‘Does it still pain you?’

‘Would it give you pleasure to know that it does?’ Rob asked, and his hand went to his face, for he knew that she must be revolted by its ugliness. ‘Your brother told me that I had insulted you—and this was my punishment. I bear it with pride, for it is a constant reminder of the perfidy of women.’

Her hand crept to her throat. She was wearing the trinket he had once given her, hung from a ribbon around her neck. His eyes followed her movement and she saw him frown as he looked at the jade heart.

She raised her head proudly, meeting his eyes as anger bolstered her courage. ‘Believe what you will. It makes little difference now.’

Rob came towards her, his expression stern, unforgiving. ‘I came to inform you that you are now my prisoner, lady,’ he said.

Anne Herries lives in Cambridgeshire, where she is fond of watching wildlife and spoils the birds and squirrels that are frequent visitors to her garden. Anne loves to write about the beauty of nature, and sometimes puts a little into her books—although they are mostly about love and romance. She writes for her own enjoyment, and to give pleasure to her readers. She is a winner of the Romantic Novelists’ Association Romance Prize.

Previous novels by the same author:

MARRYING CAPTAIN JACK

THE UNKNOWN HEIR

THE HOMELESS HEIRESS

THE RAKE’S REBELLIOUS LADY

A COUNTRY MISS IN HANOVER SQUARE*

AN INNOCENT DEBUTANTE IN HANOVER SQUARE*

THE MISTRESS OF HANOVER SQUARE*

THE PIRATE’S WILLING CAPTIVE

and in the Regency series The Steepwood Scandal:

LORD RAVENSDEN’S MARRIAGE COUNTERFEIT EARL

and in The Hellfire Mysteries:

AN IMPROPER COMPANION

A WEALTHY WIDOW

A WORTHY GENTLEMAN

* A Season in Town trilogy

Forbidden Lady
Anne Herries

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Prologue

‘Melissa!’ Rob cried, shock and despair in his face as he looked at the girl he loved and found her cold and remote, her eyes seeming to look straight through him. ‘You cannot mean it. I beg you, tell me it is not true!’

Melissa stared at a point somewhere beyond his shoulder as she answered, ‘Your suit is unwelcome to me, Robert of Melford. I do not wish to wed you.’

‘Only yesterday you swore that you loved me,’ Rob said, a flash of accusation in his eyes now. ‘You laughed and kissed me and begged me to come here today and speak to your father…’ He took her by the upper arms, his fingers digging into her soft flesh. ‘Now you say you do not wish to be my wife? What has changed you? Tell me!’ In his passion he was so magnificent that she almost broke, but somehow…somehow she kept her body stiff and straight and raised her eyes to his.

‘I was merely playing a game,’ she told him, deliberately making her voice cold and toneless. ‘You are a fool to believe that I would truly wish to marry a man of your order. I am the daughter of a rich and powerful lord—and you are merely the son of a knight.’ Her laughter was false and shrill. ‘How could you think that I loved you? Leave this house now and never return!’

Rob stared at her for a moment longer, hardly able to credit that she was saying these words. Had her father been in the room with them he might have wondered if she was being forced, but they were alone and he had been welcomed to the castle by Lord Whitbread’s steward before being brought here to speak with Melissa. Looking at her now, he saw how proud she was and realised that he had been mistaken about her nature.

‘You laugh, lady,’ he said, his voice harsh as he looked down into her lovely face. She had flawless skin, eyes that reminded him of a clear, mountain pool and red-gold hair that clustered about her face and fell to the small of her back in soft waves—but her words showed she was a heartless witch. ‘But do not forget me—for I shall not forget you and one day…’

He left the threat in the air, turning to stride from the chamber. Melissa remained standing until the door closed and then she sagged, falling to her knees, her hands covering her face as the sobs broke from her. And then the tapestry behind her moved and a tall, heavily built man with a pockmarked face came out from the alcove behind it. Melissa rose to her feet and turned to look at him.

‘Are you satisfied, Father?’ she asked, her heart breaking. Yet pride returned as she met his stern gaze. ‘You will keep your promise to me now that I have sent him away as you demanded?’

‘He shall live, yes.’ Lord Whitbread grunted. ‘I doubt that puppy will come sniffing ‘round here again in a hurry. You did well, Melissa.’

‘And now you will send me to my aunt? You will allow me to live with her in the Abbey—and take my vows?’

Lord Whitbread’s thin lips drew back in a sneer. ‘No, you may not. Take the veil you shall not. For this you would need my permission and I do not give it. In time I shall arrange a marriage for you. One that will bring credit to our family.’

‘But you promised…’ Melissa looked into his eyes and knew that he had lied to her. She had done what he demanded of her but he did not intend to keep his word. She moved towards him as the fear started up in her. ‘Father, you promised that he should be safe if I did what you want!’

‘I promised that he shall live,’ Lord Whitbread told her, his eyes glittering. ‘His life shall be spared, though I do not think he will thank you for it.’

‘What will you do to him?’

‘I have told Harold to have some sport,’ Lord Whitbread said, and his mouth curved in a cruel sneer. ‘You know your brother, Melissa.’

‘He is not my brother!’ Melissa cried. ‘That oafish brute is a bastard and no true…’ She gave a little scream as Lord Whitbread struck her across the mouth and she tasted blood.

‘Get to your room, girl, and stay there until I give you leave to come down,’ he ordered. He moved nearer to her, his face close to hers. ‘Remember that I own you, Melissa. I can do what I like to you—and if you displease me I might give you to your brother for his amusement.’

Melissa shuddered, for she knew that her father loved Harold but despised her. ‘Why do you hate me so much?’

‘Leave me!’ Lord Whitbread thundered. ‘You are lucky that I do not have you flogged for bringing Robert of Melford to my house. Remember, girl, if I ever discover that you have seen him again you will suffer.’

Melissa looked into his face and turned away. As she walked up the twisting stair that led to her solar she knew that she had made a terrible mistake. Her father had been so angry when he learned that she had promised herself to Rob, and he had warned her that if she did not send him away he would kill him. Melissa had obeyed him for she knew that he was a cruel hard man and would have carried out his threat. Now she knew that she ought to have run away and met Rob. She should have begged him to take her away…somewhere that her father and half brother would never find her.

But it was too late. She had seen the pain and anger in Rob’s eyes when she denied her love. She had known that she must be harsh to make him leave her, and for his sake she had used words she knew would cut him to the heart. And now her heart was bleeding for she had lost the man she loved, her only chance of happiness denied her. Her father had promised that she would be allowed to visit her aunt at the Abbey, but now he had decided to keep her a prisoner in her chamber. He meant her to marry a man of his choosing but how could she marry another when she loved Rob?

But he must hate her now. She knew that it was too late to go back and that he would never forgive her for her cruel words. She had played her part well to protect him from her father, who had warned her Rob would die a slow and painful death. So she had done her father’s bidding, and now she had lost the only man she had ever loved.

She took a tiny jade heart from inside her gown, holding it in the palm of her hand, and then she raised it to her lips and kissed it. Rob had given it to her on the day he had taken her to a fair. It was but a cheap trinket, but it meant more to her than all the gold and jewels in the world. She would keep it close to her as a reminder that once she had been loved.

Melissa raised her head proudly. Lord Whitbread had banished her to her chamber and ordered her to stay there until sent for, but one day she would leave this hateful place, though what would become of her she did not know. It did not matter, for it would be better if she had died rather than see the hurt her cruel words had inflicted on the man she loved more than her life.

Rob strode from the manor house, which was a later addition to the castle at Meresham and meant to make life more comfortable, his expression one of anger. How could Melissa’s smiles and sweet kisses have fooled him so? She was beautiful and the scent of her drove his senses wild, but she was as false as she was attractive—and he was well rid of her!

It was as he approached the ancient Keep that several men fell on him. Rob was taken by surprise, but he struggled against them valiantly, knocking two to the ground and winding another before they finally subdued him.

‘What is the meaning of this?’ he cried out. ‘I came here in good faith to ask for the hand of the lady Melissa. I demand that you unhand me now.’

‘And you shall be repaid for your insolence,’ a voice said. ‘My father wishes you to have a token of his esteem. Harris—tie his hands behind him. I want to teach this dog a lesson.’

Rob gazed into the face of the man who had spoken. He knew Harold of Meresham only slightly by sight, but his reputation was common knowledge. He was an oafish lout who took pleasure in the lusts of the flesh and indulged his tastes by inflicting himself on village wenches. However, his most dangerous vice was bullying and he had been known to beat a man near to death for amusement when under the influence of wine.

‘You may do your worst, Harold of Meresham,’ Rob said, meeting his eyes fearlessly. ‘I have done your family no wrong.’

‘Be quiet, dog!’ Harold said, and struck him across the face with a metal bar he had in his hand. It was sharp and cut into his flesh, making the blood spurt. Rob recoiled from the pain of it but could do nothing with his hands tied behind his back. ‘That was for my sister! She told me that you had insulted her and she wanted nothing more to do with you. You are too low for her, Robert of Melford. She will marry into one of the best families in England. How dare you imagine that you were fit to be her husband?’ He was raging now, his eyes staring and spittle upon his lips as he raised his arm and brought his weapon crashing down against Rob’s skull, sending him to his knees. Rob was almost unconscious but he heard the words that decided his fate. ‘Take him out and kill him, Harris. Let it be away from the castle for my father wanted him to live with the knowledge of his humiliation, but I prefer him dead.’

‘Yes, sir. It shall be as you wish.’

Harris grabbed Rob by the arm, making him stand upright even though the faintness was washing over him and he barely knew what was going on. He was dragged away, the pain so overwhelming that he could not think clearly.

‘Come on, fool. You deserve all that you get for thinking that you could insult the lady Melissa!’

Rob’s wits were reeling. He hardly knew what the man was saying. Blood was running down his face, into his mouth and his eyes. He could see nothing as he was hustled away. Harris barked some orders and a horse was brought. Rob was hoisted over its back, his head hanging down to one side as if he were a sack of wheat. Dimly, as from a distance, he heard the drawbridge being lowered and the horse moved forward. Everything was becoming hazy and he felt as if he were falling into a black pit, the sounds of voices fading as he lost his senses.

It was a long time before the blackness began to get lighter. He gradually became aware of a throbbing in his head. He could not see clearly but he knew that he was being carried, not thrown across the horse as before but in a sling between two horses. His mouth was dry and he was feeling very ill, but he was alive—and he should not be alive.

He moaned aloud and a man came to his side, looking down at him. A water flask was put to his lips and he swallowed as a few drops trickled into his mouth.

‘Do not try to talk, sir,’ the man said. ‘They meant to kill you, but I found help and beat them off. There were three of them but they did not know I followed. We shall soon have you home—though I fear that you will never be as handsome as you were.’

‘Who are you?’ Rob asked through cracked lips. ‘Why…’

The man smiled. ‘All you need to know for now is that I am a friend—and that you are safe…’

Rob closed his eyes again. He was alive. The pain was almost unbearable but he would bear it…as he would bear the agony of her betrayal. She had led him on, making him believe that she loved him as he loved her. Oh, God, how he had loved her! But she had betrayed him.

He saw again the triumphant sneer of Harold’s mouth as he struck him across the face, laying the flesh open to the bone.

That was for Melissa. She told me that you had insulted her.

Rob groaned, knowing that the pain of those words and her false laughter would live on long after his wounds had healed.

