Hostage Bride

Rosamunde felt the heat sweep over her as she finally realised what Angelina had not told her—that Lord Mornay might force her to lie with him against her will. She hesitated. She could get down now, return to the inn and refuse to take the ransom for Angelina—but what then? Her father would be turned from his home when the prince’s tax-collectors came for their money and there would be no fifty talents to restore their fortunes.

Surely Lord Mornay could not be as evil as rumour painted him? Besides, he would likely not think Rosamunde beautiful enough to bed. After all, Angelina was very lovely and Rosamunde knew she was not as beautiful as her cousin. Lord Mornay might simply accept the ransom and let her go.

Yet what if he did not? She would be ruined, shamed before the world. Only, she had no hope of marriage, so what did it matter if she lost her innocence? She had no choice but to do as her cousin had bid her. Even if Angelina had lied about the debt, there was a debt of honour to be paid. Her uncle could not be left to languish in prison until he died. Perhaps when he was free he would know the truth—and he would force his daughter to pay Rosamunde the fifty gold talents she had promised her.

‘I shall pray that this time he will be moved to mercy,’ she told the groom. ‘Mount up, sir. Time is wasting.’

‘My father has been dead these past three weeks?’ Raphael crossed himself as his steward finished telling him the news. ‘God have mercy on his soul. If what you have told me is true, he will have need of it.’

‘He changed much after you left, my lord, and became extremely bitter and angry. He quarrelled with neighbours and took them or their wives hostage for vast sums,’ the steward revealed.

‘So I have heard.’ Raphael’s mouth thinned. ‘I do not like to hear these things, Mellors. My father was a stern man and forbade me to follow Richard to the Crusades—but before I left he was an honest man. I am sad to hear he changed so greatly in my absence.’

‘Forgive me …’ Mellors glanced over his shoulder. ‘I risk my life to tell you, but it was the prince’s influence. Your father became Prince John’s lackey and it was on the prince’s orders that he took Count Torrs hostage. The ransom he has demanded is exorbitant and I doubt it can be paid.’

‘Is the count still a prisoner here?’ Raphael asked, and frowned as the steward nodded. ‘You will have him brought here to me instantly, please. Has the man been ill-treated?’

‘He has been kept in a tower room rather than a dungeon, because your father knew he had powerful friends. Others have not fared so well.’

‘I shall hear more of this another time. Release the count at once and then have wine and food brought to us. I must beg the count’s pardon and hear his story before I give him his freedom,’ Raphael said.

‘You will not demand the ransom?’ Mellors asked nervously.

‘I have no wish to beggar any man,’ Raphael said.

‘The prince may be angry. He may demand his share of the ransom,’ the other man pointed out.

‘Prince John is not the King,’ Raphael said. ‘I have heard that Richard is still a prisoner in the Holy Land. Now that I am home, it is my intention to do what I can to have him freed.’

‘I am heartily glad to hear it, my lord. We are all pleased to see you home again—and shall be happy when the King is back on England’s throne—but you must be careful. Prince John does not suffer traitors to live in peace.’

‘He is the traitor, Mellors. Leave me now and ask the count to give me the pleasure of his company at my table,’ Raphael ordered.

‘Yes, my lord.’ Mellors bowed his head respectfully. ‘Everything shall be as you order.’

Raphael watched as he walked from the room, then sat in his father’s chair. It was heavy and carved from English oak, its arms smooth with wear. His grief for his father was muted by the knowledge that the man he knew had obviously died long ago. In his place a monster had come into being and he could not regret the passing of such a man. Lord Mornay had committed crimes against his neighbours and no doubt it would take some considerable time to mend fences.

The attack came suddenly towards dusk that evening. Rosamunde was deep in thought when she heard a cry from ahead of her and then saw a band of armed men rush out from the trees at them. They were on foot but armed with cudgels and swords, and there were enough of them to surround the small train that Angelina had sent with her.

Fitzherbert had been pulled from his horse and one of the robbers was threatening him with a sword. Money was being demanded and Rosamunde knew that at any moment they would steal the packhorse and ride off with everything—the money for Count Torrs’s ransom and all her possessions.

She would have failed her cousin and her father would be forced to repay his debt. Without thinking, she took the reins of the packhorse and started to ride off, calling to Maire to follow. The robbers were immediately alert to what she was trying to do and two of them lunged at her, causing her horse to shy.

‘Leave me alone,’ she cried as she struggled to hold both her horse and the packhorse. ‘How dare you attack me? I am the daughter of a nobleman and you will hang for this.’

