Authors: The Knight of Rosecliffe
Rexanne Becnel (31 page)
She closed her eyes, fighting to control her wayward emotions. If she lingered much longer with Jasper, she would surely come undone.
She cleared her throat, but Jasper spoke first. “It occurs to me that I have been remiss in my behavior to you. I should long ago have thanked you for saving my life.”
She raised a startled face to him. “Saving your life? ’Twas you who saved my life. You bound my wound and carried me to Rosecliffe.”
He leaned toward her, his expression earnest. “You took the blade meant for me, Rhonwen. LaMonthe would have killed me but for you. Don’t you remember?”
Rhonwen digested that shocking bit of news. She remembered Jasper forced to his knees by two burly guards. She remembered Rhys hesitating when LaMonthe exhorted him to slay the helpless Jasper. Then LaMonthe had lunged forward. But beyond that she remembered nothing. She shook her head. “I don’t remember. How did you get free from your bindings?”
Jasper told the entire story, and she listened, wide-eyed, to his tale of Rhys’s horror at LaMonthe’s deed, of Rhys freeing him and how the two enemies had combined to fight off a third enemy.
When Jasper was done with his tale, the two of them sat a long minute in silence. Then he said, “So you see, you have saved me yet again. Ten years ago it was my hand you saved, and mayhap my life as well. Now I most assuredly owe you my life.”
She made a wry face. “You forget that just a few weeks ago I tried to put an arrow through your heart.”
“So you did,” he answered in an ironic voice. “But the debt I owed you canceled your misguided attempt at assassination.
Now you have saved me again, and I find myself once more in your debt.”
Now you have saved me again, and I find myself once more in your debt.”
Then pay your debt with an offer of marriage, she wanted to shout at him. Renew the offer you made for my hand and let me agree this time. Then will any debt you owe me be finally paid.
But what of Rhys? another voice persisted.
With shoulders slumping she said, “We have both of us survived a difficult time. Ten years ago ’twas Owain, a Welshman, that mistreated and betrayed his own people. This time it was LaMonthe, an Englishman. But … but we are alive and … and …” She looked down at her lap, at her fingers twisted together in agitation. He was an honorable man; he paid his debts. She had but to ask.
She took a breath and raised her eyes back to his. “Will you explain to me why Rhys is held in Rosecliffe’s dungeon? If he freed you to fight LaMonthe, then he saved your life more so than did I.”
His face closed at the mere mention of Rhys’s name. Even his frown vanished, to be replaced by a hard blankness she could not decipher. Behind the shuttered darkness of his eyes she saw only a tense watchfulness. “Speak plainly what it is you want of me, Rhonwen. Do not leave me to guess at your thoughts. I have not proven to be adept at that,” he grimly added.
She pressed her lips together and her fingers twisted to the point of pain. Must they ever be at odds with one another? “Please,” she began, then halted when her voice trembled with emotions better forever buried. “If you are honest in your profession of debt to me, then … then I beg you to free Rhys from his confinement.”
A muscle ticked in his jaw. Otherwise he remained as still as a stone carving. “He is my brother’s prisoner, not mine. Better that you plead your case with Rand.”
“But it is you Rhys aided. With your own words you admit it. Intercede for him, Jasper.” She leaned forward and, without thinking, reached out a hand to him.
He recoiled as if she had threatened him with a weapon.
Jerking to his feet, he began to pace. “I have already done as you ask. I pleaded my case before Rand but he will not free the boy. You forget that Rhys’s crimes are many. He has long harried our English people and also your Welsh folk who seek to live at peace with us. Those crimes are petty, though, in the face of his recent activities. He stole Isolde—a mere child—from the safety of her family. Had we not foiled him, who knows what he might have done to her—”
Jerking to his feet, he began to pace. “I have already done as you ask. I pleaded my case before Rand but he will not free the boy. You forget that Rhys’s crimes are many. He has long harried our English people and also your Welsh folk who seek to live at peace with us. Those crimes are petty, though, in the face of his recent activities. He stole Isolde—a mere child—from the safety of her family. Had we not foiled him, who knows what he might have done to her—”
“He would never have hurt her!”