Chapter One

‘I do not think it wise for you to make the journey alone,’ Owain Davies said. ‘There are many lawless bands roaming the country, my lady, and they would not hesitate to take you prisoner and hold you to ransom. I do not think that Lord Whitbread would be pleased if that happened—do you?’

‘He would be very angry,’ the lady Melissa of Whitbread said. ‘But it will not happen if you are with us, Owain. I must get to the Abbey, because I may never have another chance. You know that I have been kept almost a prisoner for the past several months since…’ Her voice broke and she lifted her head, hiding her pain. She didn’t want anyone to guess how she had suffered these past months, not even the man she trusted most. ‘My father is determined that I shall marry a man of his choosing and I would rather die.’

‘That is foolish talk, my lady.’ Owain’s eyes narrowed. He had not been in the castle when Robert of Melford had been sent away and he did not know her true feelings on the matter for she had not confided in him.

‘Foolish or not it is how I feel. I have decided to beg my aunt for sanctuary. If she grants it, I may live at the Abbey in safety and perhaps take the veil.’

‘You should do so only if you have a calling,’ Owain replied, his eyes thoughtful as he looked at her face. He knew that her life had been hard these past years, and sometimes it was as much as he could bear to stand by and watch as she was ill-treated.

‘Are you willing to risk your father’s anger, knowing that he may punish you again?’

‘Yes, because there is no other way. Besides, she is my aunt and the only link to my mother,’ Melissa said, her eyes dark with sorrow for a mother’s love she had never known. ‘I would speak with her, ask her about my mother if she will tell me. She has always refused to talk of her sister, but she may relent this time if she understands how unhappy I have been…’

Her look was so wistful that Owain could not refuse her request, though he knew he ought not to allow this madcap idea. Lord Whitbread’s anger would know no bounds when he returned to find her gone.

‘If you wish it so much, I shall escort you,’ Owain said. ‘But we must return on the morrow. If we are gone no more than a day, it may be that your father will never know.’

Melissa smiled at him. She had known he would help her as never in the years that he had served her had he failed her. He had been the father she lacked, helping her in so many small ways that she had lost count. Yet she felt a little guilty for not having told him the whole truth. It was true that she wanted to ask her aunt about her mother, but it was not the only reason for her flight from Lord Whitbread’s manor.

It was a warm afternoon, but the canopy of ancient trees sheltered the traveller from the fierce heat, the stillness broken only by the heavy pounding of the destrier’s hooves and the sound of a thrush trilling from its secret hiding place. Suddenly, a woman’s screams rent the air; shrill and desperate, they sent a flock of birds winging into the sky, destroying the peace of the forest.

Robert Melford was riding hard, leaving his train lagging behind in his anxiety to reach his home on the borders of England and Wales. He had lately been at the Castle of Angers in France, where he had pledged his father’s affinity to Henry Tudor, Earl Richmond. Descended from the great John of Gaunt and Katherine Swynford, through Margaret Beaufort, Henry Tudor had a slender but legitimate claim to the English throne, and was even now gathering an army. Rob had gone to Richmond’s court with his father’s good wishes, for the wars that had plagued the country for nigh on thirty years were not yet done. The English crown sat uneasily on the head of King Richard III, who had seized it, in the opinion of many, from King Edward IV’s heir by treachery.

Now Rob was returning ahead of Henry Tudor’s army in order to gather support in the lush valleys and lowlands of the Marches. Even as he had prepared to leave Angers, a message had reached him that his father had been struck down with a dread illness and Rob’s haste was not so much on behalf of his promise to Richmond as his fear that he might be too late.

However, despite his impatience to be home, Rob was too much the chivalrous knight to ignore a woman’s cries for help. When he came to the clearing and saw the three ladies being attacked by a band of brigands, his first thought was to aid them. Drawing the trusty sword that he carried slung across his body, always at the ready, Rob rode directly at the brigand attempting to subdue a young woman. She was fighting for all she was worth, struggling against the superior strength of the great brute that had his hands on her, but it was the other two women who were screaming.

Rob leaned down from the saddle of his mighty steed, swinging the heavy sword and delivering a blow that cut deeply into the shoulder of the brigand, sending him staggering away to fall bleeding to the ground. Wheeling about, his destrier snorting with the lust of battle, Rob rode down another of the brutes and sent him flying, trampled beneath his horse’s hooves. Seeing that they were facing a powerful knight, who was trained for war, the other three robbers fled in panic.

Rob laughed in triumph as they disappeared into the forest, dismounted and turned to the woman who had fought so valiantly against her attackers, sweeping her a courtly bow.

‘I hope you are not harmed, lady,’ he said, and turned to her, smiling at her in a way that had charmed many a lady at Angers despite the disfiguring scar that marred one side of his face. Robert Melford was well formed, his shoulders broad, his legs long and powerful. He was also handsome, with his dark hair worn long, and his eyes as blue as the cloudless sky above their heads in this sunlit clearing. However, the humour left his eyes as he stared down into the face of the woman he had sworn to forget. ‘You!’ he exclaimed, his gaze fixed on her like a hungry wolf, ravenous and menacing.

‘Rob…’ Melissa said, the colour draining from her cheeks as she looked at him. His was a strong face with well-defined bones and, despite his stern expression, a soft mouth—but she could see only the terrible scar on his left cheek. ‘I…What happened to your face?’

Rob reached up to stroke the scar. It was no longer a source of terrible agony, though it had given him weeks of sleepless nights. The thick welt of red flesh was unsightly, for it had been crudely sewn and had never quite healed as it ought, though the blow to his head had recovered well and there was only a thin scar beneath his thick hair. Her question made him angry and he could barely restrain himself, his hands clenching at his sides.

‘You dare to ask?’ he said harshly. ‘This was your parting gift to me, lady. Your brother laid my cheek open to the bone to remind me not to look above my station in the matter of a wife.’

‘No…’ Melissa felt the sickness in her throat as she stared at Harold’s work. ‘I knew that my father had told him…but that is so cruel…’ She closed her eyes for the realisation of what he must have suffered had washed over her, making her faint. ‘I feared the worst and wondered if you were dead.…’

Although a wimple covered her head, a few strands of red-gold hair had escaped to curl way wardly about her face. Her complexion was fair, her eyes more green than blue. Rob’s eyes dwelled on her beauty, anger stirring as he understood that she still had the power to move him.

‘As you see, I am not,’ Rob said coldly. ‘I am sorry to disappoint you, lady, but your brother did not finish his work and I live still.’

Melissa opened her eyes and looked at him. ‘You think that I wished for…’ She turned away from him, fighting her tears. She must not give way to weakness. ‘No matter. I am innocent of the sin you would place on me, sir—but I shall not beg for your understanding. You have come to my aid, though perhaps you wish now that you had not?’

‘I have not said it,’ Rob growled. ‘You may be faithless, lady, but your women deserved my help.’ He looked around him. ‘Where are your men? Why has your father allowed you to ride out unprotected in these uncertain times?’ His gaze narrowed. ‘Or does he know that you are here?’

Melissa raised her head proudly. ‘I go to the Abbey to visit my aunt who is Abbess there. She wrote some weeks ago to say that she was unwell…and I took the opportunity to visit her while my father was away.’

‘As I thought,’ Rob said, looking down at her. What was it about her that affected him so? He had every reason to distrust and hate her, and he had made up his mind to put her from his thoughts—but seeing her had brought the pain and anguish of her betrayal rushing back.

She affected him as no other ever had. She was surely the most beautiful woman he had ever seen! He experienced a surge of fierce desire that made him long to sweep her up in his arms and ride off with her. But he fought it, listening to her explanation in silence.

‘My groom accompanied us, but he lies dreadfully wounded a little back there.…’ She pointed in the direction she had come from, which was opposite to that Rob had taken to reach this clearing. ‘I believe he may well be dead.’ Alittle sob escaped her. ‘Owain was loyal and kind and I will blame myself for his death…as you say, I ought not to have come without men-at-arms to guard me. It will be my fault if he dies because he was against this journey.’

‘Your will prevailed as always,’ Rob said scornfully as the memory of her scorn stilled the surging desire. She was false and not to be trusted, so even if his body still burned for her, his mind rejected all that she was. ‘Show me where you left the man…we should go and see whether his wound is fatal. You have been foolish and wilful, lady, and we must hope that the loss of your serf is the worst that befalls you.’

‘Owain is not a serf,’ Melissa said, and her eyes flashed with fire as she was aware of his scorn. ‘He is his own man but chooses to give his affinity to me.’

Rob knew that he was right to distrust her, for plainly she was as haughty and proud as she was beautiful. ‘To you, lady?’ he asked, raising his brows. ‘It is more usual for a man to offer his affinity to a nobleman for his good lordship.’

‘Owain was my mother’s kinsman,’ Melissa said. ‘When she died in childbed, he gave his loyalty to me. He asks for nothing more than a roof over his head and the food he eats.’

‘And wears your father’s livery no doubt?’ Rob said, mocking her in the hope of some reaction. She did not fail him, her eyes sparking as she raised a hand to strike him a blow. He was too quick for her, seizing her wrist and holding it in an iron grip. Against the fairness of her skin, his was dark toned and bronzed by the sun of France.

‘Let me go, you devil!’ Melissa blazed at him, feeling angry now. He hated her for what had been done to him, and perhaps he had the right—but his scorn pricked her and her anxiety for Owain had brought her close to tears.

‘Let you go?’ Rob asked, wild thoughts of revenge in his mind. He could take her now, ride off with her to his home and teach her what it felt like to know despair, and yet her beauty moved him and he smiled oddly. ‘No, no, lady, let us not come to blows. I shall take you up with me since your horse has been lost. If your ladies wait here my men will arrive at any moment and they may follow us to the Abbey, bringing your horses if they can be found nearby. If your faithful kinsman still lives we shall take him there for the monks to nurse. If he is slain my men will bury him and a candle shall be lit in the house of our Lord and the priest paid to say a mass for his soul.’

‘You are kind, sir,’ Melissa said, her manner proud and reserved, for she had seen the mockery in his eyes. ‘I do not know why, because you have been served ill by my family.’

‘The cruellest blow of all was yours, Melissa,’ he told her. ‘Yet I shall not take foul advantage for it would not set well with my honour.’

Melissa stared at him for a moment and the look in her eyes gave him pause for thought. It was almost as if she were accusing him of something, though he could not imagine what—she was the one who had betrayed him.

‘I will help you because my father was once, long ago, your father’s friend,’ Rob said. As young men, Rob’s father had pledged his affinity to Lord Whitbread, as many did to the most powerful lord in their district. But they had quarrelled years ago, and of late the divide had grown wider because they were now on opposite sides.

After King Edward died and the throne fell to Richard, Duke of Gloucester, Sir Oswald Melford had changed his allegiance to another powerful lord. The rumours that King Richard III had ordered the murders of King Edward’s sons in the Tower of London had caused Sir Oswald, like many more freemen of England, to become disaffected. Lord Whitbread remained loyal to King Richard, but Sir Oswald had sent his son to the Earl of Richmond.

‘Why does my father hate yours?’ Melissa asked. ‘What is between them that…’ she choked back the words and shook her head. If she once faltered, if she gave way to the emotions swirling inside her she would weep—but she must not.

‘An old quarrel, I do not know. We waste time, lady,’ Rob said, a note of impatience in his voice. ‘Come, I am in a hurry. I must return home in all haste for my father is ill, but I shall see you safe to the Abbey before I continue my journey.’

