Virginia Henley (35 page)

“Honor his son instead. Give him a dukedom. It will bind Northumberland and his son yet will not offend Elizabeth so greatly.”

The King nodded. “I am going to give Elizabeth’s brother Anthony his father’s title of Lord Rivers.”

Roger asked bluntly, “Will you arrest George?”

Edward shook his head regretfully. “Behind bars someone would find a way to dispose of him. I’ll not be party to it. Though I doubt my brother’s loyalty to me, I shall remain loyal to him.”

    Baron Ravenspur and his wife headed the cavalcade of their knights and men-at-arms traveling from Westminster to Ravenspur, which was located halfway up the east coast of Lincolnshire on that beautifully sheltered bay known as The Wash. The men knew they were going home only for a couple of weeks before riding off to wild
Wales on the opposite coast. Although their lord and lady rode abreast, she held herself aloof and only spoke to Ravenspur when it was necessary. They broke their hundred-mile journey at Cambridge, where Ravenspur spent the night with his men.

Next day, all about them lay signs that spring would be early this year. The stark silhouettes of the winter trees were softened by new buds, and birds were busily building their nests.

When they reached Ravenspur land, Roseanna was pleasantly surprised by its beauty. She was amazed when she saw Ravenspur Castle. She turned to her husband, momentarily setting aside her hostility. “Why, ’tis not a castle at all, really. ’Tis more a palace!”

Ravenspur Castle was built in the shape of the letter H, with magnificent outdoor terraces surrounded by what would be breathtaking gardens once everything began to bloom. It was a lovely, soft, rose-colored brick edifice, half covered by ivy. It sat in its own parkland where deer roamed about beneath the trees.

Tristan rode out to meet them with his little daughter before him in the saddle. Roseanna’s face softened with love as she saw the three-year-old child. “Oh, Tris, this must be Becky,” she said happily.

Tristan shrugged. “Her mother’s under the weather again. I’m glad you’re here, Roseanna. You’re just what Rebecca needs.”

“I’ll come and see her tomorrow. But couldn’t I take Becky? Just for tonight?”

Tristan looked questioningly at Roger, who nodded slightly.

“You’re welcome to her if you don’t think she’ll be too much trouble.” Tristan grinned.

“Thank you,” she said, reaching up her arms for the child. “I’ll bring her home safely.” She trotted her horse into the stables, holding the child with great care. The first to come forward to help her was old Dobbin. Roseanna gave a little cry of delight, for it was a sign that all their people were at Ravenspur. “Look after Mecca for me, Dobbin. He’s worth his weight in gold.”

The old man’s eyes twinkled. “There’s summat in that stall over there will take yer fancy.”

She took Becky by the hand, and they went to investigate. A soft-eyed spaniel had a litter of puppies about six weeks old. The child was delighted at their antics. “May I have one?” she implored.

“I think they’re old enough to be weaned. Pick one out, and we’ll take it to the house with us.”

At the front door she was greeted by Alice and Kate Kendall. At the sight of their dear, familiar faces, she realized how much she had missed them. The sight of Kate’s capable face also eased some of her fears of childbirth. She wouldn’t have to face the ordeal alone; Kate would be there. Roseanna said, “I have so much to tell you, I don’t know where to begin. First you can show me all of Ravenspur. I’d no idea it was so lovely.”

Kate looked doubtfully at Becky and the pup. “You’ll not be taking that wee imp of Satan to be peeing in every room!”

“I don’t pee my pants!” said Becky indignantly.

“No, sweetheart, Kate meant the pup. Alice, take Becky and the puppy and find them something good to eat. Kate, there are four beautiful floors here to stretch my legs over. Come on.”

“When you’re my age, a house with four stories is more of a curse than a blessing,” grumbled Kate.

The first floor east housed kitchens and laundry rooms and in the west was the men’s barracks. In between was a vast complex of armor, gun, and map rooms. The second floor east comprised living quarters for the married knights and their wives, while the vast number of servants who ran Ravenspur were housed on the second floor west. The third floor held a ballroom, large and small dining rooms, magnificently appointed receiving rooms, a dozen guest bedrooms, and a nursery. Lord Ravenspur occupied the west wing of the top floor. He had a comfortable living room, library, bathroom, dressing room, and large bedchamber. The four-poster in its center was massive, but it was raised so high up from the floor that three small steps were mounted on its right side to assist anyone under six feet tall in climbing up onto it.

