Conquering Knight, Captive Lady

‘Don’t what?’

‘I don’t want your attentions …’ She snatched her hand away. Surely he would feel the tumultuous blood pulsing, racing through her veins, if he kissed her wrist again?

His eyes darkened, his mood changed immediately. ‘If you mean by my attentions that you don’t want my mouth against your skin—then don’t put yourself in my way, lady. You have won your victory today. Make sure it’s not at a price you are unwilling to pay.’

Rosamund could not believe her ears. Her lips parted in shock.

And Fitz Osbern promptly kissed them. Fast, but very thoroughly.

‘Well, Rose? What have you to say now?’

She gasped. Could think of nothing sensible. ‘That I have not given you leave to use my name in that way,’ she managed finally.

And before he could do or say anything further, tearing herself away from his relaxed hold, Rosamund fled to her chamber where, considerate beyond anything Rosamund could have believed, Fitz Osbern had already left instructions for water to be heated for the women, and the wooden tub to be carried there. The courtesy passed unnoticed. Fear gripped her, a depth of dread of which she had no experience. She had feared marriage with Ralph de Morgan. This emotion was entirely different. Her heart thundered, her cheeks coloured to the tint of a winter pippin. She was very much afraid of the Wild Hawk. Her reaction to him was quite inappropriate. Pressing her fingers to her mouth, she realised that she could still taste his kiss. And ran her tongue slowly over her lips to savour it.

This can’t last, Rosamund, Fitz Osbern thought. It’s like living in the middle of a thunderstorm.

It hung over them, a deep and lowering threat. The whole fortress waited uneasily, holding its breath for the approaching cataclysm. It could not be expected that Fitz Osbern and de Longspey would live amicably side by side for long. Disputed ownership would have to end some time, whatever promise had been forced from him when under pressure.

Before the storm could break, Hugh de Mortimer made his departure, his own concerns in Hereford needing his attention. He acknowledged to himself a reluctance to go. He would like to watch the outcome of this imminent clash of wills. He parted from Fitz Osbern when they broke their fast on a late dawn, the first lightening of the sky heralding a fine day.

‘Farewell, Ger. You’re well settled then, I think.’