon. “Enough escaped and are lying low on the land. William is with them. He will call them together and take them south to await orders.” “And what of Sir Philip?” Rosawyn asked. Ozzy gave her a pitying look. “I won’t lie to ya’, my Lady. He was not faring so well, but he’s young and healthy. If he is rescued he might live.” Might! The ground at her feet swayed upwards for a few seconds then settled to its original place. “He orders you go to your father. Above all he wants you safe, my Lady.” Ozzy finished his ale and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “How?” Simon asked. ”Well, now that Noirville has surrounded the castle it will have to be the same way as I got in. I know in the usual way of things, young ladies do not lower themselves down wells, but Sir Philip made me swear to carry out his order. ” Rosawyn said nothing. “My Lady, you must leave. I’ll come down the well with you, so you needn’t be afraid,” Ozzy told her, giving her an encouraging smile. “We will have to get to Exeter. If we follow the stream to the mouth of the estuary, the fishermen loyal to you father will ferry us to the Ex river and we can pick up some mounts at the Abbey. But you must get out of here.” “I agree, I must get out of here,” Rosawyn replied, turning to face them. Ozzy and Simon sighed with relief. “But I have no intention of leaving Cornwall with Sir Philip in prison and his forces hunted across the county.” “But, my—” Simon started. She raised her hand. “We don’t have time to argue. If it rains tonight, our only route out of the castle will vanish. I’m leaving today, along with you,” she pointed at Ozzy, “and as many of the garrison and local men as you can spare, Simon.”


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Simon and Ozzy stared at her. “You and I will join William and rescue Sir Philip from Bodmin. I know of Father Martin, the priest of Bodmin, he and my father are old comrades. He has led the people in their resistance ever since Noirville took control of my father’s lands. He also has access to the prison as the castle’s confessor.” ”My Lady, this is madness!” Simon protested. She ignored his interruption. “We will find Sir Philip’s men and hide them throughout the county on farms and in villages. It will seem as if they have vanished. Then Sir Philip can lead a counter offensive. We have many loyal subjects in the county. ” Ozzy was wiping the flat of his hands down his leggings. “My Lady, his Lordship was most insistent that you escape Cornwall and go to your father. I can’t think what he would say if he knew you were thinking of embarking on such an enterprise.” Rosawyn could and she didn’t want to dwell on it. She turned to Simon. “If we can rescue him, will he be able to defeat Noirville?” Simon nodded. “Without a doubt.” She smiled and then spoke to them all. “In four hours I am climbing down that rope to rescue my husband, whether any of you join me or not.” She paused and glanced down the deep shaft of the well. Yes, of course she was afraid, but far more afraid that Philip might die. He was her life, it was as simple as that. She cleared her throat and continued. “I will go alone if I have to, but if you think I will allow my Lord to die in some stinking cell or at the end of a rope, then you are very much mistaken. Now if you will excuse me, I have to pack.”


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Chapter Twelve

Rosawyn sat on the edge of one of the large boulders strewn across the moor, near to Sollan Tor. Every bone in her body ached. When she had said she would rescue Philip, little did she know that over the course of the next three days she would be soaked to the skin, cold to the point of unconsciousness, faint with hunger and footsore. She had never before slept entire nights outdoors without proper shelter or food. The whole experience was new and frightening, and she was heartily glad they had reached the rendezvous point. William and the remnants of his troops were already camped at the Tor when Ozzy and she arrived that morning, a day late. William had now sent the troops to the various villages and homesteads, south towards Truro. Despite her determination to be ready to continue on their journey at a moment’s notice, Rosawyn slid off the bolder and nestled next to it, wrapped in her cloak. She must have dozed off to asleep, for Ozzy gently shook her awake. “Time to go, my Lady.” She dragged her screaming muscles and aching bones up from the ground and prepared to march with William, Ozzy and a small band of men. As they crested the hill, William explained that Ozzy had located a safe hideout, a cottage near the coast towards St. Austell, where they could take Philip after his rescue. They trudged on for what seemed to be an eternity, finally arriving at the home of Edward Dodds in the small hamlet of St. Wenn’s, five miles outside Bodmin. “Welcome to you all. Especially you, my Lady, and God bless you and your father,” Bessie, his wife, said as she served them hot stew. Dodd’s face glowed in the light from the fire. “I expect Father Martin at first light. He has access to the dungeon and if any can help us keep our heads on our shoulders, it’s him. He’ll find Sir Philip and no mistake. He knows the castle like the back of his hand and most of the guards as well. Now I suggest we get some rest.”


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Father Martin arrived early next morning. He was a thickset man in his mid-forties, of average height. He stooped as he entered the homestead and searched the room until his light-grey eyes lit on Rosawyn. He strode towards her looking more like a red-headed berserker warrior than a servant of God. Rosawyn had to stop herself from taking a step back. He took her hand and bowed over it, showing a neatly shaved tonsure. “I fought with your father in Thirty-nine. Fine man, your father, fine man. I’m sorry to hear his health is not of the best at present.” He set his head to one side. Despite the jagged scar that ran from his hairline to his chin, his expression was soft. “I always told Maurice you’d be a beauty.” Rosawyn blushed. Father Martin rubbed his hands together. “Let’s get to work.” They huddled around the rough-hewn table. “I heard there was a new prisoner, so I made it my business to find out what I could,” Father Martin explained. “Have you seen him? Was it Philip?” she burst out. “No, I haven’t, but it is Sir Philip, a tall man with dark skin and black hair. Wounded and awaiting Noirville’s pleasure.” Rosawyn let out a long breath. “Thank God we have found him alive.” “Hold fast, my Lady,” Father Martin told her. “Finding him is not the difficult part. It’s the getting of him that is the devil’s game.” He placed one of his large, bear-like hands over hers. “He’s in the dungeon under the north tower.” A smile spread across Rosawyn’s face. “That’s the cell with the tunnel leading to it. It comes out in St. Mary’s, doesn’t it?” “You’re right. In the old St. Mary’s, the tunnel did indeed have its concealed exit inside the church. But that church was partly burnt down twenty years ago by King Stephen when he captured the town.” “But the church was rebuilt, so the passage is still there?” she asked. The priest nodded slowly. “But the old church was round and the passage came up by the North wall, just inside. The present church is designed as a cross, at the Bishop’s order. So the opening from the cell is now just behind the new church.”


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“The entrance comes out in the market place?” Rosawyn asked. “I’m afraid it does, my Lady.” “Then we’ll have to get him out at night.” William bit hard on his nails. “But at night the gate is closed and we need to escape the town immediately before they find Sir Philip gone.” Father Martin leaned across the table. “We will have to get him out on market day. That part of the town is where the cattle for sale are corralled. We will use the cattle sale to cover our activities and pray we can get him above ground and into a cart before we’re seen.” The white light of the candles danced shadows over the priest’s war-scarred face. “It won’t be easy, but it is the only way. There are two other problems,” he added. “What?” William asked. “The passage has a concealed hatch in the cell that opens from the inside.” “So send word to Sir Philip to open it.” “And that’s the second problem. He is too sick to understand any message we might send or to open the trap door, which means that someone else will have to get into the cell and open the hatch—” Martin stopped. “How sick is he?” Rosawyn asked, forcing away the image of Philip dying in a cold cell. “When he arrived at the castle, he was not so bad. Beaten and starved, yes, but he is in the prime of life and healthy. The young take a lot of killing. Unfortunately, he has a festering wound in his thigh, and unless we can get him out in the next day or two, it will kill him.” Dead. Philip dead. The urge to shriek and run from the hut rose up in Rosawyn’s chest. With great effort, she remained seated with her hands woven together in front of her. “We must not let that happen,” she said in a forceful tone. Father Martin squeezed her hands. “We will not. Now this is what I suggest…”


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Chapter Thirteen

Philip knew he wasn’t dead. He was in too much pain. That he could deal with. But another sort of agony raged though him, and that he couldn’t. He had been thoroughly beaten by Noirville’s men before they slung him into the cell. He hurt everywhere, but as far as he could tell, although he had a couple of sore ribs and swelling across the back of his left hand, there were no major bones broken. His jailers had fed and watered him regularly and, foul though the food was, he ate it to regain his strength. Noirville, it seemed, wanted him alive, for a while at least. The wound on his thigh had turned green and then black and now had angry red streaks running away from it. After years on the battlefield, Philip recognised the signs of corruption. Alone in the damp cell he pondered many things. His life in France on his father’s estate. His mother and her battle to ensure his place in his father’s world. He thought about his rise through army ranks, firstly for the Empress and latterly for Henry. He remembered William and the band of men who had followed him devotedly—God only knew where they were now. But unsurprisingly, his mind dwelt on Rosawyn. Although images of them entwined played constantly in his head, he also pictured her working about the castle, helping in the infirmary, talking with the other women and playing catch with the children in the yard. He thought of her laughing at the stories told during the communal suppers in the great hall. He recalled the quiet evenings when they sat together by the fire as she sewed his undershirts. The pain of knowing that he might never again see her in this life caused tears to sting the back of his eyes for the first time since he was nine. Suddenly the door to the cell opened and light pierced his vision. He struggled to rise but fell back. Someone knelt next to him and laid a rough hand on his forehead. The light vanished, leaving darkness once more. Then the familiar prayers he had heard many times on battlegrounds, in chapels and in palaces sounded above him.


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They’ve called the priest to shrive me. He lay listening to the man recite the liturgy for the dying. He recognised a Norman accent. Was it his father come to see him to the next life? And if it was, when did he become fluent in Church Latin? He dragged his eyes open and gazed up at the black, hooded figure crouching over him. There was a scraping sound and he again attempted to right himself, but could not. ”Tell Rosawyn I love her,” he tried to shout as the voice droned above him. He realised he’d made no sound. Although fever burned him, he shivered. Voices whispered around him but it was too dark to see clearly the shapes that drifted in and out of his vision. Hands grabbed at him and excruciating pain shot through him as blackness closed in around him. Hands held onto him and lifted him from the bench. They’re taking me for execution, he thought as he lay between worlds. However, the hands were gentle and the voices soft as they whispered his name. He felt himself lifted up and then he was squeezed through a tight area. The pain surged back and the blackness blotted out everything else.

Rosawyn sprang into action as she spied the wagon coming around the corner. Up on the running board sat the familiar figures of William and Father Martin. As the cart drew up, she leapt onto the back and pushed off the covers. She gasped in horror at the sight before her. Philip was almost unrecognisable as the man who had kissed her goodbye only a few weeks before. “The guards will be changing by now and we have to put some distance between us and the castle before they discover Sir Philip is missing,” Father Martin told them. She nodded and the farm cart trundled off. She threw a cloak over Philip to protect him from the elements, then sat next to him, holding his hand. The small party ground along on the frozen ruts of the moor land track, skirting the quiet hamlets and villages that nestled in the barren landscape. Just as the winter light faded from the sky, William glanced back and spotted a group of riders on the distant horizon heading their way.


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Father Martin urged his horse forward. ”They must have found the cell empty. Let’s head for the bridge.” She lent over Philip and dabbed his burning forehead. “We’ll have to hide him.” She pointed to the bridge ahead. “Under there! I’ll stay with him and you come back for us after they have gone.” She scrambled down from the backboard while William and Martin manoeuvred Philip down the bank. Feeling the chill air drifting up from the stream, Rosawyn bit her lip. To give a body with a raging fever a dousing with icy water could prove fatal, but then so could letting a fever run unabated. She had seen him run at full tilt in full armour on more than one occasion, so knew his heart would probably be able to cope with the shock. And it would cool his body. It was a risk to put Philip in the stream like this, but did she have a choice with Noirville racing towards them? If she didn’t hide him soon, it wouldn’t matter because they would all be captured. So with a silent prayer, Rosawyn plunged into the water and received Philip from the two men. Bracing herself against the struts underneath the bridge in the fast-flowing, ice-cold stream, she held him close.

Philip crashed back into the present and the first thing he saw was Rosawyn. Icy water flowed around him and she stared upwards at a stone roof. He could make no sense of where he was, but he didn’t care. He was with Rosawyn and that was all he needed to know. He gazed up at her averted face. Her arms wrapped around him, holding him safe. He opened his mouth to speak and a faint whisper came out. “Rosawyn.” She didn’t seem to hear above the rush of the water. He tried again. “Rosawyn.” Her head snapped down, causing an escaped tendril of wet hair to fall over her shoulder. “My love, you must keep quiet,” she whispered.


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In contrast to the cold of the water, her breath was warm and full of life against his skin. He nodded, trusting her completely. He smiled up at her and she smiled back. Joy burst forth in his chest. Although he knew he teetered on the brink of death, he had never felt more alive. Rosawyn. “Could you loop your arm around this root here?” she whispered near to his ear, nodding toward the bank, “to help me.” He flexed his arm and winced as the pain shot through it, but somehow he looped it through to relieve the pressure on her. “I want to dunk you right under, to clean you. Will you let me?” He nodded and smiled again. “Anything, my love.” Adjusting her position, she tipped him back into the stream and held him under the water for a few moments. Her hand combed through his hair a couple of times, then she brought him back to the surface. He gasped at the air. She kissed him swiftly on the forehead. He stretched upwards, determined to capture her mouth before she was out of reach. Tipping his head back, he managed to brush her lips lightly with his and their gazes met for a brief moment. A noise sounded, and she glanced fearfully towards the edge of the arch. With his head cradled against her chest, he could hear the frantic pounding of her heart. Danger! She was in danger and he couldn’t protect her. The danger of the situation cleared the last remnants of disorientation from his mind. He tried to right himself but his legs wouldn’t respond. Terror shot through him. How was he to save Rosawyn if he couldn’t stand and fight? He fixed his eyes on the edge of the stonework as the sound of someone sliding down the bank echoed under the arch. Philip tried to find his footing, fearing that one of Noirville’s lackeys had found them, when William’s familiar face appeared. Rosawyn’s stance relaxed and Philip let out a long breath. Weariness stole over him. “William?” he murmured as others joined them under the bridge and supported his weight.


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“All clear,” William told him, hooking him under the arms and dragging him out into the gathering dark. “Father Martin sent them on their way with a likely tale. Now let’s get you out of the drink.” Rosawyn dodged to one side and, with his remaining strength, he grasped hold of her hand. “My love, I want—” “Hush, hush. Save your strength. We still have a long way to go.”

Chewing her bottom lip, Rosawyn watched William and Father Martin manhandle Philip into the back of the cart. She scrambled up after him. Philip’s teeth started to chatter as, with William’s help and a great deal of struggling, Rosawyn stripped off his upper clothing and wrapped him securely in a cloak. Although his cooling in the stream had lowered his fever, if the wintry air chilled his body any more it could be fatal. As she dried herself as best she could, Rosawyn studied his skin by the last of the fading light. It was an unnatural grey and glistened with beads of perspiration on his forehead. In addition, the unhealthy odour from the wound on his thigh told her that it was killing him as surely as an arrow through the heart. Although he had become lucid in the water, his eyes were now unfocused as he slipped back into unconsciousness. His shivering subsided a little as warmth crept back into his body, but there were fresh beads of sweat on his forehead. “I’m afraid we can’t take Sir Philip much further as he is. I will have to clean his wound and cool his fever. If it returns there is every chance it will kill him in an hour of two if I don’t attend to him,” she said. “Where can we take him? Noirville’s men are scouring the countryside.” William glanced down at Philip. “The Tollymores’ farm is in the next valley. They are loyal and I know they will help,” she replied. A vision of the Tiree family sprang into her mind. What if the Tollymores had also switched sides? Philip moaned and she dashed her uncertainty aside. She had no choice. If she didn’t get him somewhere soon, he would die. “Snap on the horses, every second we delay puts him in further danger.”


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After an agonising half-hour, the wagon came to a halt in the small yard of the Tollymores’ farm, setting dogs barking. Ezra Tollymore came out brandishing a scythe, followed by his eldest son carrying a lantern. “What do you be wanting of us— My Lady!” Ezra shot forward to greet her, but as he caught sight of Philip his expression grew dour. “Best get him in.” Philip barely roused as William, Father Martin and Ozzy carried him from the wagon. “Don’t be alarmed, Trudy,” Ezra told his wife who stood at the other end of the room with their other children. “Lady Rosawyn needs help.” Ezra struggled to assist the men as they swung Philip onto the large table in the centre of the room. Trudy motioned her eldest daughter towards the cauldron simmering on the open fire. “Get the men some food, Mary. I’ll help her ladyship.” Trudy lifted the lid of a wooden chest in the corner. “What do you need, my Lady?” “Warm water, bandages and some lemon balm, if you have it, for this wound. But what I most urgently need is willow powder to bring his fever down. I haven’t nearly enough with me.” Rosawyn started to cut Philip’s leggings away. One of the younger children brought a lamp nearer and she gave the girl a grateful smile. She cut halfway up the legging then, grasping each side firmly, she ripped it apart, exposing the wound. Those around her gasped. The flesh surrounding the wound was raw and red. Out of the centre oozed noxious green pus streaked with dark blood, and mauve streaks travelled downwards under his skin towards his ankle. “Thank God,” she whispered under her breath. The men gave her a querying look. “If those,” she pointed at the purple lines stretching down Philip’s calf, “had been running up, I doubt he would live. Ill-humour that runs up from a wound overwhelms the body.” Tears formed in her eyes and she didn’t stop them. “Then he will live?” William asked. “I don’t know. I don’t know. It is in God’s hands.” A sob escaped her.


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Father Martin put a comforting arm around her shoulders. “As are we all.” Rosawyn wiped her eyes with the back of her hands and sniffed. Then she took out the small parcel of herbs and potions Hilda had packed in her travel bag. Carefully she uncorked a small vial of poppy juice and measured some into a beaker. There wasn’t enough but it would do for now. She then fished out her inadequate parcel of willow bark and turned to Trudy, who waited beside her with a small pot of hot water. She dropped the dry bark into it and stirred. “I need all the willow bark you have,” she told Trudy, who nodded. “And some marjoram too.” “I’m afraid I have none, my Lady. Will yarrow do?” “Yes, to start with.” Rosawyn judged that the willow had been steeped for long enough and poured the cloudy liquid into the beaker of poppy juice, then forced the mixture between Philip’s grey lips. Then she stripped the rest of his filthy clothes from him. She washed and cleaned him, lovingly patting dry the bruises and lacerations that covered his body before dabbing them with salve of plantain and fat that she used mainly for stings, but would soothe the scraped skin. After she had finished, she put her hand back on Philip’s forehead. The willow tea had done its job and the fever, though still high, had abated a little. The poppy juice was also having its intended effect. He had stopped moaning and jerking at every touch, and when she lifted his hand, his fingers didn’t grip hers painfully. She turned her attention to the wound on his thigh. Having already cleaned its surface of dried blood and dirt, she could now take a closer look. The sword had passed in at an angle and, although the original wound was no wider than the blade that made it, under the surface there was an unhealthy swelling. She pressed it gently with her finger and pus oozed forth. Her mouth went grim. “I’m afraid I’ll have to cut into the wound. There is a great deal of ill humour under the skin and, if I don’t release it, it will putrefy and poison the blood. Ozzy, William. I will need you to hold him while I cut.” Both men took their stations by the table and she wiped Philip’s leg again.


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“Ezra, have you got some of your home brew?” she asked. He nodded and went to fetch a stone jar from by the fire. Rosawyn poured its contents over the gaping wound. Philip murmured softly as the spirit washed over the raw flesh. Carefully she picked up Ezra’s sharpest knife. Standing above Philip, she planted her feet firmly and took hold of his leg with her left hand. She looked heavenward for a second, said a silent prayer then placed the point of the knife at the edge of the swelling. Setting her mouth in a firm line, she sliced down into the wound, releasing a great bubble of pus and blood. Philip moaned, and William and Ozzy tightened their grip as he tried to raise himself. The ill humour poured out, and all around the table except Rosawyn turned away sharply, wrinkling their noses. “Quick, Mary, wash it again with the spirit,” Rosawyn instructed. Mary did and Rosawyn peered back at her handiwork. Gently, with a clean cloth, she wiped the remaining pus, blood and debris from the bed of the wound. “Hold him again,” she commanded, and William and Ozzy resumed their grip on Philip’s shoulder and leg. She continued to remove the dead, ravaged flesh with the sharp blade then wiped the wound clean as she finished. Washing the blood away, she inspected her handiwork. Blood flowed freely where she’d pared the dead flesh back. Her cutting had left the edges pink and healthy. Satisfied with her efforts, Rosawyn mixed the yarrow with lard and packed it into the wound before bandaging it in place tightly. She slumped down on the milking stool beside her. She wiped her forehead and then washed her hands in the bowl of water Mary brought for her. Trudy handed her a bowl of stew. ”That tastes good. I will need some for Sir Philip,” she said after sipping a few mouthfuls. Mary brought another bowl. Rosawyn finished her own dinner and spooned a small amount of the hot broth into Philip’s mouth. He resisted at first, turning his head to the side, but Rosawyn persisted. Once he got the meaty taste he swallowed it eagerly.