The wall at the foot of the bed boasted a white marble fireplace with a black bearskin rug in front of it. The color scheme of black, red, and white was repeated in the oriental lacquered cabinets and wardrobe against the opposite wall. The chamber was filled with costly
objets d’art
that his ships had brought from exotic lands. A magnificent screen stood in one corner inlaid with mother-of-pearl and lapis lazuli, and behind it sat a bright red enameled hip bath. A discreet cough behind her told Roseanna that Mr. Burke was also here.

“Welcome to your home, Lady Roseanna. May you know happiness here.”

“Thank you, Mr. Burke.”

“And just to be on the safe side, I chose a room for you in the east wing”—he coughed discreetly again—“for when you wish to be alone.”

Kate Kendall sniffed loudly. Roseanna, ignoring her disapproval, winked broadly at Mr. Burke and said,
“Becky and I will sleep there tonight. You may show me the room, Mr. Burke.”

It was lovely, indeed. It was done in white, pink, and burgundy; she silently marveled at Ravenspur’s taste. Was there no end to the surprises he always managed to give her?

She sent a cool note to her husband that stated that she realized he would be occupied on his first night home and that she would take a tray in her chamber and retire early.

Roger was annoyed when he read it. He hated it when she threw up barriers between them. He’d rather by far have a knock-down, drag-out fight in which they hurled vile insults at each other, got things off their chests, and cleared the air. He was torn both ways and hesitated. He knew he’d made a tactical error in letting her sleep alone when they were first married, and he didn’t want a repeat performance. Yet she’d had a hard two days’ journey on horseback, and in her condition he wanted her to have a good rest.

His heart always won where Roseanna was concerned. He’d leave her in peace tonight, but tomorrow he’d lay down the law and move her into his bed, where she belonged. Damn, thinking of her always produced an immediate physical response, and though he could control it to a degree, he was left with a taut ache in his loins for hours.

If he had seen the wild romping Roseanna was doing with Becky when he left her to rest, he would have been more than annoyed. They were playing a game of tag, and the puppy was dashing around like a mad furry ball. When they were exhausted, she took the greatest pleasure in bathing Becky and putting her in the big bed. Kate
brought Roseanna a tray that groaned beneath the number of dishes upon it. She shared her meal with the child, both of them eating with their fingers and giggling with every mouthful. At last Roseanna was ready to retire, so Alice brushed all the tangles from her hair and helped her to bed. Then they sat for hours talking about the Queen and the Court and the things Roseanna had seen in London.

    When daylight arrived, Roger had not yet closed his eyes. He had passed one of the worst nights of his life. Two days in the saddle usually guaranteed a good night’s rest, but apart from Roseanna he was like a dog separated from its meat. The entire night, desire had ridden him with cruel spurs. He was more than ready for a confrontation.

He pulled on dark hose and boots and a white linen shirt and walked a direct path to Roseanna’s room. What he saw arrested his attention immediately. His wife, clad in a silk nightrail, romped around the bed with Becky and the puppy until it was in shambles.

His face softened as he watched his beautiful wife playing with the child. He thought he’d never seen a lovelier picture. Roseanna lay on her back and was lifting Becky above her at arm’s length. She said, laughing, “I want a little girl just like you.”

“I want a son,” Roger interjected. They both became aware of his tall, dark figure leaning against the door-jamb.

“Come and play with us, Uncle Roger,” begged Becky. Roseanna was never more surprised in her life when he dove onto the bed and teased, “How’s my old ticklebones this morning?”

The child squealed with delight, and the little dog barked excitedly. Becky was almost helpless with laughter and giggled, “Don’t tickle the puppy. It’ll pee on the bed!”

“What?” he cried in mock outrage. “Haven’t you taken the little beast outside to pee yet?” He lifted Becky from the bed and set her on her feet. “Hurry, take it out,” he urged

“Ask Alice to take you,” called Roseanna after the disappearing child. She was kneeling on the bed, flushed a delicate pink from her exertions. Roger lay back across the bed and looked up at her.

“I thought you disliked children—or is it only my children you are averse to?” she asked, her mouth pouting with the hurt she felt.

