Vow of Deception. Angela JohnsonЧитать онлайн книгу.
Rand threw back his head and laughed, glints of sunlight catching in his dark blond hair. “Elena, you need not flatter me. You are not a woman to remain lonely for long.”
Rand made no move to extricate himself from the woman’s possessive hold.
“You reprobate. You know me too well.” A slender finger caressed his cheek.
Flushing with embarrassment, Rose clenched her fists in her gray wool skirt. “If you will excuse me, Rand.” She took a step to go around them.
Elena turned to Rose, her gaze arch. “Why, Lady Ayleston, welcome back to court. ’Tis always a pleasure to see you.”
Rose spun back to Lady Elena. “Likewise, I am sure.” The woman’s patronizing tone irked. Her gaze shifted to Rand. “If you will excuse me, I have business that needs tending,” she said mockingly.
Rose did not doubt Elena was the “business” Rand had been neglecting. She flounced away and headed toward the residential ward of the castle, a three-story building with round towers at each corner. Alison and Justin, deep in conversation, stood before steps that led to a large double-door entry.
“Rose,” she heard Rand call out a moment before his strong grip caught her arm and stopped her headlong flight.
She shook his arm off. “What more is there to say, Rand? I believe we’ve said our farewells.”
Crossing his arms, Rand caught her gaze. “Before Elena arrived I was saying that Sir Justin is staying at court. If you have need of me for anything, inform Justin. He will know where to get word to me.”
She harrumphed. “I shall have no need of your help.”
He bowed, his eyes shifting away. “I wish you well, Rose. Till we meet again.”
Did she detect a shadow of regret in his gaze? Nay, it was probably a trick of her imagination.
“Sir Rand. Lady Ayleston.” A tall, distinguished man with gray-streaked brown hair came down the stairs and stopped before them.
The king’s household steward bowed to her. “I see you have recovered fully from the fall from your horse, my lady. The journey was not too taxing, I hope?”
Rose lightly touched the gash on her forehead below her wimple. “Aye, my lord. My headache and dizziness have subsided. I have no lasting effects from my injury.”
He smiled with relief. “The king shall be pleased to hear it. He was quite concerned for your welfare. If you will follow me, I shall escort you and your attendant”—he nodded to Alison—“to your chamber so you may refresh yourself before supper. After supper, I’ll take you to an audience with the king.
“Sir Rand, the king will have your report on the morrow.”
Rand bowed to the steward his acknowledgment. “On the morrow.”
His gaze lingered on her. “Fare well, Rosie.” Then he pivoted and walked off, Justin on his heels.
Following behind the steward and Alison, Rose glanced back just before she entered the palace. Lady Elena skipped up to Rand, her softly sculpted lips lifted for a kiss.
Rose averted her gaze. As she entered the cool shadows of the Great Hall, her fear unerringly returned.
How I despise being at the mercy of a man, whether he is king or not!
Escorted into a sumptuous private chamber, Rose curtsied deeply before King Edward, who lounged upon an elaborately carved throne in the middle of the audience chamber. “I give you good greeting, Sire,” she said, voice soft with deference, her eyes shadowed by her lowered lashes.
“Rise, Lady Ayleston,” Edward intoned with regal flare, a gold crown upon his leonine head.
She straightened, folding her hands demurely before her, and braced for his pronouncement.
“Welcome to court, my lady. I summoned your presence here to inform you of decisions long overdue. I have neglected conferring upon Ayleston a suitable guardian. But neglect my duty I shall no more. I have chosen an honorable knight of great esteem to bestow the honor upon. Sir Golan, come forward.”
Rose jerked her eyes up. From the shadows a man of extreme elegance, masculinity, and handsome features walked forward. His dark green silk surcoate flowed gracefully from broad shoulders and was belted with a jewel-mounted sword belt.
“Lady Ayleston, I present to you Sir Golan de Coucy.”
A tremor of recognition coursed through her blood like ice in her veins. He was the man she spied staring at her throughout supper, for whom snippets of rumors abounded concerning a dead wife and child.
Sir Golan, stopping beside her, bowed, his dark brown hair sweeping along his broad cheekbones. “My lady, ’tis indeed a pleasure.” He smiled, his eyes crinkling pleasantly, but the possessive light that sparked within his gaze shot to her gut like a barbed quarrel.
“Sir Golan, I am pleased to make your acquaintance,” she said, her heart thundering. This was the man who would administer her son’s estates. She had no wish to antagonize him.
Edward waved to a servant, who came forward with a tray with three chalices. Edward plucked the more elaborate jeweled vessel from the tray. Rose took the chalice the servant proffered her, Golan following suit.
Edward raised his chalice. “’Tis indeed a moment to rejoice. Sir Golan, for your dedication and exemplary service to our realm, we salute you.” Then he drank from his cup.
Not wishing to offend, Rose lifted her chalice in tribute and drank a deep draught.
Sir Golan stared at her over the rim of his chalice as he downed several drinks. “Sire, you do me great honor. I shall give you no cause to regret your generous reward.”
Edward nodded and turned to her. “Lady Ayleston, your widow status is of great import to me as well. Sir Golan has made an offer for your hand in marriage. And I have accepted.”
A rush of blood roared in her ears. Rose froze with her cup halfway to her lips. Her gaze swung to Sir Golan. He was watching her closely, his sensual lips curled up in satisfaction. Trepidation shuddered down her spine. She could not help feeling an instinctual distaste for the man. His eyes were too possessive and his manner too suave.
She lowered her hand and smoothed her expression. “Sire, I admit to some surprise. I don’t wish to disappoint, but I have a prior commitment that precludes marriage. I have vowed chastity to God. Bishop Meyland—”
“Neither Bishop Meyland nor any other bishop in this realm shall receive your vow, Lady Ayleston. You shall marry Sir Golan at my command. My will shall not be gainsaid.” His stern voice and fierce scowl promised dire punishment if she did not accept.
Rose sucked in a deep breath, stunned. By his words, Edward confirmed her suspicions about the bishop’s postponement of her vow. “Aye, Sire.” Rose closed her hand over the round stone at her neck. Jason, how I miss your uncomplicated, laughing exuberance and loving heart. Soon, very soon, I shall return to you.
The king leaned back in his chair, his forearm braced on the chair arm and wine cup dangling from his hand. “In three days’ time, here in the chapel at Westminster, we shall celebrate the nuptials, with a grand feast to follow.”
“Sire, that does not leave much time for wedding preparations. And what of the reading of the banns?” She knew delay was fruitless but could not help a last attempt to slow the proceedings so she might discover a way to escape the shackles of matrimony.
Having received his way, the king bestowed upon her a benevolent smile. “I shall wave the banns so you need not wait two weeks to marry. And the queen is quite fond of you. She intends to gift you with cloth from the royal wardrobe and grant her ladies leave to help you make the necessary arrangements.”
How typical of the king to switch from arrogant despot to magnanimous benefactor in the space