“So long as you were there to prevent it,” he countered. “Isolde has made that clear. But he has never paid for that crime. Then he conspired with LaMonthe to overthrow Rosecliffe Castle.”
“He never put that plan into effect.”
“Again, because you spoiled it.”
At her surprised look, he gave a short laugh. “You wonder how I know that. You forget that he is but a boy and his emotions are easily manipulated. By baiting him I have learned enough to deduce the truth. You left Rosecliffe before he could enact his scheme.” He had paused in his pacing. Now he faced her. “Why did you did that? Why?”
Rhonwen closed her eyes in dejection and turned her face away. “Only a man would ask such a question. I did not wish to see blood spilled, neither Welsh nor English. I could not lend my assistance to Rhys, knowing the ugly battle that must surely ensue.”
“So you left.”
“I left.”
“And I followed you.”
She looked back at him. “Yes. You did. Why?”
He’d begun to thaw, but he froze at her question. She saw his face grow hard once more, and his lips curled in derision. “Why? Surely you can answer that question yourself. I desire you still. ’Tis no more than that.”
’Tis no more than that.
How deeply those casual words struck her. How cruelly. And yet, somehow something in his
manner did not ring true. Rhonwen was afraid to risk her fragile emotions, and yet she was more afraid to go on not knowing the truth.
How deeply those casual words struck her. How cruelly. And yet, somehow something in his
manner did not ring true. Rhonwen was afraid to risk her fragile emotions, and yet she was more afraid to go on not knowing the truth.
She braced herself and met his mocking stare. “You can still have that.”
His fierce frown did not encourage her. “You are hardly up to such energetic activity.”
“I will be soon enough.”
Again the muscle jumped in his jaw. His eyes glittered with angry emotion. “So you will whore for him? To free Rhys you will play the whore with me. Again.”
She could not bear the accusation in his voice. “I never whored for him. Ever.”
“So you say. But what was that last night between us? You searched me out deliberately, to ensure I did not lock the postern gate.”
“I came to you for my own sake.”
“Oho. I see the difference clearly. You whored to ensure your escape.”
“I came to you for my own sake,” she repeated, rising painfully to her feet. “For my own … my own …” She could not go on.
“For your own pleasure?” He nodded his head and laughed, but without any real mirth. “At least you leave my pride intact. So you came to me for your own pleasure. I am comforted. That is one crime, at least, that cannot be laid at your lover’s door.”
“He is not my lover! You of all people must know that!”
“Perhaps he has not had the love of your body. But damn you, Rhonwen, ’tis clear enough he has the love of your heart! Everything you’ve done, even your presence here now, has been for him.”
They faced one another in the chill darkness, and his words seemed to echo in the night.
“Is that what has you so enraged?” she asked in a low voice. “That he might have the love of my heart?”
She heard his harsh breathing, but nothing else.
“Jasper, will you not answer me? Do I have the right of it?”
“Yes,” he snapped. “But that signifies nothing.” He swept the air with one hand. “Enough of this. You’ve made your offer to me, but to no end. Rand will not free Rhys and I will not encourage him any further to do so. There is nothing more to be said on that subject. Come,” he added, his voice gentling. “You are exhausted. I will carry you back to your chamber.”
He took three steps toward her, then halted an arm’s-length away. They faced one another in the night, two enemies, yet they had been lovers. Rhonwen had never felt so hopeless Once they returned to the castle, she was certain he would avoid her completely. She was not ready to face that possibility, however. So, ignoring the hurt in her heart, and ignoring his ability to hurt her further still, she said, “You have lain with many women.”
He drew back, his face wary. “That is not your concern.” “I know. I am only trying to understand.”
“What is there for you to understand?”
“Your rage that Rhys might possess my heart.” When his wariness increased she pressed on. “Has it been your wish to possess the heart of every woman you have laid with?”
After a long silence he answered, “No.”
Unaccountably her heart leaped. “Then why … I mean … why should it matter …”
When she halted, he continued, “Why should it matter with you? Why should it drive me to madness to think you loved him?” he laughed, a bitter, derisive sound. “Why do you think that is, Rhonwen?”