‘Not afore we’ve ‘ad our way wiv yer,’ one of the men said and laughed evilly as he grabbed her arm and tried to pull her from her horse.

Rosamunde screamed, realising the full extent of the danger she was in as she saw the naked lust in his eyes. These men would not be satisfied with her gold; they would rape her and leave her for dead. Angelina should have sent more armed men with her. The heavy load the packhorse bore had attracted the attention of these robbers and her escort was not strong enough to defend it.

The sudden cries and the sound of thudding hoof-beats drew her gaze in the direction of a party of men riding towards them. They charged, swords and lances at the ready, their leader giving a blood-curdling war cry that sent shivers through all that heard it. The robbers knew that they were beaten and immediately retreated, leaving Rosamunde’s men to gather their dignity as best they could as the knight came up to them. Some of his men had followed the robbers into the woods to the side of the road and she could hear screams as the men-at-arms cut them down.

The knight who had come to their rescue was wearing chain mail under his tunic. The tunic was white and bore a red cross on the tabard, proclaiming him as a Crusader well-hardened in battle. It was hardly surprising that the robbers had fled; they had attacked two women and three men-at-arms and been confronted by a Crusader and at least nine men-at-arms in full battle-cry.

The knight’s hair was covered by the hood of mail and a heaume, which hid his face from her. He drew his horse to a halt and saluted her with his sword.

‘I trust you came to no harm, lady?’

‘None. My thanks to you, sir. Had you not arrived in such good time I think we should have been robbed—and worse.’

‘I dare say they would have killed you all, lady,’ the knight said. ‘You take risks riding with such a small escort in these parts. There are ruthless bands of robbers that take the law into their own hands.’

‘I have heard that there is one such ruthless robber—a powerful man whose castle is close by.’

‘Do you speak of Lord Mornay?’

‘Yes, sir. I am on my way to deliver something to him and if you are travelling in the same direction I would crave your protection.’

The knight seemed to hesitate, then inclined his head. ‘Your men will follow us, lady. It is to the castle of Mornay that we are bound.’

‘You know Lord Mornay?’

Again the hesitation, then, ‘Yes, I know him. Tell me, why do you visit this lord, since you fear him?’

‘I have business that I may discuss only with Lord Mornay. Please do not ask for I may not tell you.’

‘Very well, lady. Ride beside me. I shall escort you to the castle.’

‘This is as far as we go,’ Fitzherbert said as he drew his horse to a halt and looked at Rosamunde. ‘Our orders are to wait three days and then leave—but if you wish I will leave a man to watch for you.’

The party had halted outside the castle while the drawbridge was let down. The sound of chains rattling and the sight of high, forbidding walls sent a chill down Rosamunde’s spine. A growing sense of foreboding had come over her as she rode beside the knight who had rescued them, and now her courage almost ebbed away.

‘Would you wait at the village we passed an hour since?’ Rosamunde asked Fitzherbert. ‘We may need an escort when we return to my father’s house.’

‘I shall wait for two weeks,’ he said. ‘Send me word if you wish me to wait longer.’

‘I thank you for your kindness,’ Rosamunde said. ‘We shall leave you now. Maire, ride close to me and lead the packhorse.’

‘Forgive me,’ Fitzherbert said as Maire tried to take the leading rein from him. ‘I would come in with you, lady, if it were up to me—but I must obey my orders. However, I shall wait in the village, as I have said, and the others can return to Sir Thomas.’

Rosamunde looked at him steadily. ‘Are you sure you wish to disobey your master? He may be angry with you for not returning to your post.’

‘I shall risk his wrath willingly in your service, my lady,’ Fitzherbert replied. ‘I have watched you since you first came to serve Lady Angelina and admired you. I am but a soldier with no hope of becoming a knight—but I would give my life for yours, lady.’

‘Oh …’ Rosamunde felt her cheeks grow warm. The man’s look said more than any words and she felt her eyes sting. ‘I do not wish you to die for me, sir—but I shall be grateful for your support. I—I do not know what awaits me, but if I need your help I shall send word to the village. Please do nothing that would draw Lord Mornay’s wrath upon yourself. It will serve no purpose.’

‘I shall merely observe and wait in the village, my lady.’

Rosamunde could not help but be comforted by the thought that he would be close if she needed him. Lord Mornay’s stronghold was built of grey stone and its walls were stout, almost impregnable once the drawbridge was raised. A prisoner within those walls could not expect to be rescued.