Vow of Seduction. Angela JohnsonЧитать онлайн книгу.
would be foolhardy. His betrayal still seethed in the deepest, darkest corner of her heart, buried with all the pain and humiliation she experienced when Alex rejected her love.
Still, she remembered his earlier tormented words. I know I have hurt you terribly, Kat…But I have suffered, too. Whether you believe it or not, I spent four agonizing years in prison dreaming about you. Indeed, he had suffered. When Alex was held in the grip of his nightmare, Kat had seen the welts caused by severe whippings crisscrossing his back. Scars she knew he did not carry on their wedding night. Nor could she forget the pain etched on his face when he thought he was back in his captor’s hands.
Now he had returned to claim her. But no matter his internal and external wounds, she could not weaken.
When Alex deserted her, she vowed to keep what remained of her heart inviolate. If she relented and accepted him into her bed, eventually he would become bored with her. He would discard her again without a thought. Nay. She tugged her robe tighter around her. Love was a weakness Alex would manipulate to his satisfaction and that way lay destruction. She would never survive the pain of betrayal a second time.
A sound in the garden below caught her attention. Peering out the window, she looked down. Moonlight shown on a bare patch of grass and revealed a man clutching his sword with both hands. Kat frowned. Alex swung his sword madly at invisible foes, chasing away the night creatures that rustled in the darkened sanctuary.
Exhausted and sweaty, Alex quietly entered the antechamber. It was not yet dawn and he did not want to wake Kat and burden her with his darkness anymore than he had. He was ashamed of his weakness. And he had nearly endangered Kat because of it. Only once before did he wake in such a state—mostly his demons were harmless to none but him. It was the blasted wine. In future he would have to be more careful. This time he’d deftly distracted Kat from asking more prying questions.
Alex tugged his tunic and sherte off. With his linen sherte he wiped the sweat from his face and chest. Some good came from his exertions, though. While exorcizing his demons in the garden with mindless physical activity, it freed up his thoughts to work out a solution to his dilemma.
Six years ago, he acted selfishly by not telling Kat of his plans to go on Crusade. She was his wife and had had a right to know of his decision. Though he could not have forsaken his vow to take up the cross, he could have given her a choice to accompany him to the Holy Land or stay behind at Montclair.
In order to redeem his selfish act, he must make a huge sacrifice in exchange. And in the process he could regain a measure of control. This time Kat would have a choice. It was a risky proposition, but naught worth having should come without struggle, lest a man not appreciate what he had until he lost it. Unfortunately, he learned that lesson too late.
Chapter 4
A gaunt, dark-robed clerk ushered Alex into the king’s private receiving room later that morning. Curious, Alex glanced around.
“The king will be with you shortly, my lord.” The clerk bowed and exited out a small hidden side door on a painted wall that depicted a map of the world.
The room was long and narrow, but its high ceiling, gold-leafed beams, and painted walls gave it a sense of grandeur. Below the painted map on the west wall of the chamber were a table and two chairs. The narrow, shorter wall opposite the entrance had a cold fireplace, above which hung a portrait of Queen Eleanor sitting on a bench reading a book in her rose-drenched garden.
Alex strode to one of the rare, stained-glass east windows and opened the casement. Locking his hands behind his back, he stared unseeing into the garden as soothing sunshine warmed his face. And pondered the wisdom of the plan he’d concocted to win Kat’s heart. His abandonment left Kat scarred in ways he could not imagine, and he did not know if she could ever forgive him. But he had to try. Without Kat, he had naught left.
He would succeed. He must succeed.
“Alex.”
Alex started at the great booming voice and turned from the window to greet his monarch. King Edward closed the door where the clerk had exited earlier and strode into the room. Known as Edward Longshanks because of his great height, the king stood a few inches taller than Alex. They met in the center of the room.
“Sire.” Alex bowed deeply and then rose at the king’s command.
Edward’s golden hair shone in the sunlight, and his smile broadened as he clasped Alex’s shoulders heartily.
“’Tis good to see you hale and whole.” Edward surveyed him critically with his probing blue gaze. “Prison seems to have had no adverse effect upon you.”
Alex’s mouth quirked. “Do not believe everything you see. My sojourn with the Saracens was no picnic, though I did meet many English guests to keep me company during my visit,” he finished dryly.
“Indeed. The Saracens are renowned for their hospitality,” Edward rejoined ironically. Then his mien swiftly turned serious, his gaze stern with rebuke. “You were missed last eve. I expected your presence at the feast.”
Alex’s own smile turned grim as he confessed, “I’m afraid once Rand made known to me of certain rumors, my anger got the better of me.” He did not elaborate. The king no doubt was aware of all that went on at his court.
Edward smiled slyly. “Aye. That was quite a spectacle I witnessed.” He moved to the table along the wall. “The queen has done what she can to quell the rumors at court, but I’m afraid naught may be done when gossipmongers converse in private.”
On the table waited a flagon of wine and two chalices.
“Come. Let us toast to your miraculous return.”
A close companion of Edward since the Barons’ War, Alex was unsure how to act now that Edward was king. Edward sat in the larger, more elaborate chair and filled his chalice with wine from the flagon. Eased by the informality, Alex followed suit.
King Edward raised his goblet in a toast. “To England and your safe return.”
Alex raised his chalice and then drank deeply. The claret was smooth and sweet, but with a slight bite to it.
Edward lowered his wine, leaned back and rested his forearm on the table. “Now. Tell me how it came about that you ended up in a Saracen dungeon. I understand you were accosted not far from camp on the second night of your journey. When your men discovered you missing in the morning, they searched for you and found a pool of blood where you were attacked.”
Gathering his thoughts, Alex set his cup on the table and linked his fingers together on his stomach. “Aye. It was late and I had wandered away from camp before retiring. Someone attacked me from behind and as I turned, a hard blow to my head knocked me out. I woke several days later in the oubliette of a fortress in Syria with my skull pounding and two Frankish prisoners for companions.”
“Why did we not receive a ransom demand?”
“My attackers stole everything of value that would identify me as a knight. And when I tried to explain I could pay ransom, I was ignored. The guard came twice a day to drop food down the oubliette, but he never spoke or answered my demands. For a month I was held in the pit with no contact with anyone other than the two prisoners. Then I was removed to a dungeon cell.”
Alex had tried to forget that dismal time without success—the unending misery and gnawing hunger had clawed at his innards until he had prayed for a quick death. There was never enough food to feed one man, let alone three. It was a cruel game played by the captain of the prison guard to provide sustenance enough for one man and see who had the strongest instinct for survival.
Alex shared the portion he secured with one of the Frankish soldiers who was wounded and unable to fend for himself. But as Alex grew weaker and the Frank did not improve, he realized they would both die if he continued sharing. Having alone survived, Alex still agonized over the death of those two men, for he as good as killed them himself. They had not died honorably in battle like warriors should, but were treated like savage