Authors: The Knight of Rosecliffe
Rexanne Becnel (20 page)
In the light of a gray and watery dawn, she came to the only solution possible. She must escape.
The dark of the moon would occur in three days. Prior to then she must be gone from Rosecliffe.
She rose from her pallet, folded up the blankets, and put them in a trunk, then wearily scrubbed her hands across her face. The best she could do was to disappear, for with her gone, Rhys would have no need to confront Jasper—at least not immediately. She knew she only pushed back the day of their reckoning. But at least she would not feel guilt over the outcome of their battle.
And if she fled far enough from these hills, perhaps she might never hear which one of them killed the other.
She looked over at the high bed draped with green damask, and found Josselyn watching her. “You had a restless night, Rhonwen. I heard you twisting and muttering in your sleep.”
“You forget that I am a hostage, not a guest. Would you sleep easy in your enemies’ stronghold?”
“If you mean an English stronghold, well, I do so every night,” Josselyn said with a little smile.
“’Tis not the same. Rand is not your enemy.”
“Nor is he yours. Nor is Jasper.”
Rhonwen did not want to speak to her about Jasper. Josselyn was too eager to pair them, too certain that it would solve everything. What Josselyn did not understand was that Jasper’s feelings for Rhonwen did not mirror Rand’s feelings for his wife.
“I am held here against my will, Josselyn. How can he not be my enemy?” She left then, and Josselyn did not try to stop her. Downstairs, the capacious hall was coming to life. A maid stoked the fire in the huge hearth. One bleary-eyed page staggered in with an armful of additional wood. Two other servants pulled the tables away from the walls.
LaMonthe’s two men were not there, much to her relief. She did not want to be forced to give them an answer. Let them think what they would. Let them inform their lord that they had delivered their message. She would escape before the night in question.
But how?
One of the maids slanted her a suspicious look. “Does milady know you’re about?”
Rhonwen stared coldly at her. “Yes. I slept in her chambers,” she answered tartly. “’Twas she who has sent me after water for her morning ablutions.”
“But I filled that ewer last night,” the woman protested.
“Gavin was ill during the night. We used it for him. Now she needs more,” Rhonwen finished. Then she turned and walked away from the maid, as if she had free run of the castle. It was only partially a lie, and fortunately, the maid did not stop her.
Outside, the bailey was quiet. Two men stood in the stable opening, talking. A cock flew up to a windowsill, stretching and ruffling his feathers, then crowed his morning best.
She’d better hurry.
Taking a circuitous route to the well, she carefully scanned the base of the high inner walls of the castle. The stables and barracks took up the greater portion of one side of the yard, and the great hall, the keep, and the chapel took up the other. Flanking the gatehouse were storerooms on one side and a holding pen for cattle on the other.
On the far wall, perched nearest the edge of the cliff, was the kitchen. A pair of timber lean-to sheds, and a smokehouse clustered around it, and it was there Rhonwen focused her search.
Thunder rolled heavy across the sky, and she wished she’d brought her mantle. No hint of spring showed this ugly morning. Cold and damp settled over the land, and settled deep into her heart. She must find that gate!
The castle walls were solid stone, tall and impenetrable. She paused near the kitchen, searching for a break in the surface, but she saw none. When the kitchen door screeched open she
ducked behind a trio of empty ale barrels. The last thing she needed was to be hailed by the cook. She squeezed backward behind the temporary barrier—and made a startling discovery.
ducked behind a trio of empty ale barrels. The last thing she needed was to be hailed by the cook. She squeezed backward behind the temporary barrier—and made a startling discovery.
The kitchen did not fully abut the outer wall. A narrow passage, partially hidden by the kitchen and the barrels stacked before it, led behind the kitchen.
Holding her breath, she put down the bucket and made her way down the passage until she encountered a heavy iron door embedded in the outer wall.
This must be it, the postern gate that led to the outside and the narrow walkway that descended the cliffs to the sea!
She inched her way back to the barrels and peeked out. No one was looking for her. She turned back to the gate and reached for the ring handle. With a slight scrape of metal on metal, it turned.
Rhonwen was so stunned she fell back and toppled a neatly propped trio of fishing nets. Alarmed that she would be heard, she hastily righted them, then held her breath, listening. Her heart pounded as she examined the narrow space behind the kitchen. Fishing poles, baskets, nets. A pair of long oars and several iron-tipped fishermen’s spears. This must be a frequently used passageway for those heading down to the sea, she realized. And if it was not presently locked, it must be because someone had already used it this morning.
Holding her breath, she turned the ring handle once more, and when the lock clicked, she pulled the door open. Another passageway with a low ceiling, and lined with ropes and corks and several unlit lanterns, led right through the width of the wall to a second door. In addition to a sturdy iron lock, this door also boasted a heavy crossbar. But the bar now leaned against the wall, so, taking a chance, she opened that door as well—but only a narrow crack.