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”That’s better,” Rosawyn said, and her shoulders relaxed. She made him finish the stew, checked the bandage then laid the back of her hand on his forehead. “What’s wrong?” William asked. “His fever is building again and it’s too soon for more willow tea.” She tore the covers off him. “I’ll have to cool him. Trudy, get me some water and cloths.” Rosawyn opened the window above where Philip lay. The cool night air filled the room while she and Trudy cooled his raging body. Trudy peered into her remedy box. “We have some valerian if you want it.” “Yes, that should quiet him for a while. Have you some calendula to strengthen his heart and blood?” “I do. But I doubt I have enough willow powder to last more than a day or two.” ”Don’t fret, my Lady, I’ll send my lad across to the Polls to fetch what they have,” Ezra told her and he beckoned his son over. “Take Star, she’s our fastest pony, son.” He glanced at Philip, who lay grey and convulsing on the table, dark blood already oozing through the fresh bandage on his leg. “Then go on to the Cumbers and Peaches and get theirs as well.”


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Chapter Fourteen

Rosawyn rested with her back against the wooden upright and gazed across at Philip. He slept peacefully on the bed. They had been in hiding for eight days. Three days had passed before they had risked moving Philip from the Tollymores’ farm to a safer hiding place. When they left she had sobbed with gratitude as the Tollymores helped William and Ozzy carry him to the cart. Their son had scoured the county and gathered yarrow, willow bark and sage and even travelled to St. Ives’ monastery to get the marigold paste and poppy juice that Rosawyn would need in the weeks ahead. Her gaze fell back onto Philip. In truth, over the past week her eyes had hardly left him, as she just watched him and loved him as he made a slow recovery. She’d wept with relief when his fever finally abated, knowing it meant he would live. His handsome face was calm and rested. The red flush of fever had gone, and he lay cool and peaceful, his arm lightly draped across his leg. Since they’d arrived at the cottage, she’d spent most of her waking hours caring for him. After bidding William and Ozzy farewell on the second day, she’d stripped and washed him entirely again, trying not to focus on the mass of bruises all over him but on the fact they were healing. She spent hours lovingly combing the tangles out of his hair. She cleaned and changed the dressings on his thigh wound. Although this was still livid, the wound bed was pink and free from pus and already the flesh was beginning to bind together. She judged he had lost a great deal of blood during his capture, so she wanted to rebuild his strength. Hilda maintained that food was the best medicine, so she followed her teacher’s advice and fed him constantly. The day after William and Ozzy left, Philip’s fever had returned, although less ferociously than before. Rosawyn had spent her time tending and cooling him. Once, when it was at its height, she had heard him call out in a strange language, although most of the time he just mumbled, but he quietened when she held him. Even when his fever lowered a little again, she still found herself fully employed. Local supporters, loyal to her father, regularly


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brought her food stores, leaving them in safe hiding places. She collected these each morning and cooked them, after which she changed Philip’s dressing and cleaned the cottage. Leaving the pot at the edge of the fire simmering with the main meal of the day, Rosawyn gave herself a little time to rest, and her gaze fell on him again. Although he had suffered terribly at Noirville’s hands, he was young, and now that his body was fed and rested it was beginning to repair itself. What a body. She’d been too busy keeping him alive to dwell on carnal thoughts. But now she found herself looking forward to him regaining his strength. She allowed herself the pleasure of studying him as he lay naked with just a blanket over his loins. Her eyes travelled up his muscular, hair-covered leg sticking out from under the blanket, to his flat stomach and broad chest with its mass of curls, across his shoulder and arm which, though at rest, were etched with veins and corded muscles. Her gaze returned to where his shaft lay hidden by the edge of the fabric, and a small smile crossed her lips. Thankfully, that part of his body was fully recovered. In fact, it recovered first and rose whenever she laid her hands on him. A syrupy feeling spread through her and the pulsing that started at the apex of her legs each time she thought about Philip started again. To lessen her torture, she focused on Philip’s face, now covered with a full beard. It suited him, but she decided she preferred him without it. Over the past few days, the pallor of his skin had been replaced by his usual deep tan. In repose, his sensual lips turned upward slightly at the edges as if he dreamt of something pleasant. The excitement along the length of her pussy intensified and fanned down towards the raised bud of her clit. Rosawyn slid her hand over it, the ache intensified and her muscles tightened. This would not do. Pleasant though it was, she had to catch a moment or two of sleep before she had to tend to his wound again. Rosawyn shut her eyes and, with some effort, put the images of them making love from her mind. She started to mentally run through and list the different herbs in her satchel and eventually dozed off to sleep.


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Philip woke with a start and stared straight ahead. He blinked twice and put his hand out to brace himself upright. He glanced around. The bracken ceiling above him was so low that he doubted he could stand upright, and the walls around him were of the poorest kind of wattle and daub. Where am I? How did I get here? He glanced down. He was naked but half-covered by a blanket. A bubbling sound caught his attention and he glanced over to where a pot simmered on the fire. The strong meaty smell carried in the wisps of steam curling from it made his stomach growl with hunger. He turned his head slightly and his eyes fixed on Rosawyn sitting beside him, asleep. Her head was resting against the roof support, tilted back slightly and to one side. Her hair, bound into two thick plaits, hung down across her body and was loose at the ends. She was wearing a threadbare, pale green dress he had never seen before. She was slimmer and had a smudge of soot across her cheek. He gazed at the woman he loved for a long moment. She had never looked so beautiful. In Bodmin, the pain of knowing he would never see her again had unmanned him. But now she was here. He kept very still so as not to disturb her and studied her. His gaze strayed to the rise and fall of her round breasts above the neckline of her bodice. His cock rose in anticipation. Then his memory started to work. William must have rescued him somehow from Bodmin and now he was in hiding. He glanced down at the bandage on his thigh. Yes, he remembered now. The ambush, the wound, Thomas’ betrayal and being captured by Noirville. He had been ill too, near to dying in fact. He studied her again and his lips pressed into two straight lines. Why was she here in a tumbledown cottage and not safe with her father in London? What a bloody stupid question! It was quite clear that she was with him in this Godforsaken hovel looking after him because he was unable to care for himself. She was here, in danger because he’d been too stupid to see that Thomas was the traitor. If he hadn’t been so blinded by his dislike of Allan Bowhand he would have seen the truth.


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He studied her and love spread through him. She had forgone her own comfort and put herself in deadly danger to care for him. Could that mean she loved him? Joy spread through him for a moment then anxiety replaced it. What if Noirville found them like this? He pointed his toe and pain seared up his leg. Philip bit his lip until the agony subsided. He cursed silently. In his present, useless state he could do nothing to stop that bastard from doing whatever he liked to Rosawyn. Philip’s gaze darted over her peaceful face as images of Noirville hurting her flashed though his mind. Guilt cut through him. He had asked her to trust him and he had betrayed that trust. As he watched her dozing against the post, his jaw clenched. Although without her he knew he would probably already be dead, at least if she’d gone to London as she’d promised, she would not have to suffer for his lack of intelligence He shifted his position. She woke and jumped across to tend him. “Why, in God’s name, aren’t you in London?” he barked before he could stop himself.

Rosawyn knew that the first thing Philip would ask was why she was still in Cornwall and she had rehearsed her reply. But as he glared up at her, all her arguments fled her mind. “I would have thought that was obvious. I stayed here to rescue you, rally your men and keep you safe,” she told him firmly. He shifted his position and winced. She slid the roll of blanket under his leg to a better position. He brushed her hand away as she straightened the coverlet. “And who, might I ask, will keep you safe?” He changed position again and his face contorted into an agonised grimace. “Stop moving about, you’ll open your wound again,” she told him firmly. She lent over and smoothed away a damp lock of hair. He held her gaze then fell back as guilt overwhelmed him. “That’s better,” she said, getting up and fetching a bowl of stew for him.


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His gaze followed her as she walked the short distance to the cauldron and back. She knelt beside him. “I did think you might be a little more civil,” she said giving him a frosty stare. ”My God, Rosawyn, what possessed you?” he asked and then stared up at the sooty ceiling for a long moment with his lips pressed tightly together. His furious gaze returned to her. “Don’t you realise the danger you’re in, woman? You should have ridden straight for London.” “I would have though it was fortunate for you that I di—” “The one bloody comfort I had when I was lying rotting in that cell was that you were safe. But I wake up to find that instead of going to your father, you have been living wild in the country in God only knows what danger.” Rosawyn pressed her lips together and her eyes narrowed. “Eat this,” she shoved the bowl under his nose so sharply that the stew sloshed around the rim. “And, by the Cross, if you weren’t so ill, you’d be wearing it.” She gave him another withering glare then left him to eat his supper. She went back to the fire. She took hold of the ladle and stirred it furiously around in the pot. Ungrateful, arrogant selfish pig, she thought, remembering how she hadn’t slept the first week because she feared she might awake and find him dead, and how she had sponged him down for hours to keep the fever at bay. I should have left him in that stinking cell. She glanced across at him. He had finished his dinner and was lying back with his head resting on the beam behind him. There was a very faint beading of sweat on his brow and blood had oozed through his bandage. As she studied him, he opened his eyes and glanced down at his leg. He flexed his foot and let out a gasp as his hands clenched the fur he sat on. His face turned grey and his head fell back again. She collected the fresh bandages from the small chest and turned towards him. “Don’t you understand the danger you’re in?” he asked as she sat down cross-legged opposite him. She unrolled her dressings slowly. “I didn’t think of the danger. Only of you,” she said.


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He leant forward and grabbed her hand. “Why could you not, just for once, do as I asked?” She shook him off. “If I had, you’d be in your grave now.” She picked up the small glass vial of poppy juice and offered it to him. “Drink a mouthful of this. It will ease the pain while I change the dressing.” “I’ll be fine,” he said, bracing himself against the pole behind him. She doubted it, and it would serve him right, but she eased off the linen as gently as she could. He watched intensely as she lifted away the packing. He gasped and clamped his teeth together, and sweat broke out on his forehead. “Are you in pain?” she asked. It was a completely stupid question, because it was clear as the nose on her face that he wasn’t in pain, he was in agony, and she could understand why. Like most fighting men, Philip’s body carried the scars of past battles. However, stripping back and redressing a raw wound was slow, inch-by-inch pain, often a hundred times worse than the cut of a sword or the blow of a mace to a limb. She peeled the last layer of padding off. His hands gripped the sheepskin under him and his legs tensed. “Rosawyn.” She glanced up from her task. “I think I will have some of that poppy juice, if you please.” She gave a half-smile and handed it to him. “One mouthful only. It has to last.” He nodded. He gulped the sweet liquid down then lay back. After three or four minutes his shoulders relaxed and she resumed her task. She unwound all the dressing and sat back. She smiled. “Good.” “Good? What in the devil’s name did it look like before?” “Awful,” she answered, twisting to reach behind her for a pot of marigold salve. Leaning across him, she carefully pasted it over the inside of the wound with a feather. His head nodded forward and his hair brushed her cheek. She glanced up at him.


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“Are you all right?” she asked. He brought his head up sharply, but his lids sat heavily over his eyes. “A little lightheaded, that’s all.” He grinned at her. “You have such gentle hands, sweetheart.” “Huh!” “Rosawyn,” he slurred. She glanced up and her gaze locked in his. “You will go to your father when William returns, because…” His voice trailed off to an unintelligible murmur and a stupefied expression stole across his face.

Philip awoke and looked around at the dark interior of the small cottage. They had been in this place together for just over two weeks and the winter was now gripping the land. No light showed under the door so he guessed it was still the middle of the night. The only illumination inside was a dim glow from the embers of the fire. The cold air brought him awake as it tingled on his face. It will snow soon, he thought. Rosawyn shifted next to him. He glanced at the sleeping form of his wife and sighed. Cold though the cottage was, it was warmer than the atmosphere between them and he was to blame. After venting his temper on her, she had withdrawn behind icy politeness. He should have explained that it was his urge to protect those he loved that fired his harsh words. He had to protect her from harm as he did his mother. Long forgotten humiliation, shame and fury surged up in him as his mind conjured up the slurs and insults flung at his mother and at him. One of his first memories was fighting with a boy who’d called his mother a heathen. Although fear for Rosawyn’s safety woke him in a cold sweat most nights, he hadn’t sent her to her father. He told her it was because William was too busy to take her, but as he listened to her steady breathing, Philip admitted the truth. She was still here because he couldn’t bear to be without her. However, this left him with a different problem. The problem of being in an almost constant state of arousal because of her very nearness.


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Because of her diligent care, he had made a swift recovery. Despite her protestations, he had insisted on getting up the day after his fever broke, but the effort caused his wound to bleed again. After a severe scolding from her, he was more careful, but still pushed himself a little more each day. When he’d first seen the damage Thomas’ sword had done, he was appalled. He had rarely seen a wound so severe on anyone still alive. He would carry the scar to his grave but, thanks to Rosawyn’s skills as a healer, that would be many years in the future. He had set to regaining his muscle tone by undertaking some of his old exercises from his squire days, lifting a log above his head several times every couple of hours and stretching his legs to ease the stiffness. The first couple of attempts had left him faint, but now he could complete the regimen with ease. Now he was able to walk about the cottage without exhaustion, and much of his muscle tone and endurance had returned to normal. On the third day after he regained consciousness, he’d arranged their bedding together. To keep warm, he had explained, which was true, but it gave him the added comfort of feeling her snug next to him each night. She had protested, saying that she might knock his leg and keep him wake. Nevertheless he had insisted, even trying to make light of it, saying that he might suspect she no longer wanted to sleep with him. Then he wished he had not, because she turned away without denying it. And this was his problem. Lying next to her had not just kept him warm but had made him hot, hot to make love to her, and she ignored every gesture of intimacy he made. He gently eased himself out from the covers, went to the fire and added more wood. He crouched down with care and fanned it back into flames, feeling the increase of heat almost immediately. He turned back to the bedding. If she’d gone to London, he’d be dead. And he didn’t want to be dead, he wanted to be alive with her. To love her. To have her bear his children and to spend the rest of his life with her. And how had he shown his deep love and devotion? She had turned onto her side with the covers pulled tight under her chin. Her eyes were shut.


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You’re an ungrateful bastard, he told himself as the glow from the fire illuminated the soft contours of her face.

Rosawyn had awakened instantly as Philip stirred beside her. She too was having trouble sleeping. Since she had known he would live, other thoughts that she had suppressed surged back. As she tended his wounds, her fingers itched to caress him all over. Instead, she found herself lying awake at night watching him sleep, with an unsatisfied throbbing dampening the fleshy area between her legs. She wanted him on her and in her, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing it. After his initial outburst, he had been so very tender that sometimes she found it difficult to keep her temper fired. As he held her close and kissed her with a mute expression of need on his face, every part of her body, and especially the pulsing nub at the front of her sex, urged her to love him. She’d watched him saunter toward the fire with half-closed eyes. He wouldn’t apologise, would he? She looked at his naked, muscular frame glowing in the firelight. Oh, no. he’d never apologise because he is never wrong. His word is law. Obey me, wife. Never mind a thank you for dragging yourself across a frozen landscape to save my sorry hide and tend my wounds when you could have been safe and warm at court. Oh no. He turned and made his way back to the bed. She watched his cock roll heavily from side to side. Her gaze focused on the head of it with the cover of skin as it thumped against his thighs. Her grip on the fur covers tightened and she pressed her lips together to keep the surge of desire tight inside her. She rolled to her other side, facing away from him, and pretended sleep, although with the pulsation between her legs intensifying, sleep was the last thing on her mind. He snuggled next to her and his arm slid around her waist. He pulled her close and his chest hair brushed against her shoulder and arm. He kissed her ear lightly and cupped one breast. His erection nudged into her back. Goodness, how much quicker can this man get hard? “Rosawyn, are you awake?” he said in a husky voice close to her ear. His fingers started to pluck and squeeze the nipple. Of course she was bloody awake but she didn’t answer, just forced out a sigh.


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His hand went down to her hipbone and gently caressed it. The moist area at the apex of her legs desperately wanted that hand, but she gritted her teeth and forced herself to stillness. The head of his cock nudged against her, and before she could stop herself, she flexed back into it. “My love.” He kissed her just behind her ear. “Are you awake?” She could not pretend any longer. She twisted around towards him, opened her eyes and found him smiling sensually down at her. “I am now,” she told him, trying to sound nonchalant. He shifted his position and his erection rested at the top of her thigh. “Are you in pain?” she asked, feeling the small patch of dampness as the head of his cock butted against her. “I am,” he replied, rocking against her and grinning. “But not the sort that poppy juice will ease.” The bloody nerve of the man. She smiled languidly up at him and raised her hand to brush back a lock of his hair. She gave him a sweet smile. “Are you well enough for such exercise?” “I believe it would help me sleep.” “I’m sure it would.” She saw hope spring into his face. Her smile vanished. “It’s a pity there’s no one here willing to give you that ease.” “But you are my wife,” he protested. “I am. And that is why I got you free from that stinking cell and why I’ve spent every waking hour since nursing you back to health.” She pulled the fur around her and tried to shift away from him, but he held her firmly against him. “But it would seem you are selective as to which wifely duties you want me to fulfil.” She could feel the strength in his arm and every nerve in her body screamed to accept his invitation, but she fought the urge. Philip loomed over her and their gazes locked together in the dim light from the fire. If he kisses me, I’ll never be able to stop myself, she thought as she gazed up at him.


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They stayed motionless for several heartbeats, then he let out a growl and rolled onto his back. Tucking his arm behind his head, he stared up at the ceiling. Now she rolled towards him and lent up one elbow as he had. She glared down at him, annoyed with him for wanting her for his own needs and now furious with him for not continuing his efforts to talk her around. “And another thing, Philip FitzRoger d’Apremont.” He didn’t look at her but continued to study the rafters above his head. “You are possibly the most disagreeable, bad-tempered, ungrateful patient I have ever cared for.” His head snapped around and his eyes blazed at her. “And even if you’re not too tired to play the two-backed beast, after weeks of fetching and carrying for you, I am. Also, if I don’t wash our clothes tomorrow we will be running alive with lice by the end of the week, so I need my sleep even if you don’t.”


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Chapter Fifteen

Philip slapped William heartily on the back and ushered him and Ozzy towards the fire. It had been three weeks since William’s last visit, and although Ozzy had popped back and kept Philip up to date with news, he wanted to hear how the troops were fairing from his commander. “Come and warm yourself, man,” he said. He turned to Rosawyn. “Isn’t it good to see Will looking so well, my love,” he said to her, giving her a beseeching smile. She left off stirring the midday meal and gave Philip a cool glance then smiled at William. “Yes it is. Welcome and have something to eat,” she said, handing both men a bowl of stew, giving William hers. William sat by the fire and smiled. “You’ve done a fine job of mending Sir Philip, my Lady. Thank you. It took a strong stomach to cut away that dead flesh and release the poison. I know many a soldier who’d not have been able to do what you did.” “No need to thank me, William.” She smiled sweetly at his man then sent Philip a withering look. “It is no more than my wifely duty.” William nodded his head towards the bundle he’d left by the door. “The water course under Lostwithiel remained low, and Ozzy and I were able to fetch these from the castle for you.” She turned around, and to Philip’s relief her face brightened. She left the stew on the fire to bubble and hurried over to the bundle. After swiftly untying it, she pulled out stout winter gowns and shoes, a warm outer cloak, mittens and a hood. There was also soap and small packets of herbs and salves. Rosawyn smiled. Her joy at the unexpected gifts warmed Philip’s soul. He opened his mouth to speak but she quickly turned back to her task before he could utter a word. “Sister Hilda thought you might be wanting some extra items too, my Lord, while you are away from home,” William told him as Rosawyn pulled out his heavy leather winter tunic and cape.


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She gathered up the packets of herbs from the bundle. “I’ll leave you two to talk while I store theses with my other medicines.” Philip reached out and caught her arm. “Rosawyn—” She stopped. “William’s right, you’ve done a good job of repairing me. Without your bravery and skills I would be in my grave now, not eating your delicious stew. Thank you, my love.” He smiled earnestly at her. “And I’m sorry I have been such a disagreeable and bad-tempered patient,” he said, praying that she would hear the sincerity in his voice. For a brief second or two her face relaxed as her eyes rested on him, and the corners of her mouth started to curl into a smile. “Well, you are the most bad tempered and ungrateful patient I have ever cared for, but I will accept your apology. Let me get you some more stew.” She took the empty bowl from him. “That would be lovely, my dear. You really are a wonderful cook.” “Why, thank you, Ph—” They stood with their gazes locked together, and he took a half step towards her. She did the same. William coughed and she lowered her gaze. “I’ll fetch some ale.” She spun around and busied herself filling three beakers. As she handed Philip his drink, his hand circled hers. Hers trembled just slightly. He was so close to her that he could hear the sound of her rapid breath. He eased her hand towards him but she snatched it away. “I’ll be over here if you want me.” Want her? His arm shot out and he grabbed her before she was out of reach. He pulled her gently towards him. “Stay and help us with your local knowledge.”

