Vow of Deception. Angela JohnsonЧитать онлайн книгу.
the others had already settled in the grass around a cold fire pit, Rand held back the low-hanging branches of a birch tree shading the narrow path. Rose gave Rand an absentminded smile of thanks. Deep in her thoughts, she did not see his startled look of pleasure.
After Rose settled on a log next to Alison, Rand sauntered away from the group and into a copse of trees.
Rose’s contemplation returned to her son. Last spring, as lady-in-waiting to Queen Eleanor, Rose gained the influence of the queen and finally won custody of her son. It was unusual, though not unheard of, for a woman to be granted guardianship of her son.
But the upcoming audience with the king complicated matters for Rose. She did not like the uncertainty that bloomed in her chest. She despised change and she had a feeling this change was not to the good of either her or her son.
Back near the shallow, rocky stream, in a daze, Rand crouched down and cupped water into his hands. A quiver of pleasure raced in his blood, thrumming in places he dared not think about, or he might embarrass himself. He took several deep drinks to soothe his parched throat, and then splashed some water over his heated face; neither sensation was the result of the unbearable weather.
Rose’s smile, rarely bestowed, touched him deeply. He chastised himself. It was just a smile, for God’s sakes, Rand thought, and one she did not even intentionally direct toward him.
Rand stood and wiped his hands on his surcoate. Sheltered by the trees, he gazed at Rose. Beside Lady Alison, who was dressed in amethyst silk, Rose looked drab in comparison, with her simple woolen brown surcoate and concealing headdress. But her garments, obviously meant to detract unwanted male attention, had the opposite effect on Rand.
The wimple and veil delineated her exquisite heart-shaped face, vivid blue eyes, and narrow, sloping nose. And her lips, plumper in the middle and turned up on the outer edges, were so temptingly kissable.
Throbbing heat shot to his shaft. He grumbled beneath his breath, pressing his erection down and willing it to subside. A warm breeze wafted across his face, carrying the scent of warm moldy earth and greenery.
The sooner he completed his assignment, the sooner he could return to his more pleasant duties, like hunting and fighting. Until then, he would stay as far away as possible from the beauteous Rose, given that close proximity in their daily interactions was necessitated by his duty to escort her safely to Westminster.
As dusk approached, the armored party and the two ladies they escorted on the ride southeast were sweaty, dirty, hungry, and exhausted. For two nights they had slept under the stars with only a small tent for the ladies.
Rand shouted back to those in the party, “Beyond the bend ahead lies a monastery! Tonight, we shall have warm food in our bellies and a roof over our heads!”
An exuberant shout went up. Rand, laughing, spurred his horse forward in anticipation of a hot meal and a soft pallet to rest his head upon. He pulled Leviathan up on the road before the gates and allowed the rest of the party to pass him. Sir Justin and young Will were in the rear, following Rose and Alison.
Rand surreptitiously observed Rose as she approached him. Her face was lined with fatigue and her shoulders drooped. Then, all of a sudden, a hare darted across the road in front of Rose’s horse. Evangeline reared up, kicking her white forelegs in fright. Rose slipped sideways. The mare came down with a hard jolt—Rose hanging precariously onto the saddle—and bolted past Rand before he could respond.
Rand’s heart plummeted to his toes, then bounced up into his throat. He spurred Leviathan, shouting to Justin, “I’ve got her!”
He bent over his gelding, his heart pounding in his ears as he galloped at full speed after Rose. He could just see her in the distance as the sun disappeared over the horizon.
If aught happened to Rose, he would never forgive himself.
Rand closed the distance between them. Rose still clung tenaciously to her speeding mare. His eyes bore into Rose’s narrow back, willing her to hold on a little longer. The fabric of her veil and full tunic skirts flapped behind her. Close enough now, Rand reached out to grab the palfrey’s trailing reins.
But at that moment her mare veered sharply to the right, throwing Rose. She screamed, the high-pitched sound a dagger thrust into Rand’s heart. She landed with a sickening thump. Rand jumped off Leviathan and rushed to her, feeling as though stone weighted his body down.
Rose lay crumpled facedown and unmoving at the bottom of the muddy roadside ditch.
“Noooo!” A scream of agony ripped from his throat.
He climbed down into the ditch, slipping in the mire in his haste. Falling to his knees, he lifted Rose into his lap and cradled her like a baby. She was not breathing. Nay, she was not dead, he would not let God take her.
Rand stared down at her pale, drawn face. There was a long shallow gash on her forehead. Blood poured down her temple, mixing with the mud covering the left side of her face. Rand slapped her cheek gently, but she did not respond. He called her name over and over and clutched her to him, willing his warmth and strength into her limp body. He prayed beneath his breath, his lips moving in fervent supplication.
“Help me! Someone, help me!” he shouted, his desperate plea echoing in the silent woods like a ghostly lament.
Suddenly, he was aged ten and three again, and was lying on the muddy bank of the river Garonne. His slender arms clutched his sister and he stared down at her face, a nearly exact though more feminine replica of his own. Her beautiful, long gold curls were matted to her head and her gray-green eyes stared blankly up at him in reproach.
She was so wet and cold and lifeless. But he kept holding her, refusing to let her go. Or believe she was dead.
Rand shook her hard, so hard her head snapped back, and called out her name over and over, “Juliana, Juliana!”
A great gulping inhalation seized her abruptly, making her chest rise and fall violently as she brought air into her lungs.
Rand, blinking, stared down as Juliana’s small face faded away and Rose’s eyes snapped open. A sudden euphoria filled him and made him light-headed with relief.
Rose’s clouded, pain-filled gaze searched his. Her voice scratchy, she asked, “Who is Juliana?”
Rand stiffened and shuttered his eyes to keep her from delving too deeply and discovering the pain he carried inside. But her eyelids drooped down and slowly closed. Her breathing slowed.
The pounding of hooves on the road behind him reminded him they were alone in the countryside at night. He needed to get Rose back to the safety of the monastery and have someone examine her. He had yet to know how seriously injured she was.
“Sir Rand!” Justin shouted and pulled his roan gelding up beside the other horses grazing alongside the road.
Rand lifted Rose gently in his arms and stood up, his mail clinking. “Over here, Justin. Rose took a spill from her horse and needs immediate care.”
Rand scrambled up the bank and handed Rose up to Justin so Rand could mount his horse.
Once mounted, Rand sidled up next to him. “Give her to me.”
Staring intently at Rose, Rand did not see Justin’s startled gaze at his leader’s possessive tone. Rand was oblivious to everything but seeing Rose safely into the care of the monastery infirmary.
Rand sat on the stool in the small austere cell and stared at Rose. She lay in the narrow bed, chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. A bulky bandage was wrapped around her forehead, and her hair trailed loose down her shoulders.
Not again, he swore. It could not be happening again. First Juliana, then his mother, and now Rose, too?
He lunged up and swallowed a groan as his lower back twinged from sitting so long on the stool. He paced away, swung back and stared down at her. A single candle on the chest beside the bed glimmered on her pale complexion, and delicate eyelids. His gaze bore into