Without more ado, he brought his horse forward, swept her up upon its back and leaped up behind her. Even as the great horse began to move ahead, his retainers were pouring into the sunlit clearing.

‘Follow to the Abbey and bring the women with you,’ Rob cried to his squire and urged his mount into the forest. He turned his attention back to the lady he was holding lightly against his chest, clamping down on his senses though her perfume was a bittersweet memory that hurt him still. ‘How far did you travel after your kinsman was struck down?’

‘It cannot be far for they pursued us and soon fell upon us,’ Melissa said as they moved on to the track that wound between the trees. After a few moments she pointed to a figure that lay sprawled upon the ground just ahead of them. ‘See! There lies my faithful Owain…’ As Rob drew his horse to a standstill once more, she slipped from its back without assistance and ran to where her servant lay. A little cry escaped her as she saw that his eyelids fluttered when she touched him. ‘I think he lives. The saints be praised, he is not dead!’

Rob dismounted and went to her side. He saw at once that although the man had received a blow to his head that ought by rights to have slain him, he clung stubbornly to life. Turning him over to look at his face, Rob knew at once that this was the man who had saved him and carried him back to his home, departing the next day before he was well enough to thank him.

‘This man is your kinsman?’

‘Yes, his name is Owain Davies.’

‘I am glad to tell you that God has seen fit to spare him, lady,’ Rob said, bending down to examine the wound. ‘He lives yet, though for how long I know not. We shall carry him with us to the Abbey.’ He was glad that he had not given way to his baser nature because this man needed his help, and he owed him his life.

Some of his men had followed hard upon their heels and he summoned them to his side, giving orders that a sling was to be fashioned so that the man might be carried between two of the baggage horses—just as Owain had carried him home that night. He stood up, taking hold of Melissa’s arm, tearing her from her weeping examination of her faithful kinsman. For some reason her tears made him angry. She wept for Owain Davies, but she had cried none for him!

‘Come, lady. I have no time for this. I must see you to the Abbey and be on my way.’

Melissa looked at him. ‘I owe you my life and that of my ladies,’ she admitted. ‘Since you are in haste to be on your way, I must not detain you. Perhaps if you were to give us horses and the escort of three of your men it would suffice?’ She felt that she could hardly bear to be near him and know that he despised and hated her.

‘Perhaps,’ Rob said. It would be convenient for he was impatient to continue his journey, and yet something held him. He knew he could not rest easy in his mind if he abandoned her to his men. ‘But it is not my way to desert a lady in trouble. I shall see you safe to the Abbey for those robbers are not the only danger a lady of your standing might face. You were foolish to venture out without at least ten of Lord Whitbread’s men to protect you.’

‘We do not live in the days of poor mad King Henry,’ Melissa said, becoming proud and haughty once more, though she knew he spoke truly. ‘My father has told me that the kingdom was indeed lawless in those days, but it is not thus now.’

If she believed that then she was indeed a fool! King Edward had managed to subdue some of the lawless nobles for a while but they had too much power and would never be brought into line while they were allowed to continue the custom of livery and all that that implied. Many of the earls and barons had set up a court to rival that of the King himself with hundreds of followers through various affinities, and were likely to take the law into their own hands. Only strong rule would break their power, which had grown so strong during King Henry VI’s reign.

Rob was tempted to tell her that England was once more on the brink of war. Yet it was best to keep a still tongue whilst nothing was absolutely certain. Henry Tudor had promised to bring an army to these shores soon, but until he actually arrived it might be unwise to speak of these things—especially to the daughter of a man who was the King’s stalwart and his enemy.

‘I shall not argue with you, lady. Come, your kinsman is being attended. We shall ride on.’ He held out his hand to her, his manner imperious, brooking no refusal.

For a moment she hesitated, but then gave him her hand and once again he threw her up on the great warhorse. She said nothing as he mounted behind her, though he felt her body stiffen when he put his arms about her.

‘You have no need to fear me, lady,’ he whispered, as her warmth and the delicious scent of her roused forbidden feelings in his loins. ‘I swear by all that I hold sacrosanct that I shall not harm you. There may come a time when I shall take revenge on you and yours—but it is not yet. I do not prey on vulnerable women.’

‘I do not fear you,’ she replied, and yet she knew it was a lie. To be with him like this would bring back the sleepless nights and the terrible pain she had endured for months.

‘I have always admired your courage,’ he said.

Melissa relaxed slightly against the hardness of his chest. For this little time, she would let herself believe that the bad things that stood between them had never been. She would let herself remember a young man who smiled at her with love in his eyes and the sweetness of his kisses. For a few short weeks, while her father was absent from the castle, they had met in secret, wandering through the woods hand in hand or riding together on his horse as now. Once he had taken her to a fair, buying her sweetmeats and ribbons from the peddlers…so few memories, but each one precious. If only her father had not forbidden the marriage…if only she had run away with him before it was too late! She held back the sob, which rose to her lips, because she must not give way to the overwhelming longing, the desire to tell Rob the truth…but would he even care or believe her? After seeing scorn and anger in his eyes, she thought that it would only shame her to confess her love.

They rode in silence for some time, covering a distance of no more than five leagues when the forbidding shadow of the great Abbey fell across their path. It was a thirteenth-century building with arches, narrow windows, little bigger than arrow slits, and a massive undercroft, built to house both monks and nuns in separate quarters. At the huge gates of iron-studded oak, Rob dismounted and lifted Melissa down, placing her gently on her feet before turning to tug at the rope, which rang the bell above the arch.

Moments later, a nun came to answer the summons, and looked out through a little peephole in the gate. Melissa gave her name and the nun recognised it, beginning to draw back the huge bolts that kept the gate secure to admit her.

‘I must leave you now.’ Rob made his bow to Melissa. His expression was cold and hard, his manner reserved. ‘If I were you, lady. I should send word to your home. It would be folly to attempt the return without an escort.’

‘Yes, perhaps…’ Melissa raised her head, then, her expression a little hesitant. ‘Thank you, sir. You have done more than I could have expected.’

‘I did what any decent man would do for any lady in distress, no more and no less.’

Melissa inclined her head, regretting the coldness between them. Once he had smiled at her, his bold eyes challenging her but with warmth…with love. He had loved her once, she knew, but she had killed his love—and her brother had humbled his pride, making him cold and bitter. How could she expect more from him? She raised her eyes to his, her own pride making her seem haughty, though inside she was weeping for what had been lost and would not come again.

Rob left her as she was admitted to the Abbey, remounting and riding on even as his men brought in her kinsman. He had wasted precious hours and must ride all the harder if he were to reach his home in time.

Melissa lingered a moment to watch the knight ride away. She knew that he had saved her from a fate worse than death for the men who had attacked her would hardly have been satisfied to take her purse. Yet to leave secretly, without an escort, had been her only chance of escaping her father’s tyranny.

Lord Whitbread had been visiting someone of importance and she had been informed that he might bring a guest with him when he came home. She knew that he was thinking of finding a husband for her and she believed that his guest might be the man he was considering giving her to in marriage.

However, the letter from her aunt telling her that she was unwell had made up her mind. She had seized it as her excuse and taken the chance to escape the domination of her father.

Lord Whitbread had never been kind to his daughter. Melissa’s mother had died in childbed and for some reason Lord Whitbread had chosen never to marry again. He had acknowledged Harold his bastard son as his heir. Harold might be a great brute of a man, coarse and strong with the manners of an oaf, but he was clever in his own way and had found favour with his father.

Melissa did not know why her half brother should be so favoured by their father, while she, his legitimate child, was scorned. She knew that he hated her and she feared him, though his habit of cuffing her about the head had ceased since her fifteenth birthday. He had suddenly realised that she was a beautiful young woman, and that her beauty might be an asset. In the time since then Melissa had lived in dread of the marriage he would make for her. She knew that he would not take her feelings into account and that she would be sold for position or power.

Sometimes she wished that she was not an heiress, for then she might have been allowed to live in obscurity and peace. However, her mother’s father had been the Earl of Somersham and his lands had been left in trust for her when he died earlier that year because he had no other heir. Melissa had begged to be allowed to retire to her lands, but her father had refused her. Until she married she was under his domain, and he meant to use her beauty and wealth to his advantage.

Melissa was sure that had he been able to snatch her lands from her—her father would have done so without compunction. However, the earl had made King Richard the steward of her fortune, and her death would have brought no gain to her father with the estate then becoming the property of the Crown. Even now, her father would have to gain the consent of the King to her marriage. Melissa was praying that if her aunt recovered her health, which she prayed she would, she might petition His Majesty to allow her to retire to the Abbey. She was recalled to the present, as she became aware that the nun was speaking.

‘It is good that you have come, my lady,’ the nun was saying. ‘Mother Abbess has asked for you many times.’

‘I would have come before if I could,’ Melissa said, and glanced at the men who were bringing Owain in. ‘But we were attacked and my kinsman has been injured. Will you tend him, sister? Forgive me, I do not know your name?’

‘I am Sister Cecile,’ the nun told her. ‘The monks will tend to your servant as in this order we are not allowed to care for men, only women, unless given special dispensation by the Bishop—but your kinsman may be admitted and taken to the infirmary. However, the rest of your men must stay outside the gates.’

‘They are the men of…a gallant knight who came to my rescue,’ Melissa said. ‘They will depart once they have done their duty—but I do not intend to leave just yet. How is the Abbess? It is some weeks since I had her letter, but I was not able to make the journey here until now.’

‘A little better this morning,’ Sister Cecile told her with a smile. She waited until Melissa’s women and the men carrying the injured Owain were inside the gates before addressing them. ‘You must take him to the infirmary and leave by that gate. The monks will attend you, good sirs.’

Rob’s men inclined their heads and went off in the direction of the outbuilding she had indicated. Cecile led the way towards the building used by the nuns. A high wall and another heavy gate separated the living quarters of the nuns and the monks, though the chapel was used by both for worship.

‘I thank God that He has spared her,’ Melissa said as Sister Cecile led the way. ‘I feared that I might be too late as she said that she had been gravely ill.’

‘Indeed, when you were sent for we thought she might not last the night,’ Sister Cecile said. ‘But come, lady. I shall take you to her quarters. Your women will be cared for by my sisters and you may see them later.’

Melissa turned to her women, telling them that she would see them in a little while, and then followed Sister Cecile inside the living quarters provided for the Sisters of Mercy. Although it was a warm day in June, Melissa shivered as she went inside the stone building. It had only tiny windows and the sun was shut out by the thickness of the walls. Even wearing her cloak over her silk tunic and surcote, she still felt chilled. Glancing at Sister Cecile, she saw that the nun did not seem to notice the cold, and realised that she was accustomed to the discomfort.

For a moment Melissa was discouraged. Did she truly wish to devote her life to God? Once she had thought that happiness, love and children were her future—but now she knew that all that was at an end. Melissa realised that she had secretly hoped to meet Rob again and that he would declare his love for her and beg her to ride off with him—and she would have gone. His coldness, the scorn in his eyes combined to tell her that he no longer loved her. It was foolish to dream though, because even if he had spirited her away, Lord Whitbread would have taken retribution. Melissa could not live with so many deaths on her conscience, knowing that it had been no idle threat.

