The Marriage Priza Page 6

  Lord Edward dipped his head to murmur in her ear. "Rosamond, I can hear every word of your byplay."

  She flashed him a defiant look. "We have no secrets to hide." The moment it was out of her mouth, she could have bitten off her tongue. She felt Rod squeeze her fingers until they hurt, but knew she deserved the warning to watch her impulsive tongue.

  He smoothly changed the subject to save her. "Tomorrow should prove entertaining if you watch from the castle ramparts. Earl Simon has proposed our men-at-arms swim the mere in full armor."

  "Will you be joining them?"

  "Of course."

  "Good! A plunge in freezing water might be just the cure for that swelling." She laughed wickedly, then added, "On your hand."

  Rodger de Leyburn was damned if he'd let her have the last word. He had made inquiries about a knight called Rickard and learned it could be none other than Sir Rickard de Burgh, whose wealthy Irish family owned everything west of the River Shannon. When his squire, Griffin, had brought him the information, a burning streak of envy had ripped through him. Envy for such a father and such vast estates. Rosamond Marshal had been breathless just speaking the man's name, and he burned with jealousy.

  "Your knight-errant, Sir Rickard de Burgh, has returned to Ireland, I understand."

  She drew in a swift breath. "Ireland?"

  As he watched her his eyes burned with green fire. "Something about a wedding. The bride is Irish, of course. I suppose it's only natural to marry in one's homeland."

  No, no, it cannot be! It cannot be! Rosamond felt as if a cruel hand were squeezing her heart, and she feared it would not stop until it burst. She sat there drowning in misery, oblivious to everything about her,

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  aware only of the pain within. Her throat closed tightly so that she could not speak, could not even breathe. Tears scalded the back of her eyelids, and the roar inside her ears was deafening.

  Rodger watched Rosamond closely and saw her emotional turmoil. He had relished giving her the news, but now felt a prick of guilt for upsetting her. He contemplated offering a word of comfort, then crushed down the impulse. He'd be damned if he would encourage his future bride to harbor feelings for another man, especially the redoubtable Rickard de Burgh.

  Rosamond did not know how long she sat there before she regained her senses, but she saw with relief that the tables were being cleared. She fought the compulsion to flee as long as she could, but she knew she must get away or go mad. As if she were in a trance, she arose from the table, curtsied to Lord Edward, and glided from the Great Hall.

  Even when she was safely back in her bedchamber, the compulsion to flee remained. Rosamond decided on the spot that she would leave for Pershore at dawn. Tomorrow would be a perfect time to escape Kenilworth, because everyone's attention would be riveted on the mere. She finally told Nan about the visit to Pershore, and they stayed up late packing. She would put off asking Lady Eleanor's permission until dawn, for Rosamond knew she could face no one else tonight. When at last the packing was done, she crawled into bed, emotionally spent, and fell into a dreamless sleep.

  Rosamond's agony was still full blown at first light, when she sought out the countess to reveal her plans. She knew that Eleanor was pleased at her initiative. She also seemed secretly amused. She knows I'm running away, Rosamond thought. She thinks I'm running away from Rodger de Leyburn, and she’s right... but I'm also running away from myself and the anguish I feel! I cannot bear the fact that Sir Rickard is to marry, yet I cannot stay at Kenilworth, drowning in self-pity. I must get away! If only I could be someone else for a while, until the pain in my heart stops.

  "Be sure to take a groom, dearest, and any other servants you need. I'm sure your bedding and a supply of fresh linen will not come amiss."

  Because the men returning to Gloucester set off at an early hour, the travelers expected to reach Pershore just before noon. During the

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  entire ride, Rosamond was lost in deep, pensive thought. How could she have been foolish enough to fall in love with Sir Rickard de Burgh? Granted, he was the ideal knight, one any maiden would sigh over, but how ridiculous she had been to form more than a passing infatuation for the handsome Irish warrior.

