Elaine Barbieri (18 page)

Rosamund refused to react to Dagan’s appearance— the wound on his head, his sullied clothing, and the filth caked on his skin. Noting the flicker in Dagan’s gaze, she said imperiously, “I wish to talk to Dagan alone.”

“I did not agree to that.”

Turning toward de Silva, Rosamund replied, “Whether you agreed to that particular point is not significant. You agreed to allow me to see Dagan and ascertain that he was well.”

De Silva’s gaze narrowed. “I agreed to that, did I?”

“You did, and since I can only judge Dagan’s condition honestly without you at my side, I ask that you leave.” When de Silva did not move, she said coolly, “Or do I assume that our agreement is void?”

Rosamund maintained her stability with true strength of will as de Silva considered her demand. She released a silent sigh of relief when he said at last, “I will allow you a few moments with the prisoner. I am sure you will have had enough of this place by then. I will arrange for us both to bathe when we leave here.”

When Dagan took a threatening step toward him, de Silva said snidely, “I beg you to attempt what you cannot hope to achieve, sir knight, so I may defend myself and end this farce once and for all.”

Dagan halted where he stood, and Rosamund turned back to de Silva to say in an emotionless voice, “I ask that you keep the terms of our agreement foremost in your mind. If you do, I will honor it in the same way you honor yours.”

De Silva smiled abruptly. “I rely on your word, my love.”

The door clicked closed behind him and the key turned in the lock, sending a chill down her spine.

Rosamund turned back toward Dagan. Hesitating only a moment, she moved instinctively into his arms.

Suddenly aware that Dagan did not return her embrace, Rosamund drew back. She realized with a start that the chains binding his wrists and ankles did not extend farther than the spot where he stood. Touching the manacles that bound his wrists, she looked up at him and murmered, “Dagan…”

“Do not judge from appearances, Rosamund. I am well.”

“Well?” Noting the determination in Dagan’s voice, Rosamund whispered, “Do you not realize where you are? Do you not realize the potential for disaster here?”

“I will find a way to escape this cell, Rosamund. The jailors are a sorry lot. They are dim of mind. Only their penchant for delivering torture and for the privilege of keeping the keys to these enclosures allow them a reason for existence. They are easily outwitted.”

“Are they?” Rosamund shook her head. “Do you think I am unaware of what you are attempting to do with these words, Dagan? Do you believe I do not realize that you wish to send me away from here with false hope?”

“Rosamund, please…”

“I cannot leave you here this way!” Rosamund took a breath and continued softly, “Your confession shocked me. I made myself believe that I could never take a man such as you into my heart. Yet in quiet moments afterward, I questioned why you were brought to me at death’s door; why I should have tended to you day and night; why I should have wished desperately for your recovery; why I should have come to revere the man you showed yourself to be before learning of your alliance with William. When the baron told me that he had confined you here, I realized that for better or worse, you had become a part of me, and that no amount of words could change that truth. Oh, Dagan, I did not realize until then how much I loved you.”

Rosamund attempted to slide her arms around him again, but Dagan stepped back. “Nay, do not come any closer. I am unclean. I smell of this place…”

“I do not care about your appearance!” Briefly closing her eyes, Rosamund whispered, “I am sorry, Dagan. I
was deliberately cruel the last time I spoke to you. I turned my back on you and would not allow you to speak of what caused you to join William’s camp, or of how your fealty to him grew. I only know that your loyalty is as strong as mine, but that you could never be one such as the…”

Rosamund’s words were cut short by the sudden heat of Dagan’s mouth against hers. She felt the warmth of him…the taste of him. She made a soft sound of protest when he drew back reluctantly and whispered, “Forgive me. I could not resist.”

“You did not
take
a kiss, Dagan. I gave it gladly.”

Ignoring her response, Dagan continued resolutely, “Speak no more of your guilt to me, for I bear a fair share in all that transpired between us.” Glancing up at the door, Dagan whispered, “We have so little time to say so much, so you must listen carefully to me when I say I love you, Rosamund. I tell you now that I will escape from this place, and I will hold you in my arms again, and what ever transpires, I will never allow de Silva to claim what is mine.”

Pausing, pinning her with his gaze, Dagan said simply, “Do you believe me?”

Rosamund’s throat was tight as she responded, “I believe you, Dagan.”

His gaze reflecting all that went unsaid, Dagan whispered, “Tell me now, how does de Silva come to call you Rosamund?”

“When he summoned me to his quarters, he knew.”

