Vow of Deception. Angela JohnsonЧитать онлайн книгу.
“DO NOT BE AFRAID…
…I’m not going to let him hurt you. I promise.”
“How can you make such a promise?” Rose shuddered, blue eyes haunted. “The man will be my husband in two days’ time. No one could protect me from Bertram, and no one can protect me now.”
Rand clutched her head between his hands and forced her to gaze into his eyes. His eyes blazed with conviction. “Listen to me. I know I failed you before, but I am going to make it right. I swear to you, Sir Golan will never have the opportunity to hurt you again.”
“Why should I believe your promises after you lied to me?”
“Because despite what you think, I care about you. I do not wish to see you forced to marry a man I now know is a danger to you.”
“What are you saying, Rand? Edward insists I marry; there is naught you or anyone can do to sway the king when he has decided upon a course.”
Rand took a deep breath. “I shall marry you instead.”
Vow of Deception
ANGELA JOHNSON
ZEBRA BOOKS
KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.
http://www.kensingtonbooks.com
All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter One
Westminster Palace
In the year of our Lord 1276
Fifth year in the reign of King Edward I
“The lady who shall be my next wife shall have no reason to find fault with my lineage.” Sir Golan de Coucy chuckled. “Indeed, ’tis no boast when I say that the de Coucy’s are endowed with certain attributes women greatly esteem in a spouse.”
Sir Rand Montague, escorted into King Edward’s chamber by a dark-robed clerk, glanced at the knight speaking amongst a group of lords.
Hazy light filtered into the long, narrow room through three glazed windows on the longer east wall. Opposite this, a table was pushed up below a map of the world painted on the plaster wall. Rand approached Lords Warwick and Pembroke, and de Coucy standing before the table.
Sir Golan was tall, of broad muscular frame, with dark brown wavy hair that swept back from his smooth forehead. At court, rumors abounded about the comely, well-sought-after knight who was searching for a new bride. The gossip mainly revolved around the knight’s prowess with the opposite sex and the tragic story of how his first wife died giving birth to their stillborn son.
But another dark rumor claimed Golan had had a hand in his wife’s demise.
Rand truly despised the courts’ ruthless preoccupation with other people’s personal affairs. He knew firsthand the destructive force of speculation and innuendo. His cousin Kat was nearly destroyed by scurrilous lies spread by vicious nobles who reveled in court intrigue.
Rand greeted each man with forceful slaps on the back all around. On the long board were what appeared to be a large rolled-up map, and a lighted branch of candles, a flagon of wine, and several jewel-encrusted drinking vessels.
Golan passed Rand a chalice of claret, or rosé. “I believe I have boasted enough for the nonce,” he said, grinning broadly. “Rand, tell us about your mission to Gascony.”
The Earl of Warwick added, “Aye. I had not heard you’d returned to England. Was your journey successful?”
Rand patiently answered all their questions, savoring his claret. He recognized the excellent vintage from his family’s Bordeaux vineyards that he imported in his cargo ship.
“My lords, well come we meet,” King Edward intoned behind them.
In unison with the other lords, Rand spun round and bowed low before his sovereign liege lord. Edward waved a negligent hand for them to rise, then moved to the table. They gathered round the king, who unrolled the map, which was a very detailed representation of Wales and the western border of England. Without preamble, the king began discussing war plans.
“Here and here,” Edward said, pointing to the Welsh Marches along the English border, “if it comes to war, as I expect it will, is where I plan to cross into Wales. These troops will advance into the south and central regions of Wales, but I’ll send the bulk of the troops into Llewelyn ap Gruffydd’s territory in Snowdonia in the north, harrying him and any resistance we meet.” A red flush crept up Edward’s face as he continued, “If the man does not come to pay homage to me as his overlord, I intend to crush and subdue him.” He rapped his knuckles on the table, punctuating his statement. “No man, prince or otherwise, shall defy me without retribution.”
Rand listened with half an ear as Edward discussed his plans. With war appearing imminent, he could not help but worry about Rosalyn Harcourt, Lady Ayleston, and her young son, Jason.
Staring at the map, his eyes strayed to the cartographer’s mark that indicated the town and port of Chester near the Welsh border. The manor of Ayleston lay in the Marches five miles southwest of Chester, making it vulnerable to Welsh raids once hostilities broke out. It was too dangerous for Rose to remain at Ayleston without proper protection. But Rand did not think she would listen to him if he tried to reason with her. She ought to move to one of her dower manors farther inland for the duration of the war.
“Well, cousin. I have lost you, haven’t I?”
Startled, Rand glanced up at the king.
Several inches taller than him, Edward had long golden hair and a drooping left eyelid. The king slapped him on the back good-humoredly. “Come. Tell me what troubles you.”
Rand glanced around, realizing he and the king were alone. Consternation filled him at his breach of etiquette, but Edward, seemingly unperturbed, moved to the table to pour more claret into his chalice. Rand followed suit, taking a big swill of his wine.
“Now. I would hear what had you so distracted