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  Letyce’s fingernails dug into his arm. She huffed impatiently as she pulled him away from her brothers and into the house.

  * * *

  Alphonse Revandel was a portly little man, who seemed to bear no resemblance to any of his children. Adam wondered about the dead woman who had been their mother. Perhaps she had been the one with the hooked beak.

  When Letyce introduced Adam to her father, Revandel’s face reddened and he too bowed low. These people had supposedly taken an active part in court life, yet they seemed to have no sense of a person’s rank and the appropriate level of respect to show.

  “Milord de Montbryce! What an honor! If we had known—”

  Adam unhooked Letyce’s talons from his arm and raised a hand to interrupt his host. “It was a last minute decision to ride this way,” he lied. “Rosamunda has seen little of the countryside, despite having lived all her life at Kingston Gorse.”

  As the initial pleasantries of introductions progressed it became impossible for Rosamunda to remain silent. She mouthed a greeting which Adam understood perfectly.

  Revandel and his sons gaped, exchanging frowning glances.

  Letyce snorted.

  Adam strove to keep his temper. It was fortunate Denis and Paulina had not accompanied them. “Rosamunda is mute, but she understands everything we say. In time you will learn to understand her equally well.”

  Winrod swaggered forward, standing too close to Rosamunda. He fingered a strand of her hair. “Mute, eh? What a boon for your husband.”

  * * *

  Rosamunda wanted to spit in Winrod Revandel’s face. Surely this was not how young men were supposed to behave. It brought to mind a ginger cat she had seen toying with a mouse at East Preston. Adam tensed beside her, his jaw clenched. She had sensed his discomfort since the moment they arrived at Poling.

  He put a hand on Winrod’s chest. “Have a care. Demoiselle Lallement is under my protection.”

  Rosamunda liked the sound of that. She hoped they would not stay long with these unpleasant people.

  Winrod stepped back, but the predatory glint remained in his eyes. The smile left his face when his brother elbowed him out of the way. Dareau brushed his lips over Rosamunda’s knuckles before she could grab her hand away. “You must forgive Winrod. He has no notion of manners as practiced out in the country.”

  Manners were manners no matter where a person dwelt. She resolved never to go to King Henry’s court.

  Harlot

  Later in the afternoon, Letyce turned her face away from her pitiful father, wishing she had refused the summons to his solar. His breath always reeked of the onions he was fond of. The whole chamber stank of the obnoxious bulb. She never understood how her mother had borne it.

  “Mark my words, daughter, and heed me well. This is your opportunity. Adam de Montbryce will make a fine husband. His family is powerful here and in Normandie, and wealthy beyond imagining. God has smiled on us today.”

  Letyce was tempted to provoke the usual argument, but her father was right for once. Wealth and power were things she craved. Marriage to Adam would bring her both. He was certainly attractive, no doubt an excellent lover. When she tired of him, there were always discreet liaisons to be found.

  She put a conspiratorial hand on her father’s arm. “He seems taken with the muette for some unfathomable reason.”

  Her father winked. “Leave her to me. She will make the ideal wife for Winrod, or Dareau.”

  Letyce smiled. “Or they might share her?”

  Alphonse Revandel’s eyes widened, his face reddening. “Share? But—”

  She had gone too far. No use planting suspicions in her father’s mind regarding her own proclivities. The fool might disinherit her, or worse, send her to a nunnery. “I’m jesting, Papa.”

  He let out a long slow breath, rubbing his hands together. “’Tis settled then. I have arranged for you to sit beside Montbryce, and the muette is between my two handsome sons.”

  Letyce rolled her eyes as she followed her father into the hall for the evening meal.

  * * *

  Rising panic threatened to cut off air to Rosamunda’s lungs. Her belly ached. Adam was seated at the other end of the head table, the first time he had not been at her side since the rescue. To make matters worse, the terrible twosome had her hemmed in. Winrod sidled along the bench to press his thigh against hers. Dareau followed suit. She felt the heat of their bodies—it made her blood run cold.