A blast of pungent sea air proclaimed her success, and Rhonwen drew in a great draught of the freedom it promised. Freedom. Could it really be this easy?
Then she heard voices and, looking up, spied two guards on the wall walk. No escape today—at least not during the light of day. But would the doors remain unlocked from the
inside at night? She peeked out again and saw the path that angled down the face of the sheer cliff, to the narrow beach below. From their strategic perch the watchmen could see anyone who used the path. Only under the cover of darkness could a person depart or enter without detection.
inside at night? She peeked out again and saw the path that angled down the face of the sheer cliff, to the narrow beach below. From their strategic perch the watchmen could see anyone who used the path. Only under the cover of darkness could a person depart or enter without detection.
Lightning flashed far out across the sea, and after several seconds thunder echoed. If the clouds held, it would not matter about the light of the waning moon. And if it rained, even better.
She pulled the stout door closed and rested against its damp, grainy surface. So it was resolved. She would leave tonight and put this trial behind her. And once shed of this place she would never return, not to Rosecliffe, nor to Carreg Du, nor to the rebel camp on the way to Afon Bryn. There was nothing for her here—nothing that she could have, anyway, and too much of what she did not want.
Somehow she would send word to Rhys that he need not attempt a rescue of her. Then she would strike out for the west to discover a new life for herself.
She pushed off the door and, taking up the bucket she’d left in the first passageway, cautiously made her way back into the bailey. But as she drew water from the well and made her way back to the keep, she was gripped by a loneliness more profound that she’d ever felt before. She’d long felt alone in the world, but of late, it seemed, her life had been crowded with people. Rhys and his determined men. Josselyn and her darling children. And Jasper.
She looked around, searching for him without success. Her heart grew heavier still. But she was not giving him up, she told herself. For he had never been hers to possess. She was just removing herself from harm’s way.
Even the simplest beast of the forest knew the wisdom of doing that.
“Who were those men?” Isolde asked. She sat on a short three-legged stool opposite Rhonwen, holding her hands out as Rhonwen wound freshly spun yarn into a convenient skein.
Rhonwen glanced at the girl, then back at her task. Ever since Rhonwen had defended Isolde’s right as a Welshwoman to select her own husband, the girl’s attitude toward her had undergone a remarkable change. “Why do you direct that question to me? Why not ask your mother? She knows more about them than I.”
“She doesn’t like to tell me anything that might make me worry.”
“Why should anything they say worry you?”
Isolde dropped her hands and the yarn skein into her lap, forcing Rhonwen to look at her. “I’m not a child. I know there is trouble in the land. King Stephen. Matilda. The old king’s grandson.” She sighed. “I know that whomever Gavin fosters with and whomever I wed are important to Father. Important to Rosecliffe and to England. Peace in England will keep peace in Wales. That’s what Father says.” Then, realizing she spoke to a Welsh loyalist, she added, “I am half-Welsh, you know.”
“Yes. I know. Pick up your hands so we may finish this
today,” Rhonwen instructed. “Your mother should have the dye bath prepared by now.”
today,” Rhonwen instructed. “Your mother should have the dye bath prepared by now.”
“But what of those men? What message did they bring?”
What message indeed? Not one Rhonwen could reveal—nor one she could ignore. “That is difficult to say. Their liege lord knows your father is away from Rosecliffe. Perhaps they brought a message from him?”
Isolde sent her a disgusted look. “If that were true, why would Jasper have posted guards at the stairwell last night? I saw him when they left. He was sore relieved to be rid of them. Everyone was.”
Rhonwen studied the child’s serious face. “You are quite the clever one, aren’t you? All right, then. I’ll tell you my suspicions. Everyone—Welsh and English alike—knows that Simon LaMonthe is not a man to be trusted. He is cruel and greedy. No doubt Jasper and your mother know it too. If LaMonthe sent men here, it was for his benefit and no one else’s.”
Isolde’s eyes grew round. “To spy upon us?”
“Mayhap. But you need not fear, Isolde. Jasper would never allow any harm to befall you or anyone at Rosecliffe.”
The child smiled at that. “He is so wonderful. He’s brave and handsome and funny too.”
Rhonwen concentrated on winding the thin-spun yarn around the little girl’s outstretched arms. Yes, he was all those things, and too appealing for her own good. She didn’t need Isolde to tell her that.
“I know you love him,” Isolde stated.
Rhonwen dropped the spindle and it skittered across the floor, unwinding yarn as it went. “What a ludicrous idea!” she exclaimed as she bent to fetch the spindle.
“It’s all right. I’m not angry anymore. I know I cannot marry my own uncle. The Church will not allow it.”