  To love someone was to lose them; it had ever been thus! When would she learn her lesson? She had guarded her heart so well, whatever had possessed her to let down her defenses? Had Demi been right? Did she secretly long for love? If so, she must put an end to such fancy immediately, for love's only reward was heartbreak! And Rosamond knew well that a woman could die from heartbreak. It had happened to her mother, when her father was killed in battle. As she rode along, Rosamond resolved to build an iron carapace around her heart, but it did not lessen the pain she felt over Sir Rickard de Burgh's marriage. She knew only time could do that.

  The travelers arrived at their destination at the hour of noon. Rosamond offered the knight in charge of the men-at-arms Pershore's hospitality, but he declined, explaining that they wanted to reach Gloucester before dark. She thanked the knight warmly for his escort, then she and Nan, along with a young groom leading a pair of pack-horses, rode through the gates of Pershore.

  In the bailey, hens and geese flapped and squawked as two mangy-looking dogs chased them. Four men sat about a cask of ale with tankards in their hands. They stared at Rosamond openmouthed, but none rose to his feet to aid the travelers, nor showed the least respect for the mistress of Pershore. Rosamond was furious. "Who is in charge here?"

  After a moment, one of the men got to his feet, but when he staggered, Rosamond realized with horror that he was drunk . . . they were all drunk! "You filthy, idle sots, I am Rosamond Marshal! Where is my steward?" When there was no reply, she dismounted and handed the reins of her beloved white palfrey, Nimbus, to the groom. "Ned, take the horses to the stables and feed and water them while I rout out my bloody steward!"

  She found him gorging himself in the dining hall along with the entire household of inside servants. Both the quality and the quantity of

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  the food and wine on the tables astounded her. These people had as many dishes before them at noon as the people of Kenilworth and their noble guests had at an evening banquet. The steward arose, obviously annoyed to have his dinner interrupted. He was a thickset man, whose face looked like lumpy porridge, but his tunic was made of the finest velvet, and he wore a gold chain. He eyed Rosamond and Nan insolently. "State your business."

  Rosamond drew herself up to her full height and lifted her chin. "I am Rosamond Marshal, come to inspect my property, sir, and what I find displeases me!"

  "That's too bad. I am in full authority here."

  "I am the mistress of Pershore!"

  "I am Dymock, master of Pershore. You are nothing more than a young girl with her middle-aged nurse in tow. You don't seriously think you can come in here and start tossing out orders?"

  "Just watch me, Master Dymock... I dismiss you from my service for your insolence!"

  He laughed derisively. "Well, Lady Muck of Turd Hall, you can't dismiss me. I was appointed by the Earl of Gloucester to manage Pershore as I see fit. I've had no complaints from that quarter in the three years I've been in charge here."

  At that moment, Rosamond's groom came seeking her in the hall. "My lady, the stables are filthy; the stalls cannot have been cleaned out in months. The stableman refused me fodder, and it is no fit place to shelter our horses."

  She gasped in outrage at his blackening eye. "Did the bastard strike you, Ned?" She slashed her riding crop against her boot. "I shall come and see the conditions for myself. In the meantime, Master Dymock, you will see that this lady is served lunch. Sit down, Nan; this might take me a little while."

  As Rosamond entered the stables, the acrid stench of manure and urine-soaked straw hit her full force. She hesitated for only a moment, then, pinching her nostrils closed, she strode inside. She found the place as filthy as Ned had described it. There were only a half-dozen horses stabl
ed, but it appeared that when their six stalls had been fouled to a depth of two feet, the animals had been moved to other stalls, where the

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  cycle was repeated. Rosamond was furious at the condition of the stables, and cursed herself for bringing only one groom, when Lady Eleanor had offered her as many servants as she wanted.

  Summoning her authority, she spoke to the only stableman present, a burly lout with a red face. "I am Rosamond Marshal, and Pershore belongs to me. First, I want you to understand that I will not tolerate you abusing my groom. I have five horses, including my two pack animals, that need food, water, and shelter."

  "Dymock would have my balls if I gave your animals fodder." He stood before the oat bins with arms folded across his barrel chest. Rosamond was so angry, she raised her riding crop, but he snatched it away from her with a beefy hand. "You'll find yourself on your arse in the horseshit, and he'll have another black eye, unless you get the hell out of my stable."

  "You filthy swine, I hope you suffocate in this stench! Come, Ned, I'll help you draw water from the well for our animals."