“Did you tell him all…your true name as heir to this shire?”

“I did.”

“He wishes to use it against you?”

“Nay, I used that secret as a bartering tool.”

Dagan went still before whispering, “Barter…for my life.”

“Barter to keep you alive until—”

The sound of a key turning in the lock interrupted their exchange and Dagan whispered, “Step back. Do not allow the baron to see that we have touched. And do not despair. I will escape before—”

“It is time to leave here, my love.” The baron walked boldly into the cell and took Rosamund’s arm.

Freeing herself, Rosamund walked back toward the door. “I will accompany you out of this place. However, I ask you to remember, my lord, that as you keep your bargain, I will keep mine.”

“My name is Guilbert.” The baron halted unexpectedly in the doorway. “I would hear my name on your lips, Rosamund.”

Rosamund heard restless movement from behind her. She knew Dagan inwardly raged. Hoping to alleviate his distress, she said simply, “We are not friends. I will not use your given name until our agreement comes to fruition.”

“Our agreement…meaning the moment when we take our vows and become one.” De Silva snickered. “I suppose I can wait a little longer.”

Rosamund briefly closed her eyes when the cell door closed behind her and they started back down the passageway. The baron continued a warm dialogue, but with one thought in mind, Rosamund heard little.
Dagan was alive, but he would not remain alive very long under the harsh conditions of the dungeon.

Blinking back tears, Rosamund raised her chin resolutely. She had no time for weakness. Dagan depended on her.

T
he door of Dagan’s cell snapped closed and his frustration rose. He listened to the sound of Rosamund’s retreating footsteps and heard the heavier sound of de Silva’s tread beside hers. He glanced down at the manacles on his wrists and ankles and at the dark, dank cell in which he was confined, intensely aware of his helplessness. He had awakened in this place with chains binding him but he had no memory of being moved. Despite de Silva’s previous actions, Dagan had not expected such treachery when summoned to speak with him. It was now evident that he had made a mistake, that de Silva was neither honest nor trustworthy, and that he felt no loyalty to William or to the knights who had fought in the King’s name.

Dagan choked on the stench of his cell. He was only too aware of the chance Rosamund had taken in revealing her heritage to de Silva. She could have paid with her life if de Silva had decided that Rosamund’s true identity as the Saxon heir to the shire endangered his position. Instead, because he was obsessed with her, because he presently desired her and was determined to have her despite her antipathy for him, and because he wanted to prove to her that he had won in the end, de Silva had decided to use it against her.

Dagan recalled Rosamund’s kiss. Despite the manner of their last parting, she had spoken to him lovingly without allowing herself to react to the odor or to the conditions of his imprisonment; yet he had heard the desperation in her voice after de Silva left them. He had promised her that he would escape and he was determined that he would.

Dagan took a breath. Rosamund’s future—the future she was willing to sacrifice for him, the same bright future he had silently hoped they would spend together—depended on him as it never had before.

He loved Rosamund in a way he had never loved a woman—with his heart, with his body, and with a commitment as lasting as time. He wanted the opportunity to prove his love for her each and every day until she no longer retained any doubts about their future together, or about the future of all she cherished.

Dagan looked up at the sound of the jailor’s dragging footsteps in the passageway. He listened as they hesitated at his door and then moved on.

With new determination, and aware that his time was limited, he began formulating a plan.

The afternoon grew surprisingly hot as Martin approached the keep. He frowned and wiped his brow with the back of his arm, aware as he straightened to his full height that his clothing was stained with perspiration and with the marks of riotous play. Time spent in the kennels had become his only respite of late from the constant training expected of knights of his caliber. He enjoyed the time he spent with the friendly animals there, and was particularly fond of several of them; yet
he resented the fact that for the most part, the hounds were treated with more consideration than the Saxon children of the shire. The baron had made sure of it by forbidding the inhabitants of the shire to hunt, by keeping them poor, and by encouraging their fear.

Martin did not hold the superior treatment the agreeable hounds received against them. He knew that de Silva had no personal attachment to them, and that like his hunting falcons, they were simply a symbol to him that marked how far he had come in his quest for prominence.

Martin silently acknowledged that although de Silva’s word was considered law as long as it did not contradict William’s in any way, de Silva wanted still more.

More…when all he had to do was to enjoy what was his.

Unsettling thoughts continued to trouble Martin as he walked toward the keep. The truth was that he was tired of the life he presently led. Making war on the enemy, constant training for incursions, and watching as innocent peasants suffered the idiosyncrasies of the master, wasn’t his way.

