Anne Herries - Forbidden Lady

‘It has come,’ he cried. ‘Henry Tudor has landed with a force of two thousand men and bids me meet him with all the fighters I have raised. God be praised! At last we shall have some action.’

‘It is what you need, Rob,’ his steward said. ‘You have been brooding too much of late…’ He raised his eyes looking at the man he loved as a son. ‘She has bewitched you! You have not been the same since she sent you away. No woman is worth the agony you have endured because of her!’

‘You have not seen her,’ Rob said, and for a moment the old smile was there in his eyes. ‘Besides, she did not do this—my wound was courtesy of her brother. She was distressed when she saw it.’

‘You would be a fool to forgive her. She is the daughter of your father’s enemy. I do not like to see you brought so low by a woman’s treachery.’

‘Perhaps it was my own fault,’ Rob said with a shrug of his shoulders. ‘Have you seen Owain Davies? He was to ride with us, but I have not seen him for some days.’

‘I think he had some business of his own,’ David said. ‘A message came for him from the Abbey and he left at once. He said that if the summons came before he returned he would meet you on the field of battle.’

‘Then he will keep his word,’ Rob said. ‘I shall leave today for Shrewsbury for I wish to speak with Morgan of Hywell. He would not give his promise until he was sure that Henry really meant to come—but now I am certain he will agree.’

‘As you wish, sir,’ David said. ‘Forgive me if I spoke out of turn, Rob—but I know she made you suffer.’

‘I could never be angry with you,’ Rob said. ‘Besides, you were right—she is not worth the pain she has caused.’

Rob tested the blade of his sword. Melissa was false and it was foolish to lie in torment each night thinking of her. Yet the scent of her was imprinted into his senses, and he could not forget how it had felt to hold her in his arms. He still wanted her, burned for her, even though she might be a proud witch who had merely played with his emotions.

He left the chamber, shouting orders to his servants. He must ride with all haste to Shrewsbury and give Morgan of Hywell the news that Henry Tudor was to come. At last he had something to do and could forget his own problems for the moment.

Melissa rode in stony silence. Her father had sent Harold in his place to see her wed, for he was too busy to accompany her to his cousin’s fortress. She had been told that she was to be betrothed to the Marquis of Leominster when she reached the stronghold in the north of England. The marriage would take place almost at once after the betrothal, and she would leave the Earl of Gifford’s home to travel to that of her new husband not far from the city of Nottingham. What was more, she had been denied Rhona’s company and given Agnes as her only attendant.

‘You think that I do not know you plotted with Rhona to escape me again,’ Lord Whitbread had told her. ‘Well, I am not a fool, daughter—and you shall have Agnes to serve you. I know that she is loyal to me and will guard you well until you are safely wed—as for the other, your maid may think herself lucky if I do not give her to Harold for his sport.’

‘Do that, Father, and I shall never reach the earl’s house alive.’

‘You defy me still?’ Whitbread took her arm. ‘The girl is safe—but if I hear that you have somehow escaped from your brother’s care, she will die. Do you hear me?’

Melissa had not answered him, but she knew that he would carry out his threat if she escaped or took her own life before she was the Marquis of Leominster’s wife. She had no choice but to make the journey to the earl’s house and see what presented itself then. Perhaps there was some way out of her dilemma, though she did not know what it might be, for her freedom might mean Rhona’s death.

Melissa had met the Earl of Gifford only once. He was her father’s cousin and a tall, thin man with a long nose. She recalled that she had not liked him when he visited with her father some years previously—but she had not disliked his wife, who was a pretty woman with pale hair and limpid blue eyes. She would not have minded the visit so much had it not been for the shadow that hung over her—the fear that they would force her to marry a man she did not know and could not like.

All she had heard of the Marquis of Leominster was that he was a hard, cold man and twice her age. She had learned from the casual talk of the men who rode with her that he was known for his brutality. He had, it was said, taken the wife of one of his neighbours after a dispute between them, keeping her a prisoner and using her as his mistress until he had tired of her. He then turned her out, but when she returned to her husband he would not have her back for she had dishonoured his name. Friendless and broken, she had walked into a river and drowned herself.

What kind of a father would sell his daughter to a man like that? Melissa shuddered at the thought of her likely fate if she became Leominster’s wife. She would rather die by her own hand! It was a sin to take your own life, but Melissa thought that she would risk eternal damnation rather than live in the hell that such a marriage would bring—but had she the right to condemn Rhona to a cruel death?

‘We shall break our journey at the next inn, sister.’ Harold’s voice brought her back from her reverie. ‘We have made good time and you must be weary.’

Melissa flashed him a look of dislike. ‘Do not pretend to consider my needs, Harold. I am not hungry. I would prefer to continue until we reach our resting place for the night.’

‘Well, I am hungry if you are not,’ Harold told her, a sulky expression in his eyes. ‘I swear I know not why Leominster wants a sharp-tongued witch like you for a bride. Give me a woman with a merry laugh and a warm heart, anytime.’ She was too thin for his tastes, for he was used to seeking his pleasures in the arms of a plump tavern wench. His father had taught him to fight and given him a hunger for good living, though he lacked all the qualities and refinements of a true knight.

Melissa had tried to feel affection for him, but his coarseness and his surly manner had killed any feeling she might have had for him. She lifted her head, a look of scorn in her eyes.

‘I am sorry that I do not find favour in your eyes, brother. I wish that you might allow me to slip away to an Abbey and save yourself the trouble of this journey.’

‘If it were up to me, I would slit your throat and be done with it,’ Harold said, an evil leer on his lips. ‘I cannot see why we may not just take your lands for ourselves, but Father says it must be done within the law.’

‘I thank you for your kind words, brother,’ Melissa said. She turned her head from him. ‘I care not what becomes of me.’

‘And I care even less,’ her brother snarled. ‘Because of you I may miss all the excitement. Father has heard that Henry Tudor is bringing an army from France. That is why he could not spare the time to escort you himself. He has received a summons to join the King. And I might have gone with him if it had not been for you.’

‘I am sorry to be such a trouble to you—but let me go to an Abbey and you may ride to join the King’s army.’

‘And earn my father’s displeasure? You would love that, sister.’ He glared at her. ‘Just remember that I do not have Father’s scruples concerning you, Melissa. If you were dead it would suit me very well…’

‘Yes, I know,’ Melissa replied. ‘But you have no need to fear me, Harold. Father would never disinherit you for me.’

‘Not for you,’ Harold said, eyes cold as they rested on her face. ‘But you might have a son…’