  "I'll do it, my lady.... I'm sorry I was no match for him."

  "I shall help you, Ned; I must work off my anger before it chokes me. I am beginning to realize a female has no authority whatever. Even though I own every inch of land, and every stick and stone upon it, the men will not take orders from me. In the name of God, how does Lady Eleanor manage to run Kenilworth?"

  "Begging your pardon, my lady, she doesn't do it in the name of God, she does it in the name of Simon de Montfort. If a lady has a man of strength and power behind her, all run to do her bidding."

  Digesting the truth of his words, Rosamond carried a wooden bucket of water to Nimbus. "We'll have to tether the horses in the meadow behind the stable, Ned. The night will be cold, but at least they'll be able to forage the stubble from the hay crop. We shall leave tomorrow!"

  When they had done all they could for their horses, Rosamond helped Ned carry in their own luggage. Then she bade him follow her into the dining hall so they could eat. Dymock was nowhere in sight, but the rest of the servants were still at the table. Nan was sitting exactly where she had left her, but Rosamond could clearly see she had been served no food. It was the last straw. Her temper exploded.

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  She strode over to the head table with the light of battle in her eyes. "I have taken all the abuse I am going to take." She raised her arm and swept everything from the table to the floor. Molded jellies were awash with gravy, and giblets floated about in a river of spilled wine, while pewter plates and goblets rolled across the flagstone floor. "If we don't t eat, you don't eat!"

  Rosamond headed toward Pershore's kitchen, summoning Nan and Ned to follow her. The cook had three chins and her red face branded her the twin of the brute in the stables. "This is my kitchen. Get out!" the cook ordered insolendy. Rosamond grabbed a long-handled ladle made of heavy copper and brandished it with intent to maim. "Stand back, you fat bitch, or I will spit you over your own fire and render you down to a tub of lard. We will feed ourselves, which certainly won't be hard with the amount of food lying about this kitchen. I have never seen such willful waste in my life! Nan, prepare three plates for us. Ned, fill that basket with cheese, fruit, and wine; we'll take it upstairs for later." Rosamond picked up a meat skewer and prodded the cook's belly. "Your days of ruling the roost in my kitchen are numbered. Now, get out of my sight, you're ruining my appetite."

  When they ventured into the rest of Pershore, they found neglect of every kind. The chambers were filthy and damp, the furnishings rotted and dilapidated, except for the cozy rooms occupied by the servants. The rest of the dwelling had been left without fires, and the dampness had mildewed the hangings and even the stone walls.

  It took the three of them all afternoon to make a bedchamber with an alcove habitable. Ned chopped and hauled up wood for the fire. Nan helped Rosamond lift a couple of mattresses before the flames, then she scrubbed the wooden floor, while her mistress washed the mildew from the walls and cleaned the windows. "Thank the saints in heaven that Lady Eleanor suggested I bring my own linen; I vow I shall never travel without it from this day forth. Ned, you will have to sleep in the alcove; I'm afraid we won't be safe unless we all stay together."

  They ate supper in the chamber, before the fire, then Rosamond lit a couple of scented candles she'd brought. "We have no choice but to return to Kenilworth tomorrow. When I report the dreadful conditions at Pershore to my cousin Richard, I'm sure he will look into it for me.

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  He can have little idea what's been going on here." She looked at her companions. "Thank you both so much for helping me. I feel wretched about this."

  "It's not your fault, my lamb. I think I packed warm quilted bedgowns for us, and we'll need them in this place. You look tired to death. Let's all get some rest; we've a long ride tomorrow."

  As Rosamond lay watching the shadows flicker on the wall, she was angry with herself. Though Nan had been kind enough to declare it wasn't her fault, Rosamond knew she must take the blame for what she had found here at Pershore. She was the one who had neglected her lovely property, content to allow others to administer her Marshal lands and holdings, while she stayed safe, happy, and oblivious at her haven of Kenilworth.

  Rosamond did not dare let go of her anger, for once she did, she would sink into despair. Never in her life had she felt so helpless, useless, and insignificant. A young, unwed female had less authority than one of the mangy dogs in the bailey. Even they had a measure of control over the geese they chased. The last thing she wanted to do was run back to Kenilworth in defeat, crying for help, but she knew she had no choice but to swallow her pride.

