‘Aye, that’s what everyone hopes, but it is not likely that the prince will pay his brother’s ransom. Why should he when he has the power?’
‘I am sure that the King has enough loyal supporters to raise the money. In time he will return.’
Rosamunde gave her hand to the groom and was helped to mount the horse she had been given for her journey. She decided that she would keep both Maire’s pony and this horse. Angelina could deduct their worth from the fifty talents if she chose, but at least Rosamunde would have something. She did not trust her cousin at all, for there had been an odd, sly look in her eyes when she had given her the paper.
‘I would help you if I could, lady.’
Rosamunde looked at the man who had spoken in surprise. An icy shiver ran down her spine despite the warmth of the day. It was late September and, though overcast, very warm. ‘I do not understand you, Fitzherbert.’
‘You will be in great danger, lady. The Lord Mornay is not a good man.’
It was what Maire had tried to tell her. ‘Why do you say that?’
‘He preys on his neighbours, takes them prisoner and holds them to ransom. Sometimes he steals their womenfolk and holds them until …’ The man stopped, his cheeks red. ‘It is wrong that Lady Angelina sends you in her place. In all honour, she should pay the price demanded, not you.’
Rosamunde felt chilled. What price exactly was she expected to pay? Something told her that Fitzherbert was not speaking only of the thousand gold talents strapped to the packhorse.
‘What price is that, sir?’ she asked.
‘She has not told you? The last woman who took a ransom for her husband was disparaged and returned to her home after a month. She took her life by walking into the river, because her husband no longer respected her. He said he would rather have rotted in prison than have her lie with such a man.’
Rosamunde felt the heat sweep over her as she finally realised what Angelina had not told her—that Lord Mornay might force her to lie with him against her will. She hesitated. She could get down now, return to the inn and refuse to take the ransom for Angelina—but what then? Her father would be turned from his home when the prince’s tax-collectors came for their money and there would be no fifty talents to restore their fortunes.
Surely Lord Mornay could not be as evil as rumour painted him? Besides, he would likely not think Rosamunde beautiful enough to bed. After all, Angelina was very lovely and Rosamunde knew she was not as beautiful as her cousin. Lord Mornay might simply accept the ransom and let her go.
Yet what if he did not? She would be ruined, shamed before the world. Only, she had no hope of marriage, so what did it matter if she lost her innocence? She had no choice but to do as her cousin had bid her. Even if Angelina had lied about the debt, there was a debt of honour to be paid. Her uncle could not be left to languish in prison until he died. Perhaps when he was free he would know the truth—and he would force his daughter to pay Rosamunde the fifty gold talents she had promised her.
‘I shall pray that this time he will be moved to mercy,’ she told the groom. ‘Mount up, sir. Time is wasting.’
‘My father has been dead these past three weeks?’ Raphael crossed himself as his steward finished telling him the news. ‘God have mercy on his soul. If what you have told me is true, he will have need of it.’
‘He changed much after you left, my lord, and became extremely bitter and angry. He quarrelled with neighbours and took them or their wives hostage for vast sums,’ the steward revealed.
‘So I have heard.’ Raphael’s mouth thinned. ‘I do not like to hear these things, Mellors. My father was a stern man and forbade me to follow Richard to the Crusades—but before I left he was an honest man. I am sad to hear he changed so greatly in my absence.’
‘Forgive me …’ Mellors glanced over his shoulder. ‘I risk my life to tell you, but it was the prince’s influence. Your father became Prince John’s lackey and it was on the prince’s orders that he took Count Torrs hostage. The ransom he has demanded is exorbitant and I doubt it can be paid.’
‘Is the count still a prisoner here?’ Raphael asked, and frowned as the steward nodded. ‘You will have him brought here to me instantly, please. Has the man been ill-treated?’
‘He has been kept in a tower room rather than a dungeon, because your father knew he had powerful friends. Others have not fared so well.’
‘I shall hear more of this another time. Release the count at once and then have wine and food brought to us. I must beg the count’s pardon and hear his story before I give him his freedom,’ Raphael said.
‘You will not demand the ransom?’ Mellors asked nervously.
‘I have no wish to beggar any man,’ Raphael said.
‘The prince may be angry. He may demand his share of the ransom,’ the other man pointed out.
‘Prince John is not the King,’ Raphael said. ‘I have heard that Richard is still a prisoner in the Holy Land. Now that I am home, it is my intention to do what I can to have him freed.’
‘I am heartily glad to hear it, my lord. We are all pleased to see you home again—and shall be happy when the King is back on England’s throne—but you must be careful. Prince John does not suffer traitors to live in peace.’
‘He is the traitor, Mellors. Leave me now and ask the count to give me the pleasure of his company at my table,’ Raphael ordered.
‘Yes, my lord.’ Mellors bowed his head respectfully. ‘Everything shall be as you order.’
Raphael watched as he walked from the room, then sat in his father’s chair. It was heavy and carved from English oak, its arms smooth with wear. His grief for his father was muted by the knowledge that the man he knew had obviously died long ago. In his place a monster had come into being and he could not regret the passing of such a man. Lord Mornay had committed crimes against his neighbours and no doubt it would take some considerable time to mend fences.
The attack came suddenly towards dusk that evening. Rosamunde was deep in thought when she heard a cry from ahead of her and then saw a band of armed men rush out from the trees at them. They were on foot but armed with cudgels and swords, and there were enough of them to surround the small train that Angelina had sent with her.
Fitzherbert had been pulled from his horse and one of the robbers was threatening him with a sword. Money was being demanded and Rosamunde knew that at any moment they would steal the packhorse and ride off with everything—the money for Count Torrs’s ransom and all her possessions.
She would have failed her cousin and her father would be forced to repay his debt. Without thinking, she took the reins of the packhorse and started to ride off, calling to Maire to follow. The robbers were immediately alert to what she was trying to do and two of them lunged at her, causing her horse to shy.
‘Leave me alone,’ she cried as she struggled to hold both her horse and the packhorse. ‘How dare you attack me? I am the daughter of a nobleman and you will hang for this.’
‘Not afore we’ve ‘ad our way wiv yer,’ one of the men said and laughed evilly as he grabbed her arm and tried to pull her from her horse.
Rosamunde screamed, realising the full extent of the danger she was in as she saw the naked lust in his eyes. These men would not be satisfied with her gold; they would rape her and leave her for dead. Angelina should have sent more armed men with her. The heavy load the packhorse bore had attracted the attention of these robbers and her escort was not strong enough to defend it.
The sudden cries and the sound of thudding hoof-beats drew her gaze in the direction of a party of men riding towards them. They charged, swords and lances at the ready,