Forbidden Lady

‘If it were not so, I should have had my pleasure with you before this,’ Harold said, his mean eyes glittering. ‘If Father did not fear that the King would seize your lands, you would have died long ago.’

Melissa walked away from him, her heart hammering. She had always known that her father hated her, but he held his counsel and she had not guessed that her life was in danger. She wished that there was somewhere she might find sanctuary, but all hope had gone with her aunt’s death. No other Abbey would take her for they might suffer a terrible retribution at Lord Whitbread’s hands. Her only hope lay in a petition to the King—but who would stand up for her?

Owain would have done it had he been able, though his word would carry little weight for he was not a noble, merely a freeman of England. Surely there must be someone who would help her? Yet try as she might, she could think of no one.

She went into the house, walking up the curved stone stair to her chamber. For the moment she must wait and see what her father had in mind for her.

Rob had been training with his men all the morning. He had been working hard and was wiping the sweat from his body in the courtyard. He doused himself with cold water drawn from the well, and then dried his body on a coarse cloth. He shook his head, the water flying from his long, dark hair as it would the coat of a shaggy dog. The sun was in his eyes and it was a moment or two before he realised that the man approaching him was Owain Davies.

‘You are better,’ he said, greeting him with a smile. ‘I must thank you for what you did for me that night, sir. Had I known your name I should have done so long ago.’

‘No thanks were necessary. I could not stand by and see murder done by those villains—Besides, from what I have been told, you have since repaid the favour.’

‘I did what any decent man would have done,’ Rob said, but his smile had gone for the bitterness was deep in him and grew stronger as the days passed. ‘Is there something I may do for you?’

Owain was dressed plainly in leather doublet and hose, his shirt of wool and dark in colour. The monks had cropped his hair short so best to tend his hurts, and there was a livid scar across his head. Yet he was a handsome man, who held himself with pride, his eyes green and bolder than many a man in his position. Something about him seemed oddly familiar, though Rob was not sure what made him think it.

‘I came to offer you my affinity,’ Owain told him. ‘I know that my lady has returned to her father’s house, for the monks told me it was so—and I can no longer wear the livery of Lord Whitbread. He stands for the King and I am for Henry Tudor. I have heard that you are also of this mind—and I would fight with you, if you will have me?’

‘Yes, and right gladly,’ Rob said, offering his hand. ‘Indeed, I am proud to call you my friend.’

‘Thank you,’ Owain said, and smiled. ‘But I would have you know that I shall return to the service of my lady when this conflict is done—she has my loyalty, no matter what she may have done…’

Rob touched the scar on his cheek. ‘What do you know of this?’

‘I know what I saw and no more,’ Owain said. ‘I have been told that she sent you away—and that she knew of her father’s intent, but I do not believe it. If you knew her as I do, sir…’

‘No more,’ Rob said. ‘I accept your friendship and honour you for your loyalty to the lady of Whitbread, but nothing beyond. She betrayed me, and her brother punished me for daring to look above my station. I have since learned that he caused my father to suffer a seizure that later killed him. I have sworn revenge on them.’

‘Harold of Meresham is no true brother to her,’ Owain said. ‘And her…father is a brute who treats her ill. I would help you kill them both and gladly—but she is innocent.’

‘Perhaps…’ Rob’s expression did not ease. ‘We shall not speak of this again, Owain. For now we must prepare for war. I expect the summons any day.’

‘You will obey me, daughter.’ Lord Whitbread’s fleshy face was dark with anger, a deep red colour seeping up from his neck. He wore a long, rich blue gown bordered with gold braid, a chain of heavy gold about his neck, and looked every bit the powerful and rich lord he was. His eyes were filled with loathing, undisguised now for he no longer kept even the pretence of care or understanding. She had shamed him by running from his house and he would not forgive her. ‘I have promised you to Leominster and you shall marry him if he will have you, though you do not now deserve the honour.’

‘No, Father,’ Melissa cried. ‘I shall never marry a man I neither know nor care for. I have heard of the marquis’s reputation and he is not a man that my mother would have wished me to marry.’

‘Your mother is dead,’ Lord Whitbread growled. ‘Even if she lived my wish would be paramount. You are my property and I shall dispose of you as I please. You leave for the north in the morning. You will go to my cousin, the Earl of Gifford, who will keep you safe until I have time to arrange your marriage.’

‘Father, I beg you, do not do this,’ Melissa said. ‘For the memory of my mother, spare me. Let me marry as I wish…’

‘What is this? You speak as if you favour another…’ His hand snaked out, gripping her wrist. ‘Down on your knees, girl. Tell me the truth or it will go hard with you. Have you shamed me even more? Have you given yourself to a man? If you think still of Melford it will be the worse for you!’