A familiar resentment stirred. He was younger than de Silva and Champlain, and his ways were not set in stone as were theirs. He had tired of taking women to satisfy his animal needs. He wanted more to show for his life. He had saved his pay frugally and could now afford a home of his own away from the lifestyle that grew more abhorrent to him with each day that passed. Yet he knew that resigning his post would not be easy.

Martin’s step stilled when a familiar sound reached
his ears as he approached the keep. He scanned the yard, his gaze finally coming to rest on a towering pile of logs that had been cut to size so they might easily feed the great fireplace. He approached the log pile slowly.

There was no need to wonder who had hidden herself away from all who might revel in her distress.

Martin peered behind the woodpile. His thoughts were confirmed when he saw the woman crouched mournfully there. He asked softly, “What is wrong, Hyacinthe?”

Hyacinthe started with surprise when she looked up at him. Ashamed, she looked away, attempting to conceal the blood that trailed from her nose and the swelling cheek that bore the mark of a brutal hand. She shrunk back from him as he crouched beside her and whispered incredulously, “What happened to you?”

“Need you ask?” she responded hoarsely. “Guilbert has replaced me with another. It was my misfortune to see his lover being escorted to his quarters by two of his knights. I followed them and saw them embracing. I begged Guilbert to turn the young man away, but he refused. He laughed when I said I had believed him when he said he loved me. He said his words had been expedient, that he only loved what I
did
for him. He called me a whore and said he had not for a moment considered a lasting commitment with a woman of my
caliber
.”

“Hyacinthe…”

“I begged him to take me back, Martin. I threw myself against him…crawled on my knees. When I would not release him as he demanded, he struck me.”

“He struck you…”

“Yet his words caused me more pain than the blow because he said…” Hyacinthe took a breath. “He ordered me out of his quarters and demanded that I leave the castle keep so he would never set eyes on me again!”

Suffering at her torment, Martin drew Hyacinthe close. He felt her trembling when she whispered, “He doesn’t love me, Martin. He never loved me.”

“Hyacinthe…I told you…the baron doesn’t know how to love.”

“Yet he knows desire and was only too happy to allow me to sate it.” Red-faced at her admission, Hyacinthe drew back to look up at Martin. “But that isn’t true anymore. He wants Ross now, and he’s throwing me away just as he did all the others.”

“He…he didn’t mean what he said.” Forcing the words past his lips in an effort to console her, Martin whispered, “The baron will tire of this Ross. When the emotion of the moment passes, he will forget he ever said those things to you.”

Hyacinthe raised her chin. “He may forget what he said, but I will never forget it.”

“Hyacinthe…please. You are too young and beautiful for bitter thoughts. You will meet a young man someday whom you will love, and he will return your love.”

“Nay…”

“You are beautiful…desirable…a woman with so much to offer a man. Surely you know that. Surely you realize that I would not be able to say these things if I did not hold the hope in my heart that someday—”

Hyacinthe interrupted him as if he had not spoken. “I have wasted the greater part of my life entertaining a worthless dream, Martin. I believed all that Guilbert said…all that he promised me. I told myself he was not yet ready to settle down, but when he did…” Momentarily unable to go on, Hyacinthe rasped, “Guilbert will suffer for his transgression.”

A chill moved down Martin’s spine at Hyacinthe’s vow. He replied softly, “It is senseless to speak of vengeance. There is no way a simple woman will be able to wreak revenge on a man as powerful as the baron.”

“Yea, there is a way. There has to be a way.”

“Listen to me!” Giving her a gentle shake in an attempt to gain her attention, Martin rasped, “You will do nothing but bring about your own demise if you attempt retribution.

“I will find a way.”

Realizing the hopelessness of that tact, Martin tried again. “You cannot remain here. The baron told you to leave the keep, never to return.”

“He will never see me in the kitchen. I am invisible to him there. He will forget what he said in a few days. You said so yourself.”

“I but hoped to encourage you with those words.”

Her eyes taking on a sudden, softer hue, Hyacinthe looked at Martin silently for long moments. She said wistfully, “You are a handsome man, Martin. You are brave and strong, yet you are a gentle person— everything a woman could want. Unlike me, someone with nothing left to offer…someone whose future has been stolen from her.”

“Your future is your own!”

“Nay,
your
future is your own. Do not allow Guilbert’s ruthlessness to infect you. Get away from him. Find yourself a position where you will be valued for the man you are, and find a maiden who appreciates you.”

“You value me, do you not?”