  She had not been given a trencher. Dareau stuffed a large piece of venison into his mouth, then cut more from his portion and offered it to her. Winrod did the same. She had been told men only shared a trencher with their wives, or the women they were betrothed to. The idea of marriage to either of these competitive idiots had bile rising in her throat.

  She shook her head, wrinkling her nose.

  Winrod elbowed her arm. “Queasy? Probably the journey.”

  Dareau winked, sticking out his belly. “Unless she’s in the family way.”

  Rosamunda gasped. She did not want to embarrass Adam by jumping to her feet in protest, but—

  She looked down the table, seeking his eyes. He was gazing at Letyce’s lips, seemingly enthralled. The harlot pressed close to him.

  Winrod touched her arm, waving the gamy venison in front of her. “You must eat something.”

  The room tilted. She covered her mouth and leapt to her feet, hoping to reach the outdoors before she retched.

  She did not make it. The last thing she recalled was the disgusted grimace of the serving woman over whose shoes she vomited. Strong arms caught her before she swooned.

  * * *

  Frustration tightened Letyce’s jaw as she watched Adam race from the table in time to catch the mute woman when she fainted.

  Montbryce seemed fascinated with Letyce’s mouth, intent on her words, yet it had been difficult to get him to respond to her advances. She had touched his arm, pressed her body close to his, even put her hand on his thigh, closer to his male parts than might be deemed proper, so there was no mistaking her intent.

  All for naught.

  He had pointedly leaned away, brushing her hand from his thigh as if he had been burned by a red hot coal. Perhaps, he was the sort who preferred men, though he was a far cry from the fops at court.

  Some men were shy with women. She could help him overcome that.

  Obviously, her brothers had failed to secure the mute’s attention. She would make it clear that if they wanted help getting out of the financial morass they wallowed in before their father found out, they would have to do their part.

  The Lallement girl might only be Adam’s neighbor but he evidently took his protection of her seriously, though she had a feeling there was more to it.

  Letyce's Chamber

  Heart racing, Adam followed a maidservant, Rosamunda cradled to his chest. He was appalled when the servant pointed to a meagre pallet in the corner of Letyce’s room, far from the hearth. He placed her on the luxurious bed instead. She was pale, too pale.

  “Fetch water,” he instructed the servant, smoothing Rosamunda’s wild hair off her face. “Wake up, Rosa.”

  Relief washed over him when her long eyelashes fluttered open.

  She smiled and touched his cheek. “Adam.”

  He pressed her hand against his face. She felt clammy.

  She frowned, licking her dry lips.

  He put his palm against her forehead. “Are you ill, ma chère? You may have a fever.”

  The servant brought water and he helped her sip from the tumbler.

  A tear trickled down her cheek. She patted a spot above her left breast.

  He arched his brows. “Afraid? Why?”

  She squirmed, avoiding his gaze.

  He put his fingers on her chin and turned her face gently to him. “Were the Revandel brothers rude to you?”

  She shook her head, but the corners of her mouth edged down.

  Adam fisted his hands. This was not going well
. His first impression of the twins was not positive, but if Rosamunda became better acquainted with them—

  “I am sorry we were seated apart. I was hoping you might make new friends. I will not always be there to sit beside you.”

  A ragged breath shuddered through her. He longed to kiss away the pain flickering in her eyes. If only things were different, but it was no use pining for the unattainable. He determined to be firm with her. “I want you to try to like at least one of them. It’s a good family.”

  Her eyes widened. “Why?”

  He took her hands in his. “You are of an age to marry. We must search for a husband for you.”

  She tore her hands away and plunged her face into the bolster.

  He put his hand on her trembling shoulder, but she refused to look at him. He did not hear Letyce enter the chamber, but, suddenly, she was at his side, a look of disdain on her pouty face.

