The Marriage Priza Read online

  "Ha, the fiery wench has decided to lead you a merry chase. This is somewhat of a departure from your usual easy conquests, my friend. Perhaps you've met your match!"

  "I think perhaps it is Rosamond who has met her match, my lord."

  "Splendor of God, you are looking forward to this battle of the sexes, unless I miss my mark."

  "I am," Rod conceded with a wolfish grin. "I know who the victor will be!"

  "You ruthless devil, you desert me without a thought, caring little if I die of night starvation."

  "You'll survive, my lord. I'm not leaving until dawn, which will give you ample time for one or two jousts."

  Close on midnight, when Rod opened his chamber door to admit Alyce, he was in a playful mood. "What makes you think Edward is up to it tonight after spending most of the day in freezing water?"

  "You are teasing me, chéri. I too can play games." She stood on tiptoe to kiss him, then deliberately cupped his cock with her hand and felt it harden. Her lips caressed his ear as she whispered, "Anytime Edward is not up to it, I know you can give me satisfaction. Never forget I chose you first, my beautiful Rod."

  He playfully slapped her bottom and ushered her toward the inner door. If he had resisted her charms when she was an overripe virgin of sixteen, he surely had no difficulty resisting her now. Rod stripped and lay down on his bed in the darkness, glad of the cold night air that blew through the arrow slits of the Warwick Tower to cool his flesh. In spite of his exhausting day, sleep did not come. He could dimly hear the love play coming from the adjoining chamber, and he tossed restlessly as he tried to mentally block the arousing sounds. At first, it seemed impossible, until he began to think about Rosamond Marshal.

  Her image came to him full blown, exactly as he had last seen her in the carnation red velvet. Her eyes were dark violet, fringed with long golden lashes, her cheeks were sun-kissed, and her mouth was the same luscious, bright red as her gown. He watched the tip of her tongue lick her top lip, then the full bottom lip, and he felt a surge of blood rush into

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  his cock. Her glorious hair caressed her shoulders, then fell down her back, brushing her waist and curling about her hips. She knew the silky, waving mass attracted him, for she deliberately tossed it behind a saucy shoulder, then bent forward so that it spilled over her breasts, possessively touching and taunting.

  Her full-throated laughter was like music to his ears. It was provocative and sensual and whenever he heard it, he wanted her in bed beneath him, laughing up at him, no matter what he did to her. A tempting laugh was one of the most arousing gifts a woman could bring to a man's bed. He could hear her wicked laughter now. A plunge in freezing water might be just the cure for that swelling.

  His phallus jerked. A plunge is definitely the cure for my swelling, but I prefer your honey pot. Her scent of roses and almonds floated in the air about him, and he suddenly had a wild desire to taste her. He closed his eyes and his mouth was filled with the luscious juice of an apricot. He felt his balls tighten pleasurably, and he felt his pulse beating in his throat and in the soles of his feet.

  He had tantalized himself long enough. He knew he must undress her and touch her all over or go mad. He wrapped his arms around her, unfastened the back of her gown, and watched the carnation velvet pool about her feet. Christ, he had no idea she would be this lovely. Her breasts were perfect, her high mons was covered by golden tendrils, and her legs were the longest he'd ever seen. Suddenly the ache in his groin became unbearable, and he was in agony. With a foul curse, he flung himself from the bed and snatched up a wine jug. He paced across the chamber floor, tipping back the jug, trying to quell the insatiable desire her image had aroused in him.

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  At Pershore, Rosamond and Nan awoke to Ned's snores. They didn't awaken him until they had dressed, packed up their quilted bedgowns, and folded their bedding. The three of them broke their fast with the bread, fruit, and wine that was left in the basket. Rosamond knew she would have to face the insolent servants once again before she left, because there was no way her pride would let her leave without speaking her mind and giving them fair warning of the dire consequences they could expect in the very near future.

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  She went directly to the kitchen and was appalled at the conditions she found. Dirty cooking utensils from yesterday were stacked waiting to be washed, and food had been left uncovered to spoil and attract vermin. The cook was nowhere in sight, but a pale young scullery maid was trying to light the kitchen fire. "Where is the cook?" Rosamond demanded.

