The Rose and the Shield (Medieval 2)

“Lord Radulf,” she said, breathless but proud.

“Lady Rose,” he retorted, his voice low and husky but perfectly audible.

“Thank you for coming to our rescue, my lord. I—I am most grateful.”

He made a sound that could have been a laugh. “Are you, Lady Rose? Come inside and we will discuss what has been happening here at Somerford and why you should have told me about it.”

“Aye, my lord.” She started up the steps, as if they weren’t slipping and sliding about all over the place.

“And we will talk about your father, lady. Let us talk a little about him.” His tone had turned menacing.

Rose froze, wavering, her foot half raised to take the next step. A hard, warm hand closed on her back, steadying her. She had not realized Gunnar was there until then. He stood behind her, like a shield, and she was very grateful.

“I knew nothing of his plans,” she whispered, her throat raw with terror. “I have hated him all my life and now he would drag me into a plot of which I knew nothing. Please, my lord, believe me, I knew not what he and Arno were at!”

Radulf was watching her, considering her, his black eyes seeming to pierce her very skull.

“Her father?” Gunnar had come to stand beside her, as if he would share equally in her disgrace. “What is this talk of her father, Radulf?”

Radulf raised his brows, but he didn’t take his gaze from Rose’s face. “Will you tell him, lady, or will I? I have kept the truth to myself all this time, as you asked me to do after the marriage papers between you and Edric were signed. But now I think it is time to speak it aloud.”

Rose swallowed, her eyes flickering to Gunnar’s frowning, puzzled face. She had wanted to tell him in the Mere, but somehow there had not been the time. Or the moment.

No, that was not true. She had not trusted him. She had wanted to tell him, she had known she should tell him, but she had stopped herself from doing so. If she had accused him of telling lies, then she was equally accused.

“My father is Fitzmorton.” She said it bleakly. “I am his bastard daughter. He brought me from Normandy when my mother died, to use to further his ambitions. He and Lord Radulf thought to secure a peace through me. I would marry Edric, and Fitzmorton would not seek to steal Lord Radulf’s land. A show of his good faith. But the truth was my father never valued me, so breaking his word and my heart meant little. Mayhap he always intended to betray me and Radulf when the chance came his way. When Edric died, he sought to control Somerford Manor through Arno, and when that did not work, he decided he would send Miles. And now Lord Radulf thinks I am in league with him, plotting to hand him Somerford, but ’tis not so. I hate him. I would rather die myself than let Fitzmorton take my lands.”

Gunnar was staring back at her, his face blank, empty. There was no warmth in his eyes, there was nothing.

She was Fitzmorton’s daughter.

How he must hate her.

“I cannot go back to him,” she said quietly, speaking to him alone. “I really will die.”

“Lady, you are very dramatic!” Radulf had come down the last few steps that separated them to take her hand. His fingers were warm, and they squeezed hers in an attempt at comfort. But Rose was too distressed to understand what he meant.

“Come,” Radulf went on gently, “and we will talk. Gunnar? Will you come? We had a deal, did we not, my friend? And you have carried out your part of it, as I knew you would. I have a compromise to suggest…”

Gunnar was still looking at her. Rose knew very well what deal it was he had with Radulf. Radulf had offered him Somerford Manor in return for uncovering the plot. Strangely, aside from her fear for her own future and the pain of her loss, she was glad that her lands and her people would now be under Gunnar’s care. She knew he would protect them with his life, and care for them as if they were his own flesh and blood. Beneath his handsome face and cold logic, he was a deeply honorable man.

She knew that at last, when it was too late. But still the acknowledgment lifted something dark from her heart. Rose took a deep breath and looked him in the eye, not knowing exactly what she meant to say, only that she could not be silent any longer…

But he didn’t give her time to say anything. Gunnar turned to Radulf, drawing him a little away, murmuring in a low, serious tone. Rose stood, unwillingly left out and uneasy as to their conversation. It was about her, she knew it. They should not speak of her without giving her the chance to reply.

Just as she was about to step in and demand to hear, Radulf nodded brusquely and came back to her. Gunnar stayed where he was, one hand resting on his sword hilt, the other by his side, his strong legs slightly apart. It was a stance he adopted often, familiar now. But it was his eyes she stared into. They were very blue, and there was something shining in their depths like grief.

Her heart plummeted within her.

No, not that. Please, not that.

He turned away. He was striding down the steps and across the bailey, his men falling in wordlessly behind him. He was leaving; without a word to her he was going.

Shocked, Rose swung back to face Radulf, her whole body shaking.

“My lord! What—”

Radulf took her hands in his, holding her steady. His black eyes were intense, forcing her by the sheer strength of his will to heed his words.