  She fluttered her eyelashes at him. “It’s not seemly for you to be in my chamber,” she breathed, thrusting her breasts close to his face as she leaned over the bed, her hand again on his thigh. “You must return to the hall. I will take care of the invalid. Poor thing.”

  He was reluctant to leave Rosamunda with this harlot, but she was right, although he sensed her chamber was exactly where she wanted him. She would experience a disappointment if he remained. But then he risked discovery of his secret, and Letyce Revandel was the last person whose suspicions he wanted to arouse.

  He came to his feet and smoothed his hand over Rosamunda’s hair. “À demain,” he whispered.

  * * *

  Letyce kept the smile plastered on her face until she was sure Adam was well on his way back to the hall, then she grabbed Rosamunda’s hair. “Get out of my bed. How dare you.”

  The muette’s face contorted as she struggled to get free, but Letyce held firm, dragging the freak to the pallet. “You should be in the stables with the other dumb animals. But I suppose I will have to put up with having you here.”

  She shoved Rosamunda on to the pallet. “Do not move from there, and don’t make a sound.” She scoffed. “Oh, silly me. You’re incapable of doing so anyway.”

  As she swept through the doorway, she turned to the maidservant lurking in the shadows. “Get clean linens and a new bolster for my bed—now!”

  * * *

  Rosamunda lay trembling, curled up in a tight ball as she watched the maidservant change the linens. She wished she was back in her comfortable bed, listening to Paulina’s soft snoring. She ought to have stood up to the horrible Revandel woman. It galled that she had let herself be intimidated and was certain Denis de Sancerre never allowed himself to be bullied.

  Better to sleep in the stables. It would be warmer, and probably a good deal safer with Nox and Lux.

  As soon as the servant left, she draped the thin blanket around her shoulders and tiptoed from the chamber.

  The Stable

  Nox snorted, waking Rosamunda from a fitful sleep in the warm hayloft. She stiffened. Something had caught the stallion’s attention. A voice. Outside the stables.

  Adam.

  He had come to see to his horse before retiring. Her heart filled with gladness. She was about to leap up and thrust open the shutters when another voice intruded.

  Letyce Revandel.

  Rosamunda threw off her blanket and listened.

  “I must tend my horse.” Impatience edged Adam’s words.

  Rosamunda imagined Letyce’s pout as she replied, “Can’t you spend a few minutes with me? This is the first chance we have had to be alone. I fear you are ignoring me.”

  It was dark. Unless they stood close together and he could see her lips clearly, Adam would not have heard the hore’s words.

  Listening was not enough. Rosamunda had to see what they were doing. She crept forward on all fours, hoping she sounded like a horse rustling dry straw.

  She had left the shutters of the loft open a crack in the stifling air of an unusually hot early September that had accumulated under the rafters. Holding her breath, she peeked through the narrow opening.

  Adam stood in front of the stable, frowning. Letyce blocked his way, leaning against the door. Her hands were behind her arched back, her breasts thrust forward, head cocked to one side. “Please, Adam.”

  He folded his arms. “I am here on family matters. I prefer—”

  She seized his hands and pressed them to her breasts. “Feel how much I want you.”

  Rosamunda’s own nipples hardened as anger surged through her. How dare this strumpet—another of Vincent’s favorite words—throw herself at her champion?

  To her relief, Adam dropped his hands quickly. “Non, Mistress Revandel. I will not be deterred from my mission here. I am my father’s representative. What you suggest is not proper.”

  “Proper does not interest me,” she retorted, grasping his hips and thrusting her own towards him. “I want you.”

  Rosamunda gasped in shock as Letyce pressed her most intimate part to Adam’s body.

  He shoved her away, his face contorted in anger.

  Letyce slapped him. “What kind of man are you? A eunuch? Or do men interest you more? Should I speak to my brothers, perhaps?”

  Rosamunda had never heard the word unuk, but doubted it was good. Why would Adam be interested in the Revandel brothers? The woman was daft.

