Chapter 24
Rosalyne wished she hadn’t screamed for help. All it had done was land her a punch to the face and a filthy cloth tied around her mouth. Now, her eye and cheek ached and the sides of her mouth grew tender from the gag.
But at least Perceval Rawlin was gone.
She had watched him labor over a piece of parchment, assuming he wrote out a ransom demand for her. Rosalyne knew it was common in the wars with France for each side to capture and ransom prisoners. Even King John had been taken by English soldiers after the Battle of Poitiers and held captive in London until the two governments signed the Treaty of Bretigny. France paid a huge ransom and forfeited many territories in exchange for their king’s return.
What would Rawlin ask for her?
Obviously, the man no longer had any money or possessions. Would he demand gold for her return? Even if Rawlin did ask for payment from Edward to free her, Rosalyne doubted her husband had enough to buy her release. He might have once served in the king’s royal guard but she did not think Richard compensated his knights well, instead offering them the prestige of serving him.
If Edward sent word to his father, would Lord Geoffrey de Montfort be willing to pay a high price to rescue a woman he’d never met? Especially since Edward was not even the heir to Kinwick? The castle and estate would go to his older brother, Ancel, upon Geoffrey’s death.
A chill rippled through her.
What if Rawlin did not want money?
Rosalyne recalled how he mentioned hurting Edward. If not wounding Edward financially, did Rawlin mean to do him physical harm? Would he kill her in front of her husband? Or murder them both in his plot for revenge?
Shuddering, Rosalyne knew she must act. She didn’t know how long Rawlin would be gone. They had walked a good distance from the market to reach here and Sir Harry’s place was even farther away. If Rawlin meant to deliver his missive to Edward at Sir Harry’s, then she had some time.
To do what?
Glancing around the small dwelling, the putrid smell continued to assault her nose. She scooted away from the wall, wanting to move to the center of the room to see what was there. Inching her way would take forever with her wrists and ankles bound, so Rosalyne dropped to her side and rolled several rotations until she bumped against something. Wiggling, she sat up and saw she’d reached a broken table. Shards of pottery lay scattered about. A few bones sat on the ground, probably leftovers from a meal.
And then she saw where the smell came from.
A rotting corpse lay curled in the midst of the chaos. The foul smell came from the man who had died here. She wondered if he had been eating when Rawlin overcame him. The man must have fought hard since so much surrounding him had been destroyed. Did Rawlin sneak inside and catch the man while he ate his last meal? Or had Rawlin befriended this poor soul and then killed him?
She guessed her captor had done so in order to have a place to stay in London. Without coin, he would be walking the streets and would have had no place to hold her prisoner. Rosalyne fought the bile that threatened to rush up, afraid she would drown in her own vomit behind the gag. She closed her eyes and swallowed hard, taking deep breaths to try and calm herself.
Gradually, she gained control. The place still reeked of what she now knew was the smell of death but she had a better grasp on her emotions and sense of purpose. Her eyes roamed through the destruction, looking for a way to free herself. The broken shards seemed the best possibility. As she reached for one with her bound hands and lifted it up, her eyes widened.
The man’s eating knife lay under it.
Tears sprang to her eyes. Mayhap she could escape before Rawlin ever returned by using this knife to cut through the rope. Just in case, she would return to the spot he left her and work on slicing through her bonds from there. Dropping the fragment of pottery, she picked up the knife carefully with her fingers and flattened them against it before she slowly rolled back to the wall. Once she pushed herself into a sitting position again and leaned against the wall, she ignored the throbbing from the back of her head where Rawlin had struck her and thought how best to use the knife.
Rosalyne slid her feet toward her, raising her knees. She then placed the hilt between her knees so that the blade pointed toward her. Squeezing her knees together in order to hold the knife in place, she placed the rope atop the blade and began pushing her arms back and forth in a sawing motion. She decided she would rather have her hands freed first, in order to strike Rawlin if he came close to her again. She could always lash out and shove her bound feet into him and knock him off balance if she didn’t have time to free her legs before he returned.
The work proved tedious because of the rope’s thickness. Rosalyne’s arms grew tired but she continued to push back and forth, determined not to be used as a pawn in the wicked game Perceval Rawlin wished to play with Edward. She deliberately forced all thoughts of her husband from her mind and concentrated on the task at hand.
Finally, she could tell the rope weakened as she sawed through the various strands. Her excitement grew as she sensed it loosening.
Then she heard movement outside the door. Panic sailed through her, knowing how close she was to freeing herself. Rosalyne grabbed the knife and twisted it, hilt toward her, till it lay against the underside of her forearm. She tilted her hands up and the blade slid up her sleeve.
The door opened and Rawlin called out, “My cousin is improving, thank you. By the Blessed Christ, I will nurse him back to good health.” He hurried inside the hovel and shut the door.
