Vow of Deception. Angela JohnsonЧитать онлайн книгу.
nonsense. Her mother had taught her to use her intellect and observation to deduce whether a cure was effective or not. No spell or charm could make a man love a woman. She knew. Had she not tried a similar love spell when she’d discovered Bertram had a mistress—on the night they wed?
Rose plunked the book back on the table and determinedly locked the memories away. She’d dwelled much too often of late upon the misbegotten cur.
Rose slid off the tall bed, and her nightshift dropped down to cover her bare feet. The cooler air of the room dried the film of perspiration that covered her completely. Her linen shift clinging to her skin in damp patches, she shivered. A chill seeped into the soles of her feet as she padded across the floor to her washstand, which stood against the west wall opposite a cushioned window seat. Double arched windows above the seat looked down on the ornamental garden next to the Great Hall.
Grabbing the open neck of her shift, she tugged it over her head and tossed it onto the bed. She plucked her chamber robe off the peg beside the washstand and slid into its enveloping warmth. Then Rose poured water from the chipped painted pitcher into the basin, splashed cool water over her face and chest, and finished her bath by drying off with a linen towel.
An instinctual sensation tugged at her soul, drawing her into the adjoining chamber. A small bed, a chest, and a stool were the only furniture in the room. No one could enter her son’s chamber unless first coming through her bedchamber. Next to the small bed in the corner, Jason’s nurse and fierce protector lay curled up on a pallet snoring loudly. Rose quietly approached the foot of the bed and stared down at her sweet, innocent son. He lay on his side facing her, with his thumb stuck in his pursed lips and his other dimpled hand clutching a curly lock of light blond hair.
Her heart seized with love, and she could not keep a huge smile from forming on her lips. It was a side of herself she revealed to only a few people. Though she adored her son, she took care never to indulge in sentimental excess. She controlled her inappropriate passions behind a stoic manner befitting a widow.
Jason’s cherub lips drew down, and he kicked off his quilt. Rose pulled it back up under his chin, kissed his warm temple. She trembled with a sudden urge to grab her son and escape into the night. But her maternal instinct was stronger. Jason would be the one to suffer—loss of his inheritance, his title, and all the privileges that accompanied it.
Did she have the right to steal it from him because of her fears, her insecurities, her cowardice?
Rose started at a loud bang that echoed from her chamber. She left Jason and went in the other room. The door rattled on its hinges. The sound of a deep voice, a soft giggle drew her curiosity. Rose opened the chamber door and peeked out.
Near a lit torch, Rand trapped Lisbeth up against the wall, his face pillowed between her indecently exposed plump breasts. The maid’s hose-clad thigh curled around Rand’s hip like a coiled serpent, pulling him flush against her, seeking to devour him inside her.
Rose inhaled sharply in surprise. A quiver of repulsion raced through her. The man was an incorrigible lecher. As far as she knew, Lady Elena was his current mistress, or had been when Rose was at court a couple of months ago. Apparently not content with Elena, Rand had to debauch Rose’s castle servants too.
Rand glanced up just then, and stared, gaze glittering. He winked at her, a wolfish grin on his face. Flashing him a look of contempt, Rose pulled back and slammed the door shut.
Her gaze blurred as she stared at the oaken door. She regretted ever…Rose shook her head. The past was unalterable; she could only learn from her mistakes and never repeat them. Not that she had any desire to repeat them. Rubbing her arms, she turned and stared at her rumpled bed.
She should get some more rest before the long trip on the morrow. But she could not bear the separation from Jason, so she went to his chamber, crawled into bed beside him, and wrapped her arms around his sweet-smelling form.
When the oaken door to Rose’s chamber slammed shut, Rand jerked. His vision blurred with too much drink, yet the fog of desire dissipated with the rapidity born of…what? Shame? Embarrassment? Certainly not, Rand assured himself. A man had a right to indulge his baser instincts when a comely maid showed an interest in his manly attributes.
Yet, his rock-hard shaft shriveled beneath his braies.
Lisbeth reached out and palmed him with her hand, with dismal results. Rand drew back and patted her derriere, winking. “Too much drink, sweet.”
Lisbeth huffed and, tugging up her bodice, she flounced away and down the stairwell.
He refused to acknowledge the real culprit of his shrunken cock: guilt. It niggled at the edges of his drink-induced haze as he recalled the fiery determination that sparked in Rose’s gaze when she’d declared her aversion to marrying again. It’d been nigh on four years since he’d beheld such passion blazing in her eyes, albeit for a different purpose altogether.
It was a clear indication of the fear she bore, and he was leading her down the path of her affliction without any warning. But there was naught he could do to change the outcome. Rand groaned and leaned his forehead against his forearm, which he braced against the rough wall. He was torn between the duty he owed his king, and the loyalty he owed Rose for their past friendship and what they’d once meant to each other.
He could offer for her instead—the thought slipped unbidden from the recesses of his sluggish mind. Rand jerked back and stared at the flickering torch. Jesu. He must have drunk more than he thought. Rose would abhor marrying him as much as anyone else. Probably even more so considering the heated parting they’d had several years ago, which she pretended never occurred.
Even if Rose would agree to marry Rand, he’d never inflict himself upon the lady he admired above all others. She deserved a man who was not haunted by the demons of his past failures.
As he stared at the torch flame, images flashed before his eyes. His body jolted as he felt the burning beam fall on his back, felt the searing pain scorch his skin. Trapped, he stared wide-eyed in horror as his mother ran, flames engulfing her. The stench of burning flesh filled his nostrils, while his mother’s agonized screams echoed in his ears, damning him.
God, would the nightmare never cease. He jammed the heels of his hands painfully into his eyes to dispel the grotesque image of his mother’s charred body. But he could never escape the guilt he lived with every day, for it was his fault that she had died in the stable fire.
His sister was dead, too, because he’d let her drown to save himself.
Rand had even failed to protect Alex from being abducted in the Holy Land after they’d sworn an oath to protect each other as comrades in arms.
Anyone he loved was cursed to suffer abominably. For that reason, he could never marry Rose and risk growing emotionally attached to her.
Golan was not an ogre. Rand was sure once Rose married Golan she would come to see there were good men who would not wield their superior strength as a weapon over their wives.
Rand stumbled to his bedchamber door, shoved it open, and collapsed onto the bed fully dressed. Unable to sleep, he stared unseeing up at the canopy.
Rose knelt before Jason inside the large open door of the Keep. She clasped him by the shoulders and gazed into his tear-filled eyes.
“Mama, don’t leave me. I want to come with you.” He knuckled away the moisture in his eyes.
She swallowed back tears. “Oh, darling, I do not wish to leave you. But the king has commanded my presence at court and the journey would be too taxing for you. I will not be gone long, though. I promise.”
“The king is a mean man,” he spouted, his bottom lip puffed out and his arms crossed.
Rose could hardly agree, but she did not have the heart to reprimand him. She hugged him hard. “I shall miss you terribly, sweetling. Promise me you will study hard with Brother Michael and obey Edith in all things. Will you do that?”
Jason pulled back. “Don’t be sad, Mama.”