  "She's in bed, ma'am," the girl answered in a frightened voice.

  "But it's almost nine," Rosamond protested.

  "She never rises afore ten, ma'am," the girl whispered.

  "What is your name?" Rosamond realized the girl was terrified of authority, even hers.

  "Edna," she murmured, wiping her hands nervously on her dirty smock.

  "Well, Edna, this kitchen needs a thorough cleaning. Is that your job?" she asked, not unkindly.

  "Yes, ma'am. That's why I'm lightin' the fire, so I can boil the water."

  "When you knew things were left undone from last night, you should have started earlier."

  "I did, ma'am," she said faindy. "I had to gather wood from the forest, then get water from the well."

  "You shouldn't have to get firewood or haul water, Edna, there should be kitchen boys for that. Are you the only scullery maid at Pershore?"

  Edna nodded warily. "I'm not complainin', please, ma'am."

  "I can clearly see you are terrified of the fat bitch, but I promise you, Edna, that things are going to change around here."

  Rosamond went into the larder to get food for their journey. She wrapped up a few capon legs and a loaf of bread, and directed Nan to bring some apples and two bottles of red wine. As they entered the hall, the steward was descending the stairs.

  Though she feared him, she did not dare show it. "We are leaving, Master Dymock, but let me warn you that your days of authority here at Pershore are numbered. I intend to report you to my cousin, the Earl of Gloucester; I have a full catalog of your deficiencies as steward, and your insolence to me!"

  Dymock threw her such an amused, mocking glance that Rosa-

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  mond suddenly felt uneasy. What did he know that she did not? She swept past him with the hauteur of a countess, though inside she felt more unsure of herself than the little scullery maid.

  When Rosamond stepped outside, the cold air in the bailey took her breath away. The temperature had plummeted in the night, and her heart suddenly went out to their horses, tethered in the meadow. She pulled her cloak more tightly about her and said, "We'll give the poor animals those apples, Nan."

  They crossed the bailey and skirted the stables, but when they came in view of the field, their horses were nowhere in sight. Rosamond swung round to see the stableman watching them, his beefy arms folded in satisfaction.

  "Where are our horses?" Rosamond demanded, abject fear waging a battle with anger inside her breast.

  The brute shrugged. "Stolen maybe."

  For one moment, anger won out. "Stolen by you and that swine Dymock, I warrant!" The next moment, ice-cold fear wiped out her anger. Without horses, they were trapped here, at the mercy of these ruthless men. They had disposed of her and her servants' mounts, what was to stop them from disposing of them?

  "Oh, my lamb, whatever are we to do?" Nan cried.

  "I'll check inside the stable, my lady." Ned set down the bags he carried and pushed past the ruddy-faced stableman, courageously risking another black eye. When he emerged, the droop of his shoulders told its own story.

  Rosamond felt weak at the knees, but she knew they must get away by any means possible. Though she was racked with worry for Nimbus, she had to deal with the pressing problem of their own safety. "We will have to walk, we are not staying here. We must leave the luggage and find the main road. I'm sure I remember our passing a village a fe
w miles from here." Rosamond spoke with as much confidence as she could muster, hoping it masked the despair that was threatening to overwhelm her.

  After they'd walked about a mile, Rosamond's heels had blistered and her feet hurt, but at least she could still feel them, which was not the case with her fingers. They seemed as cold and numb as her heart. Suddenly a horse and rider appeared on the road some distance away.

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  Rosamond feared she was hallucinating, then seeing double, as one horse became two. Only when Ned pointed them out did she finally believe they were real. As the lead horse galloped closer, her heart filled with hope. Could it be Sir Rickard de Burgh, her knight in shining armor, come to rescue her?

  As the dark horse and rider drew closer, a wave of stark terror swept over Rosamond, snatching her breath away. She turned and began to run, knowing instinctively they would pursue her. Relentlessly! The rider was faceless, all she knew was that he was dark, but it was the horse she feared most. It was huge, black, and terrifying.

