Vow of Deception. Angela JohnsonЧитать онлайн книгу.
“You called out for her the other day when I tumbled from my palfrey. Do you not remember?”
He did not answer but asked her another question. “How can you remember aught when you were rendered insensible?” His right eyebrow arched in lazy inquiry.
“I don’t know. The memories are hazy. But I remember feeling as though I were watching from a distance as you held me in your arms and cried out for Juliana. So who is she?”
Rand leaned back against the grass seat. “Mayhap it was just a dream.”
“Nay. It was not a dream. The memory is too vivid to be something I conjured in my dreams.”
Rand stared at her, not answering, his gaze speculative.
For some reason Rose persisted. Normally she avoided confrontation and used cunning to get what she wanted. “Why do you avoid answering my question, Rand? Are you embarrassed for some reason? Is she a woman you bedded?”
Rand flinched as though shot with a barbed arrow, and his voice was as sharp. “Enough, Rose.” She watched his green eyes dim to a muted gray. “You know not of what you speak. Juliana was my sister.”
Rose gasped aloud in horror. “Oh, Rand. Forgive me. I did not know. I mean, Alex told me you had a twin sister who died. But I never knew her name, or the circumstances of her death.”
She reached her hand out to touch Rand’s arm in commiseration, but she caught herself and dropped it back to her side.
With his free hand, Rand pushed himself up from the bench and stood. “Alex told you about Juliana?”
Uncomfortable with Rand looming over her, Rose lurched to her feet. Only a slight twinge in her hip indicated her bruising was nearly healed.
She lowered her lashes, hiding her gaze. “Not exactly. It was many years ago. It was the first visit you made to Briand Castle with my brother. Curious to know all about you, I pestered Alex until he told me about you and your family.” She jerked her gaze up when he chuckled.
His mouth curved up, smile rueful. “I remember how persistent you were when you wanted something. So what did Alex tell you?”
Chagrined, Rose felt a slight flush heating her cheeks. As a young girl she had been spoiled and indulged, so she usually got whatever she wanted, be it a pretty silk dress for a celebratory feast, or extra sweet pudding for dessert, or intimate details about her brother’s handsome best friend. Her voice dropped, soft with sympathy as she replied, “He told me how your mother and sister died a year apart shortly before your father sent you to foster with your grandfather in England. Alex mentioned Lady Montague died in a fire. But he never spoke of how your sister died.”
Rand stared down at the top of Rose’s head. The wimple and veil he despised were gone, destroyed by the slimy mud. Parted down the center, her hair was braided. The warm afternoon sunshine shimmered within the silky red locks, creating copper and gold streaks.
“You never speak of your sister. Will you tell me how she died? Was it illness?”
He did not know why, but suddenly the words were torn from him. “Juliana drowned.” The anguish of his loss seeped into his voice without volition. Grief for his mother and sister surged to the surface.
Her questioning eyes softened, a warm glow of sympathy alighting upon him. Unable to bear her gaze, Rand turned his back on Rose and paced away. He did not deserve her sympathy. If not for him, Juliana would be alive today, married with children of her own and chatelaine of her own household.
It had been his idea to go to the river that summer day six and ten years ago. They were playing near the riverbank when Juliana lost her footing and was swept out to deeper waters. Rand jumped in to rescue her, but he was tugged underwater with her and nearly drowned. So he let Juliana go to save himself.
He should have died that day instead.
It was his duty to protect her, but he had been careless and inattentive. They were extremely close and practically inseparable, as if being twins they had been of one soul. With her death, he had felt as if a piece of it had been ripped from him and lost forever.
No amount of penance could relieve him of his guilt.
Rose’s soft voice penetrated his reverie. “Rand, I am so sorry. Would you care to tell me what happened? How she drowned?”
Rand could feel an internal struggle, wishing to confide in Rose. But he could not bring himself to reveal his secret shame and see the pity or, God forfend, accusation in her eyes.
Rand fixed his countenance in his usual teasing grin and spun around. “There is nothing to tell, Rosie, truly. It happened so long ago.” He tweaked her chin. “Now, I need to check on my men and make sure they are ready to resume our journey. We depart for Westminster at dawn. I’ll see you in the refectory for supper.”
He turned around and walked jauntily away.
Rose slumped her shoulders, disappointed Rand did not wish to confide in her. Something did not feel right about his glib response. To lose his sister in a drowning accident when he was ten and three, then his mother in a tragic fire a year later, must have had a deep impact on one so young.
As Rand neared the garden gate, he began whistling a ribald tune. Oh, what was she thinking? This was Rand. He much preferred the flippant attachments of loose women and could not be bothered with expressing deeper emotions of substance. He was a shameless rogue to the core.
Six days later, Rose sighed in relief when Rand halted their party at the top of a hill north of Westminster. In the wide valley below, men in short braies and long shertes were busy cutting fields of wheat, barley, and rye, with the women and children following behind gathering the grain into stalks. Beyond the fields lay Westminster Abbey and the adjoining palace. The muddy serpentine Thames River hugged the palace to the south and east and glimmered with the last rays of the rapidly descending sun.
Rand proceeded forward, and a while later they entered the north gate of the palace. Several castle attendants approached to take their horses. Before Rose could dismount, Rand came to her side, clutched her waist, and lifted her from her palfrey.
A sudden breathless sensation quickened in her chest; confused, she frowned. Rand released her and stepped back.
Sir Justin led Alison away to give Rose and Rand privacy.
“Rose, I shall give you my leave now. I doubt I shall see you again before you leave court and return home.”
Her heart thudded. “You are leaving?” Rose bit her tongue to still a sudden rush of nervous blathering.
An awful sensation of being abandoned shuddered through her. Which was ridiculous, because Rand was only doing his duty. Yet during the journey, she had felt oddly safe in Rand’s protection. Now, fear of the unknown would not release its grip on her. She clutched Jason’s stone, her son never far from her thoughts. She would endure whatever the king had in store for her—for Jason’s sake.
“I assumed you would stay long enough to discover what the king intends of me. Are you not even a little curious?”
His eyes shone with an emotion she was unable to interpret. Was it regret? she wondered. Disappointment?
“Of course,” he said, his voice oddly strained. “But I have other business that I have been neglecting that needs my immediate attention. Sir Justin—”
The clatter of horse hooves erupted as a party of brightly dressed ladies on horseback entered the courtyard. One woman with hair the color of flame, dressed in a jewel-toned blue silk surcoate, and riding an elegant bay mare, left the group and approached them.
Lady Elena Chartres held her arms out for Rand to help her dismount, drawing attention to her voluptuous bosom. “Rand, my dear, I am sooo glad you are back. Court has been a veritable desert without your delicious presence.” A smile of seductive promise graced her lips.
Rand hurried to her side like an excited puppy. His strong, masculine