  Letyce stormed off, leaving Adam alone, staring at the moon. The look of abject hopelessness on his face brought tears to her eyes. He stood in silence for long minutes before pulling open the door to the stables.

  * * *

  Nox nickered as Adam approached.

  “Good lad,” he crooned, as the horse nuzzled him. “You’re always happy to see me.”

  The stallion raised his head and snorted, stomping the dirt with one hoof.

  “What’s wrong, boy? What do you hear?”

  Gooseflesh prickled Adam’s nape. He was not alone in the stables. “Who’s there?”

  A shaft of moonlight shone on dust motes drifting down between the planked floorboards of the loft. He gripped the hilt of his sword. “Show yourself,” he growled.

  To his surprise, Rosamunda appeared at the edge of the loft, arms folded tightly across her breasts, straw poking out of her hair. She was studying her feet, swaying from side to side. He was tempted to laugh, but she looked bereft. It touched his heart. “What are you doing up there? Come down.”

  She kept her eyes averted, shaking her head.

  An ugly suspicion crept into his thoughts. “Why are you not in Letyce’s chamber?”

  She pointed to the straw behind her.

  “You cannot sleep alone in the stable.”

  She glanced at him briefly, then backed away into the shadows of the loft.

  He peered into the dark stable, searching for a ladder. Espying one at the back of the stable, he slapped Nox’s hindquarters, then strode over to it.

  The climb to her hiding place resurrected a memory of pursuing a giggling wench up a rickety ladder in a similar hayloft. They had passed a pleasant afternoon pleasuring each other. His heart filled with regret—for the past, for everything he had lost. Loneliness swept over him.

  Rosamunda crouched in a corner, shrouded in the blanket, eyeing him nervously as he reached the loft. Dismayed that she feared him, he held out a hand. “Come. Noblewomen do not sleep in stables. You have a bed in Letyce’s chamber.”

  She shook her head vehemently.

  “What has Letyce done? Was she cruel to you?”

  Rosamunda glanced up at him sharply, the moonlight illuminating her tears. She grimaced, thrusting a clenched fist out from the blanket. “I hate her.”

  The determined jut of her chin convinced him that, short of wrestling her into the house, there would be no getting her back there. He would not want to spend the night in Letyce’s chamber either.

  He held out his hand, indicating the pile of straw. “May I?”

  She wiped away a tear and shuffled to make more space for
him.

  He sat beside her, his back to the wooden wall, knees bent. Her heat warmed his bicep, yet she shivered. He put his arm around her shoulders, drawing her to his body. “Let me warm you,” he whispered.

  She remained stiff and unyielding, until he brushed a kiss on the top of her head. With a sigh, she melted into him. Holding a woman again elated him, calmed his raging heart. He could not bed her, but he could offer comfort. Being alone together was improper, though it felt right, as if she belonged in his arms.

  But the planking was hard, his arse going numb. “Let’s gather straw into bedding and lie down. We cannot sleep like this.”

  She put a hand on his chest, her eyes full of uncertainty.

  He came to his feet. “Oui, Rosamunda, I want to stay here with you. Will you share your blanket with me?”

  * * *

  Rosamunda didn’t need a blanket. She was on fire, perhaps because of the heat of the night, or a lingering illness. Every muscle in her body screamed to stretch, to luxuriate in the bed of straw like a queen on her couch.

  “We won’t require this,” Adam said as he rolled the blanket into a pillow, tucking it under her head.

  Rosamunda had learned to convey her feelings to her brothers and sister, despite her muteness, but couldn’t explain to Adam how it felt to be enfolded in his embrace, held tight against his chest, his hips and thighs pressed to hers. They were new emotions.

  Words were impossible. She nuzzled his neck and brushed a kiss in the hollow of his throat. He let out a long slow breath, playing with her hair.

  “Rosamunda,” he whispered.

  “Adam,” she mouthed, aware he could not see her lips. She drifted into sleep, smugly content he seemed happy to lie with her, and had soundly rejected the harlot.