  An icy shiver slithered down her spine. Her pale golden hair tumbled wildly about her shoulders as she pulled her skirts high, baring long, slim legs in a desperate attempt to escape the cruel hooves. Her lungs felt as if they would burst as she gasped for just one more breath that would carry her to safety. Her pulse hammered inside her eardrums, deafening her as she turned to look over her shoulder. Rosamond's eyes widened in horror and a scream was torn from her throat as she saw the black forelegs rise above her, then helplessly she tumbled beneath the murderous hooves.

  Rodger de Leyburn leaned down from his saddle and swept up Rosamond Marshal in his powerful arms. He realized that for some reason she was fleeing in terror. He lifted off his helm so she could recognize him, but to his dismay felt her become limp as she lay in his arms in a dead faint. "Bones of God, what are you doing trudging down the road like vagabonds?"

  Ned told him about their horses and the stableman at Pershore, then Nan described in graphic detail the condition of Rosamond's property and the vile reception she had received at the hands of Dymock the steward. As he listened in disbelief, his rage soared higher with every word they uttered. Rod looked down at the woman cradled in his arms and watched her lashes flutter, then rise.

  "Sir Rodger," she whispered with relief.

  His green eyes blazed with anger. "Why did you flee from me?"

  "I... I did not realize it was you. I feared your huge black stallion, I was terrified that it would trample me. I felt so utterly powerless, just as I did at Pershore, where they showed me how completely vulnerable and insignificant I am."

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  Rod stared down at her. He had no idea she had a fear of horses, no notion that she feared anything. She had always managed to give the impression of cool courage, which he admired. Now he admired her even more, for it was obviously a carefully constructed facade she used for self-protection. It came to him in a flash that she had revealed her weakness and he now held the key that would unlock the guarded door behind which she hid her thoughts and her emotions.

  Rodger de Leyburn was a brilliant student of human nature. His lessons had begun of necessity, while he was still a pageboy. It had allowed him to survive, and then thrive. He now possessed the ability to affect, persuade, control, or even dominate those about him without alienating them in any way. He was such a master of manipulation that those about him had a deep and genuine affection for him. Sir Rodger now had a mission to make Rosamond Marshal respond to him, and the task would be amazingly simple. All he had to do was make her feel as if she were the most important woman in the world.

  "Are you feeling ill, Rosamond?"

  "No, no, I am fine, my lord. If you will take me back to Kenilworth so that I can report this dire situation to my cousin Richard of Gloucester, I will be forever grateful."

  "Griffin, take Nan up behind you. Ned, you'll have to return on foot," Rod directed, setting the spurs to his mount.

  "My lord, you are going the wrong way!" Rosamond cried in alarm. "I need my cousin Richard."

  "Why in the name of God do you need Gloucester? Pershore is yours, not Gloucester's. I'll take care of this matter." As he rode through the gates into Pershore's bailey, he immediately noted that no guards patrolled the property and that the bailey was in disorder, filled with flocks of fowl, unchained dogs, and rows of beer kegs. Autumn weeds grew up around every building, giving the place an unkempt look and showing willful neglect.

  Sir Rodger swung down from his saddle, awaiting his squire's arrival. When Griffin rode in with Nan behind him, Rod handed him the reins of his stallion, Stygian. "Look after the ladies for me." He took a gauntlet from his saddlebag and strode into the stables. Rod's nostrils flared at the stench of the place. A barrel-chested stableman set down a horn of ale and

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  lumbered to his feet. De Leyburn's eyes narrowed as he took the man's measure, then he pulled on his gauntlet and closed the distance between them. He stopped thirty inches in front of the brute and, without uttering one word, smashed his fist into the man's red face. The stableman dropped like a dead horse, and Leyburn placed a spurred and booted foot on his gut. "I trust you're the man who likes black eyes, since you'll have two by nightfall... and by nightfall I will have a clean stable." Rod picked up a shovel and thrust it into the beefy fist. "Use this to muck out every stall, or use it to dig your own grave ... the choice is yours."