The nun had stopped outside a closed door. She knocked and waited for a moment, then looked inside. Putting a finger to her lips, she beckoned Melissa to enter.

‘Are you sleeping, Mother?’ she said softly.

The Abbess opened her eyes, looking at Sister Cecile for a moment and then her gaze transferred to Melissa. Her lips moved and her hands fluttered as if she were in some distress.

‘Melissa, my child,’ she said. ‘I was not sure that your father would let you come.’

‘I could not stay away from you when I knew you were ill,’ Melissa said. ‘My dearest aunt. I have seen you all too seldom these past years, but you are often in my thoughts.’

‘My child…’ The Abbess held out her hand as Melissa approached. ‘I do not know how long I may be spared to this life and I wished to see you once more before I die.’

‘Please do not speak of dying, Aunt.’

‘If my time has come I must accept it,’ the Abbess said. ‘When I entered this place I put away worldly things, but I have loved you from afar, Melissa. I wished to tell you something…’ She glanced at the nun still standing near the door. ‘Thank you, Sister Cecile. You may leave us.’

‘Yes, Mother. You will ring when I am needed?’

‘Of course.’ The Abbess waited until the door closed behind Cecile and then reached beneath her pillow, taking out a paper sealed with wax. She put it into Melissa’s hands. ‘No, do not read it yet, child. It tells you a secret that I vowed never to reveal in life. When I am gone you may read it and take what action you will, but until then promise me that you will abide by my wishes in this matter.’

‘Yes, dearest aunt,’ Melissa said, taking the letter and placing it in the leather pouch that she wore attached to a braided belt at her waist. ‘I shall remember and respect your wish.’

‘I promised that I would never reveal the secret,’ the Abbess said, and her eyes held an expression of distress. ‘But I have feared for you, Melissa. I know…’ She drew in a sucking breath. ‘I must not reveal what I know while I live for I gave my sacred promise. Yet I would not have you at the mercy of that…’ She shook her head and fell back against the pillows, closing her eyes.

‘Aunt!’ Melissa cried, frightened that it was her aunt’s last moment, but after a few seconds the Abbess opened her eyes once more. ‘I love you, Aunt Beatrice.’

‘I am Mother Abbess,’ her aunt reminded her gently. ‘I am not allowed to care for you as I would wish—but I think God will forgive my final sin.’

Melissa looked at her, feeling bewildered and uncertain. If her aunt had guarded her secret for so long it must be important—and yet it seemed to concern her.

‘Is there something I may fetch for you?’ she asked. ‘Some water perhaps?’

‘Sister Cecile will return soon,’ the Abbess said. ‘She will give me my medicine which needs to be measured carefully. Though it heals, it also kills, as do many of the herbs we use in our cures. You have travelled a long way and should rest. Leave me now and we shall meet again tomorrow.’

‘I wish that I could do something for you,’ Melissa said, her throat catching with emotion. ‘But I shall leave you to rest, dearest aunt.’ She turned away from the bed. As she opened the door, she discovered Sister Cecile about to knock. ‘I believe that Mother Abbess wishes to rest,’ she said. ‘Perhaps you would show me to my cell and then return to her?’

‘Yes, of course,’ Sister Cecile said, glancing past her at her superior. ‘She seems to be resting now. I shall return and tend her later.’

Melissa nodded, following the nun from the room. She had not mentioned her mother, nor yet her wish to remain at the Abbey, to her aunt, and she was not sure why. Perhaps she had not wished to distress the sick woman at such a time, and yet she knew that she must do so unless she wished to return to her father’s house. Only the sanctuary of the Abbey could save her from the fate he was planning for her.

Reaching his home, Rob lost no time in entering the house. David, his father’s faithful steward, a man of advanced years, grey in his beard but honest and generous of nature, came hurriedly to greet him and the look in his eyes told him that he was too late.

‘My father?’

‘He died two days ago, Rob,’ David said. ‘Forgive me. I would have sent for you sooner, but he would have it that nothing was wrong.’

Rob felt an overwhelming surge of grief. ‘I should have been here! I should have been with him!’

‘He bid me give you his blessing,’ David said. ‘He told me that he was proud of you because he knew that you would choose the right path in life—and he asked your pardon.’

‘My pardon—for what?’

David’s eyes went to the scar on his face. ‘He blamed himself for what was done to you, because of the quarrel between him and Lord Whitbread.’

‘I have told him that it was none of his doing,’ Rob said. ‘What kind of a man would do this over a piece of land?’

‘I do not believe it was just the land,’ David said. ‘It began long ago, when they were both young…’

Rob frowned, his gaze narrowing. ‘What is this? I have heard nothing of it before. I believed it was that woodland Whitbread coveted?’

‘That came later,’ David said. ‘Do not ask me to tell you what was the source of their anger because I do not know but I believe it may have been a woman.’

‘My mother?’

David shook his head. ‘I can tell you no more. Will you go up and see your father now, Rob? Megan has cared for him, but we waited to bury him until you returned.’

‘You did as you ought,’ Rob said. ‘I shall go up to him now.’

He was thoughtful as he walked up the stairs. What was this quarrel that had led to such hatred between his father and Lord Whitbread? If his father had lived he might have told him. Rob had been young and foolish when he fell in love with the beautiful girl he had seen walking in the meadows by her home. For some weeks he had gone every day to meet her, and their courtship had been sweet—but he had been blinded by his passion and her beauty, for Melissa was obviously as cold and proud as her father.

He would put her from his mind…but what of his heart?

This was no time to be thinking of such things! Rob was angry at himself. He must keep a vigil by his father this night and in the morning Sir Oswald would be laid to rest with all the honour due to the honest, decent man he had been.

Melissa was thoughtful as she walked in the Abbey gardens that evening before it grew dark. It was peaceful here, with the birds singing from the branches of ancient apple trees and a scent of lavender on the air. She had requested another interview with her aunt, but had been told that the Abbess was sleeping.

Would she be content to spend her life here? Melissa wondered. It had been her intention to ask for a dispensation when she left her home that morning, but now she was uncertain. She did not wish to admit it but she had not been able to forget the sweet feeling that had swept through her as she rode through the forest with Robert of Melford’s arms about her. But that was foolish because he hated her! He had loved her once, but she had sent him away and her half brother had done terrible things to him. He must hate her very name!

She was a fool to think of him, but he would not be dismissed from her thoughts. She could not help wondering what he was doing now, and if he had been in time to see his father alive.

A hand shaking her shoulder awakened Melissa. She was deep in sleep, dreaming of a time when she had been happy, walking barefoot in a meadow, and she awoke with a smile on her lips, but the smile left her swiftly as she saw her serving woman’s expression.

‘What is it, Rhona?’

‘Sister Cecile told me to wake you,’ Rhona said. ‘She fears that your aunt has taken a turn for the worse and asks that you join her immediately. The priest has given her the last rites.’

Melissa needed no further bidding as she sprang up from her pallet. Her serving woman had her cloak waiting, slipping it about her shoulders over her flimsy shift. Melissa slid her feet into leather shoes and tossed her hair back from her face. It had tangled as she slept but there was no time to dress it. Her heart was thudding as she left the small cell where she had spent the past few hours in repose, knowing that the nun would not have sent for her if it were not urgent.

She prayed silently that her aunt would be spared as she hurried down the cold and narrow passage, which was only dimly lit by a torch at the far end. By the time she reached her aunt’s chamber, she was shivering, the fear striking deep into her heart. She hesitated outside the door for a moment, and then went in. Tallow candles were burning in their sconces, the smell pungent and adding to the unpleasant odour in the room. Melissa realised that her aunt must have been sick, and she saw Sister Cecile wiping vomit and blood from the lips of the Abbess.

‘Dearest Aunt Beatrice,’ Melissa said, going to her side. The stricken woman held out her hand and she grasped it, but she could see the colour fading from her aunt’s face. ‘God give you peace.…’

‘May God bless and keep you, child,’ the Abbess whispered, and then gave a little cry, her head falling back against the pillows. Her eyes were open and staring, and Sister Cecile closed them, making the sign of the cross on her forehead.

Melissa felt the tears welling inside her as she came forward and bent to kiss her aunt’s cheek. The stench of the vomit was vile and made her gasp and draw back swiftly.

‘What made her be sick like that?’ she asked the nun. ‘Has she done so before?’

‘No, my lady, she has not,’ Cecile said, and looked upset. ‘I had thought she was rallying before you arrived—but this came upon her suddenly. It is not natural…’

‘What do you mean?’ Melissa was startled. ‘Do you suspect…’ She lowered her voice to a hushed whisper. ‘It is not poison?’

‘I do not know,’ the nun said. ‘I say only that I think the manner of her death suspicious.’

‘But who would do such a thing and how?’ Melissa saw the nun’s look and shook her head. ‘You do not suspect me? I swear before God that I did no such thing. I loved her and wished her to live.’

‘I know that you loved her,’ Sister Cecile said. ‘She has spoken of you with fondness and I hold you blameless in this—but your women and you are the only strangers in our midst at this time. No one else has been admitted—and none of the sisters would harm one hair of Mother Abbess’s head for we all love her dearly.’

‘You think that one of my women…’ Melissa shook her head. ‘You must be wrong. Both Rhona and Agnes have served me faithfully all my life. Why would either of them betray me by taking her life? They knew that I hoped…’ Melissa sighed as she realised that she could not stay here now. She had hoped that the Abbess would petition for her inheritance to be released so that she might offer at least a part of it to the Abbey in return for sanctuary. She shook her head, because the idea no longer appealed now that her aunt was dead. ‘I do not believe that either of them would have done anything so wicked.’

‘Well, perhaps it was not poison,’ Sister Cecile said, clearly uncertain. ‘I must write a letter to the Bishop and he will send a brother versed in these things to investigate. I shall not lay the blame at your door whatever his decision—but do not trust Agnes.’

‘Why do you suspect her?’ Melissa asked, her fine brows raised.

‘I found her coming from Mother Abbess’s room not an hour ago. When I asked her why she was not in the cell she had been given, she said that she had gone out to the privy and lost her way—but that would be hard to do unless she is blind or a fool.’

‘Agnes is neither,’ Melissa said. ‘Say nothing of this to anyone but the Bishop and his representative when he comes. I shall watch Agnes and if she betrays herself in any way I shall send word to the Bishop myself.’

‘Then we are in agreement,’ the nun said. ‘I do not wish to distress my sisters at this time. Perhaps I am wrong to suspect foul play.’ She was thoughtful, then said, ‘May I ask why the Abbess wished to speak to you in private? Did it concern matters here?’

‘No, it was merely a family matter,’ Melissa said. ‘I am sure that it had nothing to do with her death.’ And yet the letter she had given Melissa contained a secret that she had not wanted to reveal until after she was dead.

‘Very well,’ Cecile said. ‘Her body will be displayed in the chapel once I have made her clean and sweet. You may pay your respects to her in the morning before you leave.’

‘May I not stay until she is buried?’

‘You are not one of us. Unless you need nursing—or receive a dispensation from Mother Abbess or the Bishop—you may not stay here more than one night. I am sorry but I did not make the rules, though I must abide by them.’

‘Yes, I understand,’ Melissa said. She had hoped that her aunt would grant that dispensation, but it was too late.

‘What of my kinsman Owain?’

‘The monks care for him,’ the nun said. ‘I will inquire in the morning how he does—but if you wish to remain nearby you must find lodgings. I believe there is a decent hostel in the village of Melford, which is some five leagues distant.’