Roger’s blood began to pound and surge. His senses were filled with her. The fragrance of her warm woman’s body assaulted his nostrils; his eyes devoured her breasts, which swelled from the silken nightgown. Her pouting mouth filled his mind with wildly erotic images of the uses to which he could put it.

He gripped her shoulders and pulled her above him. “Every single time I’ve made love to you, I’ve had to seduce you. Must it always be so?” he demanded hoarsely. His lust was so hot for her, it blotted out all thoughts. Swiftly he tumbled her to the bed and held her beneath him. Her soft breasts pressed into his hard chest, and her nightgown was twisted around her waist exposing her long, slim legs.

She struggled frantically to free herself, but his strength was unyielding. His eyes gleamed triumphantly before his mouth swooped to hers. His senses reeled with
the feel of her soft, exciting, provocative mouth, and he explored it thoroughly.

Roseanna’s struggles increased. But her body wanted to cling to him and let him have his way with her. Damn him, not only did she have to fight him, but now she had to fight herself.

Suddenly Becky was on the bed again, wanting to join in the game and climbing onto Roger’s back. Alice stood watching as if struck dumb. Slowly, he came to his senses and released his iron grip on Roseanna. He sat back, panting from the intimate encounter. Roseanna arose shakily and said, “Excuse me, my lord. I’m going for my bath.” She retreated into the adjoining bathroom with all possible speed. Alice scurried after her.

The child looked at Roger with wide eyes. “Why are you angry, Uncle Roger?”

“I’m not angry, sweetheart. ’Tis just a game we are playing. Roseanna runs from me so that I will chase her.”

In the bathroom Roseanna handed her nightgown to Alice. She was about to step into the bath when Becky’s voice cried excitedly to her, “Run quick, Roseanna! Uncle Roger is coming to catch you! Run, run!”

Roseanna heard and obeyed. She fled from the room and ran naked along the hallway. Roger shot after her in full pursuit. She came to the stairway and descended quickly, knowing it was her only escape. He didn’t catch her until she reached the second floor, where he picked her up. Half a dozen servants looked on openmouthed.

She struggled like a wildcat. Her soft body rubbed against his as she twisted and turned. Like a man intoxicated, he took her mouth and drank from it. Slowly he mounted the stairs; his mouth was fused to hers, and he reveled in the feel of her body as her breasts brushed
warmly against his naked chest where his shirt hung open. From the second floor up to the third and then to the fourth, he held her thrashing thighs with one strong arm. Her buttocks rubbing against his hard groin made him dizzy with pure sensual pleasure.

In spite of herself, Roseanna found it exciting to be carried in his strong arms, his hard body holding her captive. His kisses had a drugging effect on her at first; then, as he continued kissing her hungrily, taking her inexorably up to his bed, his mouth never leaving hers, her coldness toward him melted forever. Her fingers curled possessively into his dark hair, and she pressed his head closer to hers as her mouth accepted his with a soft moan. Then he was lifting her onto the high bed.

His blood sang joyfully that she was responding to him. They both gave themselves up to the dark magic world they created whenever they came together. He eased his big body between her thighs and slipped his hands beneath her hips to lift her to him; then with stunning intensity her hot body opened to him, stretching to take the full, hard length of him. His hands held her prisoner while he drove deeply into her silken softness; his mouth filled hers in the same relentless rhythm as his body filled hers. She responded wildly, wantonly, and arched her body to meet his every thrust, finally reaching her peak and sobbing softly with the release it brought. Roger tightened his hold, and his movements became almost violent as he too took his shuddering release.

Time stood still. She knew irrevocably that she had fallen in love with her husband and that it was the greatest love she would ever know.

He whispered, “Roseanna, I love you more than life.
I must explain my reaction to you about the baby. My own darling, childbirth terrifies me.”

With sudden clarity she saw that he had lost his first wife in childbirth and that he feared the same thing might happen again.

He continued low, “I long for a son, but I’d give up the hope of having one forever rather than risk your life.”

“Roger, women have children every day. There’s nothing to it.” She laughed shakily. My God, was this herself speaking these comforting lies? Hadn’t she just watched the Queen go through hell to produce a son? All that blood splurging from her! Towels had been stuffed between her legs, and she’d vomited into her hair. Childbirth had turned the pretty, fastidious woman into a revolting creature.