“I think … I think you are confusing your feelings for him with mine,” Rhonwen countered. But the girl’s remarks had unsettled her. “You love him, but I … I merely think him … He is my captor,” she finished angrily. “He is my captor and this is my prison.”
She faced the girl once more, holding the spindle while the strand of yarn stretched between them. “I am trying to make the best of the time I must spend here, Isolde. That is all. He cannot keep me forever, though. Eventually I will be free to leave.”
She wound the last of the wool yarn around Isolde’s arms. “There. Take this skein and all the others down to your mother. I’ll put the spindle away and straighten up the chamber.”
Isolde stood, frowning down at the neat coil of yarn in her hand. “I don’t understand you, Rhonwen. You ought to be happy that Jasper admires you so.”
Rhonwen had no answer for that—at least none that was fitting for a child. “You are too young to understand such things.”
“I am not!”
Rhonwen abandoned the solar before Isolde could mount any further argument. What could a mere child know of such grown-up matters?
She knows you love Jasper. She’s wise enough to recognize that.
“Bendigedig!”
she muttered. Just wonderful. If she could not escape tonight, she would surely go mad!
she muttered. Just wonderful. If she could not escape tonight, she would surely go mad!
It seemed, however, that she was to be pushed to madness even sooner than that, for as she stormed down the stairs, Jasper met her coming up.
They both halted, facing one another in a curve on the steps, and her heart began perversely to trip over itself. He wore a gray tunic over a bleached white shirt, and the combination intensified the gray of his eyes. He stood there, two steps below her, putting their faces on a level, and stared moodily at her.
He looked weary, as if he had not slept well, and though she’d slept poorly herself, her first instinct was to offer him comfort. She wisely bit back the words, however, before they surfaced.
“If you seek Isolde, she is—”
“I do not seek Isolde.”
Tension crackled between them, sharp as a dagger, cutting to the heart of her. She looked away, down at the spindle she’d forgotten she yet held. “Oh. I must put this away.”
But when she turned to retreat up the stairs, he followed her. “I would speak a moment with you, Rhonwen.”
Speak with her? The very idea terrified her. She increased her pace. Isolde was not far; she would be the buffer Rhonwen needed between Jasper and herself.
At the landing, however, he caught her wrist, staying her progress. “Rhonwen. Wait.”
She snatched her hand from his and faced him, trembling with emotion. “Begone from here, Jasper. I do not wish to be alone with you.”
“Why?”
“Why? Because … because …” She swallowed hard and sought a plausible reason, anything but the truth. In the end it was a partial truth she revealed. “You have a way of banishing a woman’s good sense. You know it is so, for you pride yourself on it. If I am to retain my sense, then it follows that I must keep my distance from you.”
Where was Isolde?
“You have a way of banishing my good sense as well.” He took a step closer. “But it is when you are absent that I become an utter fool.” Another step. “When you are near to me … that is when all my senses peak. My sense of touch—I need to touch the silk of your hair, the satin of your skin.”
Rhonwen’s eyes widened in shock.
“My sense of smell,” he continued. “You smell of flowers and the forest. Of woman.”
Her heart’s pace tripled. Her chest hurt, it pounded with such violent emotion.
“My sense of taste.” He stepped closer still. “I want to taste you again.”
Rhonwen backed away, shaking her head. “No. No. You must not … must not say such things to me.”
“Why? It is but the truth.” He closed the distance between them.
“Because … because it is not talk you truly want.” She
came up hard against a door. “You want more than merely to talk.”
came up hard against a door. “You want more than merely to talk.”
Their eyes held, his dark and compelling, and hers … She did not want to think about the truth her eyes must reveal to him. He was so close that, though they did not touch, she fancied she could feel the imprint of his body upon hers. The heat of him pressed in on her and she was helpless in his thrall. She was surrendering. She could feel it.
He braced his weight on the door, trapping her within the span of his arms, and slowly let out a sigh. “No, you are wrong in that. Though I want more than talk from you, Rhonwen, this time … this time I will restrict myself only to talk.”
To talk? He had not come to seduce her? If he was being truthful, then she was a bigger fool than she’d thought. Even when he wished only to talk, she succumbed to desire. Her face flamed in humiliation. What would she do if he truly set out to seduce her?
“What is it you wish to talk about?” she managed to ask.
He pushed back from her, then looked away. A hint of color rose in his cheeks and Rhonwen stared. Was he blushing? What could this possibly be about?
He cleared his throat and her curiosity grew. When he spoke, however, he made no sense. “I know from Josselyn that your father is not living. Have you some other man—an uncle or stepfather—who takes responsibility for your well-being? And do not say Rhys. For he is not a part of this.”
She was completely bewildered. “I have a stepfather. But he is nothing to me. I cede him no responsibility for myself.”