Rosawyn sat down, and Philip slid his arm around her and pulled her close. The feeling of his hard body against her chased all clear thought from her mind. He offered her a sip of his ale and, finding her mouth as dry as old bones, she took it.


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She leant into him, enjoying his strength as William and Ozzy talked through their current position and their strategy. “All of us at Lostwithiel Castle thought Noirville would burst a blood vessel in his head when he got news of your escape, my Lord. He flogged a few men and hanged some others. He even tried to get some information out of Father Martin, but he would have less trouble getting the Devil to sing hymns than get the good Father to tell ‘im anything,” Ozzy told them, slapping his thigh a couple of times. “Our men have found snug winter quarters with my Lady’s people.” William gave her a grateful smile. “And the local levies are ready to go whenever you command.” “I need to meet with the men, William, and re-establish lines of communication,” Philip said, clenching a fist. “I’m going to beat that pig Noirville and I have a score to settle with Thomas.” Philip rubbed his chin with his thumb and pulled her closer. Her stomach gave a quick churn and then the heavy pulsing between her legs started again. Pretending to straighten the bowls away, she reached forwards and ran her hand over his and his arm tightened around her. “We need a rallying point where we can all meet at a designated time, somewhere known locally and which is easily accessible,” Philip said. He turned to Ozzy, but the man just scratched his head. “Merlin’s Cave? Not enough room. St. Enodoc’s Circle? Too far—” “St. Tue’s Stone?” Rosawyn suggested. Ozzy beamed. “Of course, my Lady. St. Tue’s Stone, just right, near to the moor but in open space.” “How far is it from here?” Philip asked. “Half a day on horse,” Ozzy replied. “What date is it, Will?” “November the nineteenth, I think. No, twentieth. Why?” “Because we can’t afford a campaign in the middle of winter but I am not waiting until spring. I want to finish Noirville. There is St. Nicholas’s Fair on the sixth of December and we are going to capture Bodmin and Noirville by stealth, using the Fair as cover. ” “But will Noirville go back to Bodmin for the Fair?” William asked.


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“He should. The midwinter rents are due at the assizes on St. Nicolas’ Day,” Philip replied. He gazed down at Rosawyn and the pulsating within her increased. “I think I will need to see this St. Tue’s Stone for myself.” His blue eyes darkened and his smile grew wider. “Would you like to like to take me there, my dear?”

The next morning Philip saddled up the horse William had brought him and, after helping her into the saddle, he got up behind her, securely anchoring her to him with his arm. They rode without seeing a soul for three hours. The day was clear and dry but cold, and it grew colder as they rode on. The horse stumbled and he pulled her closer. He leant forward and whispered in her ear. “Are you warm enough, my love?” She half-turned, flicked her eyes up to him and murmured, “Yes.” Warm? She was more than warm. With his arm around her waist, she was hot. After his unexpected apology in front of Ozzy and William, her anger had completely evaporated. Although he had threatened to send her to her father when he had first discovered her in hiding with him, he had not mentioned it since. William had returned and there was still no mention of her leaving, and he had spent all last night listening to her opinions. Could it be, after all, that he wanted her to stay with him? Just so he can have his ease under the covers. She tried to rekindle her anger but failed. Since the night she had stopped him making love to her, he had acted faultlessly, not pressing her at all, much to her chagrin. If anything, he was more loving and considerate. He barely murmured when she did his dressing and thanked her profusely for everything she did. She was now regretting saying ‘no’ to him, as her own needs screamed for satisfaction. As they continued across the frozen landscape, her body began to hum like a bowstring pulled taut and waiting for release. His chest braced against her back, his lips hovered close to her face and his legs stroked against hers as he controlled their mount. It was torture. Exquisite torture, but torture nonetheless. She wasn’t sure she would be able to bear it much longer.


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Finally, the landscape changed as they approached their destination. She pointed to a tall, grey stone sitting on a small hillock. “We are almost there,” she told him over her shoulder. He squeezed her affectionately, and his fingers caressed her ribs under her breast. They crested the hill as the sun reached its height. With shaky legs, she dismounted and busied herself unpacking their lunch onto an oiled leather groundsheet. She glanced up to where Philip stood, one hand lightly resting on his sword and the other shading his eyes. Out in the open with the cold wind ruffling his hair and with him standing firm on a small mound, she could not tear her gaze from him. God, I love him, she thought as she set out the bread and cheese. He ran his hand through his hair then turned back to her, smiling broadly. “I’m starving,” he told her, ignoring the food set on the ground. His gaze fixed on her. She smiled back and hoped he couldn’t hear her heart beating wildly in her chest. She cut a large wedge of cheese and broke off part of the new baked loaf to offer to him. He gave her a dazzling smile as he sat close beside her. He took the bread and then gazed back at the horizon. She studied his profile. As he ate, he quizzed her about different landmarks, where rivers and tracks ran to, pointing across the valley as he spoke. She watched his hands manipulate the bread. She watched his mouth as he drank ale from the narrow-necked flask. She studied the way his Adam’s apple rose and fell as he swallowed and the neat line where his beard finished. Her eyes fixed on him as if she was seeing him for the first time. He turned his head and caught her gaze on him. “Drink, my love?” He offered her the other flask from their satchel. She took it automatically and swallowed a large draft of sweet-tasting mead. It burnt down into her stomach, warming her from within. She took another mouthful and it had the same comforting effect as the first. She leant back onto a rock behind her and took another long drink of the honeyed liquid. She was feeling warm and cosy now with a languid sensation seeping through her bones. She resumed her study of Philip, deep in thought as he munched his way through a hunk of cheese.


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She got up and strolled over to St. Tue’s Stone. It was about ten feet high with a circumference small enough for her to put her arms halfway around. She circled the obelisk slowly, trailing her hand across its smooth surface.

Philip had formulated the strategy for the coming day as he waited for sleep the night before. He intended to be a gallant knight, attentive and undemanding. Pleased though he had been by the news that William and Ozzy brought him, he was very glad to see the back of them at dawn. He could hardly have a night of unbridled passion with his two men snoring across the room from them. That was the second part of his plan. He would spend all day wooing Rosawyn and then take her back to the cottage and make love to her all night. But after an hour of riding with her bottom against his crotch, he wished he could skip the trip to St. Tue’s Stone altogether. He gritted his teeth as she rolled against him, determined that he would behave all day. He knew she was watching him eating his midday meal and was actually relieved that she had left his side. Even when he’d just been sitting next to her, his starved cock had been urging him to roll her over and take her. After a monumental struggle with his aching member, he forced himself to wait and be satisfied with admiring her womanly figure as she slowly walked to the obelisk. She stopped in front of it and turned to face him, leaning with her back against the rough stone as she did. “Philip.” “Uh?” ”St. Tue’s Stone has been here for a very long time—long before the blessed saint was supposed to have thrown it.” “I guessed as much,” he answered, running his gaze over her. “Do you know what the locals call it?” She turned and hugged the stone, swinging on it from side to side. He shook his head and focused on her hips. “They call it the ’Old Man’.” She tilted her head back and gazed up at it, bracing herself against it with her whole body. “Can you see why they might call it the ’Old Man’?”


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He’d seen phallic stones before and so knew why the locals would name this one so. He also knew she had drunk three draughts of mead. He leaned back and raised his eyebrows as he studied his tipsy wife gyrating against the stone. “No. Could you explain it to me, my love?” She tutted and raised her eyes skywards. “Can’t you see? It is supposed to resemble a…a…” “A what?” “A man’s erect…you know.” “Oh, an erect old man.” He tried not to laugh. “Yes. At dawn, on Midsummer Day, the sun casts a shadow across the hill towards Maiden Crest.” She indicated the western horizon. “The locals say this fertilises the land.” He smiled at the memory of the other story of St. Tue’s Stone, which was nothing more than an attempt to clean up this much older, pagan tale. “And do you know what, Philip?” She glanced over at him sideways under heavy lashes. “It reminds me of you.” So saying, she kissed the stone in a deliberate and sensual way whilst running her hands up the shaft. He leapt to his feet and strode over to her. His arm shot out and around her waist, crushing her to him. “God, woman. They call me the Saracen, but it's you who are the heathen!” He pulled her close and pressed his lips on hers, his tongue darting in and around her mouth. She responded by kissing him back with passion while trying to unlace the front of his shirt under his jacket. “Open your shirt so I can touch you,” she demanded. He ripped open the front of his shirt. Her hand went to his chest and racked over it. Her gazed travelled over his bare skin. “I love the feel of you,” she told him, planting kisses across his chest. There was no possible way he could wait until they returned to the cottage. He had to have her now. He wound her braids around his hand and secured her. His other hand splayed across her back and pressed her even closer.


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She angled her hips and brought her mons in contact with his erect shaft. She tore her mouth from his and rocked against his hardness. “As I said, it reminds me of you. Although you,” she glided her hand down between them and grabbed his cock through his leggings, “are harder.” His cock surged almost painfully at the throaty tone of her voice. He disentangled himself from her. “Open your bodice and show yourself, you wanton.” She leant back and undid the laces and, with slow deliberation, opened her clothing. She smiled at him then cupped her breasts. The sudden rush of cold air caused her nipples to stand erect and taut. “Is this what you are after?” she asked, bouncing them a little. His gaze fastened on the dark peaks held out for him. She pinched the stalks at the centre of the areolas. His mouth went dry as she gazed down at her hands and then sideways up at him. “Why don’t you come and kiss them?” she asked, flicking the tips of her breasts again. “I know you want to.” With his gaze still on her face, he lowered his head and kissed each nipple in turn lightly. Her eyes widened and she let out a small sigh. She arched back and held her breasts up, encouraging him to kiss them again. He placed his lips on the top of one then kissed down slowly before fastening his mouth around the hard tip. Her hand gripped his hair as he drew the stem in fully. As he sucked hard, his fingers pulled and twisted the other as she let out small mewing sounds. She reached down and started to fiddle with the ties at the front of his leggings. He helped her and quickly unfastened the cord. Immediately her hand slid down the front and closed around his shaft. She pulled it free from his clothing and caressed it up and down. His balls tightened, his cock pulsed and a small bead of semen oozed from the slit at the centre of the head. She collected it on her finger and then licked it. “Ready?” She smiled up at him Am I ready? “Never more so,” he replied.


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Releasing her breasts, he yanked her skirt up, then he thrust his hand under and parted the outer lips of her pussy. Her juices wet his fingers. He stroked back and forth rhythmically and she speared herself on them. As he glided inside her, the flutter of her internal muscles engulfed his fingers. His gaze ran over her face. Her eyes were half closed and her lips drawn back. With each breath, her nails bit into his arm a little as a small moan escaped her. He kissed her lips hard then he grabbed her firmly and lifted her up. Bracing her back against the Old Man, he parted her legs and pressed between them. She wrapped them around his waist and tried to wriggle onto his cock. He held her there for a moment then lowered her onto him, feeling her moist labia part in front of him and then her sex enclose him. He stood with the cool wind around them and savoured the moment. She squirmed against him as her swollen clitoris pressed on him. He kissed her again and then, holding her buttocks firm, he plunged wildly into her.

Rosawyn could not think any more so she didn’t try. She just let all the colours and lights merge in her head. On Philip’s third thrust, she climaxed in a breathtaking burst of pleasure and then as he braced himself into her and roared, she came again, screaming his name. After a couple of seconds, his head rested on her shoulder and she opened her eyes. He still held her off the ground with one hand, her back braced against the rock. She stretched up and kissed his jaw. He bit her shoulder gently and then lowered her to the ground. She tided her clothes while he pulled up his leggings and retied them. She went to pick up their discarded lunch, but he caught her to him. He hugged her tightly and kissed her again. “We had better go.” He put her from him. She threw herself back into his arms. “Why?” A wry smile crossed is face. “Because your wanton cries would have alerted Noirville’s patrol for miles around. I don’t want to be known as the only fugitive recaptured because he pleasured his wife too hard.”


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She slapped him and he staggered backward in an exaggerated fashion then, laughing, he gathered up their kit and lifted her up before mounting behind her. “I want to get back. The sun is already dipping towards the horizon. There will be a hard frost tonight and I don’t want us lost on the moors,” he said in a more serious tone as he urged the horse forward. He kissed her lightly on the top of her head and settled her in his arms. “Rosawyn, I am sorry for the ungrateful way I behaved when I first regained my senses.” He paused for a long moment and then spoke again. “When I was in the cell and about to die, my one prayer of thanks was that you were safe. When I woke up and found you beside me, I was afraid. Afraid that I could not protect you. But I should have been grateful, not angry.” He paused for a second. “It—it was just that knowing you could be in danger brought back painful memories.” He cleared his throat. “Memories…of when I was too young and powerless to protect—to protect…my mother.” Rosawyn sat very still. Is his mother dead—or no?


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Chapter Sixteen

Philip sat on a fallen tree, his hands steepled to his mouth, staring balefully towards Bodmin on the distant horizon. Rosawyn, William, Father Martin, Dodds, and Ozzy stood next to him. They had been in the field for almost two weeks and the weather, already midwinter cold, was set to worsen. “God damn the man!” he shouted, jumping to his feet. Those around him took a step back. His eyes flicked to the group to his left. “Your pardon for my blasphemy, Father, but it’s the fourth and St. Nicolas’ Fair is in two days, as are the Midwinter Assizes. It is the duty of a Lord to attend them. Noirville should be in Bodmin, not racing across the countryside,” he told them, his breath visible in the wintry air. Father Martin inclined his head. “Quite understandable, my son, but our brave Lady here,” he indicated Rosawyn huddled in her cloak, “has set Noirville’s blood boiling with her escape from Castle Lostwithiel and your rescue. I don’t think he will rest until she is recaptured.” “Um,” Philip responded and then lapsed back into silence. “We could start a riot inside Bodmin,” suggested William. Philip shook his head. “That would cause the guards to return, but not, I suspect, Noirville.” “We could set an ambush for him,” Ozzy said. Philip pressed his lips together and blew through his nose. “Possibly.” He glanced across at Rosawyn. Despite the fur cloak, her face was white and pinched with the cold. “With the winter around the corner we can’t keep our men sleeping rough for many more weeks. We have to entice Noirville back to Bodmin,” he said.


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Rosawyn cleared her throat. “If Noirville is searching for me, why not let him find me? That will bring him back to Bodmin.” William scratched his head. “That would certainly have him running home.” “Certainly would,” chipped in Dodds. “You’ve fair riled the man, my Lady, by escaping from under his nose. It seems he will not stop ‘til he has you again. I—” He trailed off as he looked at Philip’s face. Philip fixed Rosawyn with an unwavering stare. “No!” She raised her chin. “But if Noirville recaptured me—” “No.” “But you can’t wait. The Fair is in two days. Your friend Sir Ralph is already leading his troops to raise the siege at Lostwithiel.” Despite his glaring at her with an expression that would cause grown men to quake, Rosawyn continued, “Where was Noirville last sighted, Will?” “Over by St. Wenn’s Moor yesterday, my Lady. “ Philip gave his lieutenant a sharp look. “Good. Only a half day’s ride away,” she said. “If we act today or tomorrow, then he will be back in time for St. Nicolas’s Fair. You said yourself you need to capture Noirville before winter sets in, and this is your best chance.” “Didn’t you hear me the first two times, Madam? I said no,” he barked. She copied his stance. “Why?” “I would have thought it obvious. It’s too dangerous.” “It was dangerous to climb down the well at Lostwithiel, hide you from Noirville’s guards under a bridge and live with you as a hunted fugitive. Frankly, I don’t see how acting as bait is any different.” He took hold of her upper arms and pulled her to him. “It’s different because this time I am here to ensure you don’t disobey my orders. Moreover, had I known that you would break your promise, I would have dispatched you to your father myself.” She wrenched herself free from his grip. “Don’t be pig-headed. Are you against my idea because you didn’t think of it?”


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“I’m against it because it is too dangerous and anyhow, you can’t just saunter up to Noirville and hand yourself over. He will know it’s a trap immediately. That bastard might be many things but he’s no fool.” Uncertainty flickered across her face. ”I haven’t quite worked out how I would let him capture me, but—” “The good Lord preserve me. I will be obeyed! Father Martin, are not wives to obey their husbands in all things?” he asked. “Yes, but a husb—” Philip raised his hand and the priest stopped. “Hear me, wife, and hear me well. The merits of your idea, or how you would execute it, are of no importance. I have said no and I mean no. This matter is closed. I will hear not another word. Do you understand?” He took hold of her upper arms again. She opened her mouth to answer him. “Not another word,” he said, glaring down at her. She glanced down at his hands. “You’re hurting me.” He released her. It was against his nature to be brutal with any woman and especially Rosawyn, but he knew gentle words would not damp her battling spirit. He would have to suppress it by bending her to his will. She stood glaring up at him and for one frightening second he thought she would defy him again. Then she gathered her cloak tightly around her and strode off towards the ridge. He watched her go and stood for a moment staring blankly into space while he marshalled his wits and temper again. “What did you really think of her plan, my Lord?” Father Martin asked. He gave a harsh laugh. “It’s bloody brilliant! It would get Noirville’s attention, no mistake. But I would not dream of putting any woman, least of all Rosawyn, in Noirville’s hands.” ”Some men would.” “Not me,” Philip said, running his gaze over her tight figure at the edge of the camp. He smiled at the older man. “Thank the Virgin, she has learnt to obey me.”


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As she stood on the ridge overlooking Bodmin, fury raged in Rosawyn’s head and, despite the low temperature, her cheeks burned hot. How dare he dismiss my plan? She clenched her hands together so hard that her nails dug into her palms, but she barely felt the pain. Goodness, she knew that Philip was pig-headed, but his blank refusal even to listen to her drove her past anger and into blind fury. It was a perfect plan. Well, maybe not perfect as she hadn’t quite figured how to put herself in the way of Noirville without arousing his suspicions, but it was better than Philip’s men freezing their balls off while they waited for her brother-in-law to return. An image of Hugh Noirville came into her mind and a shiver ran up her spine. She did not relish being his captive, the last time was fearful enough, and the idea of being sent back to his unnatural sister was too terrible to contemplate. She shook the thought from her mind and focused on the familiar countryside. It didn’t matter anyway now because Philip, stubborn and unbending as ever, had overruled her without even considering what she proposed. In the distance, there was a faint wisp of a hearth fire, spiralling out of a farmhouse. Absentmindedly, she tried to work out to whom the farm belonged. An idea burst into her mind so swiftly that she gasped aloud. That was exactly how she could tempt Noirville back. An image of Philip’s menacing expression floated into her mind. Her heart thumped a couple of times. She should ask his permission of course, but she knew he would only say no again. She glanced back at the curl of smoke and bit her lower lip. Whatever he said, she had to do it.

Although Philip joked with his men around the campfire, he kept half an eye on Rosawyn as she walked slowly around the camp. He saw her talk to the men corralling the horses and to a couple of the sentries, then finally she came back to where he sat.


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He smiled at her and to his utter relief she smiled back. He opened his cloak and she tucked herself in close, next to him. He put his arm around her and kissed her on the top of the head. He let his lips linger on her fragrant hair, saying a silent prayer of thanks that she’d seen reason. They sat quietly listening to Ozzy recount an old Cornish tale with a liberal sprinkling of fairy folk and heroes. The fire burned low and men drifted off to their bedrolls. He held her close, his arms clasped around her slender waist. “Let’s go to bed.” ”Yes, let’s,” she replied, looking up at him. Love flooded through him. She would have put herself in Noirville’s hands if he’d let her, but there wasn’t gold or titles enough in the world to tempt him to do such a thing because she was priceless to him. Without her by his side, his heart would stop beating. He pressed his lips onto hers and kissed her hard for a long minute. He helped her to her feet, holding her close and then he guided her towards the small cattle shed that served as their sleeping area. He took off his jerkin and shirt swiftly and let them fall on the floor while she undressed down to her underchemise and hooked her outer garments on a nail by the door. Her gaze rolled over his body and her eyes grew warmer. He smiled encouragingly and she smiled back. Then a small frown creased her forehead and she glanced up at the ceiling. “I don’t think you would have been so keen to marry me if you had known some of the places you would have to lay your head,” she said, giving a hollow laugh. He caught her to him and kissed her again as one hand slid around her back and the other anchored her bottom. His cock pressed between them but he didn’t grind her onto it, that would come soon enough. Just for now, he wanted to hold her in his arms as he did in his heart. “I love you,” he said, gazing down at her. She let out a little cry and tears welled up in her eyes. “Oh, Philip, I love you too.” He closed his lips over hers again. Her mouth opened under his and her hands clasped around his neck.