  Rosamond furiously told herself to hang on for just a few more hours, that things always looked better in the light of day. The lump in her throat almost choked her. Last night, thoughts of Sir Rickard de Burgh had left her heartbroken. Tonight, Pershore made her feel as if her spirit was close to breaking.

  Five

  At Kenilworth, most of the day was taken up by military exercises in and around the mere. It was discovered that some soldiers could not even swim, so that was the first lesson that had to be taught. Lord Edward and Sir Rodger noticed that the men from Wales had little trouble after long hours in the water, and questioned their Welsh squires.

  Griffin, who was not short and dark like most Welshmen, but tall and fair, grinned at Rod. "There are so many wild rivers in Wales that if you didn't learn to swim across raging waters, you'd drown. It's as simple as that!"

  "I admire their skill with the longbow too," Lord Edward said, shrugging off his hauberk. "I intend to become expert at it, and I've ordered that some of these six-foot bows be made for my Gascons; I believe them superior weapons to their crossbows."

  Rod laughed. "They are only superior if they are shot by expert longbowmen."

  Both Griffin and Owen, Lord Edward's squire, agreed. "It takes years of experience, my lord."

  "Then we'd best get started," Edward said, grinning. "Get some hay bales set up as targets in yon field beyond the mere, and I'll ask Simon to loan us a troop of his Welsh archers to teach us how it's done."

  "Edward, because it seldom happens to you, you forget that men tire," Rod protested. "Our men have struggled through freezing water for hours today. Cannot the archery lesson wait until the morrow?" He removed his heavy hauberk and handed it to Griffin.

  Edward roared with laughter. "Soft, the lot of you!" He peeled off his wet linen shirt, and Rod followed suit. Suddenly a great female cheer went up from the ramparts of Kenilworth, and the two bare-chested

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  males lifted their eyes to observe their admirers. "Well, I'll be damned," Lord Edward said, "do you suppose I could have my pick, Rod?"

  "I have no doubt of that whatsoever, my lord." Rod frowned. Where the devil was his beautiful ice maiden? Surely she could have let her guard down long enough to come and watch him traverse the cold me
re, if only to rejoice in his discomfort. What would it take to chip through her frozen exterior? Her interior would be hot enough, if her temper was any indication. Suddenly, in spite of his clinging wet chausses, his cock began to swell and harden.

  Edward glanced down with wry amusement at his friend's erection. "Show-off! I'm shriveled to the size of a worm."

  Rod chuckled. "A one-eyed snake perhaps, never a worm, Edward."

  A few hours later as Rod entered the hall, he was looking forward to supping with Rosamond. He was starting to suspect she enjoyed exchanging barbs with him, if only to sharpen her claws. He held out hope all through the first course, knowing she was quite capable of being late purposely, just to keep him waiting. When Alyce de Clare noticed his inattention to her, she began to pout prettily and thought up ways to plague him. Alyce usually amused Rod, but tonight she simply annoyed him.

  When the meal was over and the tables were being cleared, Rod sought out Lady Eleanor and her daughter Demoiselle. "The fair Rosamond is avoiding me, I fear. Could you not persuade her to dine in the hall tonight, ladies?"

  Eleanor gave him a sideways glance. "Ah, that would prove rather difficult, I'm afraid, Sir Rodger. Rosamond will be dining at Pershore tonight."

  "Mother! She didn't want anyone to know," Demi protested.

  "Nonsense. A lady runs for the sheer pleasure of being pursued ... at least I always did."

  Rod thanked Lady Eleanor. She was more than hinting; she was giving her tacit approval for him to join her ward at Pershore and look over the property that would soon be his. It would also give them a chance to be alone together. He could not leave tonight, because he knew Edward needed him to be there until long past midnight, but come dawn, Rod knew nothing would hold him at Kenilworth.

  Sir Rodger told Griffin to be ready to ride at first light, then retired

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  to his chamber to pack. When Edward arrived in the Warwick Tower, Rod explained his plan.