‘I thank you for your kindness—and your devotion to my aunt,’ Melissa said. ‘We shall leave you in the morning.’

‘Yes, you must go. We need to grieve for Mother,’ Cecile said, and her eyes were bright with unshed tears. ‘I am sorry that you must leave, but you may not remain at such a time—and I would remind you to be wary of the woman Agnes.’

‘Yes, I shall watch her,’ Melissa promised. ‘I can find my own way back to my cell, thank you.’

Sister Cecile inclined her head. Melissa walked to the door. There she glanced back and saw the nun on her knees beside the bed, her head bent in prayer. Closing the door softly behind her, Melissa was thoughtful as she walked back to her tiny cell. Was it possible that one of her women had administered a poison to the Abbess—and if so, why had she done it? She could hardly believe it was so for why would anyone wish to harm that good woman?

Melissa felt the beginning of a deep anger inside her. If she discovered that Agnes had murdered the Abbess she would make sure that she was justly punished. Yet there remained the mystery of why a woman who had always seemed loyal should do such a thing.

Rhona was waiting for her when Melissa returned to her chamber. She greeted her mistress with an anxious look.

‘You look distressed, my lady,’ she said. ‘Is your aunt no better?’

‘My aunt died,’ Melissa said, a catch in her voice. She was keeping her tears at bay for she needed to be alert. ‘Where is Agnes?’

‘I do not know, my lady. She said that she needed to visit the privy and she has not returned, though it was more than an hour since. Would you wish me to look for her?’

‘No, stay here with me,’ Melissa said. ‘And light one of the wax candles we brought with us. I cannot bear the stench of tallow.’ She did not think she would ever forget the smell of burning tallow mixed with the foul bile that her aunt had vomited. ‘There is something I wish to read.’ Melissa knew that she was fortunate that she had been taught to read, because many women were not. It was not always thought necessary, but in this at least, Lord Whitbread had been generous.

‘As you wish, my lady.’ Rhona took a thick candle from their saddlebag and brought it near, striking tinder. As it flared to life, she lit the candle and set it upon the stool for the only pieces of furniture the cell contained were a stool and the straw pallet. ‘Is there light enough or shall I bring another?’

‘I can see if I kneel on the pallet,’ Melissa said, and took the letter from her pouch, breaking the seal. She read the words her aunt had written, gasping as she realised what they meant. ‘No, it cannot be…’

‘Is something wrong, my lady?’

‘Go to your own bed, Rhona,’ Melissa said. ‘I would be alone.’

As the woman left her, Melissa held the letter closer to the candle, reading it once more. She had thought that she must have imagined its contents, but the words had not changed.

The Abbess had accused Lord Whitbread of murdering his wife!

It is certain that your mother did not die in childbed. I received a letter from her to say that you were born and asking me to be your godmother. I could not give that promise, but as you know I have always taken an interest in you, my dearest child. When I heard that your mother had died I believed it from a fever, for your father wrote that it was so—but some weeks later your mother’s kinswoman, Alanna Davies, came to see me.

She swore to me that her cousin had been well when she was sent on an errand and when she returned she was not allowed to see her. For some days she was barred from Lady Whitbread’s chamber and then she was told that her cousin had died, but she says it is a lie. She heard screaming in the night and she believes that Lord Whitbread killed his wife for she saw him coming from her chamber and there was blood on his clothes.

I made discreet inquiries but nothing could be proved, though I incurred your father’s lifelong hatred for it. I can tell you no more, Melissa, but if you are in danger go to Alanna Davies for she would help you. She resides with Morgan of Hywell and has influential relatives or I doubt not that she too would have met her death.

If you are reading this then I am dead. Know that I have loved you beyond what was permitted me. I have revealed my secret only because I wish you to be aware of Lord Whitbread’s nature. If you should cross him I dare not think what he might do. Live well and kindly, my dear child, and think only that I loved you. Your Aunt Beatrice—Abbess of the Church of Saint Mark and the order of the Sisters of Mercy.

Melissa folded the paper and returned it to her pouch. Her hands were trembling and for some minutes she could only sit and stare at the shadows on the wall. Her father had not been kind to her but she could never have imagined that he could be guilty of the murder of his own wife. It was a wicked crime, yet she could not be certain of his guilt for there was no proof against him. He had sworn that his wife had died of a fever that came upon her after the birth of her child, and Melissa had seen her mother’s tomb in the family crypt.

There was only the word of her mother’s kinswoman to give the lie to his story. Melissa began to pace the confines of her cell, her mind reeling with the horror of what had been revealed to her. She had no doubt that her aunt had believed it true for she had not wished to reveal her secret until after her death.

Had she been threatened with dire consequences if she revealed what she knew? Or was it merely that she had given a promise to someone? Melissa would never be sure. She could not even know whether Alanna Davies had lied to the Abbess, but she was certain of one thing—she did not wish to live beneath her father’s roof again.

Yet where could she go? Melissa raised her head, pride and anger raising her spirit as she realised the truth. There was no one she could turn to for help. She had no alternative but to return to her father’s home, but she would refuse to marry the man he had chosen for her—and she would demand the truth of him!

Chapter Two

Rob turned away from the graveside, walking back through the peace of the old churchyard, the song of a missel thrush bringing some joy to a sorrowing heart.

Seeing David anxiously waiting for him, he brought his mind to the business in hand. He had given his word that he would rouse as many men in the Earl of Richmond’s cause as he could, and he must begin immediately.

‘We have work to do, David,’ he told his father’s steward. ‘I have promised there will be at least two hundred men ready to join Henry Tudor when he comes to wrest the Crown from King Richard.’

‘I know that the Stourtons will come in when you give the word. The Davies of Wroxham have pledged their affinity to your cause, Rob. As for their cousins, the Davies of Shorely, I have no word of their intentions, but if they come they will bring in twenty others.’

‘Then I think I must make them my first call,’ Rob said. ‘If I can win them to our side we shall have others flocking to our standard.’

‘Aye, Rob,’ David said. ‘These Plantagenets are a quarrelsome brood. It would be good to see the throne of England under stable rule again, though I like not war. We have seen too much bloodshed these past thirty years.’

Rob touched the old man’s shoulder in sympathy. ‘There are times when a man must stand for what he believes in. No matter what it may cost.’

Melissa visited Owain in the infirmary the next morning. He had recovered his senses, but was deep in a fever, tossing restlessly from side to side. She bent over him, laying a hand on his brow, which was hot and damp to the touch.

‘My dearest friend,’ she said. ‘Forgive me for what I have done to you. You were right, I should not have come for it has all come to nothing.’ She turned anxiously to the monk who was hovering nearby. ‘Will he recover?’

‘It is in God’s hands,’ the man said. ‘We shall tend him and pray for his soul—there is no more we can do.’

‘Thank you for what you have done,’ Melissa said, and bent over Owain again. He opened his eyes and looked at her and for a moment he smiled.

‘Elspeth…’ he said. ‘You have come.…’

‘No, Owain, it is her daughter,’ Melissa said, and bent to kiss his forehead. ‘Rest now, my dear friend. I shall add my prayers to those of the good monks.’

‘My lady,’ one of the brothers had come up to her. ‘I have been asked if I will send someone to escort you to your home. Are you ready to leave?’

‘Yes, thank you,’ Melissa said. ‘It was kind of you to offer to send one of your servants to accompany us, sir.’

‘We are simple people and serve God,’ the monk told her. ‘You came here at a sad time and I am sorry that you have not been offered better hospitality.’

‘It is no matter,’ Melissa said. ‘Sister Cecile has her reasons for asking us to leave.’ It was obvious to her that the nun believed one of their party was responsible for the Abbess’s death and wanted them gone.

She followed the monk to the gates of the Abbey, where Rhona was waiting together with the horses and a tall, burly-looking servant who worked in the stables and was not one of the order. The monks employed only a handful of such men and it was good of them to spare him to her. She smiled at him, but he did not respond, merely giving her his hand to help her mount her palfrey.

‘Do you know the path we must follow through the forest, sir?’

He inclined his head but still spoke no word to her. Melissa sat her horse proudly and glanced at her serving woman.

‘Is there still no sign of Agnes?’

‘No, my lady. It is strange, is it not?’

‘Very strange,’ Melissa agreed. ‘Unless…’ She shook her head. It was difficult to believe that Agnes was responsible for her aunt’s death no matter what Cecile had told her. ‘Come, we must leave. I hope to be home before my father returns to the castle.…’

Her face was pale but she gave no other sign of the turmoil inside her. She wanted to run away and hide somewhere, but there was nowhere she could go—no one who would dare to stand up against her father. She thought that perhaps Robert of Melford might have done so if she asked, but her pride forbade it.

She had no alternative but to return to her father’s house.

How many of the promises given could he truly rely on? Rob had spent the past five days riding the Marches, talking with men who could bring in trained fighters if they cast their affinity with Richmond’s cause. Some had smiled to his face but he had thought them false behind his back, for he was aware that the King was also hoping to raise support in the border country. Yet if even half the promises made were kept, Rob would be able to take between two and three hundred men with him when Henry Tudor set up his standard. At least half of them would be skilled fighters. And he was sure that there would be a rising in Wales in support of Henry.

He was feeling weary and in need of a cooling drink when he gave the reins of his horse to a groom and went into the house. It felt strange to hear himself addressed as master or my lord, for he still thought of his father as the master here. It would take some getting used to, he thought, and sighed as his steward came to greet him.

‘What news, David? Have any messages come for me?’

‘None, sir,’ David said, and looked anxious. ‘But there is something I think I should tell you…concerning your father’s illness.’

‘You said nothing of this before?’ Rob walked into the room that had been his father’s place of business. ‘What troubles you?’

‘Before the seizure that laid him low, there was a visitor.’

‘A visitor?’

‘He claimed to have brought a message from Lord Whitbread. Your father was closeted with him privately for some minutes and they quarrelled—for we heard shouting. I hurried there when the man left and found him lying on the floor. He recovered after a moment or two—but it was that night he was taken ill.’

‘Can you name this messenger?’ Rob frowned for he did not like this tale. ‘You have no idea what was said between them?’

‘The messenger is known as Harold of Meresham—the bastard son of Lord Whitbread.’

Rob’s mouth thinned into a grim line. ‘Then I hold Harold of Meresham responsible for my father’s death—and one day there shall be a reckoning between us.’

Rob touched the scar on his cheek, his thoughts swept back to the day of his humiliation at Harold of Meresham’s hands and the pain he had endured.

In those first dark nights, when the pain made him cry out and weep like a child he had vowed to be revenged on the man who had done this to him—and the witch who had cast her spell over him. He must have been mad to believe her…and to help her when she was attacked in the forest. She had aroused a heated desire when he held her to him as they rode through the forest but he had forced himself to behave as an honourable knight—he should have taken his revenge while he had the chance! In his anger at the news of what had happened to his father, he was tempted to take as many men as he could muster and attack the castle. He would like to burn it to the ground with those devils in it! And yet he knew that there was more important work—work that prevented him seeking personal revenge.

His bitterness knew no bounds as he paced the room and thought of his father at the mercy of that oafish brute. It seemed that there was an evil curse on all that that family touched or did—and one day they would suffer for what they had done!

‘Be careful, Rob,’ David said, looking at him sadly, for he could guess what was in his mind. ‘The bastard was only obeying his father’s orders—and Lord Whitbread is a powerful man. If you cross him, he will destroy you.’