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He released her. “I think I fell in love with you the moment you got down from my horse that first day, but I didn’t recognise it until you wedged my sword into the bed headboard. I should have told you then.” She moulded into him and her hand slid over his chest.” Why on earth didn’t you?” The corner of his mouth rose. “Because I’m a simple-minded idiot. I should have told you in the cottage instead of behaving like an ungrateful pig and I should have told you this afternoon when you were willing to put yourself in danger for me. In truth there have been a hundred times since I married you that I should have told you, but I can’t let another moment go without making sure you know how completely I love you and that I will do so until I die.” She clasped his face between her hands and pulled him down to her. She kissed him on the lips, cheeks and chin. “It’s because I love you so that I cannot agree to your suggestion to lure Noirville back to Bodmin. It might have worked, but the thought of you in danger—” He broke off. “I couldn’t do it. Do you understand? I love you too much to have you in his grasp, not for all the land or gold in the kingdom.” “But we could make sure you could rescue me. And think of the men. They are already suffering from the cold and that will get worse if the campaign drags on. Can’t you just consider what I said?” “No, I can’t,” he said as he lifted her up and slid her under the furs. “Because I love you too much.”

Rosawyn’s head spun. He loved her. Philip loved her! Guilt ripped through her again. For goodness sake, why couldn’t he have told her this before? Why couldn’t he have told her that he loved her at any other time but now! He settled her under the furs then pressed his mouth on hers again in a deep, emotionfilled kiss. How long had she yearned to hear him say those words, and now he had. She held him and kissed him back with equal passion, willing her love to be impressed on him forever. He broke free and gazed down at her in the dim moonlight filtering through the sides of the door.


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She studied the angular planes of his face God, she loved him. Leaving her to snuggle under the covers and take off her underchemise, he stood up and ripped his boots and leggings off. Her gaze travelled over his lean, muscular body. He slid in beside her and grabbed her, lowering his lips on hers in a hard, passionate kiss while pushing her onto her back and throwing his leg over her. He lifted his head and his arms closed around her. “I love you,” he told her again. His lips made their away across her cheek and around her ear, lightly kissing the sensitive area behind it and then down her neck as he constantly whispered of his love for her. She rolled her head aside as he traced his hand over her shoulders and upper arms. Slowly, almost too slowly, he planted kisses down towards her shoulder. His hand went to her hip and rested there for a moment then started to trace up and down her waist, stopping just under her arm. Her stomach tightened as the excitement pounded along the length of her cleft. She shifted towards him, trying to put her breast in the way of his hand. This time on its upward sweep, it closed around it. Lightly his index finger circled around the circumference of her areola then he pinched the erect centre. Rosawyn let out a long moan as bubbles of pleasure made their way down to her clitoris and then spread up within her. His lips followed his hands and he kissed across her chest and down towards her captured breast. His tongue whipped the centre of her nipple into a tight stem then drew it in to press it against the roof of his mouth. A warm tingle of excitement she’d never felt before tightened around the outside of her breasts then travelled inwards towards the centre. His mouth left one breast, found the other and repeated his action, nibbling and sucking as he pressed her under him. Scraping his hair-roughened leg across her, he wedged his thigh between her legs and against her pubic bone. She flexed onto it and her clitoris made contact. She rocked on it, smearing his leg with her juices and giving her throbbing pussy some temporary ease. Colours and light whirled in her peripheral vision as she clung to him, rolling her mons towards his cock.


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He captured her mouth again for a moment, and the head of his shaft butted her stomach. “You are my heart, my love, my everything,” he said to her in a low voice very close to her ear. “Oh, I love you so much.” “And I you. I will never let anything hurt you and I’ll defend you with my last breath, my wife, my love,” he told her. His words and caresses combined together to fuel her mounting climax. His hand left her breast, splayed out and crept down her stomach. His fingers brushed the top of her pubic hair then curled around, sliding between her fleshy folds. He ran his second finger across her clitoris with the demanding rhythm he used in their coupling. Twisting into him, she took hold of his shaft and caressed him with the same measure. His cock surged in her hand and she weighed it in her palm. She rolled her curled hand up and down, making sure she caressed around the head with her upward motion. He bucked into her and let out a low groan. She spread her legs wider, wanting his hand and fingers to touch and explore every part of her pussy. He accepted her invitation and glided his two fingers inside. Arching up to him, she flexed her hips into his erection. He rolled onto her, his hands guiding her leg up to his hip as he positioned himself above her. His weighty cock rested between her moist, inner folds, the head of it just nudging her apart. She wriggled onto him but he drew back. She hooked her heels behind his thighs and tried to pull him into her but still he didn’t move. “Philip?” He smiled down. “I love you,” he told her as he buried himself in her up to the hilt. She wound her arms around his neck and held onto him as he rode her and, in a couple of thrusts, she climaxed. She slid her hands down his back and held his buttocks firmly. He called her name, wedged himself fully into her. His balls gathered and then flooded her with his seed.


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Rosawyn smoothed the hair from Philip’s face as he lay beside her. He hugged her to him and kissed her forehead. She smiled up at him. “In truth, I’m not an only child,” he said. “What?” “You once said you thought I was an only child, but actually I have two half-brothers. My father’s sons by his wife. It was they who first taunted me with the name ‘Saracen’. They give homage to the King of France. I have two half-sisters too, but they would deny me also, so to all intents and purposes I am an only child.” Her mouth dropped open. “You said something about you father’s will and a contest at court?” He gave a quirky smile. “My mother fought tooth and nail for him to recognise me as his son. It was not difficult with my eyes and build. ” ”So he acknowledged you and sent you as a squire?” “Yes, in Anjou, where I met King Henry. He was Prince Henry then, and we became firm friends.” “What happened to your father?” “He died just after I was knighted. I am grateful that he lived long enough for me to be a man. I shudder to think what would have become of me and my mother had he not.” He shifted position. “He had provided for my mother in his will, but the powerful d’Apremont family threw her off the land while I was away. So I challenged my half-brothers to trial by combat.” She shuddered at the thought of Philip, an untried knight, fighting two seasoned warriors. An expression of satisfaction spread across his face. “I thrashed them. I bloody well thrashed them until they cried quarter. I did it for my mother. I had seen her suffer their insults and abuse all my life. As a boy, I could do nothing to stop them, but as a man, I could.” He stroked her cheek with his index finger. ”I will protect those I love.” He kissed her again. “Maybe now you will understand why I can’t even consider letting you act as bait.”


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Guilt ripped through her again and a lump settled across her windpipe. Yes, she understood. She understood that he would not change his mind. In truth, he would not have been the man she loved if he had. Nevertheless, someone had to make the right decision and, as Philip could not, she would have to do it for him.

Philip awoke with a jolt and found that Rosawyn had gone from his side. He smoothed his hand into the space she had vacated and found it cold. She must have gotten up a while ago. He grabbed his clothes and hurriedly put them on as he made his way out of the shelter to find her. It was about half an hour before dawn. Light from the east already streaked the sky and it was freezing. He relieved himself then grabbed a flagon of weak ale and swallowed some. He glanced around the camp. No sign of Rosawyn. A small knot of fear coiled itself in his stomach but he pushed it aside. The guards would have sounded the alarm if anything were amiss. Having scouted around for a short while without locating her, he roused William and they searched the camp together without success. Dodds, Ozzy and Father Martin scrambled from their bedrolls and joined them as they tried to locate Rosawyn. Dodds scratched his crotch and yawned. “I can’t believe that someone has kidnapped her from the camp and certainly not from by your side.” ”Maybe they waited until they saw her get up in the night and then grabbed her,” Ozzy speculated. “Unlikely,” William interjected. A guard ran towards them. ”My Lord, my Lord, there’s a horse missing.” The five men turned to the guard hailing them. “And there are tracks heading east,” the man added. Philip slammed his fist into the trunk of a stunted crab apple tree as rage and fear tore through him.


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“I think her ladyship has taken matters into her own hands,” he told them through a rigid jaw. He swung around and glared at his companions. They took a step back. “I suspect that she decided to take an early morning jaunt—to Bodmin.” No one spoke for a few moments, then Father Martin cleared his throat. “But why, if, as you believe, she has gone to Bodmin, did she head east? Bodmin is clear north from here.” Ozzy shaded his eyes from the glare of the low sunrise and looked towards the horizon. “Well, Father, I think her ladyship thought of a way to fall into Noirville’s hands without raising his suspicions.” “For God’s sake, spit it out, man!” shouted Philip, as images of Rosawyn in Hugh Noirville’s power flashed through his mind. “Tiree’s land is east from here.” Brilliant, absolutely brilliant, he thought briefly before his anger reasserted itself. He stared blankly ahead as he remembered how she’d exchanged words with the grooms tending the horses and chatted to the guards the night before. Then she had lain there in his arms while he poured out his heart to her, all the while planning how to slip out of camp without him knowing. Her defiance of his express order was bad enough, but it was the fact she done it in such a calculated way that cut him to the marrow. He punched the tree again. Pain shot through his knuckles and helped him focus his thoughts a little. He took a long breath. “It seems that wo—Lady Rosawyn has forced us to act at once. She will almost certainly be taken to Bodmin, and I am sure that bastard Noirville will go there as soon as he hears. We wait until he returns and then take the castle as we planned. Unfortunately with the added complication of rescuing Lady Rosawyn along the way. Ozzy,” he turned to his scout. “I want you to get to Tiree’s farm and find out if Lady Rosawyn is there. Then come back and tell me.” “Aye, you can count on me, m’ Lord.” “I know that, Ozzy. You understand how important Lady Rosawyn’s safety is to me, don’t you?”


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‘That I do, m’ Lord, that I do.” Ozzy touched his forelock. A myriad of emotions collided in Philip’s s mind as Ozzy disappeared. He stood motionless for a moment than walked to the crest where Rosawyn had stood the previous evening, and stared towards Bodmin. He had never been a man for prayers, but as he gazed out on the winter landscape, he found himself praying to the Almighty to keep Rosawyn safe and to give him the strength of arm to deliver her. He turned to the men standing behind him awaiting his orders. “Wake the camp and get those horses saddled. We ride out within the hour,” he bellowed.


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Chapter Seventeen

Any worries Rosawyn had about convincing the Tirees she was lost, cold, hungry and desperate for their help soon evaporated. The horse she’d taken had gone lame after half an hour, so she had abandoned it. She had to continue on foot across the countryside, floundering through frozen streams and becoming entangled in undergrowth. By the time she crashed into the Tiree farmyard at daybreak, she looked everything she claimed to be. The barking dogs awakened the household and brought two of the five sons out with pitchforks to investigate. Although their incredulous faces when they saw her wet and muddy in their farmyard almost made her laugh, old Edgar’s arrival quickly sobered her. “What have us here then, a wood nymph?” He spat his early morning phlegm on the ground. “I have come to you for help.” She mustered up her most vulnerable expression. “My husband, Sir Philip, has gone south to Truro to muster forces. He left me with that band of ruffians he calls soldiers. I overheard their leader talking to them—and he said the campaign is doomed and he planned to ransom me to Noirville. You must help me get to my father in London.” The Tiree family stood unresponsive as they listened to her words. Rosawyn drew in a deep breath and let the tears building in her eyes fall. “I know you’ll help me get to the Earl. Your family is loyal to him.” She threw herself on the old man, weeping helplessly on his shoulder. The rank stench from his body all but choked her. Tiree disentangled himself. “Come inside, you’re no good to anyone if you freeze to death.” She followed the family into the unkempt and dirty house. The warmth returned to her body and she allowed herself a small smile. As far as she could tell, they accepted her story. Edgar sat for a while and considered her. Then he spoke. “You see, your ladyship, there is a bit of a problem,” he stated bluntly. “I can’t send you to your father.” She opened her mouth and formed her face into an innocent expression. “Why not?”


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“I have to look to my family, so I’m sending you to Sir Hugh.” Fury surged up in her. This man, who had lived on her father’s largesse, had sworn fealty to him and had eaten at his table, was now going to hand her over to the devil in human form, Noirville, without a second thought. That was why she’d thrown herself into the Tirees’ care of course, but seeing the hardbitten head of the family coldly calculating what was best for his own pockets brought her fury to the surface. “You bastard! You traitorous bastard. I’ll see you and your scurvy family hang for this.” Young Eddie, Tiree’s eldest, lifted his hand to strike her. “Hold there, son. Sir Hugh wants her intact,” old Edgar told his son with a wink. “He’ll pay us royally if she’s undamaged when she arrives.” Young Eddie leered. She shuddered and a wave of nausea swept over her and the floor rolled under her feet. She glanced at the four sons and old man Tiree and noticed that Young Eddie wore a fine new pair of boots. Willing her stomach to hold, she staggered towards Young Eddie and, just when she judged the distance right, she let the nausea have its way and vomited over his feet. The old man cursed roundly and grabbed her hands, tying them in front of her, “We don’t want to lose you, my Lady, not now we’ve got you.” Those around him laughed. “Now, son, get those horses saddled, we have an early St. Nicolas day present to give to his Lordship,” he said, grinning at Rosawyn. As she stood in the cold mist of the early dawn, the Tiree men donned their winter clothes and saddled their horses. When all the mounts were ready, Young Eddie hoisted her into the saddle of his own mount and jumped up behind. After two hours of riding at a punishing pace, the small party arrived in Bodmin. The town was making ready for St. Nicholas’ Fair on the morrow, with booths and sideshows already in place. As they rode under the portcullis and into the inner bailey, Thomas came to meet them. He grinned at her.


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“You’ve done very well, Master Tiree,” he said to the head of the family. Old Edgar Tiree bowed in acknowledgment, failing to mention that all he had done that morning was open his front door. “Where’s that bastard husband of yours, then?” Thomas demanded. “He’s down Truro way, trying to get reinforcements,” old Edgar answered, saving her the trouble of lying again. “Good. Sir Hugh is boiling to finish that heathen trash.” She stared ahead, ignoring the two men while they congratulated themselves. She glanced over to where the villagers and tradesmen from the surrounding area prepared for the Fair. Philip’s men would be among the crowd, she was sure. Disquiet trickled through her. Her mind conjured up a picture of Philip as she’d left him, quietly sleeping, and wished she could be with him. She knew he would rescue her and defeat Noirville, but at what cost? For all his professed love, after this escapade, would he ever want to set eyes on her again?

Philip automatically reached for his sword as he heard the bushes rustle in front of him but he relaxed when Ozzy scrabbled through. ”She is in there, my Lord,” Ozzy told him, his warm breath turning to steam in the cold air. “Thomas has secured her in the East Tower at the top, but held fast with guards on the entrance and along the stairway.” “Well done,” he said flatly. He forced himself to concentrate on his plan, but his mind kept wandering back to Rosawyn. On one hand he burnt with rage at her for defying him, while on the other he could not help but admire her for thinking of such a clever plan and having the courage to see it through. Straddling both emotions was the mind-numbing fear that he would not be able to rescue her from Noirville before the bastard raped her. “Where was Noirville seen last, Will?” he asked, pushing the recurrent nightmare of Noirville molesting her from his mind. “St. Wenn’s Moor, a good three or more hours’ ride from here.”


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Philip nodded. “He should arrive back late this evening. We have to follow him into the castle straight away.” He paused. “I don’t want him with Lady Rosawyn a second longer than absolutely necessary.” “What if he’s not back by curfew?” Father Martin asked. “The gate will open for him, with us locked outside.” “If he’s not back an hour before curfew, we go in and wait. Now, are we all clear?” His men nodded. “Let’s get something to eat. It’s still seven hours until the curfew bell.” Philip and his men sat sharpening swords and throwing dice until a column of horsemen appeared on the castle road. Philip stood and an icy smile spread across his face as he recognised Noirville, his horse splattered with mud and his cloak flying behind him, clatter over the drawbridge and into the castle. Securing his knife in his belt, Philip signalled his men to follow, and they melted out of the undergrowth to join the file of people making their way towards the town and castle.

Rosawyn realised that Hugh Noirville had returned to Bodmin when the chamber door flew open and he strode into the room. He stopped and ran his gaze slowly over her. A smug smile crept across his face. “I can’t tell you how pleased I am to see you, my dear sister-in-law,” he drawled. He came towards her and she stood her ground. She wrinkled her nose. “You stink.” He grabbed her hand and took it to his mouth. “You smell wonderful. Violets, I believe.” She tried to snatch it away but he held onto it and licked it with a broad sweep of his tongue. Bile rose at the back of her throat. He let go and gave an exaggerated bow. “I will away to make myself more agreeable to you.” “You’d only be agreeable to me if you hanged yourself.” He grabbed her hair and yanked her head back. “I’m pleased to see that half-bred bastard hasn’t tamed you,” he said as his stale breath wafted over her cheek.


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He shoved her from him and resumed his gallant posturing. “Until later,” he said and strode out of the room, slamming the door behind him. She stared after him then her shoulders and hands began to shake. She wove her fingers together tightly to still them and stared up to the high windows with iron bars on them. Oh dear God, Philip, hurry!

Philip made his way across the small town square. People packed into the centre of the town to be ready for the market and St Nicolas’ festival the next day. He kept his head low and tried to disguise his large frame to avoid unwanted attention. His men blended into the local scene. After ducking inside the small church of St. Mary’s, Father Martin, William and Ozzy ushered Philip into the vestibule. “The gates are shut tight now,” Father Martin explained. “It would be prudent to wait until the ale and the women of the town have had their mellowing effect before we attack.” Philip nodded. “I’ll wait two hours, but no longer. Are the townspeople with us?” “Yes, without much persuading. Noirville made no friends hereabouts and all of Cornwall looks forward to seeing the soles of his feet as he dangles.” Philip raised one corner of his mouth, the nearest he could get to a smile under the circumstances. “They are going to be disappointed then because I have to take him to London.” “Remove him from Cornwall and the people will be satisfied.” “Is Lady Rosawyn still being held in the East Tower, Father?” Philip asked, hearing the tightness in his own voice. “I believe so.” Panic and fear threatened to rise to the surface. The woman he loved was behind stone ramparts within the clutches of Hugh Noirville, who could be ravishing her at this precise moment. He forced the thought out of his mind to keep a focus on the task at hand. He motioned to William and Ozzy to follow him. He unsheathed his knife. “Send the word. We go in two hours. I’m going to try to even the odds in our favour in the meantime.” So saying, he slipped back out into the night.


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For the following hour he scouted around the town, dispatching as many of Noirville’s men as he could. As they were the mercenaries that had ravaged the land these past three years, it disturbed his conscience very little to send them to their Maker. When he returned to St. Mary’s, he found a dozen or more of Noirville’s men, tightbound and gagged, in the crypt. Satisfied they were secure, Philip then made his way to the stable by the side of the keep and secreted himself in its loft. As he waited, his mind drifted back to Rosawyn. He had never been prey to so many contradictory emotions before. Half of him wanted to get hold of her and shake her until her teeth rattled for putting him through such hell. The other half wanted to snatch her away, smother her in kisses and never let her out of his sight again. The stable door creaked. Philip’s hand tightened on the dagger then he settled it back in its place. “Pssst, up here,” he said as Ozzy and William entered. William scrambled up into the loft, followed by Ozzy. “The garrison outside the keep is captured, it’s only the bastards inside we have to deal with now,” William said with a flash of white teeth. “How many left?” Philip asked. “Fifty or so, and Father Martin is ready as soon as you signal,” William replied. “And I’ve just seen the bastard Thomas by the door.” Philip’s lips drew out into a thin smile. “He’s mine,” he said in a chilling tone. “I have a promise to keep.”


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Chapter Eighteen

Hugh Noirville leant back in the tub and soaked away the grime from the road. His future was secure. He had a wife who gave him no trouble now that he had shown her who was master, a son to pass on his inheritance to and now he had his beautiful but irritating sister-in-law under lock and key in the chamber above. His eyes narrowed as he thought about the merry dance she had led him, making him look like a fool as he’d searched for her. He’d heard there were songs being sung in alehouses the length and breadth of Cornwall about how ‘brave Lady Rosawyn’ had rescued her bastard Saracen from Bodmin. His jaw tightened. Mistress Rosawyn needs to learn a few lessons. He pictured her on her knees, begging him for mercy—mercy he would have great pleasure refusing. He finished his bath and put on fresh clothes. He reached for his sword but thought better of it. He would not need his sword, but a sharp knife might be useful is she became too difficult. He picked up a long, thin-bladed knife and tucked it into his belt. He made his way across the hall towards the East Tower. Thomas snapped to attention as he approached. “All secure, my Lord. The men are celebrating your good fortune tonight.” “I intend to celebrate too, Thomas, in my own private way.” Hugh glanced towards the East Tower stairs. Thomas bowed. “Then I wish you a very good night, my Lord.” “Guard the stairs well, Thomas, while I—rest.” “I’ll guard you myself, my Lord,” Thomas replied. Hugh spotted a priest and his acolytes sprinkling holy water around the hall. ”Why are they in here?” “They tell me they need to purify the castle before the Saint’s day tomorrow.” Hugh studied the priests shuffling around the main hall. “Keep them out of my way and get rid of them as soon as you can,” he said and mounted the stairs to the East Tower.