“I value you greatly. You are the only friend I have in this foreign place where all who have come in contact with me hate me.”

“That is untrue!”

“Nay, it is more true than I have allowed myself to believe. I have sought nothing but Guilbert’s love, and I have not cared if I earned hatred from others with my immoral ways.”

“You are not immoral.”

“It is true that I did not think of myself as immoral. I thought of myself as a woman in love who fought to win the man she cherished. As shocking as they were to me, Guilbert’s words allowed me to see myself as others see me…as a poor, depraved woman who sought the attentions of a man who would never love her.”

“Not all those whom you have come into contact with here hate you, Hyacinthe. I…I love you.”

“And I love you.” Suddenly hugging him close, Hyacinthe whispered against his chest, “I value your friendship more than you know, Martin, but your friendship does not satisfy the need within me.”

Friendship
…

Martin went cold. He remained silent when Hyacinthe drew back and wiped the trickling blood from
her face with the hem of her dress. She raised her chin and said earnestly, “Thank you, Martin. You have given me hope.”

“You must leave this place.”

“Nay, I will stay.”

“Why? So you may suffer more at the baron’s hands?”

Hyacinthe smiled. She drew herself to her feet and brushed off her clothing. She watched as Martin stood beside her. “Do not worry about me. I have suffered worse than this bruise.”

“Think what you are doing, Hyacinthe. You cannot win.”

“Yea, I will, for retribution against all that the baron has taken from me is all I have left.”

Hyacinthe pressed a chaste, fleeting kiss against Martin’s lips before heading for the kitchen.

He watched as she slipped inside with her chin held high. Still feeling the warmth of her lips against his own, he took a step, and then halted. Hyacinthe was determined to exact revenge. He only hoped he could find a way to save her.

“Why did the baron force you away from your work when he knew I needed you, Ross?” Hadley spoke with a halting breath as Rosamund urged him to a more private spot, with the baron close behind her. Suspicion entered his voice at the man’s possessive manner, and he continued determinedly, “What is so urgent that you and the baron must speak to me now when I am otherwise involved in his project?”

When Rosamund hesitated to respond, Hadley
strained to see her clearly through eyes that beheld little more than shadows, his trepidation burgeoning. The late afternoon sun beat on his head, raising beads of perspiration as he prompted, “I await your response, Ross.”

The baron’s lips twitched and his arrogant expression tightened. “You need no longer maintain the deception, Hadley. I know all.”

“Ross?”

“Do not pretend ignorance! I am weary of your lies! I know the truth of Rosamund’s sex, just as I know her true name. It galls me still that I allowed myself to be so deceived. My only consolation is that I sensed the truth despite her attempt to mislead me.”

Hadley glanced at Rosamund warily. He saw the whitening of her countenance as the baron continued, “Rosamund also informed me of the truth of her birth. I admit to being delighted to learn that she is the former heir to this shire, especially since she has consented to wed me.”

“To wed you!”

“Why do you seem surprised, old man?” His feigned benevolence slipping, de Silva grated, “Did you believe you would be able to continue with your deception? That I would never come to know who and what Rosamund is? Or is it simply that you did not believe Rosamund would ever consent to become my bride?”

Momentarily at a loss, Hadley did not respond. Taking advantage of the opportunity, the baron slid his arm around Rosamund’s shoulders. He pretended not to notice that she shrunk from his touch as he declared, “Rosamund thought you should be the first to be
informed that she has consented to wear the ring her father left her when she becomes my wife.”

“I…I do not understand.”

His composure slipping further, de Silva advanced threateningly toward Hadley. “What is so difficult to understand, old man? If I did not feel it would be worth my while to have you present at our marriage, I would take my vengeance on you for your duplicity. Instead, I have decided to enjoy your discomfort at the ceremony. I will notify William of the coming nuptials, of course. He will be delighted that I am to settle down at last, especially with someone who will bring a sense of unity to the godforsaken shire he has awarded me. He may even desire to attend the ceremony, which would doubtless add to your discomfort, while I will use it as a stepping stone to my true aspirations at court.”

“But…”

“Fool! After your attempt to trick me, you should feel privileged that Rosamund and I came here to announce our nuptials to you.”

When Rosamund continued to maintain her silence, Hadley questioned softly, “Is all this true, Rosamund?”

Rosamund raised her chin. “It is true, Father.”

“He is not your father, and I would not have you address him that way!” De Silva snapped.

“He is the only father I have known since my own sire died defending this shire. I will call him father openly now, whether it pleases you or not!”