Anne Herries - Hostage Bride

Rosamunde was puzzled. Had she built an unreal picture of her uncle’s enemy in her mind—or was there truly an evil monster beneath that handsome façade?

‘You should go down, lady,’ Maire told her. ‘If you do not the lord may be angry.’

‘He is already angry because I disobeyed him.’

‘Take care, lady. You are his prisoner here. He can do whatever he wishes with you. If you do not wish to lose your virtue, you must make him see that you are chaste and devout.’

‘I doubt that either chastity or devotion will win my freedom if he is determined to keep me here,’ Rosamunde replied. ‘Yet I must go down, for I am hungry, and if I disobey him he might starve me into submission.’

Leaving her chamber, Rosamunde began to walk down the spiral stairwell of worn stone. Her mouth felt dry and her steps were slow for she was apprehensive of her next meeting with Lord Mornay. She had disturbed him when he was busy but he might have more leisure to pay her attention this evening.

Lost in her thoughts, she did not hear the sound of soft-soled shoes as someone ascended the stairs, so when they met face to face midway she was suddenly breathless.

‘My lord. I was about to attend you, as you commanded.’

He was so tall and strong, his shoulders broad, the muscles rippling beneath the thin wool tunic he wore over dark hose that evening. He had changed since she’d last seen him and smelled of soap that was slightly perfumed with a woody essence which made her senses reel. His hair looked darker at the roots but he wore it long and the sun-bleached ends just brushed the braided neck of his white tunic. Yet he was somehow gentler, more of a knight and less the savage now.

‘Command? I sent you an invitation to dine with my people and me in the hall. You seem to imagine you are a prisoner, lady. What have I done to deserve your anger?’ he asked.

‘I … Nothing, except take my father captive and demand that I bring the ransom in person.’

He was standing so close to her, towering above her, so masculine and powerful. She caught her breath, her heart hammering against her ribs as if it were a caged bird seeking to escape the bars of its prison.

‘Please believe that I mean you no harm,’ he said. He held out his hand. ‘Come, lady. We shall go down together. Later, after we have dined, I shall explain much that you do not know. Until then I must ask you to trust me.’ He needed to be careful what he said and where he spoke to her. Apart from his steward Mellors, who had already proven his loyalty, he was not yet certain who amongst his inherited household staff he could trust.

Rosamunde took his hand and allowed him to lead her down the last few steps and through the great hall. The trestles and boards had all been set up now and were laid with wooden trenchers. At the high table there was a huge silver salt and either silver or pewter goblets stood at intervals down the board. Dishes of fruit, dates and nuts brought from overseas were set along the centre of the board for the guests to nibble at between courses, and the platters of pewter shone like dull silver.

She was conscious that all eyes were on her as she was led to a place of honour beside him. He waited until she was seated, then turned to the expectant gathering.

‘As you see, my friends, we have a special guest this evening. I ask you to lift your cups to toast the lady Angelina.’

The men stood, lifting an assortment of horn, pewter or wooden drinking vessels according to their status. Having drunk her health, they sat down and the meal began. Fresh bread, soups, messes of meat and worts, neats’ tongues, roasted boar and a great carp covered in rich sauce and onions were brought in succession to the table.

Rosamunde ate sparingly of the dishes presented to her. Neither her uncle nor her father had kept a table like this other than when entertaining important guests; she thought Lord Mornay must be rich. How much of his wealth had come from robbing his neighbours?

She sipped her wine and found it sweet, much more pleasant on the tongue than the rough vintage she was accustomed to. She tasted the pigeon in red wine and ate a little roasted capon followed by stewed plums and a junket of wine and curds.

‘You hardly eat, lady. Is the food not to your taste?’

‘I am not used to such rich fare, sir. I have eaten sufficient, thank you.’

‘You must try a peach. I insist.’ Lord Mornay reached for a succulent peach and began to peel it for her. He handed a slice to her on his knife. ‘I had these brought from Normandy. I have inherited an estate there and if the fruit is picked before it is quite ripe it travels well enough to be pleasing at table.’

Rosamunde stared at him, because to send for fruit from his estate in Normandy was such an extravagant thing to do, and she could not imagine what it must have cost to bring the fruit to a ship and then across the channel. She tasted the slice he had cut for her and smiled.

‘That is truly delicious. My uncle had peaches growing in his garden in Normandy but they were not as sweet as these.’

‘Your uncle?’ Raphael’s eyes narrowed.

‘Yes,’ Rosamunde dropped her gaze because she’d spoken without thinking. ‘My uncle of Saxenburg—my father’s brother.’

‘Ah, yes, I see. I know little of your family, lady. Do you have brothers, sisters, cousins?’

She could not look at him as she replied, ‘My uncle of Saxenburg has two sons. I have also a cousin on my mother’s side; her name is Rosamunde Meldreth.’

‘Then she must be the very beautiful lady I saw you with at the harbour in France.’

‘Yes, my cousin is very beautiful.’ Her heart was beating wildly and she dared not look at him.

‘You are beautiful too,’ he said. ‘In a different way.’

‘I do not think I am beautiful,’ she contradicted him flatly.

‘You should leave such judgments to others.’

Rosamunde could feel her cheeks burning. She reached for her wine and sipped it. Her hand was trembling and she had to hold the cup with both hands to steady it.

‘Why do you tremble? Are you afraid of me?’

Rosamunde raised her eyes to his. ‘I—I’m not sure. Should I fear you, Lord Mornay?’

‘Will you not call me by my name? I am Raphael to my friends. I travelled home with them but only one remains; the others have gone on a mission of importance. Sir Jonathan is here and you shall meet him later.’

Raphael? Her heart jerked because it was the name her hero had given her all those years ago. Could it be him after all? No, the youth who had so gallantly saved her kitten could not be the evil man of whom she had been told.

Her mouth was dry as she said, ‘You ask me to use your given name but I do not know you, sir. I am here as your hostage for my father but I beg you will treat me with the honour due to a lady of good virtue.’

‘Supposing I told you that I had already set your father free?’ he murmured in a low voice that did not carry.

Rosamunde’s eyes flew to his face. ‘Why would you do that when the ransom has not been fully paid? What is it you want of me, sir? I beg you, tell me so that I may prepare myself.’

‘You think I mean to disparage you and send you back to your family in shame.’ His gaze narrowed and his voice remained soft. ‘I believe it is time …’

What he meant to say was lost as a commotion was heard from the door and a struggle ensued as his men tried to stop someone entering. Raphael rose to his feet.

‘Who demands entrance here?’

A tall man stepped forward, at least ten armed men at his back. ‘I am Lord Danforth and here on Prince John’s business to see Lord Mornay.’

‘May your business not wait? Come, sir, bring your men and join us. You see that we are at table and there is a lady present.’