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A moment or two after Father Martin entered the castle keep, Philip set the burning torch into the dry rushes in the stable. It ignited the loft immediately. “Follow me,” he ordered those around him as he dashed towards the keep entrance. He spread himself against the stone of the wall and waited for the oak door to open. Ozzy banged on the wood. “Fire! Fire!” The door flew open and Philip heard Father Martin’s voice urging the men inside to help quell the flames. Noirville’s men poured out of the keep and onto the swords of Philip’s men. He barged through the door and into the hall. Men rushed at him, but he dispatched his assailants with a couple of blows. He ran towards the stairway to the East Tower. The door from the dungeon crashed open and men surged up and joined the fight. A sword swung down towards his head and he blocked it with a swift upward parry. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw William slashing into the guards as they stumbled forward into the fight. Another man came at him, by his blond looks and battle scarred face a Flemish mercenary. He threw his short sword between his hands and grinned. Readjusting his stance, Philip beckoned him forward. The mercenary launched himself at him. Philip sidestepped and slashed his sword on the back of the man’s leg, severing his left hamstrings at a stroke. His assailant crumpled to his knee, landing heavily on the rush-strewn stone floor. Pivoting on his heels, Philip brought his sword up and swung it in a high arc, then sliced it across the fallen man’s throat. Dark red blood gurgled out of the gash and the man’s pale blue eyes lost their focus. Philip stepped over him and glanced around. Noirville’s hired men lay in the strange contortions of death all around him. He caught William’s eye and nodded to his commander. Silently, Philip ducked out of the light of the hall and into the dark of the spiral stairwell to the East Tower. He stopped and listened at the sound of footfalls on the stairs. He tucked himself into a small arrow alcove, sheathed his sword and drew his dagger. The crude oil light, ensconced slightly above his hiding place, lit the circular stairwell.


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The footsteps grew nearer. Holding his breath, Philip flexed his hand around the hilt. The man came around the central column and the light illuminated him. Philip pounced forward and caught the man around the throat with his left hand then jammed the weapon under his jaw. “Thomas,” he said in a pleasant tone near his ear. “My…my…Lord!” Thomas spluttered. “I—” Philip stabbed the tip of the blade into Thomas’ neck. “‘Don’t you ‘my Lord’ me, you scum! Remember my promise?” Thomas stood very still, but the tension rippling through his body told Philip he did remember. “I promised to kill you and now I will, but one question remains. Will it be swift or slow?” Philip jabbed the knife further, drawing blood. “Where is the Lady Rosawyn?” “I don’t kn—” “Where is she?” he repeated. A scream rent the air from above. ”Give thanks, Thomas, that I haven’t got time for slow.” Philip shifted the dagger and plunged forcefully upwards, passed Thomas’ ear and into his brain.

After having been confined in the tower room, Rosawyn had demanded a change of clothing so she could remove her sodden gown. It finally arrived shortly after Hugh left her, and although it was fifty years out of date, the dark russet garment fitted reasonably well and was warm. As she adjusted the laces at her side, she glanced at the stout oak door. It had all seemed quite straight forward, standing on the ridge and planning her trap. And it had worked very well. But now Hugh had returned and, although she had managed to rid herself of his company for a brief spell of time while he bathed, when he came back could she still hold him off? To steady her nerve, she combed her hair and tightly braided it. With a crash that made her jump, the door burst open and Hugh strolled into the room. Rosawyn rose and met him. He had changed his clothes too, but rather than dressing fully he


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wore only his beeches and shirt, which gaped open and showed his bare chest with its sparse covering of fair hair. She gave him a glacial smile. “I hoped you would bring Maeve to visit me.” His mouth turned at the corners. “She’s busy with my son. Speaking of sisters—” She flinched. “I have decided not to send you to Nell, for a little while at least.” He stepped closer and his gaze rested on her breasts for a second, then he ran the tip of his tongue along his lips. He pressed himself against her so her back rested against the corner post of the bed. He grabbed her upper arms and yanked her to him. “Since I saw your voluptuous charms in the convent, I have had an overriding desire to experience them first hand.” He tore at the shoulder of her gown, pulling it away from her. She struggled to free herself from his grip but only succeeded in ripping the worn fabric further. “I enjoy women who fight.” He closed his mouth over hers in a hard, brutal kiss. She bit him and he drew back and put his hand to his lips. “Bitch!” he spat out. “Did you fight that Saracen bastard when he took you?” He yanked at her gown again and this time the fabric gave way completely, exposing her breasts. He pinned her arms behind her and leaned her back. She struggled against him but he held her fast. “It’s better than I remembered,” he said, his eyes roaming freely over her exposed body. He took hold of one breast and squeezed the nipple hard. Rosawyn turned her head away. His rough fingers pinched the stem at the centre of her areola. His gaze travelled over her. “Wonderful, truly wonderful! Now let’s hear you cry.” He caught her breast again and sank his teeth into the sensitive tip. Rosawyn screamed. He yanked her hair back, tilting her face towards him. He tore the gown further, then traced his hand down the centre of her stomach past her navel. He twirled her pubic hair through his fingers. “Now what have we down here for me to play with?” As his hand reached for her cleft, she shut her eyes and tasted bitterness at the back of her throat. His fingers began to curl under her, and Rosawyn held her breath.


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Chapter Nineteen

As the door gave way against his shoulder, Philip feared the worst. His gaze darted around the chamber until it focused on Rosawyn. Although practically naked, it would appear by the fact that the bed covers were still unruffled that Noirville hadn’t yet molested her. Philip gripped the dagger in his hand and dashed into the room. Hugh caught Rosawyn around the throat and whipped out his blade from its sheath and pricked it against her windpipe. “Drop your knife or I’ll kill her.” Philip let his weapon clatter to the floor. “Let her go,” he commanded, forcing himself to remain calm. “I will, if you give me safe passage out of here.” Hugh dragged Rosawyn towards the door. Philip blocked his way. “I thought not.” Hugh tightened his grip on Rosawyn and ran the point of the blade along her jaw line. “Philip—” she whispered. “That’s right, call for your dear husband. Dear Philip. Dear bastard. He wants you, my dear, and not just for your obvious charms.” Hugh slid his free hand down and fondled one breast. Philip clenched his hands until his nails bit into the palms. “Without you, the King won’t reward him,” Hugh said. “Don’t add murder to your other crimes,” Philip replied, fearing that Hugh might slit Rosawyn’s throat out of sheer malice. His gaze locked on Rosawyn and an icy hand gripped his heart as he saw her eyes losing their focus. “Rosawyn!” he shouted. Her eyes flashed open, but then her eyelids rolled over them. “Philip,” she whispered.


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Her soft voice cut right through him like a long sword. He was certain that at any moment the blade in Noirville’s hand would plunge into her throat. She swayed and leant on Hugh’s left arm. He shifted his weight but could not hold her. Philip lunged forward, heedless of his own safety. His hand shot out, past his falling wife, and hit Hugh with a mighty blow to the face. Hugh staggered back against the bedpost. At that moment, William and Ozzy burst through the door and Noirville threw down his weapon. Philip bent over Rosawyn lying face down on the flagstones. With shaking hands he rolled her over. There was a thin line of blood running along her jaw. She breathed gently although her eyes remained shut. Relief poured over him and he slid a stray lock of hair away from her forehead. He scooped her into his arms and handed her to Father Martin who had now come into the chamber. “Will you take my wife and have someone tend to her? When she wakes, tell her to wait until I come to collect her.” He turned his attention back to Noirville. “You can’t execute me, d’Apremont. Only the King can do that,” Hugh told him with some of his former arrogance. Philip took off his tunic and gave Noirville a glacial look. “You’re quite right. I cannot execute you. But I can thrash you within an inch of your life… and no King or court or all the saints in heaven are going to stop me.” He threw his jacket to William. “Stop me before I kill him, but only just before.”

Rosawyn awoke lying on a bed with a maid dabbing her forehead with a wet cloth. “Philip?” “Sir Philip said that you are to stay here until he returns,” the maid informed her with a respectful bob. Rosawyn remained where she was and let the girl dab her face. She glanced down to see that the dress she had been wearing was practically in shreds and liable to gape open the moment she changed position.


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“Could you find me something to wear, please?” The young girl scampered off and Rosawyn closed her eyes. Where is Philip now? she wondered. An image of him bursting through the door to rescue her from Noirville flashed back into her mind. Then she remembered how she came to be in her brother-in-laws clutches in the first place and her head ached again. The maid returned with a passable homespun green gown for her. She stood up and swayed. The maid, who had moved away, dashed back to her side. “I just got up too fast,” she told her with a reassuring smile. “I’ll be fine.” After making herself respectable again, she took a couple of steps towards the door. She had to find Philip and try to tell him how sorry she was for defying him again. Her legs swayed under her and the black spots returned to her vision. She grabbed hold of the dresser against the wall and edged her way to the door, then teetered down the long corridor and main stairway. As she reached the bottom of the steps, she found herself surrounded by mayhem. At the far end of the hall, Noirville’s men, tied up and heads bowed, trudged towards the dungeons while women clung to them and cried. In the centre of the hall, several of Philip’s men argued with the castle retainers. She had advanced no more than a few unsteady paces into the hall when the castle steward spotted her. He rushed over and threw himself on his knees at her feet. Others followed suit. Surrounded by a shouting throng of people, she took a step back and inched towards the stairs behind her. Hands clawed at her skirts, pulling her into the crowd as she struggled and backed away. Perspiration sprang onto her forehead and she tried to swallow but her mouth was dry. She had to get away. A scream rose up inside her as she tore her skirt out of the grasps of those around her. She was just about to bolt back up the stairs when a large figure loomed beside her. Philip planted himself between her and the crowd. “How dare you assail Lady Rosawyn in such a manner?” he demanded in a harsh tone, and the rabble shrank back.


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He stepped behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders. Warmth flowed through her. “Tomorrow, the Midwinter Assizes will sit. You can plead your case to me, the Earl’s deputy, and I will dispense the King’s justice.” The crowd bowed and backed away. He turned to her. She smiled up at him wanly, hoping to see the warmth of his hands reflected in his countenance. It was not. “I told you to wait for me,” he said, scowling at her. He took hold of her elbow and escorted her back to the chamber then closed the door behind them. “Philip, I’m sor—” ”Sorry! Sorry! Is that it, Rosawyn? Sorry! What exactly are you sorry about? Sorry that you defied me? Sorry that you lied to me? Sorry that while we made love you planned to go to the Tirees? You lay there tenderly telling me how much you loved me, all the while knowing that a few hours later you would do exactly what I’d forbidden you to do! You call that love, do you? If you loved me in any way, you would not have done this!” Rosawyn turned away, unable to meet his gaze any longer, but he took hold of her and made her look at him. “Have you any idea what I have been through since you left me? Have you? I’ve nearly gone insane thinking of all the things Noirville might do to you.” He released her and raked his hand through his hair. “And he nearly did, didn’t he?” She lowered her eyes. ”Didn’t he?” She raised her head and gave a sharp nod. “What would have happened if I’d waited until tomorrow before springing the trap? Or we had been unable to get through the gate before curfew? What then?” His grip cut painfully into her arm, but she did not flinch. “I’ll tell you what. You’d be lying on your back now with that bastard Noirville pumping into you.” He released her and swung away. He stood motionless except for clenching and unclenching his fists. His breathing echoed around the stone walls.


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She glided towards him and placed her hand on his arm. “I’m sorry, Philip, but I had to do it. I knew you would come and—” “But what if I hadn’t? What if I’d been too late?” he asked in a cracked voice. Before she could answer, the door crashed open. Philip whipped the dagger from his belt and stepped in front of her. “I’m sorry, my Lord, but there is a problem,” Father Martin said as he entered the chamber. Philip re-sheathed the dagger and turned to her. ”Do you think you can do as I tell you, madam, and stay here until I return?” “Actually, my Lord, I think you should bring Lady Rosawyn with you.”

Philip was deeply conscious of Rosawyn beside him as he stalked from the room, his temper unresolved. They followed Father Martin across the gallery towards the other corner of the keep. A woman’s voice screeched out from an open door and echoed along the corridor. Rosawyn left his side and dashed towards the chamber. A young woman stood with her back hard against the far wall, clutching a small, crying bundle close to her with one hand and holding a flaming torch in the other. “I won’t let him kill my baby,” she screamed to no one in particular. “Stay back.” The bundle wriggled and a chubby leg popped out from beneath the wrap. Rosawyn stepped forward. ”Maeve, it is me. You and your baby are quite safe now.” She edged towards the frightened girl. ”Give me the torch.” Maeve screwed up her eyes. “Rosawyn? Rosawyn, is it really you?” Rosawyn nodded. “Give me the torch,” she repeated, moving closer. Maeve’s arm began to wobble with the weight of the lighted brand, and it dipped slightly. Rosawyn snatched it from her sister’s hand and placed it carefully back in its sconce on the wall. Then she put her arm around her sister’s narrow shoulders and guided her towards an oak chair nearby.


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Philip had followed her into the room but stayed by the door to avoid provoking the situation further. He studied the young woman holding the baby. She had the Earl of Liskard’s narrow forehead and deep-set eyes. “The Saracen is in the castle and he will kill us if he finds us,” Maeve told her sister, her eyes wide with fear. “Hugh said he is the devil and will kill my son, my little Hugh.” Saracen! Philip’s shoulders tightened. Would he never be free of that accursed name? Rosawyn glanced at him under her lashes and sent him a small smile. He forgot everything and everyone around him. What the hell had he done? His gaze settled on Rosawyn. This beautiful, brave woman had risked herself for him, but had he held her in his arms and told her just how much he loved her? Had he done that? No! He’d berated her. He stepped into the room to take her somewhere private and heal the rift his thoughtless words had caused. Maeve's wild gaze fixed on him and she let out an ear-piercing shriek. “It’s him!” she screamed, clutching the baby tighter. Young Hugh grunted and started to whimper. She turned from Philip and hid the child from his sight. “You devil! He’s only a baby.” He stopped and Rosawyn hugged Maeve. “It’s all right, Maeve. This is Sir Philip FitzRoger d’Apremont and he is my husband, Maeve,” she explained. “Whatever Hu—Hu—” He heard the waver in Rosawyn’s voice and the need to gather her in his arms almost overwhelmed him. “So, whatever your husband said, I promise you that Sir Philip will not harm you or young Hugh.” Her brows pulled tight together. “And please do not refer to him as ‘The Saracen’ again.” Maeve lowered her gaze for a second and then looked at her sister. “Will you look after me?” “Yes, of course.” Rosawyn smiled at her. She started to untangle herself from Maeve’s embrace, but her sister clung to her. “Don’t leave me.”


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Rosawyn hugged her again and Maeve relaxed. She held out her son. “Do you want to cuddle him?” “I will later, now I have to go with my husband.” She patted her sister on her arm and stepped towards him. Philip reached out to take her hand. “No! No!” Maeve yelled, and young Hugh started to fret again. ”I will be back soon.” Rosawyn glanced pleadingly at him. He dropped his hand to his side. “It’s of no matter, Maeve. Rosawyn can stay with you. I’m sure I can manage without her for a while.” He could hardly whisper sweet nothings in Rosawyn’s ear with her sister and young Hugh clinging to her. Satisfied that Rosawyn was not going elsewhere, Maeve offered her sister the child again. “Please hold him.” Rosawyn took the fretting baby and started to coo over him. The baby stopped crying and started hiccupping. Philip stared at her with the baby in her arms, and his heart ached. He ached to hold her. He ached to feel her against him and under him, and now there was a new and never before experienced ache as deep paternal emotions welled up inside. He wanted to snatch her away, but he could not. He bowed formally and Rosawyn’s eyes fixed on him, but Maeve held her fast. Before his resolve wavered and he tore her from her sister’s embrace, Philip spun on his heel and left the room.


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Chapter Twenty

For the next three hours, Maeve clung to Rosawyn and, although clearly exhausted, refused to sleep. Finally, Rosawyn persuaded her sister to lie on the bed while she curled up beside her and rocked young Hugh. In the quiet, and as the lights burned low, Rosawyn herself drifted off to sleep with the infant in her arms. She stirred some time later and opened her eyes. She gazed sleepily across at Philip. He raised his hand and motioned her to remain. “You look tired,” she said “I am.” He sat on the bed beside her, eyeing her sister warily. “It has taken me these last five hours to secure the prisoners, dispatch orders and write letters.” “Shh,” she hushed him. “Don’t wake Maeve, she has only just settled.” His gaze fell on Maeve’s hand tangled in the fabric of Rosawyn’s skirt. “Believe me, I have no wish to wake your sister. I had hoped that—” Maeve stirred. Rosawyn’s eyes shot to her sister. “Are we ever going to be alone again, or is your sister set to become a permanent feature of our wedded life?” he asked. “What can I do?” she snapped back. “Poor Maeve’s been brutalised to such an extent that she has wandered in her wits.” Her heart warmed a little hearing him speak of their future, but his tone was a great deal less than tender. He had loved her and now she was sure she had lost that love forever. Anger and frustration surged up in her. “What would you like me to do with her? Tie her to the bed?” Her eyes flashed through the darkness. “I can’t just abandon her, can I?” ”Do you suggest that we take her back to London with us?” he asked. His voice was low but there was no mistaking the fury in it. “Noirville will be hanged by the King, won’t he?” He nodded.


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“I don’t think her nerves would be improved by being the centre of attention at court as the wife of a convicted traitor.” “I’m sure they wouldn’t.” ”Maeve needs to be cared for by Hilda.” “I’ll send for her.” Philip rose from the bed. “Philip,” she started to sit up. Maeve stirred and started to murmur and whimper in her sleep. “Please, don’t wake her,” Philip told her, jerking his head at his sister-in-law. “It’s clear your sister needs her rest to restore her peace of mind.” He went towards the door and she followed him with her eyes. Her whole body and soul wanted him to take her in his arms, tell her that he loved her and then make love to her until she screamed. Just before the door, he stopped and swung around to face her. “We travel to London the day after tomorrow.” “Yes, Philip.” “No argument? No other plan?” She lowered her eyes so he could not see them shine with tears. Then to her surprise, he strode back to the bed and took hold of her hand. He carried it to his lips. “Try to get some sleep.” He turned swiftly and strode through the door. Tears roll down her cheeks. Philip—oh Philip, I am so sorry.

Rosawyn eased herself along the bench towards Philip. The servants placed fresh bread on the refectory table and poured breakfast ale into their goblets. She gave him a weak smile and was heartened to see warmth in his eyes as he studied her. “You look as bad as I feel,” Philip said as he broke off a morsel of bread and dipped it in the bowl of honey sitting between them.


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“I slept very little. Hugh woke right after you left me which roused Maeve, and neither went back to sleep.” He glanced down the hall. “Where is she now?” “She has gone back to the nursery with young Hugh. To sleep, I hope.” She forced a smile. The yeasty smell of the fresh bread drifted up to her. She broke off a chunk and nibbled at it warily. She had already had to dash to the privy to vomit once that morning and now she had the starting of a blinding headache. She felt hungry and sick at the same time. Beside her Philip worked his way through a bowl of oats. She gazed up at his fine, chiselled profile as he sat next to her. She noted the dark of his beard where he had shaved that morning, the mobility of his mouth as he ate and the sheen of his soot-black hair hanging loose around his shoulders. God, I love that face. As if he heard her thoughts, he turned his head and gazed down at her. He leant towards her. “Would you like to go and lie down?” “No, I’m fine,” she lied. His brows drew tightly together. “You’re very pale.” “I’m fine.” He raised an eyebrow. “No, you’re right, I am tired and I feel a little dizzy. My stomach is upset also. I think the strain of the past few days is taking its toll.” She groaned as her stomach churned again and the room started to spin. Philip stood up. “I’m taking you to your chamber.” “I’ll be—” “Just for once, madam, don’t argue,” he told her sharply. She nodded. She didn’t want to argue. She just wanted to sleep. ‘Thank you.” She took his arm. His eyes softened and he rewarded her compliance with the warmest smile she had received from him since he plucked her from Hugh Noirville’s clutches. As she reached the stairs, the ground beneath her feet shifted and he curled his arm around her to support her. She staggered up the steps and then wheeled along the corridor


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but at the threshold of the chamber the black clouds that had threatened to obscure her vision since she woke up crowded in, her knees buckled and Philip scooped her into his arms.