“What of your mother, then?”
“What is this about, Jasper?” Then she gasped. “Surely you do not think to ransom me?”
“Damnation!” He ran both hands through his hair so that it stood out in rumpled spikes. “’Tis not ransom I have in mind, but marriage! Marriage,” he repeated, his tone lower, meeting her eyes this time. “Who am I to make my request to, Rhonwen? Who?”
Rhonwen had no answer to give him. The question was too unlikely, too illogical to have an answer. Instead, in a thin
voice she asked, “Who is it you would have me wed?”
voice she asked, “Who is it you would have me wed?”
He stared at her as if she were mad. “Why, me, of course.” Then he frowned. “Think long and hard on this before you turn me down, woman. You could be content at Rosecliffe. Josselyn is happy to have you here, and I—”
He broke off and folded his arms across his chest. “I will make a good husband—as good a husband as you will make a wife.”
There was no compliment in that statement, but Rhonwen was not slighted. She was too stunned by this unexpected offer. “Why?” she asked. “Why would you wish to wed with me?”
His eyes moved over her, a delicious stroke that made her insides quiver. “We are well suited, I think.”
It was her turn to blush. “In one way, perhaps.”
“Perhaps?” He gave her a cocky, one-sided grin. “Perhaps?”
“Perhaps,” she stated, frowning. “But in every other way—no. A marriage between us makes no sense.” It was gratifying, though, but Rhonwen would not let him know that. She crossed her arms, mirroring his stance. “You have another motive for this. Is it to spite Rhys?”
His grin disappeared. “He is not your lover, though he claimed otherwise. I have thought long on this, Rhonwen. If you and he are not lovers, it is because you have rebuffed him. There is nothing between you, not on your part, anyway. So, no, my offer has nothing to do with him. It is for me.”
Rhonwen had never been so confused. She’d expected seduction. Instead she’d been completely undone by pretty words and an offer of marriage. He wanted to make her his wife!
For a few blessed moments she let herself envision such a unlikely future with him. Waking up beside him each day, happy, knowing she belonged somewhere. Dining alongside him. Sharing secret looks, secret smiles, that only they understood.
Sharing his bed.
A heated flush stole over her as she imagined them closing
the door against the world every night and turning to one another.
the door against the world every night and turning to one another.
And then there would be children. Even now there could be a child. She was not certain when her monthly courses were next due—
“You’ve not said nay, Rhonwen. Does that mean you will accept my offer?”
Rhonwen blinked, and that fast the rosy picture in her mind turned to the murky color of her reality. The dark of the moon would bring an attack on Rosecliffe Castle. Were she to accept Jasper’s offer, she would have to reveal the plot to him. But could she betray Rhys that way?
She knew she could not.
Her crossed arms slid down to her waist and she hugged her terrible knowledge to herself. She could not meet his eyes.
“I … I thank you for the … for the offer you make. I am mindful of the honor in your proposal and … and I do not decline it easily. But … but decline it I must.”
When he did not respond, she hesitantly peered up at him. His expression was hard to decipher. He appeared neither angry nor hurt, but rather bemused.
“You do not love Rhys. I will not believe that. So why do you turn me down?”
“Because … because a marriage between you and me is destined to fail. We are too different.”
“In the same manner that Rand and Josselyn are different? Their marriage has succeeded, as you term it. They are well pleased with one another. Surely you see how content she is.”
“But they love one another!” she burst out. “They have more than desire between them.”
“We have—” He broke off, frowning. “Do you want declarations of love from me? Is that it?”
“No! No,” she gasped. Dear God, would this agony never cease?
Only if she convinced him she was serious.
She realized what she must do and sucked in a hard breath. “I do not love you. That is the problem. I do not love you any more than I love Rhys,” she vowed, and stared at him as
if that were not the biggest falsehood of her life.
if that were not the biggest falsehood of her life.
This time his expression was easier to read. His jaw tensed, his lips thinned, and the warm light in his eyes turned to a hard glitter.
“So you see,” she continued on recklessly, needing to end this before she broke down completely, “you will not be able to avoid making a decision about your hostage by marrying her. Will you free me now, or will you keep me locked up here forever? Which will it be, Jasper?
Other books
El señor de la destrucción by Mike Lee Dan Abnett
The Devil's Only Friend by Mitchell Bartoy
My Worst Best Friend by Dyan Sheldon
Suffragette in the City by Katie MacAlister
An Alien Rescue by Gordon Mackay
Zero Six Bravo by Damien Lewis
Sandman by Morgan Hannah MacDonald
Coming Home by Brenda Cothern
Bridge to Cutter Gap / Silent Superstitions / The Angry Intruder by Catherine Marshall
El sacrificio final by Clayton Emery