‘He may do his worst!’ Rob said, and scowled. ‘I have given my word to Henry Tudor and must keep it—but one day my chance will come.’

Melissa’s heart sank as she and Rhona rode into the castle. Seeing her father’s flag flying at full mast, she had known that he was home, and she had given the monks’ servant leave to go as soon as they were in sight of it. As she and Rhona rode over the drawbridge, she saw her half brother, Harold, standing in the courtyard, and her heart caught as he turned to look at her. His expression was triumphant, and she knew that that meant her father was angry with her.

Harold came to help her down. She shook off his hands, giving him a look of dislike, for she hated it when he touched her.

‘Where have you been, little sister?’ he asked, his thick lips curving in a sneer. ‘Father was in a rage when he discovered that you had gone. I hope he orders the thrashing you deserve—and allows me to do it.’

Melissa gave him a haughty look. ‘You would enjoy that, my dear brother, I have no doubt, but my father has more sense than to allow it. I am an heiress and the King is my guardian.…’

‘If it were not so, I should have had my pleasure with you before this,’ Harold said, his mean eyes glittering. ‘If Father did not fear that the King would seize your lands, you would have died long ago.’

Melissa walked away from him, her heart hammering. She had always known that her father hated her, but he held his counsel and she had not guessed that her life was in danger. She wished that there was somewhere she might find sanctuary, but all hope had gone with her aunt’s death. No other Abbey would take her for they might suffer a terrible retribution at Lord Whitbread’s hands. Her only hope lay in a petition to the King—but who would stand up for her?

Owain would have done it had he been able, though his word would carry little weight for he was not a noble, merely a freeman of England. Surely there must be someone who would help her? Yet try as she might, she could think of no one.

She went into the house, walking up the curved stone stair to her chamber. For the moment she must wait and see what her father had in mind for her.

Rob had been training with his men all the morning. He had been working hard and was wiping the sweat from his body in the courtyard. He doused himself with cold water drawn from the well, and then dried his body on a coarse cloth. He shook his head, the water flying from his long, dark hair as it would the coat of a shaggy dog. The sun was in his eyes and it was a moment or two before he realised that the man approaching him was Owain Davies.

‘You are better,’ he said, greeting him with a smile. ‘I must thank you for what you did for me that night, sir. Had I known your name I should have done so long ago.’

‘No thanks were necessary. I could not stand by and see murder done by those villains—Besides, from what I have been told, you have since repaid the favour.’

‘I did what any decent man would have done,’ Rob said, but his smile had gone for the bitterness was deep in him and grew stronger as the days passed. ‘Is there something I may do for you?’

Owain was dressed plainly in leather doublet and hose, his shirt of wool and dark in colour. The monks had cropped his hair short so best to tend his hurts, and there was a livid scar across his head. Yet he was a handsome man, who held himself with pride, his eyes green and bolder than many a man in his position. Something about him seemed oddly familiar, though Rob was not sure what made him think it.

‘I came to offer you my affinity,’ Owain told him. ‘I know that my lady has returned to her father’s house, for the monks told me it was so—and I can no longer wear the livery of Lord Whitbread. He stands for the King and I am for Henry Tudor. I have heard that you are also of this mind—and I would fight with you, if you will have me?’

‘Yes, and right gladly,’ Rob said, offering his hand. ‘Indeed, I am proud to call you my friend.’

‘Thank you,’ Owain said, and smiled. ‘But I would have you know that I shall return to the service of my lady when this conflict is done—she has my loyalty, no matter what she may have done…’

Rob touched the scar on his cheek. ‘What do you know of this?’

‘I know what I saw and no more,’ Owain said. ‘I have been told that she sent you away—and that she knew of her father’s intent, but I do not believe it. If you knew her as I do, sir…’

‘No more,’ Rob said. ‘I accept your friendship and honour you for your loyalty to the lady of Whitbread, but nothing beyond. She betrayed me, and her brother punished me for daring to look above my station. I have since learned that he caused my father to suffer a seizure that later killed him. I have sworn revenge on them.’

‘Harold of Meresham is no true brother to her,’ Owain said. ‘And her…father is a brute who treats her ill. I would help you kill them both and gladly—but she is innocent.’

‘Perhaps…’ Rob’s expression did not ease. ‘We shall not speak of this again, Owain. For now we must prepare for war. I expect the summons any day.’

‘You will obey me, daughter.’ Lord Whitbread’s fleshy face was dark with anger, a deep red colour seeping up from his neck. He wore a long, rich blue gown bordered with gold braid, a chain of heavy gold about his neck, and looked every bit the powerful and rich lord he was. His eyes were filled with loathing, undisguised now for he no longer kept even the pretence of care or understanding. She had shamed him by running from his house and he would not forgive her. ‘I have promised you to Leominster and you shall marry him if he will have you, though you do not now deserve the honour.’

‘No, Father,’ Melissa cried. ‘I shall never marry a man I neither know nor care for. I have heard of the marquis’s reputation and he is not a man that my mother would have wished me to marry.’

‘Your mother is dead,’ Lord Whitbread growled. ‘Even if she lived my wish would be paramount. You are my property and I shall dispose of you as I please. You leave for the north in the morning. You will go to my cousin, the Earl of Gifford, who will keep you safe until I have time to arrange your marriage.’

‘Father, I beg you, do not do this,’ Melissa said. ‘For the memory of my mother, spare me. Let me marry as I wish…’

‘What is this? You speak as if you favour another…’ His hand snaked out, gripping her wrist. ‘Down on your knees, girl. Tell me the truth or it will go hard with you. Have you shamed me even more? Have you given yourself to a man? If you think still of Melford it will be the worse for you!’

‘No, Father,’ Melissa said. She tried to resist but the pressure on her arm was so painful that she was forced to her knees. She refused to bow her head, her expression defiant as she looked at him. ‘I would never forget my honour. I sent Rob away…and I have never ceased to regret it.’

‘Have you seen him again?’ Lord Whitbread demanded. ‘If he has dared to lay a finger on you he shall die. I warned you what would happen if you disobeyed me.’ Melissa shook her head. ‘Speak, girl, or it will be the worse for you!’

Melissa gave him a stubborn look. Nothing would make her betray what Rob had done for her that day in the forest. She felt her father’s hands on her shoulders, dragging her to her feet, shaking her like a rag doll. He held her by one arm, drawing back the other to strike her hard across the face. Melissa cried out with the pain, but still she was defiant. She raised her eyes, gazing at him with hatred in her eyes.

‘Is this how you killed my mother?’ she asked, all caution lost. ‘You suspected her of having a lover. Did you try to beat the truth out of her, too? Is that how she died?’

‘Damn you!’ Lord Whitbread let go of her, still in a rage but thoughtful now. ‘I suppose that damned sister of hers told you. I had hoped she might take the secret to her grave, for I warned her that if she did not I would punish you in her stead.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘If you think to beg the King for help you are too late. He has given his permission for your marriage in return for pledges of support from Leominster and myself. Leominster will have control of your fortune, and in return a part of your lands become mine. The deal is done, Melissa. You go north to my kinsman in the morning, and when the traitor Henry Tudor has been dealt with, you will marry the Marquis of Leominster.’

Lord Whitbread left the room, locking the door behind him. Melissa looked about her in despair. She was a prisoner in the small circular chamber at the top of the Keep, and she knew there was no way she could escape.

‘Oh, Rob,’ she whispered, tears trickling down her cheeks. ‘If only I had not let you go when you took me to the Abbey. I was so proud, so foolish! You are the only one who could have helped me—but you hate me now.’ She should have taken the risk and told him the truth, but it was too late now.

Melissa felt that her heart would break. It seemed that there was no hope for her, because she could not escape her fate—and yet if she could not wed the man she loved, she would rather die.

She had hoped that perhaps she might plead her case with the King, but there was to be a war and she was but an insignificant woman to be traded for the promise of men and arms.

If they married her to the Marquis of Leominster, she would die by her own hand rather than let him take her to his bed.

She sank to her knees, praying that something or someone would help her, but she knew that she was alone and friendless. Even Owain had deserted her—she had had no word from him in all this time.

Melissa’s head was aching as she was led across the courtyard the next morning and taken to her own rooms. The guards who had escorted her thrust her inside and the door was locked behind her. They were taking good care that she should not escape, though there was little likelihood of that, for where could she go?

Rhona had been packing a trunk with Melissa’s clothes, but she smiled and came towards her. ‘You need food and fresh clothes, my lady,’ Rhona said. ‘I dare say you did not sleep last night.’

‘No, I could not,’ Melissa agreed. ‘You know what my father has planned for me?’

‘Yes, my lady,’ Rhona said. ‘Is there no one who would help you?’

Melissa shook her head. ‘My mother’s kinswoman, Alanna Davies, might have helped me if she could—but I do not know how to reach her. Besides, what could she do now that the King has given his permission for my marriage?’

‘Is there no one else—Robert of Melford? Would he not come if you asked?’

‘He hates me now,’ Melissa said sadly. ‘If I had not sent him away…But you know that I had no choice. Nothing has changed.’

‘I am not sure,’ Rhona said. ‘I have heard that he has become a powerful knight with many followers since he returned from Angers—and he saved us in the forest. He took you to the Abbey. If he truly hated you, he might have held you captive and demanded a ransom for your return.’

‘Perhaps…’ Melissa sighed. ‘He is brave enough to stand up to my father, I know that—and if he has followers he might be victorious, but why should he help me?’

‘Will you not send him word?’

‘It would do no good,’ Melissa said. She saw that Rhona was doubtful. ‘There is something else you would say?’

‘Agnes is here. She begs that you will see her, my lady. She swears that she did nothing to harm the Abbess. She says that she ran away because she heard that she had been accused and was afraid.’

‘Do you believe her?’

‘I am not sure,’ Rhona said. ‘Until that night we had no reason to doubt her—and you have only Sister Cecile’s word that she saw her near your aunt’s chamber.’

‘Yes, that is true.’ Melissa was uncertain. ‘Very well, I shall see her—but we must be careful, Rhona. We should watch her and see what she does. Do not trust her too much.’

‘Shall I ask her to come in?’

‘Yes, please.’

Melissa walked to her bed and sat down, taking off her wimple to let her hair cascade down her back. She had thought that Agnes was gone for good, and she was not sure how to greet her.

Agnes came into the room looking nervous. She stood just inside the door, her hands clasped in front of her. ‘Forgive me for deserting you. I was afraid that I should be accused of murder and…’

‘Did you give the Abbess poison, Agnes?’

‘No, I swear I did not,’ the girl said. ‘I did not mean to harm the Abbess. She begged me for her medicine, because she was in pain. I poured some into a cup and she drank it. I did nothing more.’

‘Do you swear it on the Body of Christ?’

‘On my honour I gave her only what she asked of me.’

‘But what were you doing in her chamber?’

‘I lost my way and heard her cry out in pain. I tried only to help her.’ Agnes was white, the fear in her eyes as she fell on her knees before Melissa. ‘Forgive me. I did not know what I did.’

‘Did you not know that some medicines can kill as well as heal?’ Melissa saw that the woman was frightened and wondered if after all it had been an accident, and yet the doubt was still there. ‘I should write to the Bishop and tell him of your sin. Do you know what they would do to a woman who murdered the Abbess who had given her shelter for the night? I think that if you came before the church courts they would show you no mercy. They would say you were a witch and you would hang and afterwards they would burn your body.’