Rosawyn slept the rest of the day and on into the night. Philip came up to see her, but she did not rouse. Maeve had been in the chamber when he’d arrived. She had taken one look at him, scooped up her child and dashed from the room. He had sent one of the maids after her to ensure she was safe. Left to himself, Philip sat quietly in the large oak chair in the room and gazed across at Rosawyn. He had finished the afternoon proceedings and had organised the column to travel back with him to London with the prisoners. He had also set in place the arrangements for restoring law and order throughout the county after his departure for London. His gaze rested on the dark circles under her eyes. You selfish idiot, you should have noticed earlier that she was unwell. He ran his gaze over her, from her auburn hair that swirled wildly across the pillow to the soft expression on her face, the thick lashes that framed her eyes, the slight blush of her cheek and the deep redness of her lips. He just wanted to pick her up in his arms and love her and to hell with everything else. He didn’t want to ride to London without her, but he was beginning to wonder if she would be well enough to make the journey. He had to set a fast pace and could not afford to dawdle. However, he wanted her—no, needed her—by his side. He ran his hand through his hair and weariness swept over him. He glanced at the space on the bed next to Rosawyn then quietly took off his boots and jerkin and slowly climbed on, fully clothed. As the mattress dipped under his weight, she rolled towards him. He lay for some time staring at his sleeping wife. Then being unable to resist any longer, he brushed his lips lightly over her forehead and the faint smell of violets wafted over him.


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Rosawyn smiled. Philip kissed her again and then shut his eyes.

Rosawyn awoke the next morning with her head still pounding, and the nausea returned as she tried to rise. She sat up slowly but then had to dash to the privy. Katy, the maid, ushered in a skivvy, who set a pitcher of hot water for her to wash. She threw on the cream undercote, lacing it up at the sides. She covered it with a dark fern green, fur-trimmed tunic. Katy then combed and plaited her hair. Rosawyn’s stomach churned and threatened to send her to the privy again. After eating breakfast slowly from a tray, she made her way down to the hall. As she descended the stairs, she surveyed the turmoil in the chamber and spotted Philip. He looked more relaxed than she had seen him since he had arrived, alert with an odd smile lighting his face as he addressed his men. She was determined to speak to him and clear the tension between them. An unguarded smile crossed his face as he saw her and came over to her. Although he had been kind to her in the hall yesterday, she was still unsure of how angry he really was. She smiled up at him as he reached her. “Why are the troops packing?” He frowned. “We are leaving for London today. Have you forgotten?” She had. Her stomach groaned and the light-headedness returned. “We are leaving in an hour. Are you ready?” She was not. “Um—” “Rosawyn.” She pressed her lips together. He might have loved her a little but that was before she’d defied him yet again and angered him so. “I want you to come with me, but—” “Yes, I know.” She lifted her hand to her head as her temples throbbed. He stepped close to her. “Are you still unwell?” She put her hand out and clutched the table. “Perhaps it would be better if you followed later,” he said in a voice like a distant echo.


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She shook her head then wished she had not when the dots started bouncing in her vision. She grabbed his arm and forced a smile. “No. No, I will be fine.” His gaze ran over her uncertainly. “Very well, but be ready by noon.” She nodded and her head swam again. ”My Lady!” she heard a distant voice say and then Philip’s arms encircled her just before she sank to the floor.

Philip sent up a silent prayer of thanks to the Almighty as Rosawyn opened her eyes and let out a deep sigh. He smiled tightly at her and glanced at the door. “I must go.” “No. I’ll be fine in an hour or so.” She struggled up onto one elbow. “I think not. Sister Hilda will be here before sunset.” He took her hand from the counterpane and held it tenderly in his. “But I want you to follow as soon as you are well. Do you understand?” Then ignoring Katy hovering in the corner, he shifted up the bed towards her. Gazing deep into her eyes, he slid his arm under her shoulder and lifted her from the bed. He drew her gently to him. She rested her hand lightly on his upper arm and tilted her head back. After gazing at her for a second, he lowered his mouth onto hers and allowed himself a long kiss. He drew back and gazed down at her. “This time obey me.” She nodded, her eyes still locked on his. He lowered her back on the bed and stood up abruptly. His need for her was beginning to crowd out all other thoughts. Until he delivered Noirville to the King, the danger remained. “As soon as you are well,” he said, pulling down the front of his jacket. She reached out her hand to him. “No. Philip, wait!” He gave her the briefest smile and then strode from the chamber before his heart made him stay.


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Chapter Twenty-one

Rosawyn awoke the day after Philip left for London to find the sun had already been up for a couple of hours and the castle was buzzing with activity. After he’d strode out of the chamber, she’d spent the rest of the day with her head throbbing and her stomach churning. More than once she had to be helped to the privy chamber as her stomach rebelled at even the smallest amount of food. Finally, when at last her head cleared, she drifted off and slept the full night through. She drew in a deep breath and glanced around. Slowly she swung her legs over the side of the bed and lowered her feet to the floor. She stood, and a small wave of sickness swirled around her again, but even that was less than the day before. As it only seemed to bother her in the morning, it certainly would not stop her riding out tomorrow. The fire from the previous night was still giving off sufficient heat to warm the room comfortably. She called for a hot tub and washed from top to toe. She dried herself and combed her hair as best she could. Then she slipped on a fine linen undercote and covered it with a dark red, woollen day gown. With its gold embroidery and a matching girdle, it was a little fine for everyday wear, but after months of wearing homespun dresses Rosawyn thought she would indulge herself. She laced up the sides as usual and slung the long belt around it. The gown seamed a little tight across her breasts and around her waist, even the belt was snug. She puzzled for a moment, then the noise and smells from below interrupted her thoughts. Her stomach growled so she grabbed her veil, pinned it in place and made her way downstairs. Rosawyn had just finished her breakfast of bread and honey when Hilda joined her. She hugged Rosawyn. “Do you feel better, my dear?” “Oh yes, I slept like a baby. Even my upset stomach feels better today.” Hilda sat down beside her. ”Was it very difficult while you were hiding?”


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“I missed the little things like hot water and a change of clothes, but,” she smiled shyly at Hilda, “there were compensations.” “Philip.” “Oh, Hilda. I love him so much. I just wish I had been able to go with him to London. He only left two days ago so I might even catch him up on the road. I can’t wait to be with him in London—and see my father as well.” “I understand that the Earl is better.” “Yes. A letter arrived from Papa. He writes that he has found a new doctor and his breathing has improved a great deal. ” Hilda put her head to one side. “Did you say that you had an upset stomach for the past few days?” “Yes, but that’s almost passed now. Not that it’s stopped me putting on weight.” She showed Hilda her loosened side-laces. Hilda rubbed her chin. “You’ve been sick and put on weight at the same time?” “Oh, I’ll lose it on the ride to London. How’s Maeve this morning?” ”She’s much better. More clear in her mind,” Hilda told her, still regarding her with a puzzled expression. “She hasn’t mentioned Sir Hugh at all. Thankfully, she loves young Hugh and has started to feed him again.” “Is she able to do that now? I mean he’s had a wet nurse since he was a month old.” Hilda nodded. “Luckily, she had continued to feed him at night, even when Hugh forbade her. She should not have too much trouble increasing her milk. Also, she hasn’t had her monthlies since Hugh’s birth, which would have made it more difficult.” Something stirred in Rosawyn’s mind. She had forgotten something. What was it? The door creaked and Susan, Simon’s wife, came in. Rosawyn acknowledged her with a brief smile, then her gaze lowered to the woman’s swollen stomach. Her mouth dropped open. Monthlies. When did she last have a monthly flow? Before the siege began at Lostwithiel, she remembered how upset she was. Did she have one when she was with Ozzy and Hugh at Dodds’ farm, before they rescued Philip? Yes, Dodds’ wife gave her some padding, but after that she could not remember having another.


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She didn’t think so. In fact she was certain that she hadn’t, and certainly not as they made their way to Bodmin. She’d been sick in the mornings, but she hadn’t taken any notice. Philip had told her once that he’d seen men vomit and lose control of other bodily functions with fear. She had been living in a state of fear since the family Tiree had found her in their yard, so she thought no more of it. She put her hands to her stomach, feeling the tightness of the dress and belt. She remembered the tenderness of her breasts yesterday and again today. She turned to face Hilda, who regarded her with a crooked smile on her face. “Hilda, I—I think…I’m having a baby.” Her expression changed from amazement to sheer joy. “I’m having Philip’s baby.” Rosawyn hugged herself and swung back and forth for a moment, then stopped. “I have to go to London.” “But you can’t travel in your condition, not in the middle of winter,” Hilda told her. “Of course I can…I have to.” She hugged Hilda, then released the startled nun. “I’ll be fine. I have to go. I’ll take it slowly. I have Ozzy to care for me. I have to go.” She stood up and bounced on the balls of her feet a couple of time then hugged Hilda again. “I will start getting ready.” She lifted her skirts and dashed towards the stairs. She packed her best gowns and veils, praying they would be fine enough for Court. She cornered Ozzy and asked how soon he could get an escort together to take her to Philip, and he said they would be able to leave the day after next. That will put us only four days behind Philip. We might even catch him on the road. Later that afternoon she sought out Maeve. She was sitting with baby Hugh, having just fed him, singing him softly to sleep with an old Cornish lullaby. A lump came to Rosawyn’s throat. This time next year, I will have a child of my own to sing to. Philip’s child, she thought. Having rocked her son to sleep, Maeve laid him in his cradle. Rosawyn joined her in the window seat. ”I am going to leave the day after tomorrow, to join my husband.”


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“Must you go to him?” Rosawyn took hold of her sister’s hands and squeezed them. “I have to be with him. You do understand.” “I do. You love him very much, don’t you?” “Yes, I do.” “He loves you too. You’re very lucky, because he will never beat you,” Maeve said with a tremor in her voice. A warm glow spread through Rosawyn. She had provoked Philip. Oh yes, she had provoked him, and he had a hell-hot temper too, but he had never lifted a hand to her and she knew he never would. However, after all the pain and anguish she’d put him through, would he still love her?


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Chapter Twenty-Two

The River Tamar lay behind them as Philip and his company rode across Dartmoor and into Exeter. He pushed on to Winchester where he got news that King Henry was spending Christmas at Shene Palace on the Thames. He had made good progress as the weather remained mostly dry and cold, giving the horses a firm ground to gallop over. They joined the London road by Ilchester and then travelled northeast towards Windsor and the capital. He noted ominously that the weather behind him was deteriorating and hoped that Rosawyn would not be too far in the rear. He dreaded the thought of her travelling in the snow and ice in the middle of winter. He told himself he had been selfish to insist she come. She did not have to, she could have been safe and dry in Bodmin Castle for Christmas rather than racing after him to Shene. Selfish or not, he needed her to join him as he could not contemplate the winter at court without her. As they continued, he was thankful for long days in the saddle, as these led to a quick and deep sleep each night, leaving him little time to think. His main aim was to get Noirville to London and into the White Tower without delay. The evidence against him was overwhelming, but the due process of the law had to be observed. His party continued to cover thirty to thirty-five miles a day. After eight days they sighted Windsor, so they followed the Thames east, finally arriving at Shene Palace on the fifteenth of December. They were muddy, cold, exhausted and very thankful for the warm fires and hot food offered them. Maurice, the Earl of Liskard, stood proud and tall. Only the tight lines around his mouth showed his anger when he gazed on his traitorous son-in-law. The Earl formally handed Noirville over to King Henry, who promptly dispatched him down the river to the White Tower. Philip found that his arrival had caused a stir and spent the next few days writing letters, granting interviews and having audiences with barons and magnates. Now he had


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succeeded in his commission and would very likely be the next Earl of Liskard, they all wanted to be his allies. He spent a great deal of time talking over the campaign with the Earl and telling him how his daughters faired. He did not dwell on Maeve’s condition, merely reiterating Rosawyn’s belief that Sister Hilda would help his younger daughter recover. They also talked about how soon they could return to Cornwall and decided to set out after Shrove Tuesday, once the worst of the winter weather had passed. Philip had someone else to see, and she had not yet arrived for the Christmas celebrations. It wasn’t until the fourth day after his return that she appeared. He saw Avril, blonde, beautiful and perfectly dressed as always, at dinner that evening. She had arrived in court that afternoon unaccompanied by her husband, who had preferred to spend the festive season at home. Their eyes met across the room—and Philip sauntered over to her.

After leaving Exeter, Rosawyn and Ozzy found themselves riding in the teeth of an icy northern storm. Sheer determination on her part, together with their superior mounts, allowed them to make good progress, but at a price. She had been raised in the saddle, but the long days on horseback and the cold had tired them all. By the time they reached Alton, every bone in her body ached, and when Ozzy had suggested they stop to recuperate for a day at Sir Arthur Harrington’s castle nearby, Rosawyn didn’t argue. Although every day apart from Philip was agony, she would never forgive herself if she lost his baby by not resting when she had to. She therefore gratefully accepted Sir Arthur’s hospitality to her whole party. The two days she spent with Sir Arthur meant that, when the party came to leave, the worst of the storms had passed. Although it remained bitterly cold, the fierce wind had dropped. Only another four days and she would be with Philip. She fixed that thought in her mind as she rode across the winter landscape towards the Thames. It was with a great deal of relief that Rosawyn rode into Shene Palace just after noon on the twenty-second, only seven days after Philip had arrived.


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Full of impatience, she made her way to the chambers allocated to them. She rushed in only to find he’d left earlier that day, by boat, on an urgent trip to London. Swallowing her disappointment, she called for the maid who helped her change out of her travel clothes. Although she was tired, she resisted the urge to lie on the bed, and instead called the waiting page to show her to her father’s suite. Her father had been dozing in a chair when she reached his chamber, but he stood up as she entered and she threw herself into his arms. “Father, you look so much better,” she told him. “You’ll be hunting with Philip in the spring.” The Earl gave her a sad smile. “Of course, my love. But I am content now that my land is safe.” He disentangled himself from her and led her to a chair next to his. “Anyway, never mind me. You seem very well yourself, my dear.” The sad smile returned to the Earl’s face. “You so resemble your mother, God rest her soul.” “I should—” Rosawyn wanted to tell her father about the baby but stopped herself as she wanted to tell Philip first. “I’m fine, Father. A little tired, but nothing a good night’s sleep won’t put right.” “How is Maeve?” ”Recovering with Sister Hilda at Bodmin.” Her father pursed his lips and considered her for along moment. “Philip told me you went into Bodmin as bait, to lure Noirville back. Is that true?” “Yes…yes I did.” She paused and then burst out, “We needed him to return to Bodmin, but he just kept riding around the land, burning villages. The men were dying in the field from cold and lack of proper food, so we needed to lure Noirville back to Bodmin. I told Philip my plan and thought he would at least consider it.” She lifted her chin. “But he wouldn’t.” She stood up and paced back and forth. “He said it was too dangerous.” “Are you surprised? No man of honour would say yes to such a plan. In fact I am astounded that you changed his mind.” “I didn’t.”


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The Earl leant forward. “Are you telling me that Sir Philip told you no, but you went anyway?” She nodded. “Although he had expressly forbidden it?” She nodded again. The Earl fell back in his chair. “I know Sir Philip is not the brutal killer many hold him to be, but he is clearly not a man to argue with. What did he do when he rescued you?” “He was furious. I mean really furious.” “I imagine he was,” the Earl said. “He kept shouting at me even after I said I was sorry.” Her lips trembled slightly. “I didn’t want to disobey him but I had to.” A tear erupted and rolled down her cheek. “I just wanted him to forgive me but I don’t think he will.” She knelt on the floor at her father’s feet and took his hand. “Oh, Papa, I love him so much. What will I do if he won’t forgive me?” she sobbed onto her father knees. ”There, there, my dear.” The Earl’s hand rested on her head lightly. ”No man’s feelings change overnight, even if his wife has driven him to the edge of his reason.” Rosawyn clung to her father’s hand and prayed he was right.

When she had scrambled into bed on the night of her arrival, Rosawyn had found one of Philip’s shirts still amongst the covers. Almost lost in the huge bed with its heavy hangings, she held it close and breathed in his earthy musk. She laid it beside her and closed her eyes. When she awoke bright and early the next morning, she washed and dressed carefully. She was unsure what time Philip would be back and she wanted to be ready. She pulled out her apple-green silk gown with the sable trim and studied it. During dinner the previous night, she had noticed a tall, quite beautiful blonde woman, exquisitely dressed in pale green silk, sitting opposite them. Throughout the meal, this woman had spent a great deal of time staring across at her. Rosawyn had given her a polite smile and the woman had smiled back, but the warmth of it had not reached her pale blue eyes. She’d


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asked her father the woman’s name, and he’d told her the icy blonde was the Countess of Durham. This gown was almost the same colour as the dress worn by the sour Countess, but Rosawyn knew that, with her warm red-brown hair and brown eyes, the colour suited her much better. It was her newest gown. Thankfully it was not too tight over her breasts, and the lacings at the side just needed to be slackened to accommodate her thickening waist. She fastened a new embroidered belt that her father had given her and then called for the maid to dress her hair and set her veil. After the maid had gone, she surveyed the result in her hand mirror. What has he gone to London for with such urgency? She slammed it flat on the table. By lunchtime she was jumpy and irritable. She broke her noon fast with her father, then decided on an afternoon stroll by the river in the physic garden to calm her turbulent emotions. She watched as the boats skimmed past. The tide had turned about mid-morning, and the traffic was now going upstream. This meant Philip would probably be on his way back now. She strolled back into the palace grounds. In the yard there was a buzz of activity as guests arrived for the Christmas celebrations. She made her way across the open space and into the palace, then swept along the main corridor to her chamber. Turning the large iron handle on the door, Rosawyn strolled in. Her mouth dropped open in amazement at the sight of the beautiful blonde with the vinegary expression reclining on her bed.


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Chapter Twenty-Three

When Philip had sauntered over to her on the first night she returned to court, Avril was thrilled, but she was not quite so thrilled when she heard what he had to say. He told her their previous liaison was finished. Previous liaison. How dare he refer to their love as that? Theirs was a grand passion, the kind of love written of in epic poems. When he’d left court in May, Avril had tried to forget him, even taking a couple of new lovers, but it didn’t ease her pain. She wanted Philip. After he’d told her he loved his wife and wanted no other, he left without a backwards glance. She’d excused herself from the evening’s revelry and returned to her chamber. In the solitude of her room she screamed and flung herself on the bed, biting and tearing at the covers. The day after that, no servant dared to come near her, and there was not a glass or plate left in her chamber that hadn’t been dashed against the wall. She wept loudly until her eyes were red and stinging, but on the third day she’d decided what to do. She would get him back, and no convent-bred country girl would stand in her way. Men! Give them a virgin who squeals and they are led by their cocks like sheep to slaughter. Luckily, Philip had been absent on an errand to London when Rosawyn had arrived, so Avril had been able to study her throughout dinner. She’d smiled. Rosawyn was pretty enough, in a dark way, but no match for a sophisticated woman like herself. She would soon be able to frighten this little country bumpkin back to the convent, leaving Philip to realise the error of his ways. She would then console him. She had seen Rosawyn go out after lunch to take a stroll along the riverbank and knew that Philip would be back before nightfall, so she had to act at once.


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Rosawyn took a step forward, and her fists dug into her hips. “Oh, the Countess of Durham.” She smiled coolly at Avril. “You did come up in conversation once.” A smug expression formed itself on the blonde’s face. She glanced at the foot of the bed and spotted Philip’s shirt. She reached out, picked it up and held it against herself. Rosawyn’s eyes flicked briefly onto the shirt, then back to the countess’ face. “I heard of you when Philip—my husband—agreed he had got out of some slut’s bed to come to Cornwall. I now know that slut was you. It’s clear that Philip isn’t the only man you’ve had in your bed, and I can’t blame him for taking what was obviously freely offered. But be assured, whatever services you rendered my husband before are unnecessary now.” “How is it then that he sought me out the very night I arrived back at court?” Avril asked, clutching the shirt tighter. “Probably to tell you that whatever sordid relationship you had before was now over.” Avril winced. Rosawyn fixed her with a resolute stare. “There are a couple of things, madam, you need to be told. Firstly, do not refer to my husband as ‘your Philip’ because he is my Philip. Secondly, Philip found me in a convent, but I wasn’t brought up there, as you will find out to your cost if you don’t give me that shirt and start making your way towards the door.” Avril stared back at her in disbelief. ”How dare you!” “Countess Trollop, you will give me my husband’s shirt and leave this chamber before I call the household guards.” She held out her hand. Avril shook her head and clung onto the shirt. “I’ll wait for Philip to return and see what he has to say.” Rosawyn’s hand remained outstretched. ”Give me that shirt.” “He’ll soon come back to me when he has tired of you. He can’t love you, he can’t!” Avril screamed, backing towards the bed. Rosawyn crossed the room and snatched Philip’s shirt.


