Vow of Deception. Angela JohnsonЧитать онлайн книгу.
marry again,” she swore, a dark thread of conviction drawing her voice taut.
Rose plopped down on the bench beside Edith. Jason tugged a worm from the earth and squealed in delight, his cheeks dimpling. Rose’s gaze softened as she watched him.
“Are you sure you wish to take such a drastic measure? A vow of chastity is irrevocable. Perhaps you will want to marry again one day.”
Rose jerked her head to Edith. Jason’s nurse gazed at her, eyes shadowed, her left hand rubbing her crippled arm.
Guilt reared. Rose reached over and began massaging the shrunken muscles and tendons of Edith’s forearm. “Oh, forgive me, Edith. Here I am rambling on about my troubles when you are in pain.”
A significant pause, then Edith whispered, “’Twas not your fault, milady.”
“If only I had been obedient and dutiful, Bertram would not have broken your arm and forbidden me to set it properly for you.”
Rose gazed off in the distance, her thoughts returning to the past. Rose had been spoiled and indulged as a child, and her father, Lord Briand, had taken an unusual step in allowing her to choose her own husband, provided the man was of equal or greater rank than she. But Rose had chosen unwisely, to her everlasting shame and regret. When she threatened Bertram that she would return to her father and tell him of Bertram’s perverse sexual proclivities, her husband struck out at Edith instead.
From that moment on, she learned never to defy him. No one was safe from his violent tendencies, not even Jason, his own son.
“Once I take my vow of chastity, I shall never be compelled to marry and be at the mercy of a man again.”
Marriage required enduring the humiliating debasement of conjugal duties. She had barely survived her first.
“Wurm, Mama. I found a wurm.” Her son’s excited voice drew Rose from her devastating memories. She looked down at Jason standing before her. The worm lay in his dirty palm as he raised it up for her inspection. She relaxed her tight grip on the crumpled missive.
Her eyes grew big as she stared at the worm he dangled before her. “Oh my, you did find a worm. A big, fat, wiggly one.” She growled beneath her breath, then reached out and tickled his tummy.
He burst out giggling, his little body wriggling as he tried to escape her marauding fingers. “I can’t breathe, Mama,” he gasped between giggles.
Rose relented, bent forward, and kissed his sweaty brow. “Jason. How would you like to help me collect some herbs in the woods? You are always such a great help to Mama.”
“I’m a good helper, Mama.” He jumped up and down, a huge grin on his face, his gold curls bouncing in his exuberance. Her heart twisted at the resemblance to his father, but she pushed the guilt away.
Regrets could not alter the past. She lived in the present, her sole purpose to rear and educate her son to prepare him for responsibilities he would assume upon his majority. Her son was her life. Indeed, she would protect him to her last breath from anyone who would harm him. She would teach Jason to revere and respect women, like his uncle and grandfather. They were the rare exception of what was good and honorable and chivalrous in a man.
“Good. Why don’t you go put the worm in your pail?”
Jason skipped away.
“Milady. What do you intend to do?” Edith looked up at her, her hand shielding her eyes from the glare of the sun.
“We leave for Lichfield at dawn. I dare not delay one day longer.”
“I shall go and have Lady Alison pack for you and Jason then.” Edith rose and hurried toward the Keep.
Rose’s gaze returned to Jason, drawing in the dirt with his stick. Her only regret about her decision to formalize her vow of chastity was that she would not have any more children. But it was a sacrifice she was willing to make for her independence. Not to mention her emotional and mental welfare.
Rand swiped his moist brow upon entering the shadows of the squat stone building shrouded in thick, twisting green vines. Unusually warm for early autumn, it was darker and moderately cooler in the still room. Rand sighed in relief, even as he braced himself for the duty he was about to perform.
“Papa. Papa.” Rand heard the childish chant moments before a small whirlwind crashed into his knees. Startled, Rand nearly buckled his legs. Rand stared down at a tow-headed boy about three summers old. The lad wrapped his chubby arms around Rand’s knees and clung to him as tenaciously as the crusty buildup on the bottom of Rand’s ship’s hold.
It was Jason, Rose’s son. He looked just like his mother, except for his blond hair and blue-green eyes. Rand’s heart twisted in yearning, and then he knelt and greeted the little Lord Ayleston.
A soft, deferential voice spoke behind him. “Make your bow, Jason. This is Sir Rand Montague.”
On his knee, Rand twisted to look over his shoulder at the lady of Ayleston. Rose stood framed in the doorway, backlit by the sun. Her short, slender form was hidden beneath a sleeveless surcoate of drab gray wool worn over a tunic of white linen. Her beautiful hair and swanlike neck were completely covered by a wimple and veil, the headdress customarily reserved for nuns and older widows.
If he closed his eyes, he could still imagine her dressed in gaily colored silks, with her straight copper hair hanging loose to her waist, and her eyes flashing with life and innocent joy. But when Rand returned from the Eighth Crusade, he’d found Rose’s appearance and personality drastically altered. He’d recognized the signs of abuse—docile obedience, avoidance of eye contact, dispirited disposition—because he’d seen the same characteristics in his own mother.
Taking Jason into his arms, Rand climbed to his feet. Rose stepped into the room. Rand’s gut clenched at the sight of her. Despite her drab garb, she was the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen. With bright blue eyes that pierced a man’s soul, when they were not darting away from direct contact.
Rose’s cheeks appeared slightly flushed as she stared at Jason, in his arms. “Good day, Rand. What brings you to Ayleston Castle?”
“Must I have a reason to visit you, Rosie?” He grinned.
She winced, but otherwise ignored the hated nickname. “Nay, of course not. ’Tis just now is a busy time for me.” She held up the basket of flowers in her arms. “I am drying flowers and herbs for my scented bath oils and soaps. Half the fields have yet to be cleared of the harvest. I’m planning to leave on the morrow for Lichfield to visit Bishop Meyland of Coventry and Lichfield. Now, you have arrived—”
She stopped in midsentence and cocked her head. “Why have you come, Rand? Has King Edward sent you on a matter to do with his wardship of Ayleston?”
Rand knew how clever Rose was and was not surprised she grasped the significance of his arrival so quickly.
Rose strode around a large cauldron in the middle of the room and laid her basket down on the worktable along the north wall. On shelves above the table were various vials and jars and bottles, their mysterious contents used for numerous treatments and cures for the habitants of the castle and village. A number of plants and herbs, including marigold and thyme, hung from the low ceiling in various stages of drying.
Her arms outstretched, Rose came forward to take Jason from him.
The boy leaned his head on Rand’s shoulder and clung tighter. “I want to stay with Papa.”
Amused, Rand watched Rose redden in embarrassment.
“Come, Jason,” she said sternly. “Edith is here to take you to bed.” Then her voice softened. “If you behave, Cook shall give you a treat when you wake from your nap.”
With only a little fuss, Jason went to his mama, who kissed him and ruffled his hair before handing him over to the plump nurse who had appeared silently at the door.
Rose turned around and wiped