  Sir Rodger strode from the stables to find Rosamond and Nan sitting atop their luggage while Griffin watered the horses. "Help yourself to the fodder in the stable, but tether them here in the bailey for now," he instructed his squire. "The stableman begs our patience until he can make the place spotless."

  Young Ned, who had just arrived on foot, eagerly asked what he could do to help.

  "Just follow me and bring the baggage. Come, ladies, I think you will benefit from the warmth of a good fire." He removed the bloody gauntlet and held out his hand to Rosamond. When she lifted her eyes to meet his, Rod made her a silent promise that she need have no fear. Rosamond took his hand and arose from her perch, then walked at his side as he led her back into Pershore.

  Dymock stepped forward officiously, eyeing the swarthy knight. Sir Rodger walked past him into the hall without any acknowledgment. He led Rosamond to a padded bench beside the roaring fire, then waited until she sat down. He nodded permission for Nan to sit beside her mistress, then he turned his full attention upon the steward. "State your name."

  "I am Dymock, master of Pershore. Who are you?"

  Rod placed his bloody gauntlet on the table before him, then he withdrew his broadsword from its sheath and laid it beside the steel glove. "There is only one master of Pershore—Sir Rodger de Leyburn. I am he." He watched Dymock's eyelids hood his eyes, a protective gesture that showed fear. Rod knew that in any encounter between two people, one dominated, the other submitted.

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  "I was appointed steward by the Earl of Gloucester three years ago. He has had no reason to complain."

  Leyburn pierced him with an icy green glare. "Sir Rodger," he prompted.

  "Gloucester has had no reason to complain, Sir Rodger."

  "Then Gloucester is an imbecile. Fortunately, he has no official authority here at Pershore. The lady who now graces this hall with her presence is betrothed to me. She will very shortly be Lady Rosamond Marshal de Leyburn. I suggest you go now and bid her welcome."

  Dymock immediately acted upon the suggestion. He approached the lady and with the greatest show of respect, bowed and welcomed her to Pershore.

  Rosamond nodded once in acknowledgment of his words.

  Reluctantly Dymock returned to stand before the mail-clad knight, whose squire was now beside him.

  "My lady's horses will be restored to Pershore today," Sir Rodger stated. Silence stretched between them until the steward nodded his understanding; only then did Sir Rodger continue. "Summon the household servants, then bring me Pershore's account books."

  Fear flickered i
n the steward's eyes as he licked lips gone bone dry. "Will that be all, my lord?"

  Sir Rodger raised incredulous black brows. "All? That is only the start. I am not in the habit of explaining my intentions to underlings, but in your case I will make an exception. With all possible speed, you will do your utmost to restore Pershore from the pigsty it has become." Again he waited until the steward nodded his understanding.

  "And then, my lord? "

  "And then I shall hang you," Sir Rodger said quietly.

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  "My lord, may I speak with you?" Rosamond got to her feet, alarmed at Sir Rodger's threat. Dymock had been insufferably insolent to her, but that was not reason enough to forfeit his life. She did not wish to be responsible for his death.

  "We will speak later in private," Sir Rodger said firmly.

  He had rescued her and her servants, and Rosamond was profoundly grateful. Moreover, he was putting the steward in his place and forcing him to obey, so she knew she must not interrupt and undermine his authority. Wisely, Rosamond remained silent.

  Rod spoke to his squire in a soft voice so that he could not be overheard. "Griffin, Dymock is your prisoner. Don't allow him to get farther than pissing distance from you. Once he has made arrangements to get the horses back and turned over Pershore's account books, make sure you lock him up securely."

  The household servants gathered uncertainly in the hall. The tall, dark knight clad in chain mail was an authority figure they dared not disobey. When he beckoned to her, Rosamond traversed the room to stand beside him as he addressed the people of Pershore. "I am Sir Rodger de Leyburn, royal steward to Lord Edward, heir to the throne. It is an honor and a privilege to present Rosamond Marshal, the lady who owns Pershore, and who is soon to be Lady de Leyburn. You will obey her in all things. Her wish must be your command. You will strive to please her every moment of every day, in every way. Together we will not only restore Pershore to its former glory, we shall make it the envy of the whole county."