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As Philip and his companion entered the Palace courtyard from the East gate, they met King Henry and his queen, Eleanor, who had been inspecting a pair of breeding hounds sent as a Christmas gift. The King hailed him and signalled for him to join them. Philip introduced his companion to Queen Eleanor, and the two women sat down together and talked. He and Henry spoke of dogs and horses. Liskard joined them and all three stood, watching the grooms water the horses. Philip smiled across at his companion and she smiled back. He could not help wondering how long it would be until Rosawyn arrived at the Palace. His whole being ached for her. He was about to ask the Earl if there was any news of his daughter when he saw Ozzy slip past a groom and disappear into the main part of the Palace. “Excuse me, my Lord,” Philip said, bowing to the King. Henry, full of good humour, waved him to continue. “Is Rosawyn here?” Philip asked, turning to his father-in-law. “Yes, she arrived yesterday, not two hours after you left for London. Sorry, d’Apremont, I thought you knew.” Philip tapped the side of his leg rapidly. “Do you know where she is now?” “She left me after noon. She seemed a bit on edge, so I suggested she take a stroll in the fresh air to clear her head, although she looks very well, full of life. You’ve taken good care of my Rosawyn, son,” Liskard said, beaming at him. Philip turned to Henry. “Sire, with your permission, I’ll go and find my wife.” “By all means. I’m sure you’re anxious to see the woman who has you jumping around like a lovesick squire,” Henry joked. Philip smiled wanly, then went over to the woman whom he had brought with him from London. ”Mama, Rosawyn has arrived. I’m just—” An almighty shriek sounded across the courtyard. Everyone spun around to look.


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Two women exploded out of the door from the main corridor and into the yard, hair and veils flying in all directions. Each woman held an end of a stretched cloth as they aimed blows at the other. A wave of ice crept up Philip’s spine as he recognised the long chestnut hair swirling about the head of the combatant who was having the best of the fight. But whom was she fighting? The second woman broke free and held the disputed cloth aloft. There was a united gasp as everyone saw Avril, Countess of Durham, no longer cool and aloof but red-faced and sweating. Oblivious to the gathering crowds, Rosawyn straightened and rolled up her sleeves. She lunged at Avril, catching her off guard. Grabbing the countess by the hair, she twisted viciously downwards. She recaptured the dirty, torn cloth and punched Avril on the nose with the same hand. Blood gushed down the front of the countess’ gown. Rosawyn tucked the rag under her arm and marched Avril by the hair over to the long drinking trough. She tipped the woman over the stone edge and pushed her head under the freezing water. Leaving her to flounder in the trough, Rosawyn stood up and glanced around. Her gaze settled on Philip and then briefly on the older woman at his side. “I ‘ope your wife is the one still standing, Philip,” his mother whispered. He nodded as he stared at Rosawyn. Her hair had been pulled out from its plait and her veil had been ripped off. The silver circlet, which had lost the battle to keep the gossamer fabric in place, was askew on her head and threatening to slide to the ground at any moment. There was a deep rip in the scooped neckline of her gown, and one sleeve hung by a thread from its original place. There was mud all over the hem and side of the gown and a rent up the right side of the skirt, almost to the hip, exposing her underskirt. Despite Rosawyn’s victory, Avril had still managed to get in the odd blow, as was evident by Rosawyn’s reddened left eye. Philip judged it would turn nicely black by the next day. Rosawyn pulled her shoulders back and, still holding the dirty fabric, walked over to him.


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Behind her, Avril screamed and shouted, unable to get out of the trough because of her waterlogged gown. No one in the yard paid her any heed as all eyes were fixed on Philip and Rosawyn. She swept a stray lock of hair off her forehead and glanced around at the assembled company. Her gaze came back to his face and she held out the cloth. “She wouldn’t give me your shirt back.”

Philip said not a word as he guided Rosawyn across the palace courtyard although he was acutely aware of the small hand on his arm. To the casual observer she might appear relaxed, but he could feel the tension in her grasp through the fabric of his surcote. As the door to their chamber closed behind them, she let go of his arm, spun around to face him and backed away a half dozen paces. For a few seconds Philip studied his wife who had just clawed and screamed at his former mistress. It would be the talk of the court forever. People would say that the Saracen, bastard that he was, deserved no better—a wife who could not turn a blind eye to his wanderings but had to fight her rival in public. What a scandal. His mother’s story would be retold and men would laugh behind his back. Did he care? No. I don’t give a damn. He didn’t give a damn about anyone or anything except Rosawyn. His gaze ran over his dishevelled wife with her wild hair and dirty gown, then travelled on to the ripped neckline that flapped down provocatively, exposing almost all of one breast, and across to the detached sleeve showing her collarbone, shoulder and upper arm. However, best of all, rather than trying to cover up or put to rights her mud-stained dress, she stood and waited, proudly even, in her ripped clothes. She was absolutely, bloody magnificent. “I arrived yesterday but you had gone to London,” she said. “To collect my mother.”


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“Yes, of course.” She tipped her chin up and he noted the curve of her neck as she did so. “Anyway, while I waited I took the air after the noon break. When I got back to our chamber, I found that blonde trollop draped across the bed.” The corner of his mouth twitched. “She introduced herself and then went on to—to tell me about your—your—friendship. She talked about your appetites and—and—other things,” she told him. Her gaze flickered over him briefly, and he wondered what other things Avril might have mentioned. “She kept using your name, calling you ‘her’ Philip. How dare she? Then she picked up one of your shirts. It was on the bed. She started to hold it against herself in a very suggestive way, if you know what I mean.” He could guess. “Then?” he asked. “I told her to give it back and leave the chamber. She refused to do either. She said she would wait for you. I told her she wouldn’t and I would have your shirt. I gave her a last chance and still she refused. So—” ”So?” “So I made her give it back. She wasn’t going to.” A smile spread across Rosawyn’s face. “The Countess had a shock when I grabbed her and shoved her out the door.” Philip struggled to keep his lips from curling up at the corners. “Then?” “She wouldn’t let go of it, kept screaming that you were hers and no nun was going to take you from her. She was very unpleasant. Unfortunately, our argument—” “Argument?” “Skirmish then, continued down the corridor and through the main hall and into the courtyard. The rest you saw.” “As did everyone else.” He stepped forward and Rosawyn flinched.


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I’ve gone too far this time, especially with his mother there. Her gaze ran over him. She loved him so much but now, after such a disgraceful display, what would he do? “I so wanted to make a good impression on you mother when I met her,” she said as a lump rose in her throat. He raised his eyebrows. “Well, you’ve certainly made an impression.” A sob escaped her and she dashed over to him. “I’m sorry for behaving in such an appallingly unladylike manner. I have embarrassed you and left you open to everyone’s ridicule.” “It was appalling to see a woman of your breeding brawling with her husband’s former mistress! It not the thing you expect a lady to do.” He gazed deep into her eyes. “But then no lady would shin down a well and ride across country to rescue her husband. No lady would live rough in a hovel with him for weeks or nurse him back to health. No lady would have the courage to put herself in the hands of her enemy to help her husband’s plan succeed.” Her mouth fell open as she stared up at him. “No lady would do that. But a woman who was brave and intelligent, who loved her husband, would.” He reached out and gathered her to him. “Thank God you would, Rosawyn.” “But the court, the King and Queen and your mother saw…” He took her face in his hands. “I’ll tell you, I don’t care. I don’t care if we are banished, exiled, or cast adrift in an open boat. As long as I have you beside me, to fight for me, I don’t give a damn, because I love you.” Her head swam with the sensations of him holding her and gazing down at her with warmth and desire. She put the flat of her hands up against his chest. “I love you.” He smiled at her then lowered his mouth onto hers, kissing her deeply for a long while. Her emotions burst out within her. Her breasts tingled with his nearness and the puffy area around the entrance to her womb throbbed as it always did around him, driving thought from her mind and replacing it with raw, sexual need.


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After two weeks of thinking he no longer loved her, finding that he still did brought her emotional and bodily needs into harmony. She wanted his shaft thrusting into her now and his heart loving her forever. She slid her hands up around his neck, holding him tightly against her. She pressed her breasts into his chest. He adjusted his hold, one hand and arm going upwards to cradle her shoulder and head and the other sliding down to press her against the rest of his body. He guided her backwards towards the bed and pinned her against the stout upright poster at its foot. Holding her firmly, he parted her legs with his. She tilted her hips so that her mons pressed against his thigh. She rocked her pulsing clitoris against it. His lips left hers and travelled across her cheek and around her ear. “You make me so hard,” he told her, jamming his cock against her. “And you make me so wet,” she replied, feeling her sticky moisture already spreading down the inside of her thighs. He lifted what remained of the gown away from her shoulder and kissed her bare flesh. His hand slid up over her stomach and caressed her breast through the silk fabric. He captured her lips again and his mouth worked on hers for a minute or two and then released her. “I can’t begin to tell you how much I love you, but I am going to show you,” he said. His voice reverberated though her body and sent need pounding along the length of her cleft. He lowered his mouth on hers again, resuming his assault on her senses. His tongue explored back and forth, plunging in with the rhythm of their lovemaking. She ripped the front of his shirt apart and raked her fingers through the springy black hair of his chest, feeling the hard muscle of his body. He groaned as she traced over his skin, and the hand cupping her breast squeezed her nipple through the fine fabric. Her head fell back and, with half closed eyes, she gave herself over to the wonderful sensations coursing through her body and building her climax.

Philip gazed down at the breast in his hand and gave a satisfied grunt when he saw its stiffened nipple through the silk. He continued teasing the stalk to rise further for a moment


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or two, then the need to see Rosawyn naked overruled everything else. He let her go and stood back. Grabbing the front of her gown, he tore it apart then dragged what remained of her clothes off her shoulders and threw them across the room. His gaze ran over her body, taking in every detail. His cock strained forward, reminding him that it hadn’t had the pleasure of burying itself in her for weeks. His eyes roamed over her full breasts with their dark peaks then down over her stomach briefly before his focus settled on the triangle of hair through which he could see her swollen outer lips and just a hint of the pink inner ones glistening with moisture. His semen gathered as his balls made ready to eject it. Vaguely he thought she looked different in some way—more vivid, more rounded—but the thought vanished as she smoothed her hands up and cupped her breasts. With a teasing smile she offered them to him, bouncing them and pulling at her nipples. Then she ran her hands back down her body and parted her vulva lips with her right index finger. “I need you to touch me,” she said. All coherent thoughts fled his mind. He made swift work of his clothes, throwing them on the floor next to hers. Her gaze ran over him and rested for a long moment on his rigid cock. A smile spread across her face. She stepped close to him and her hand curled around his member. “I love your cock,” she told him as her hand ran the mobile sheath around it up and down. Her other hand cradled his scrotum gently and she grazed the peaks of her breasts through his chest hair. His jaw tightened but he kept his hands by his sides. Letting go of his cods, she placed her hands on his chest and, with her fingers splayed, smoothed them across and back. She glided them up and over his shoulders, finally running them down his upper arms. Her fingers traced along his forearms, disturbing the soft hair. She finished her exploration by holding his hands and lifting them to her lips, gently kissing, licking and nibbling his fingers.


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She returned her hands to his chest and then traced them downwards across the taut muscles of his lower stomach and over his hips to cup and squeeze his buttocks. She then ran her fingers, still splayed, far down his thighs then up again. She took hold of his cock and resumed caressing it. She put her feet on either side of his right foot and pressed her mons onto him, dampening his thigh. As she fuelled her orgasm against him, her gaze settled on his face. “I am so ready for you, I think I could come on your leg,” she told him. That was it. He could stand no more. He swept her up and carried her to the bed. Laying her on her back with an arm under her and his leg across her, he stroked her shoulders, chest, stomach, legs and back, kissing and murmuring words of love in her ear. His fingers plucked at each taut nipple in turn, then he sucked each one hard and released it swiftly so the breast bounced. With his thigh between her legs, he pressed his cock against her hip. His semen already sat at the base of his shaft, pressing for release, but he held back from just plunging into her. He slid his hand over her stomach and pubic bone, then parted the fleshy lips of her vulva. She gasped and her nails cut into his skin but she thrust her open cleft towards his hand. Her juices wet his fingers as he worked them through the smooth folds surrounding the entrance to her womb. He stopped for a moment as she bucked and strained against his hand. His shaft was throbbing with the need to plunge into her, but still he held back. He wanted her to come on his fingers so she was satisfied at least once before he drenched her with his seed. He slid two fingers over her hard clitoris then slipped them inside. She clawed at his shoulders and let out a low moan. Wetness gushed from her as she climaxed on his hand. She went limp in his arms and then half opened her eyes. “Get in me,” she whispered, drawing up her knees and spreading her legs wider. He rolled onto her and she clasped her legs around his hips. With one thrust, he entered her and his sac pressed into the crease of her bottom. He rested for a moment as the feathery sensation of her vagina caressed his cock. Then he braced himself above her and gazed down with love.


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His seed was already travelling up his shaft, but he held it back for just a second longer. “Rosawyn,” he whispered to draw her attention. She smiled, her face in that beautiful state of just peaking through one orgasm and on the edge of the next. “I will always love you,” he told her, voicing his last conscious thought before lowering himself and flooding her.

Rosawyn snuggled closer and rested her hand on his chest. “Why didn’t you leave me a message to tell me you had gone to fetch your mother?” “I didn’t think you would arrive so soon with the storm from the west and…” he glanced down at Rosawyn in his arms, “I wondered if you would welcome her.” “Why would I not?” His Adam’s apple rose and fell. ”Mama was assaulted—raped—and she gave birth to a bastard. Some ladies would feel tainted by associating with her.” She turned her head and glowered at him. He gave her an apologetic smile. “I know, I should have known better. I’m sorry, my love.” She forgave him instantly. She sprang up and knelt beside him, her hair making a mantle around her. “Tell me all about your mother.” Philip relaxed and put his arm behind his head. “She came from a small island but was kidnapped by pirates. She comes from a proud and wealthy family whose roots stretch back into history. After she was captured, she was raped and passed around the ship until they landed in the port of Marseilles in the south of France.” His jaw tightened. “There the captain decided to make a profit out of my mother and sold her to a peddler.” “How old was your mother when she was taken?” “Fifteen,” he replied in a clipped voice. “The peddler apparently intended to take her to Paris and sell her at a profit, but ten miles from d’Apremont he fell ill and died on the roadside. It was the middle of winter. She told me she had prepared herself for death when


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my father came by.” He glanced down at her and pain momentarily crossed his face. “I didn’t really know my father. He was there and he was kind, in his own way. He must have been, as he picked my mother up and took her back to d’Apremont with him.” “What happened then? How did you get here?” Philip smiled. “The usual way. My mother told me that my father must have thought he was performing an act of charity, rescuing a waif from the ditch. He took her back with him. He was very surprised to find that, after a few good meals and a safe place to sleep, the starving child was in fact a voluptuous, well-bred woman.” “What’s your mother’s name?” “It’s Christina. It’s here, next to mine.” He pointed to the tattoo on his arm. “This is her name and this is her father’s, Michael, and grandfather’s, Philip, whom I was named after.” She stared at the dark blue shapes that ran around his bicep. “Who put the mark on your arm?” ”Mama, when I was fourteen. That is the age when a boy turns into a man on her island. Rosawyn, will you do something for me?” he asked seriously. Did he want her to have her arm marked in the same way? A family tradition? Would it hurt? “Yes, yes, of course—an—anything.” “When you meet mama, will you ask her what island she comes from? I’ve forgotten, and she’ll tan my hide me if she finds out.” The thought of Philip, huge and powerful as he was, being afraid of his mother, set a giggle off inside her. She rocked backwards and, unable to suppress it any longer, laughed aloud. He joined her but changed his mood when his gaze settled again on her body. He pulled her close and under him. She stopped laughing and said to him seriously, “I am sorry about the scene outside. I thought you would be angry with me for behaving like that in front of everyone, especially your mother. I think she was crying.” Philip shook his head. “I don’t know what Mama was doing, but I would bet you a castle to a cowshed she wasn’t crying.” He rolled over onto one elbow and gazed down at her as she lay there naked on the cover. “God, I missed you.” “I could tell!” She arched a brow and glanced down at his cock.


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“Not just that, you wanton. I missed having you around. It’s like having half of me missing, you know.” “Yes, I know.” He pulled her against himself. “It’s just the two of us now.” She pushed herself away and sat back on her heels. “It won’t be for long. There will soon be someone else joining us.” He gave her a puzzled look. “Who?” “We won’t know for about seven months.” “What—are you—” His face changed as he gazed down to where she had placed both hands across her stomach. “Are you saying you’re with child?” She beamed, but his face went as black as thunder. Rosawyn drew back as she saw his reaction. “I thought you would be pleased.” He reached for her and held her close while he kissed her hair. “I’m sorry. I’m being stupid, very stupid. For one moment I thought you knew about the child when you stole off to Bodmin, but then I realised you couldn’t have.” “It is your child and means everything to me. I would never have done such a dangerous thing if I had known,” she told him. He hugged her to him and they lay quietly in each other’s arms until finally she needed to use the garde room and slid off the bed. When she retuned, Philip was leaning against the headboard with his hands tucked behind his head. He studied her as she strolled back to the bed. ”You know, you’re too slim to be pregnant.” “Babies don’t grow overnight,” she said, scrambling back beside him. “But I am. I’ve missed two months now and I was sick every morning last month. Also, I’ve swollen in places.” “I can see that,” he agreed, his right hand caressing her breast. He gently rolled her onto her back and propped himself on one elbow as he leaned over her. He gazed down at her, then lowered his head and, placing his lips on her still flat stomach, kissed the area slowly. “No. I’m afraid I can’t believe you are with child.”


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She opened her mouth to protest then stopped as she caught a glimpse of his expression and erect shaft. “No, Rosawyn.” He kissed her again. “I think I’ll just have to make sure that you are. Today, and again tomorrow and the next day and so on, for months in fact, until this baby actually makes an appearance.”

After three hours and two further sessions of lovemaking, they reluctantly agreed they would have to get dressed and face the world. Well, if not the world, the court and their immediate families. Arm in arm they made their way to his mother’s chamber and found Liskard already there. “Come in, come in,” the Earl beckoned them. “I was just telling this dear lady about our beautiful countryside.” Rosawyn gave a small nod to Philip’s mother, who gave her a warm smile. “Come and sit by me, my dear, these men—” she gave both Philip and Rosawyn’s father an indulgent smile “—will soon be talking about ‘orses, swords and the best way to run up a ‘ill.” Rosawyn went towards Christina, but Philip laid his hands gently on her shoulders and held her in front of him. “Before any of us speak of horses, swords, spindles or preserves, I would like you to consider another topic.” He paused and kissed her lightly on the head. “And that subject is your new grandchild that will be born in—” He gave her a questioning look. ”The end of June or the beginning of July,” she said. Liskard and Christina rose to their feet and came over to Rosawyn and Philip. “Good work, Philip,” the Earl slapped him hard on the back. Philip raised an eyebrow and Rosawyn giggled. Then with red cheeks, she turned to find herself in Christina’s arms. ‘There is no need to worry about this little one,” she said, placing her hand gently on Rosawyn’s stomach. “Any woman ‘oo can follow ‘er man into battle and keep ‘is ‘eart will bear many strong sons.”


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“I am sorry if I caused you any embarrassment with my behaviour in the courtyard earlier. I ho—” Christina raised a clenched fist. “A woman must fight like a lioness for ‘er man. Now come. I want you to sit beside me so we will get to know each other.” A short time later, Philip led her, followed by Maurice and Christina, out of the chamber and towards the great hall for the evening meal. There were some furtive glances at her eye, which was turning several shades of purple, as they took their seats. “They all seemed to have lost their tongues,” she whispered to Philip. “I think they were expecting to see you with more than one black eye, for being such a disgraceful, disobedient wife,” he replied, squeezing her thigh under the table. Rosawyn sat with Philip on her left and Christina on her right as they ate dinner. The two women talked throughout the meal. She rocked with laughter and Philip rolled his eyes when he heard his mother recount the boyhood story of the priest’s sandals. “I presume I will suffer this all the way back to Cornwall,” he said, forming his face into a mock expression of exasperation. Both women smiled at him and then at each other. “Oh, madam! What island is it that you come from?” Rosawyn asked suddenly. ”Didn’t Philip tell you? ‘Ave you forgotten again, Philip?” Christina gave her son a sharp look over Rosawyn’s head. “I—” Philip started. “Oh, he told me,” Rosawyn said quickly. “ But I don’t think his pronunciation was correct. So if you could tell me how to say it properly, I would be grateful.” Philip pressed his leg against hers under the table. Christina smiled. “Of course, my dear,” Christina replied. “Pyrathus.” ”Thank you, madam,” Rosawyn said, and Philip relaxed next to her. Christina gripped Rosawyn’s hand and smiled up at her son. “A lioness,” she said, and then her gaze returned to Rosawyn. “Why don’t you call me Mama.” Queen Eleanor clapped her hands and there was silence. She announced to the company that regrettably the Countess of Durham had been called north and would therefore be absent from court for the Christmas festivities. She then


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asked her minstrels to play one of her favourite songs—the tale of the ancient warrior’s daughter who fought a dangerous witch to win back her warrior. The nobles in the hall applauded as the musicians took up their position and the Queen smiled across at Rosawyn.