‘No, Father,’ Melissa said. She tried to resist but the pressure on her arm was so painful that she was forced to her knees. She refused to bow her head, her expression defiant as she looked at him. ‘I would never forget my honour. I sent Rob away…and I have never ceased to regret it.’

‘Have you seen him again?’ Lord Whitbread demanded. ‘If he has dared to lay a finger on you he shall die. I warned you what would happen if you disobeyed me.’ Melissa shook her head. ‘Speak, girl, or it will be the worse for you!’

Melissa gave him a stubborn look. Nothing would make her betray what Rob had done for her that day in the forest. She felt her father’s hands on her shoulders, dragging her to her feet, shaking her like a rag doll. He held her by one arm, drawing back the other to strike her hard across the face. Melissa cried out with the pain, but still she was defiant. She raised her eyes, gazing at him with hatred in her eyes.

‘Is this how you killed my mother?’ she asked, all caution lost. ‘You suspected her of having a lover. Did you try to beat the truth out of her, too? Is that how she died?’

‘Damn you!’ Lord Whitbread let go of her, still in a rage but thoughtful now. ‘I suppose that damned sister of hers told you. I had hoped she might take the secret to her grave, for I warned her that if she did not I would punish you in her stead.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘If you think to beg the King for help you are too late. He has given his permission for your marriage in return for pledges of support from Leominster and myself. Leominster will have control of your fortune, and in return a part of your lands become mine. The deal is done, Melissa. You go north to my kinsman in the morning, and when the traitor Henry Tudor has been dealt with, you will marry the Marquis of Leominster.’

Lord Whitbread left the room, locking the door behind him. Melissa looked about her in despair. She was a prisoner in the small circular chamber at the top of the Keep, and she knew there was no way she could escape.

‘Oh, Rob,’ she whispered, tears trickling down her cheeks. ‘If only I had not let you go when you took me to the Abbey. I was so proud, so foolish! You are the only one who could have helped me—but you hate me now.’ She should have taken the risk and told him the truth, but it was too late now.

Melissa felt that her heart would break. It seemed that there was no hope for her, because she could not escape her fate—and yet if she could not wed the man she loved, she would rather die.

She had hoped that perhaps she might plead her case with the King, but there was to be a war and she was but an insignificant woman to be traded for the promise of men and arms.

If they married her to the Marquis of Leominster, she would die by her own hand rather than let him take her to his bed.

She sank to her knees, praying that something or someone would help her, but she knew that she was alone and friendless. Even Owain had deserted her—she had had no word from him in all this time.

Melissa’s head was aching as she was led across the courtyard the next morning and taken to her own rooms. The guards who had escorted her thrust her inside and the door was locked behind her. They were taking good care that she should not escape, though there was little likelihood of that, for where could she go?

Rhona had been packing a trunk with Melissa’s clothes, but she smiled and came towards her. ‘You need food and fresh clothes, my lady,’ Rhona said. ‘I dare say you did not sleep last night.’

‘No, I could not,’ Melissa agreed. ‘You know what my father has planned for me?’

‘Yes, my lady,’ Rhona said. ‘Is there no one who would help you?’

Melissa shook her head. ‘My mother’s kinswoman, Alanna Davies, might have helped me if she could—but I do not know how to reach her. Besides, what could she do now that the King has given his permission for my marriage?’

‘Is there no one else—Robert of Melford? Would he not come if you asked?’

‘He hates me now,’ Melissa said sadly. ‘If I had not sent him away…But you know that I had no choice. Nothing has changed.’

‘I am not sure,’ Rhona said. ‘I have heard that he has become a powerful knight with many followers since he returned from Angers—and he saved us in the forest. He took you to the Abbey. If he truly hated you, he might have held you captive and demanded a ransom for your return.’

‘Perhaps…’ Melissa sighed. ‘He is brave enough to stand up to my father, I know that—and if he has followers he might be victorious, but why should he help me?’

‘Will you not send him word?’

‘It would do no good,’ Melissa said. She saw that Rhona was doubtful. ‘There is something else you would say?’

‘Agnes is here. She begs that you will see her, my lady. She swears that she did nothing to harm the Abbess. She says that she ran away because she heard that she had been accused and was afraid.’

‘Do you believe her?’

‘I am not sure,’ Rhona said. ‘Until that night we had no reason to doubt her—and you have only Sister Cecile’s word that she saw her near your aunt’s chamber.’

‘Yes, that is true.’ Melissa was uncertain. ‘Very well, I shall see her—but we must be careful, Rhona. We should watch her and see what she does. Do not trust her too much.’

‘Shall I ask her to come in?’

‘Yes, please.’