She stepped nearer to him. The moonlight made him a creature of pale shadows and darker ones. Cold and remote. Yet tortured, and perhaps on account of her. “Tell me,” she whispered. She raised a hand to his chest and rested it lightly upon the coarse wool of his tunic. “Tell me why it matters to you.”
His eyes burned down into hers. She saw fury and misery and something else she had only hoped for. One of his hands closed over hers. “I was foolish enough to think …” He hesitated, and she held her breath. “To think you would make me a suitable wife.”
She let out a disappointed breath, but she was too close to back away now. “Yes. You did offer me marriage that one time. But why? Why did you do that?” she persisted.
He did not want to answer her; she could see that. “Tell me,” she pressed him. “Tell me why.”
“Because I loved you!”
Lightning could not have shattered the night more powerfully than those few angry words. He pulled away, raking agitated hands though his hair while Rhonwen reeled from the impact of his revelation. She’d wanted him to admit as much, yet she’d not anticipated the force those words wielded. She hugged her arms around herself, trying to control her trembling while a smile lit up her face.
“Could you love me again?” she asked. “If you knew that I loved you too, could you ever love me again?”
He froze with his hands upraised, and stared at her as if not completely certain what she had just said. A chill of uncertainty settled over her. What if his answer was no?
Then he lowered his hands and faced her, his body tense, his brow creased in doubt. “If I thought you loved me …” He took a harsh breath, and in his eyes she saw fear and longing, misery and hope. “Is that what you are saying, Rhonwen? That you love me?”
Slowly Rhonwen nodded; the emotions clogging her throat made it impossible to speak. An amazing joy. Utter happiness …
“I do love you,” she murmured, closing the distance between them. “I do. I have for so long now.”
“Could that be true?” he whispered in amazement. But then he raised a hand, holding her back, and wariness rose anew in his face. Wariness and agony. “Do you truly love me? Or is this just another way to save Rhys?”
“No, ’tis not that at all! I love you, Jasper. But … but I confess, I do wish to save Rhys. He does not deserve to rot in a faraway prison. Still—”
“Rand does not plan to punish him with a prolonged imprisonment.”
“What?” She gaped at him, in astonishment. “He doesn’t?”
“No.” His face closed in a frown. “Does that change anything?”
Rhonwen let out a huge sigh. “Yes. No. I mean, it changes nothing of my love for you—” She broke off.
“Go on. You love me. But what of Rhys?”
She swallowed hard and knew it was time to let go of pride and fear. “It changes nothing of my love for you, Jasper. That is deep and abiding. But … but it does make it easier to accept your brother as my brother-by-marriage—that is, if you still wish to wed with me,” she finished in a mere whisper.
“I do.”
“You do?”
He took the final step to close the distance between them. Then he took her hands in his and lifted them both to his lips. A feather-light kiss to her knuckles, a silent pledge to her heart. Then Jasper lifted his head and their eyes met and held.
“I have had other women in my bed, Rhonwen. I’ll not lie to you. But I have never wanted anything from them beyond a moment’s pleasure. But you … from the moment I saw you beside the river, I wanted so much more. I need more from you. And I need to know I have your love.”
Tears stung her eyes. Foolish, embarrassing tears of joy and amazement. “I do love you, Jasper.” She laughed and drew his hands to her lips. “I did not want to love you, but love you I do.”
Then she was in his arms, wrapped in his loving embrace, any pain in her side forgotten. They kissed, a long, sweet kiss promising an enduring love, that soon changed into the hot, violent kiss of urgent desire.
“Rhonwen … Rhonwen …” he murmured against her lips, her cheeks, her eyes.
“I love you, Jasper. I do.”
“Then marry me tomorrow.”
“Oh, yes.”
“Tonight.”
“I will.”
Without warning he swept her up in his arms and, with compelling haste, carried her back toward the castle. The guards in the gatehouse began to laugh when they crossed the bridge. Isolde, loitering in the bailey, giggled and clapped her hands in glee.
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