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Epilogue

Philip rode the last miles back to Lostwithiel with growing anticipation. He tried, as far as he could, to stay at home on his own land in Cornwall. However, the responsibilities of the Earldom demanded that he attend Court from time to time, and this had been one of those times. He had been gone for two months on this occasion, but now he was almost home. As he made his way across the familiar landscape he thought back to the first time he had ventured into this part of the country five years before. They had been a happy five years, happier than he could ever have imagined. He smiled, thinking of Rosawyn and their evergrowing family. Their first son, Henry, had been born after a bit of a struggle in July, barely two months after their first wedding anniversary. Henry’s birth proved to be long and hard. Thankfully, both Hilda and Christina were on hand to assist. To his surprise, Rosawyn had made a very quick recovery. Contrary to the usual practice where women were expected to ‘lie in’ for days, Hilda had insisted that she be up and moving about the next day. She’d also chosen to feed Henry herself rather than having a wet nurse. Her care and devotion to their son had only deepened his love for her, so much so that their second son, Maurice, had been born fourteen months later. He’d been beside himself with worry after Henry’s birth. But as Hilda had explained, the first baby was always difficult. After that, subsequent babies seemed to come without much trouble. This proved to be the case, as Maurice had arrived in half the time and with half the fuss of his older brother. Philip smiled as he thought of his two sons, so close in age and, as Rosawyn had written to him recently, already firm friends. His face clouded for a moment as he thought about his father-in-law Maurice, who had only just lived long enough to see his namesake born. Then there was Maeve. When Rosawyn had described the full horror of Noirville’s abuse of her sister, Philip had feared that if there were no improvements in her mental state when they arrived back in Cornwall, it would only add to the Earl’s failing health.


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Thankfully Hilda’s love and care, plus being in her own home once again, had allowed Maeve’s young mind to heal itself. Maeve had looked set to play the role of widow indefinitely. That was until Philip’s old friend Ralph de Tourney, and his shy but handsome cousin, Dyved, arrived for Henry’s christening. Before the month was out, Maurice had been approached by the increasingly bold Dyved who asked for Maeve’s hand in marriage. Maurice had agreed without hesitation. The newly married couple had then departed for the border country, where the de Tourney family held their land, and set about increasing the population thereabouts. Philip came back from his musings as he spied Lostwithiel Castle in the distance. He kicked his mount into a canter, and the party sped towards their destination. They finally clattered over the drawbridge and into the courtyard in the middle of the fine, summer afternoon. He scanned the group of people waiting for him and his gaze rested on Rosawyn. Even after five years of marriage, the sight of her still took his breath away. Since the time he had first set eyes on her, he had never looked at another woman. He hadn’t finished looking at her yet. She had rounded out after having the children, but this suited her. Being a mother of three toddlers and running a large castle like Lostwithiel kept her fully occupied, but Philip knew she would have been on the battlements since the morning looking for him. She always was. He tried to send ahead to let her know when he would arrive. He teased her that it was so he wouldn’t surprise her and her lover, but it was because he knew that, like him, she was counting every moment until they were together again. He flung himself from the horse and strode through the throng towards where she stood. Her eyes shone up at him as he closed in on her. She curtsied and offered him the welcome cup. “My Lord.” He took it, drained its contents then tossed it behind him. Ignoring the crowd, he pulled her to him and crushed her against his chest. He lowered his mouth onto hers, kissing her long and hard.


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Her body leaned into him and she curled her arm around his neck as she kissed him in return. He released her reluctantly and gazed down at her. “Oh Philip,” she said in a husky voice. Something pressed against his lower legs and tugged at his cloak. ”Papa! Papa!” Henry called up as he tried to catch his father’s attention. He kissed Rosawyn again, whispered, “Later,” in her ear and released her in order to give his sons his full attention. ”Papa, me and Maurice want to see you too,” Henry said as he squeezed between them, dragging his younger brother behind him. Philip smiled at Rosawyn as he bent down and scooped the two boys up in his arms and held them aloft. Henry had his dark chiselled features while Maurice actually looked like his namesake. Both boys had Rosawyn’s large brown eyes. Both were intelligent, sturdy and big for their ages and his heart burst with pride every time he thought of them. ”You and your brother are getting so big I’ll not be able to carry you soon,” he said to his eldest son. Henry flung his arm around his neck and Maurice stuck his thumb in his mouth. ”Aren’t we missing someone?” Philip asked. Maurice nodded at his father. “Who’s that, then?” “‘Tilda, Papa,” said Maurice, finding his tongue and beaming at his father because he knew the right answer. ”Where is Matilda then?” Philip asked as he walked with the boys still in his arms towards the castle keep and their family quarters. “‘Sleep,” Henry replied. “Matilda’s boring, Papa. She can’t even walk yet.” ”I should think not! She’s not a year until harvest,” Philip answered as he set the children down in the hall.

Rosawyn had followed the three of them into the hall. She had spent many hours waiting for this moment. Her heart had leapt with joy as Philip rode under the portcullis. She had missed him and had wanted him so badly over the last eight weeks that she was


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beginning to think he was never coming. But now here he was, as large and dark and handsome as ever, and showing clearly that he was hers and hers alone. She smiled as she watched him and their sons together. What a wonderful father he was. He must be exhausted and desperate for a bath and change of clothes, but he was sitting now hearing about the new pony and the wooden soldiers that Ozzy had carved for Maurice’s birthday, as if he had all the time in the world. The nurse entered and handed Matilda, who had just woken from her afternoon nap, to her. ”Here’s ‘Tilda, Papa,” said Maurice. He and Henry, having gotten the wooden soldiers out to show Philip, were now organising them into two armies on the floor of the hall. ”So she is.” Philip left the two generals mustering their troops and walked over to her. He caught her elbow and guided her towards one of the large audience chairs. He sat down and pulled her onto his lap. Matilda studied him with solemn blue eyes for a moment then smiled at him. ”Well, this girl of ours has all your charm, my darling,” he said to her, still looking at his daughter. ”That may be, but she has all of your looks right down to your blue eyes,” she replied, leaning into Philip’s chest, enjoying the hard strength of it and wondering how soon they could be alone. “That she has.” He kissed the baby’s head. ”You’ll be a heartbreaker when you’ve grown.” His expression became sombre. “What’s the matter, Philip?” she asked. He gave her a sad smile. “I was thinking of your father and the first time I met him.” He pressed his lips onto Matilda’s forehead again. “He told me I would understand one day about a father’s love for his daughter, and now I do.” Rosawyn stroked Matilda’s hair and felt tears start in the corners of her eyes.


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Philip kissed her lightly on the forehead. “I miss him too,” he said. “Crusty old bugger that he was,” he added gruffly. She heard the tremor in his voice. She blinked her tears away. “Only because you have no one to argue with now.” Philip tickled her waist and she wriggled. “I have you,” he said, planting a noisy kiss on her lips. Matilda’s interest was taken by the buckle on Philip’s belt, so Rosawyn enjoyed the moment of quiet on Philip’s lap with their daughter between them and their sons playing soldiers on the floor in front of them. She rested her head on his shoulder then slid her hand inside his shirt and around his neck. She stroked his skin gently. “I’ve missed you.” ”I’ve missed you too,” he said and wriggled her over his lap onto a firm bump. “Eight weeks is a long time to be celibate.” She gave him slow, sensual smile. “I know.” A wail cut across the room and Maurice scooted over to her, burying his face in her skirt then climbing onto her lap. The door opened and Christina entered the chamber. Rosawyn stood up and soothed Maurice while Philip took Matilda with him to greet his mother. Christina glided across the flagstones and kissed her son on the cheek. “You look well,” she told him, gazing up at him. Still holding Matilda, Philip embraced his mother and kissed her forehead. “I am better for being home with my family,” he told her. Christina came over to Rosawyn and hugged her, then looked back at Philip. “Your wife ‘as missed you,” she told him. “As I have her,” he said, his gaze resting on her. A thrill of anticipation shot through Rosawyn. Christina stretched out her arms towards the boys. “Are they not the biggest, strongest boys you ‘ave ever seen?” she asked with an indulgent smile. Philip smiled back. “They certainly are.” Christina chucked Matilda under the chin and the child giggled. “And is this not the most beautiful child that ever walked the earth?”


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“She is,” he agreed, winking at Rosawyn. ”I think I’ll go up. I want a bath and a change of clothes,” he said as he handed Matilda to his mother. “Will you join me, Rosawyn?” “I have to settle the children with their nurse—” “No, No,” Christina said, signalling the nursemaid. “A wife’s duty is to assist the lord with ‘is bath. I will take the children and see to them.” “Are you sure, Mama?” Rosawyn asked. “Of course, my dear, you know ‘ow I love to settle them and tell them stories of the old ‘eroes,” she said as she waved for Henry to follow her. Rosawyn handed Maurice to the nurse. Philip came and slid his arm around her. Christina turned back and looked at them. She raised her eyebrows slightly. “I’ll see you both tomorrow, after you ‘ave caught up on a few things.” Rosawyn watched her mother-in-law leave the room. Philip’s hand slid down and squeezed her bottom. Rosawyn glanced up at him. “You heard my mother. Do your duty, woman,” he told her with a grin.

Philip practically carried her to their bedchamber which was in fact Rosawyn’s old room. Her father had offered to give them his more spacious master chamber, but they preferred the one they had first used as a married couple, and there they remained. The hot tub was already in the room, so Philip shut the door and took Rosawyn in his arms. She pushed him away. ”Your water will get cold,” she said as she slid her hands over his chest then slowly untied his shirt. She glided her hands inside and over his chest. His cock sprang into action and pressed against the inside of his leggings, demanding to be free. She slid her hands up to his shoulders and pulled him down to her, kissing him hard on the lips. His arms wound around her, one had going up to hold the back of her head while he worked his mouth on hers. The other hand slid to her bottom, gripped it and wedged her mons onto his erection.


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”Eight weeks, Rosawyn! You’ll have to come with me next time.” He kissed down her ear. “I can’t stand being without that damp pussy of yours enfolding me.” “Philip!” she said, trying to shove him away from her. He held onto her and pulled her gown off her shoulder and uncovered her breast. He weighed it in his hand. “I’ve grown hard thinking of these,” he said, pinching the stalk at the centre of her areola with his fingers and thumb. It rose further as he played with it. He held it up and kissed down towards it, flicking the raised nipple with his tongue. Her eyes widened. “Philip,” she whispered as he drew the tip of her breast into his mouth and latched on. Her hands went to the front of his leggings and she untied the fastenings. “Are you ready?” Her fingers scraped through his bush and closed around his cock. He rocked it along her palm. His semen surged up to the base of his cock and sat ready to burst forth. ”What do you think?” he replied, lowering his mouth on hers in another deep kiss, his tongue imitating what his cock would do later. ”I… meant…your…ba…bath,” she said between kisses. “Are you ready for your bath?” He caught her against him again. ”I am. But I want to give you something else first.” She pretended not to understand. ”You wanted me to do my duty and help you bathe, and here I am.” He let her go and stood back. ”I wouldn’t want you to be kept from your obligation, my lady,” he said, smiling broadly at her. He dropped his hands to his sides and stood there but didn’t adjust her dress back to cover her breast. He watched it tremble as she stepped towards him. ”That’s better,” she said as she slipped his shirt over his head. He let his head fall back and enjoyed the touch of her hands. She ran them up and down his arms in a slow caress. “I love the feel of your hair,” she said, bending forward and kissing across his chest. “And I love the way it neatly tracks down.” Her fingertips followed the line at the centre of his stomach towards his navel. Her lips planted kisses across his chest and Philip knew he could take no more.


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He had suffered the exquisite torture that she could give before and enjoyed it, but not now, not after eight weeks. It was more than any man could stand. He grabbed hold of her around the waist and his hands made short work of the gown. He threw it on the floor. ”You can play with me all night if you wish…later. I want you and I want you now.” He tugged at the lacing at the neck of her undercote. “So get your clothes off.”

Rosawyn put her hand to her flimsy undergarment and let it drop the floor. Philip’s gaze ran over her. Her stomach tightened as he focused on her breasts and then on the triangle of hair at the apex of her legs. She knew he enjoyed looking at her body and she was pleased to let him. She smiled at him. “Now you get your clothes off too.” He tore them off and threw them on the floor. Although her climax was already spreading through her labia lips and rigid clitoris, she fired it further by studying Philip’s sculptured body. His raw masculinity sent a heavy throbbing through her whole being. His hand shot forward and caught her to him. His erect cock pressed into her briefly, then he lifted her off her feet and placed her on the bed. Then he climbed on and covered her body with his own. She opened her legs and wrapped them around his waist. His mouth was on hers again, kissing wildly, then in one thrust he entered her fully. He drew back then thrust forward again and Rosawyn rose to meet him. She tightened her legs around him as the waves of her orgasm rolled up with his every thrust. “God, Rosawyn, how can this keep getting better?” he asked in a hoarse voice. The waves of pleasure she rode crashed over her. Clinging onto his bucking hips, her body strained and shuddered. “Philip, I’m …I’m –” The word forming in her mind could not reach her lips, as he roared, flexed and then slumped on her. He was right. How did this keep getting better?


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Philip kissed Rosawyn’s forehead then rolled over, taking her with him. With his eyes closed and wallowing in the afterglow of his orgasm, he let his mind run through his many blessings. He was now the Earl of Liskard with prosperous lands. He was a favoured noble of King Henry and he had three beautiful children, with more to follow in time. But the best, by far, was that he had Rosawyn—his Rosawyn who had saved had him, nursed him, fought for him, put herself in danger for him, bore his precious children and had made him the happiest man on earth. This wonderful woman who, for some unfathomable reason, loved him more than anyone in the world. That alone was more than he ever dreamt of. She shifted beside him and raised herself on her elbow. The faint aroma of their recent lovemaking drifted up to him, and his cock jolted. “I missed you,” she said, kissing his chin. He smiled but didn’t open his eyes. “I missed you too, my love,” he replied, “You’ll come with me next time. The children will be fine left with Mama.” “I will, although,” her finger slid over his chest and twirled his chest hair, “Mama will have one more to care for before the New Year.” He opened his eyes and turned to look at her. ”That is wonderful.” He laid his hand gently on her stomach. “But I always worry about you. Childbirth can be hazardous.” ”But not for women who have Hilda and Mama to look after them,” she told him. He hugged her again and conceded her superior knowledge of such things. ”I’m sure I could birth ten children without further trouble.” Her hand slid around his neck. “In fact the way you keep planting them, I well might.” She kissed him on the chin again, but this time her lips lingered. His cock jolted again. He slid his hand behind his head and gave her a crooked smile. “Four children in less than six years, that’s not a bad tilling score for my lance,” he said, glancing down at his penis sitting at half-flag on his thigh. Her gaze followed his and studied his hefty member for a long minute, then she slid out of his arms. As she raised herself up, her breasts swayed and bounced and his cock stood ready.


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Philip caught her and pulled her back to him. “Where do you think you’re going, sweetheart?” he asked, rolling over and pinning her under him. He spread her legs and settled himself between. ”To see to your bath before the water gets cold,” she said. Although she’d been able to maintain the innocent expression on her face, her hips were already tilting to give him easy access into her. “Not yet, you’re not,” he replied, butting the head of his shaft against the sticky folds of her inner lips. Excitement flashed in her eyes. ”If you come back this full,” she angled her hips and the head of his cock entered her, “maybe I’d better not come with you next time.” He grinned as her legs slid up the outsides of his thighs and onto his hips, while her hands gripped his shoulders. She gave a heavy sigh. “Oh, Philip.” He gazed down at her. “Oh, Rosawyn,” he replied, pressing his mouth onto hers for a moment. “Now, on your knees.”

A smile played across Rosawyn’s lips as she looked up at Philip. Although she’d just recovered from an earth-shaking orgasm, the look in his eyes started the waves of pleasure rising in her again. She rolled onto her stomach and drew her knees under her. Philip positioned himself behind her and tucked his arm around her. He arched over her, his body hair brushing against her back, and kissed her shoulder. With one arm supporting him on the bed, his free hand slid up and cupped her breast. “These are magnificent,” he said, his fingers tugging at the tight nipple. A shiver of excitement raced down her stomach and nestled around her clitoris. She let out a low moan and he changed sides and then leant back. His cock bumped into her hip as he shifted position. Then his hand smoothed over her buttock and tucked under to stroke her pussy.


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The little waves of pleasure started to peak and fall back as his skilled fingers teased her towards climax again. “That’s puffy already,” he said as he parted her vulva lips and slid his fingers between the inner folds. “I love to feel it warm and moist like it is now.” He caressed back and forth over her clitoris. Another wave of pleasure rolled through her. Philip’s words were as intoxicating as his hands and lips. Although his firm thrusting would always make her come, many times what he said sent her crashing through an orgasm sooner than she expected. The nub of flesh that he caressed grew moist as dampness spread down the inside of her thighs. He gave a low chuckle. “Spread your knees apart, my sweetheart, and let me see it all.” The area Philip stroked tightened again and started to throb. She spread her legs wider and lowered her head, angling her rear towards his gaze. He arched back further and his fingers rested on either side of her cleft, pulling it aside and exposing the area beneath. “That is a wonderful sight,” he told her. She looked under her open legs and her gaze rested on the rouge-coloured head of his cock straining upwards, free from the protective sheath of skin. “So is that,” she told him, reaching through her legs and catching hold of it. It bucked on her palm and she caressed her hand up and down. “Wanton,” he said, slapping her buttock and making it tingle. She let go of his shaft and, curling around, blew him an exaggerated kiss. He grinned and then climbed off the bed. “Stay there,” he said, kissing her upturned bottom. He dashed over to the corner and Rosawyn smiled when she realised what he was doing. When the armoury had been flooded by a sudden downpour two summers ago, Philip had brought his armour up to prevent it rusting. This had added an unexpected excitement to their love making. Staked upright in the corner, his polished metal shield had acted as a full length mirror and allowed them to see themselves entwined together on the bed.


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It had remained in the chamber long after the rest of his knightly apparel had been returned to its correct place. Philip brought it closer and propped it against the chair with the reflective inside towards them. She studied his cock jutting in front of him like a jousting lance as her orgasm hovered around her moist crevice. He came over to her and glanced back at his shield. She gazed at the reflection of herself in the concave surface, and the waves of her orgasm intensified. He reached over and adjusted the angle of the shield. “You’re mother asked me the other day why I didn’t send that to be stored in the armoury,” she said as he adjusted it again. “What did you say?” he asked, climbing back on the bed and coming around behind her. Rosawyn grasped hold of the headboard. “I told her it’s because you like to watch yourself ploughing my furrow,” she told him. Surprise flashed across his face, then seeing her amused expression, he slapped her bottom again and hooked his arm around her. His cock rose upwards and rested against the entrance to her womb. He gathered her to him and pressed his chest into her back. He kissed her ear. “Hold on tight, my Lady. This is going to be a hard ride.” Excitement burst through her as he filled her. She gasped and her hands clung to the wood of the bed. His arm around her waist gripped her to him while his other hand slid around and caressed her clitoris. It wasn’t needed, because she knew in half a dozen thrusts or so she would come on his cock. She gripped the headboard tighter to steady herself and her finger slipped into something rough. Through the haze of her building orgasm, Rosawyn glanced up and her gaze settled on the groove she’d cut with Philip’s sword five years before. She smiled the smile of a woman in love, and who was loved in return. But more than that, she smiled because she was the woman loved by Philip FitzRoger d’Apremont, no longer spoken of as ‘the Saracen’.

About the Author Ellie is an award winning author who lives in London with her very own ‘hero at home’, two cats Biscuit and Cherry and her new Bernese Mountain dog puppy, Molly. Ellie fell in love with historical romance when she read Katherine by Anya Seton many years ago. She loves to talk/write about History. Although she loves all periods of history, Ellie is a medievalist at heart and her stories are inspired by the image of a tall, muscular warrior stripped to the waist, holding a sword. Can you imagine what they must have looked like? You don’t have to, come and experience their seductive powers in Ellie’s stories. Email: [email protected] Ellie loves to hear from readers. You can find her contact information, website and author biography at http://www.total-e-bound.com.

Also by Ellie Tremayne Prince of the Three Mountains

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