‘I beg you, do not denounce me.’

Melissa hesitated. She was minded to dismiss the woman, but knew that if she did Agnes would be forced to work in the kitchens for she would not easily find work elsewhere. And she did not know for certain that she was guilty of anything, other than ignorance.

‘Very well, I shall not send you away for the moment—though you will not serve me again. You may take your instructions from Rhona, but I do not want you near me. You may go now.’

‘Yes, my lady.’ Agnes kept her eyes downcast, but once she had left the room they blazed with anger and she placed her ear to the door, listening.

‘She is not to serve me,’ Melissa said to Rhona. ‘She may wash and mend—but I do not want her in my chamber.’

Rhona nodded, pleased that she was to be her mistress’s chief attendant. ‘Do you not think it might be worth sending word to Robert of Melford?’

‘I do not think he would care what becomes of me,’ Melissa said. ‘But I shall send word to Owain and ask him to come to me. He may know where Alanna lives—or someone else who would take me in.’

‘I am watched,’ Rhona said. ‘We need someone we can trust to take your message…’

‘Then ask the priest to come to me. I wish for his blessing—but do it secretly for I do not want anyone else to know.’

‘Yes, my lady. I shall go at once.’

Outside the door, Agnes darted away before it could open. She had known full well what she did when she gave the Abbess her medicine, and she would report everything to her master. He had paid her generously on her return from the Abbey—and would give her a dowry if she continued to serve him.

Rob was sitting in his father’s chair, which he had brought downstairs to his chamber. His head was bent over his work as he honed the edge of his sword to a fine sharpness that would cut through bone like butter. For some reason, his cheek was throbbing as it did at times, though the skin had long since healed over, due to the care lavished on him by the faithful Megan. She had laid poultices of herbs and cures on his tortured flesh, nursing him through his fever but her herbs had not healed the deep-seated pain that was eating away inside him.

Melissa would not be banished from his mind. She had haunted him these past few nights, and he had an odd feeling that she was in some kind of trouble. Yet what could it matter to him? She was a deceiver and faithless and he was well rid of her…but sometimes in the dark of night, it seemed that she came to him in his dreams and it was as before when they loved each other.

‘You know that I would never betray you,’ she had cried in his dream the previous night. ‘I need you…I need you…’ But he was a fool and the dream was only that. He was nothing to her and she could be nothing more to him.

He looked up from his work as David entered the room. Seeing that his steward carried a sealed letter, he reached for it with impatience thinking it some unimportant estate matter. However, when he broke the seal and read the contents, he gave a great shout of joy. It was the summons he had been waiting for since his return to the Marches.

‘It has come,’ he cried. ‘Henry Tudor has landed with a force of two thousand men and bids me meet him with all the fighters I have raised. God be praised! At last we shall have some action.’

‘It is what you need, Rob,’ his steward said. ‘You have been brooding too much of late…’ He raised his eyes looking at the man he loved as a son. ‘She has bewitched you! You have not been the same since she sent you away. No woman is worth the agony you have endured because of her!’

‘You have not seen her,’ Rob said, and for a moment the old smile was there in his eyes. ‘Besides, she did not do this—my wound was courtesy of her brother. She was distressed when she saw it.’

‘You would be a fool to forgive her. She is the daughter of your father’s enemy. I do not like to see you brought so low by a woman’s treachery.’

‘Perhaps it was my own fault,’ Rob said with a shrug of his shoulders. ‘Have you seen Owain Davies? He was to ride with us, but I have not seen him for some days.’

‘I think he had some business of his own,’ David said. ‘A message came for him from the Abbey and he left at once. He said that if the summons came before he returned he would meet you on the field of battle.’

‘Then he will keep his word,’ Rob said. ‘I shall leave today for Shrewsbury for I wish to speak with Morgan of Hywell. He would not give his promise until he was sure that Henry really meant to come—but now I am certain he will agree.’

‘As you wish, sir,’ David said. ‘Forgive me if I spoke out of turn, Rob—but I know she made you suffer.’

‘I could never be angry with you,’ Rob said. ‘Besides, you were right—she is not worth the pain she has caused.’

Rob tested the blade of his sword. Melissa was false and it was foolish to lie in torment each night thinking of her. Yet the scent of her was imprinted into his senses, and he could not forget how it had felt to hold her in his arms. He still wanted her, burned for her, even though she might be a proud witch who had merely played with his emotions.

He left the chamber, shouting orders to his servants. He must ride with all haste to Shrewsbury and give Morgan of Hywell the news that Henry Tudor was to come. At last he had something to do and could forget his own problems for the moment.

Melissa rode in stony silence. Her father had sent Harold in his place to see her wed, for he was too busy to accompany her to his cousin’s fortress. She had been told that she was to be betrothed to the Marquis of Leominster when she reached the stronghold in the north of England. The marriage would take place almost at once after the betrothal, and she would leave the Earl of Gifford’s home to travel to that of her new husband not far from the city of Nottingham. What was more, she had been denied Rhona’s company and given Agnes as her only attendant.

‘You think that I do not know you plotted with Rhona to escape me again,’ Lord Whitbread had told her. ‘Well, I am not a fool, daughter—and you shall have Agnes to serve you. I know that she is loyal to me and will guard you well until you are safely wed—as for the other, your maid may think herself lucky if I do not give her to Harold for his sport.’

‘Do that, Father, and I shall never reach the earl’s house alive.’

‘You defy me still?’ Whitbread took her arm. ‘The girl is safe—but if I hear that you have somehow escaped from your brother’s care, she will die. Do you hear me?’

Melissa had not answered him, but she knew that he would carry out his threat if she escaped or took her own life before she was the Marquis of Leominster’s wife. She had no choice but to make the journey to the earl’s house and see what presented itself then. Perhaps there was some way out of her dilemma, though she did not know what it might be, for her freedom might mean Rhona’s death.

Melissa had met the Earl of Gifford only once. He was her father’s cousin and a tall, thin man with a long nose. She recalled that she had not liked him when he visited with her father some years previously—but she had not disliked his wife, who was a pretty woman with pale hair and limpid blue eyes. She would not have minded the visit so much had it not been for the shadow that hung over her—the fear that they would force her to marry a man she did not know and could not like.

All she had heard of the Marquis of Leominster was that he was a hard, cold man and twice her age. She had learned from the casual talk of the men who rode with her that he was known for his brutality. He had, it was said, taken the wife of one of his neighbours after a dispute between them, keeping her a prisoner and using her as his mistress until he had tired of her. He then turned her out, but when she returned to her husband he would not have her back for she had dishonoured his name. Friendless and broken, she had walked into a river and drowned herself.

What kind of a father would sell his daughter to a man like that? Melissa shuddered at the thought of her likely fate if she became Leominster’s wife. She would rather die by her own hand! It was a sin to take your own life, but Melissa thought that she would risk eternal damnation rather than live in the hell that such a marriage would bring—but had she the right to condemn Rhona to a cruel death?

‘We shall break our journey at the next inn, sister.’ Harold’s voice brought her back from her reverie. ‘We have made good time and you must be weary.’

Melissa flashed him a look of dislike. ‘Do not pretend to consider my needs, Harold. I am not hungry. I would prefer to continue until we reach our resting place for the night.’

‘Well, I am hungry if you are not,’ Harold told her, a sulky expression in his eyes. ‘I swear I know not why Leominster wants a sharp-tongued witch like you for a bride. Give me a woman with a merry laugh and a warm heart, anytime.’ She was too thin for his tastes, for he was used to seeking his pleasures in the arms of a plump tavern wench. His father had taught him to fight and given him a hunger for good living, though he lacked all the qualities and refinements of a true knight.

Melissa had tried to feel affection for him, but his coarseness and his surly manner had killed any feeling she might have had for him. She lifted her head, a look of scorn in her eyes.

‘I am sorry that I do not find favour in your eyes, brother. I wish that you might allow me to slip away to an Abbey and save yourself the trouble of this journey.’

‘If it were up to me, I would slit your throat and be done with it,’ Harold said, an evil leer on his lips. ‘I cannot see why we may not just take your lands for ourselves, but Father says it must be done within the law.’

‘I thank you for your kind words, brother,’ Melissa said. She turned her head from him. ‘I care not what becomes of me.’

‘And I care even less,’ her brother snarled. ‘Because of you I may miss all the excitement. Father has heard that Henry Tudor is bringing an army from France. That is why he could not spare the time to escort you himself. He has received a summons to join the King. And I might have gone with him if it had not been for you.’

‘I am sorry to be such a trouble to you—but let me go to an Abbey and you may ride to join the King’s army.’

‘And earn my father’s displeasure? You would love that, sister.’ He glared at her. ‘Just remember that I do not have Father’s scruples concerning you, Melissa. If you were dead it would suit me very well…’

‘Yes, I know,’ Melissa replied. ‘But you have no need to fear me, Harold. Father would never disinherit you for me.’

‘Not for you,’ Harold said, eyes cold as they rested on her face. ‘But you might have a son…’

‘But my son would not bear his name,’ Melissa reminded him. ‘You are safe unless Father has a legitimate son, which he cannot unless he marries again.’

Harold shot a startled look at her. ‘You do not think he intends to take another wife?’

‘I have no idea, brother,’ Melissa said. ‘For your sake I hope not—but you can never be sure. Father is still a strong man and capable of giving his wife a son.’

‘What do you know?’ Harold demanded his eyes narrowed. ‘Have you heard something?’

‘Father would not tell me,’ Melissa said. ‘But it is a thought…’

‘He would not marry without telling me,’ Harold declared, but there was a frown on his face as they rode into the inn courtyard.

Melissa smiled inwardly. She had given her brother something else to think about, and perhaps he would forget about her…but even if she had the chance, she could not in all conscience run away.

Rob gave his horse to the young lad who came running, tossing him a small coin for his trouble. He was at the outskirts of Shrewsbury and meant only to eat something while his horse was rested. He had come alone, giving his men orders to meet him at the appointed place the following day, for he would pass the night at the house of Morgan of Hywell.

It was as he was crossing the inn yard that he saw the woman lingering at the edge of the woods he had just left. She had not seen him, but seemed furtive, as if she wanted to slip away and did not quite dare. For a moment he hesitated, and then walked swiftly towards her. It was dangerous in those woods for there were armed men everywhere.

‘Melissa? What are you doing here?’ he demanded, his voice harsh.

Melissa turned, her startled gaze on his face. ‘Oh, it is you,’ she said, and caught her breath on a sob. ‘I thought it was Harold…’

‘Your half brother is here?’

‘Yes, he is taking me to the north to my kinsman’s house. I…am to be married…’ Her eyes were wide, dark with longing as she looked at him. To be so close to him and yet unable to speak from her heart! If only Rhona were safe, she would beg him to take her away, now, before her brother could stop them!

‘I see…’ Rob’s expression hardened, ignoring the look of appeal in her eyes. ‘Then I wish you every happiness, lady.’ His mouth curled with bitterness and he was about to turn away, but she caught his sleeve, making him turn to look at her again. ‘What more would you have of me?’

‘I shall not be happy in this marriage for I can never love my husband. Surely you know that I shall only ever love one man?’

‘Indeed? How should I know that?’

She hesitated, ‘Sir…are you here alone?’

‘Yes, why do you ask?’ His eyes narrowed in suspicion. ‘I am armed even if alone and your brother would not have the advantage of me now. They tied my arms that day I came to ask for you for I brought no weapons.’ He touched the sword that hung across his chest. ‘I am more than a match for Harold of Meresham!’

‘But he is not alone, for he has ten armed men.’ Melissa stopped because she had seen Harold come to the door of the inn to look for her. Her chance of escape had gone, if she had ever had one. She gave a little sob of fear, because alone Rob had no chance against her half brother and his men. Besides, if she went with Rob, her father would carry out his threat against her serving woman. She was bound as surely as if Harold had her in chains. ‘No, you are right—how should you know that I loved you? Except that had you loved me, you would not have believed me capable of what they did to you. Forget me, I will not be the cause of your death. My brother looks for me. I must go.’

She ran away from him. Rob turned to look and saw that Harold of Meresham was at the inn door. He saw him take a rough hold of her arm and give her a shake and frowned. For a moment he was tempted to go after him and challenge him. He would like to plunge his sword deep into the blaggard’s heart, but Melissa’s words had warned him. He was alone and it was unlikely that Harold would meet him in single combat—and he could not afford to be wounded now. Nigh on two hundred men had promised to follow him, and Henry would need every man if he were to win his cause.

He turned away. He would walk into the town and seek out Morgan of Hywell. It was for this he had come—and Melissa was promised to marry another. She had gone to her brother willingly and therefore must be happy with the marriage, despite the way she had looked at him.

‘Who were you talking to?’ Harold asked as he hustled her inside the inn, his fingers digging into her soft upper arm. ‘And what were you doing outside the inn?’

‘I went out for some air, because my head aches,’ Melissa said. ‘I am feeling unwell…’ She gave a little sigh and sagged against him, knowing that she must hold his attention until Rob had time to leave. If Harold had seen him he would undoubtedly have killed him. ‘I think I must rest here for a few hours, Harold. I may be sickening for something.’

‘If this is one of your tricks…’ Harold glared at her. ‘Do not try my patience too far, Melissa. I would as soon break your neck as look at you!’

Melissa smiled. ‘I know that you have no love for me, brother—but my father wants this alliance with Leominster. I should take care if I were you.’

She did not know why, but the brief encounter with Rob had lifted her spirits. He was still angry, she had sensed that, but while she lived there was still hope that she might see him again—and perhaps one day she could tell him the truth and he would no longer hate her.

‘I am glad to see you, Robert of Melford,’ Morgan Hywell said, and took his hand. ‘Now that Henry has set foot on Welsh soil I shall give you my affinity. I was doubtful that he would come, but he has and I shall give him my support. You will stay with us this night?’

‘Yes, thank you,’ Rob said. ‘It is good of you to offer, sir. I rode here in all haste as soon as the news arrived.’

‘I am glad to be with you at last,’ Morgan Hywell said. ‘And now, I would like you to meet the lady who orders my house for me—Mistress Alanna Davies. She is cousin to Owain Davies and was kinsman to the wife of Lord Whitbread.’

Alanna was a tall lady, quite stout and no longer young. She dressed in dark clothes and wore only a wimple to cover her hair—but Rob saw something in her face that seemed familiar, though he could not place it.

‘You are Owain Davies’ cousin, lady,’ he said. ‘He is with us in the cause and we are friends, for he once saved my life.’

‘I have not seen Owain for some years,’ Alanna said. ‘I was living then with my lady—but after she died I left the castle and came here…’

‘Whitbread threatened her and she was in fear of her life for some time,’ Morgan Hywell said. ‘But the years have passed and I daresay he has forgotten her.’

‘I have not forgot him or what he did to my lady,’ Alanna said. ‘But I must say no more for if he should hear gossip…’ She shook her head. ‘Come, I shall show you to your chamber, sir, because you will want to refresh yourself before we eat.’

Rob followed her upstairs. It was a substantial house, for Morgan of Hywell was a rich merchant and an important man in his town, which was why he had not been prepared to offer his support until he was sure that Henry Tudor had come. Now that he had, he would bring at least thirty men to their cause.

‘I trust you will be comfortable here, sir?’

‘I thank you yes.’ Rob detained her as she would have left. ‘You may trust me, lady. What did Lord Whitbread do to Melissa’s mother?’

‘You know her?’ Alanna’s face was wistful. ‘I have oft wished to see her—but it was impossible. You see, he knew that I had seen him leave my lady’s chamber—and that I suspected what he had done.’ Her eyes were dark with remembered horror. ‘He beat her so badly that she died of her injuries. He told everyone that she died of a childbed fever, but it was not so—he murdered her.’

‘May he rot in hell!’ Rob was angry. He knew that Melissa had often wished that she had known her mother, for she had told him as they walked together in the meadows: it had been a source of great grief to her. ‘One day he will pay for his many crimes, lady. I promise you that…’

‘I have often prayed that he might suffer for what he did,’ she said. ‘But I could do nothing…he would have killed me had I not run away. Perhaps I should have taken the child? I have often wished it, but then he would never have let me be.’

‘I thank you for telling me,’ Rob said. ‘I can tell you that your lady’s child is to be married, though I amnot sure that is of her own choosing…’ He could not shake the look he had seen in her eyes from his mind; it had begun to haunt him, for he had sensed that she was in distress.

Alanna nodded and went out, leaving him alone. He was thoughtful for he had remembered Melissa’s words. He had been too angry to listen to her at the time, but now they had come back to him.

You should know that I shall only ever love one man.

Had she meant to say that she loved him? Rob frowned as he thought it over. If she meant that…but he would be a fool to believe her. She had sworn that she loved him and would marry him—but then she had driven him away with words intended to cut him to the heart, as they had. Her father had not been in the room. If he had forbidden the marriage there had been nothing to stop her telling him so. He could recall her every word, remember the proud way she held her head, the coldness in her eyes as she told him that she did not wish to see him again.

Why would she have done that if she loved him?

‘Wait one moment, sir,’ Alanna came to him as he was about to mount his horse the next morning. ‘I have something I must tell you…’

‘Something you wish me to tell Owain perhaps?’

‘Yes. It would be best if he knew what I saw—though it is only a suspicion. I cannot swear to the truth of it, but I have thought…’ She raised her head, looking at Rob. ‘I know that I told you my lady was murdered—and it is true that he beat her. She sent me on an errand the next day, and when I returned he told me she was dead…but I think I may have seen her since then.’

‘Where?’

‘In the Isle of Ely, at the shrine of Saint Ethelreda,’ Alanna said. ‘It was Ethelreda who began the great Cathedral there and they say she has the power to work miracles. I went there with Morgan who made the pilgrimage to pray for his son…and a woman came up to me. She pressed a lily into my hand and then walked quickly away.’

‘Did you see her face? Did you know her?’

‘I did not notice her until she gave me the lily, but I recall that her head was clothed in shawls that covered her face and she was dressed shabbily. I thought nothing of it until later, and by that time she had disappeared—but that particular lily was always Elspeth’s favourite.’

‘And you thought it was her because of the lily?’

‘Yes, I began to believe so as I thought about it. I asked Morgan to make inquiries in the Isle of Ely and he has, but nothing has come of it.’

‘The evidence is slight.’ Rob frowned for it was unlikely that the woman could have been Melissa’s mother.

‘Yes. I have done nothing more for I thought I must have been mistaken—but I think Owain should know.’

‘Then I shall tell him,’ Rob said, and smiled at her. ‘This has lain on your conscience for years, has it not?’ She nodded. ‘Very well, you may rest easy, for I am sure that Owain will do what he can. He is very loyal to Melissa.’

‘And not only Melissa,’ Alanna said, standing back as Rob mounted his horse.

As he rode away, Rob wondered what she had meant by her last remark.

Melissa awoke from her dream. It had been so pleasant, for it was of the time when she had first met Rob. In those early days she had not thought of anything but the pleasure that came from seeing him smile at her.

He was so handsome, his eyes so bold and filled with laughter. She had never been teased and had hardly known how to respond to him, but she had loved him…she had loved him from the first.

She was sure that he had loved her then. They had walked together hand in hand, often saying nothing but just content to be together. Sometimes he had taken her up on his great horse and they had ridden for hours at a time, his arms about her, her head back against his chest…just as they had after he had saved her from those rogues.

A sob rose in her throat for she had felt his anger that day, and known that the gentle loving knight she had known was gone forever. In his place was a man with cold eyes who looked at her as if he hated her.

Yet she would still have begged for his help at Shrewsbury if she had not feared for his life and that of Rhona. And despite his anger, she believed that he would have given it—as he had that day in the forest.

The tears trickled slowly down her cheeks, because she had loved him so much, so very much…and now he hated her. She touched the small jade heart he had bought her at the fair, which she had hidden inside her gown next to her own heart. It was all she had left of the happiness that might have been hers…a trinket and her memories.

They were approaching their destination and unless she could think of some way to delay their journey, she would soon be the Marquis of Leominster’s wife!

Chapter Three

Henry Tudor had brought a force of more than two thousand men with him when he landed at Milford Haven on the 7th of August 1485. He sent out his messengers from the town of Haverfordwest, which he had occupied, appealing to the men of Wales on claim of descent from Cadwaller the one-time King of the Welsh.

Rob had raised a force of nearly two hundred strong, including archers, miners and men-at-arms. A few had failed but most came in in answer to his summons. They rode to greet Henry Tudor, Earl of Richmond, as he marched across the borders of Wales into England, his army swelling with growing numbers of men who flocked to his banner.

When he greeted Henry Tudor, the earls greeted him warmly. Robert of Melford had brought in a strong body of men and was therefore doubly welcome. Henry Tudor’s army was reinforced by the arrival of Gilbert Talbot with a force of five hundred men, which raised the numbers beyond four thousand. The struggle for the throne of England had begun.

Watching the huge body of men assemble, Rob was aware of a growing feeling of excitement. While Henry Tudor remained in France it had been merely been a dream, but now it had become a reality. War was imminent, for reports had reached them of the King’s efforts to raise men in his cause, but as yet many of the powerful lords had decided to sit on the fence and wait until they saw who seemed likely to win the coming struggle.

Owain found Rob when they were camped in the countryside around Leicester.

‘I have come as I promised.’

‘I had given you up,’ Rob said. ‘Where did you go?’

‘I had to discover what had happened to my lady,’ Owain replied. ‘She sent word by the priest that she was being forced to marry against her will. He left her message at the Abbey, and it was by chance that I went there to ask them something.’

‘Against her will?’ Rob’s eyes narrowed. ‘You are sure that it was against her will?’

‘They have taken her north to Whitbread’s kinsman. She will be kept a prisoner at the home of the Earl of Gifford until she is wed to the Marquis of Leominster. But he will have brought his forces south to meet Richard and the wedding must be delayed until his return.’

‘Good grief! What kind of a man would give his daughter to that monster?’ Rob was horrified at the news for he knew of Leominster’s reputation.

‘A man who would let his bastard split your cheek to the bone and send you to your death with your hands bound behind your back.’ Owain answered him straight, his look unflinching even though such plain speech might cause offence.

Rob’s gaze narrowed. ‘Did she go willingly?’ She must have! For if she had not, why had she not begged him for help? She must have known that he would give it, despite all that had happened between them. He had helped her in the forest, and though he had been cold to her, he had delivered her safely to the Abbey. She had no reason not to trust him.

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