Rosalyne’s heart drummed loudly. She wondered if she should try and force her wrists apart, hoping the rope was ready to break apart, or if she should wait.
Rawlin made the choice for her, walking over to her in his odd gait. She remained utterly still, trying to slow her breathing after the exertion of working to free herself.
“Your husband is almost here,” Rawlin told her. He latched on to her elbow and yanked her to her feet.
Instead of allowing her hands to drop in front of her and the knife possibly falling to the ground, Rosalyne bent her arms at the elbow and raised her restrained hands to her waist, the eating knife now parallel to the ground.
Rawlin snaked an arm about her waist and held her against him as the door crashed open. He raised a blade to her throat and Rosalyne felt the cold steel tip against her bare skin.
Edward entered the dwelling, fury blazing in his eyes. Rosalyne saw he held no weapon and knew Rawlin had instructed that Edward bring none when they met.
“Close the door,” barked her captor. “I have a poniard next to your pretty, little wife’s throat. Do it!”
Edward shut the door and faced them. He seemed almost within reach to her yet, at the same time, the gulf between them appeared vast.
“Do not harm her, Rawlin,” ordered Edward calmly. “Rosalyne is blameless in all of this. It’s me you want. Not her. Release her so she can leave. Then we can speak, man to man.”
Rawlin snorted. “And have you tear me from limb to limb for even daring to touch her? I think not, my lord. Lady Rosalyne will stay right here, next to me, my knife against her throat.”
“For how long then?” Edward demanded. “What do you want? Gold? Land? More—”
“I want my life back!” shouted Rawlin. “Something that is not in your power to give me.”
Rosalyne smelled the fear and desperation on him.
Edward moved toward them and Rawlin growled, “Stay where you are.”
Her husband took a step back and dropped to one knee. “I came alone, as you requested.” He held his arms wide. “I brought no weapon. I beg of you, man. Let her go.”
As Edward spoke, Rawlin moved the blade directly under her earlobe and nudged it into her. She felt the stinging prick, followed by the warm trickle of blood that drizzled down from the tiny wound.
In that moment, Rosalyne decided she would rather die trying to escape this madman’s grasp than allow him to torment her husband by causing her pain. She dropped her hands, allowing the eating knife to slide from her sleeve into her palm. Jerking against the rope binding her wrists with all her strength, it came apart. Rosalyne leaned forward slightly and arced her arm holding the knife out, twisting around and slamming her weapon into Rawlin’s throat.
The moment the blade pierced his skin, something whizzed by her. Suddenly, a baselard protruded from his one good eye. Both she and Rawlin screamed at the same time.
Strong arms seized her and dragged her away as her abductor swayed and then collapsed to the ground in a heap. Rosalyne closed her eyes and latched on to Edward’s waist, burying her face against his chest.
Edward unknotted the gag and pulled the cloth from her mouth. She gazed up at him, his image blurring thanks to the tears filling her eyes. Then his mouth crashed down on hers.
He tasted like freedom. Like love and honor and everything good in life. His kiss promised Rosalyne everything that words never could. It gave her hope. It brought her salvation.
Finally, he broke the kiss and studied her.
“I thought I had lost you,” he admitted. “I don’t think I could have gone on without you, my love.”
“But you didn’t,” she reassured him. “You came for me. You saved me.” She paused, a smile breaking out as she drank him in. “And we will never be parted again.”
“Let me free you,” he said. Edward released her and walked to Rawlin’s still body. He snatched the baselard from the man’s eye and strode back to her.
“Hold still,” he said. “Unlike you did before.” He cut through the rope binding her ankles together and tossed it aside.
“Like before?”
He stroked her hair. “I dropped to one knee to retrieve my blade, which I’d hidden in my boot. I thought if I pleaded with him for your life, I would sound weak and put him off-guard. As I grabbed the baselard and launched the weapon at him, you made your own move against him.” He kissed her again, hard and swift. “I thought for a moment that I might have killed you instead. Thank the Blessed Virgin that you are alive.”
Edward cupped her cheeks, his thumbs wiping away her tears. “You are quite brave, Rosalyne de Montfort. The bravest woman I know.”
She glowed at his compliment. “And I am the luckiest woman in England, for I have you as my husband, Edward de Montfort.”
He kissed her tenderly and then said, “I have a few people who would like to meet you.”
“Here? Now? Who?”
Edward grinned. “I did not come alone as I said. I had an entire party of people trailing me at a distance. My parents. Sir Hammond, one of their knights. And Timothy also accompanied us. He is the one who led me to you.”
She frowned. “Who on earth is Timothy?”
He laughed. “Apparently, the newest stable lad at Kinwick.” Smoothing her hair with his large hands, he said, “Mother and Father insisted they accompany me to Blethin Alley. They promised not to enter and endanger your life but I can’t keep them waiting any longer.”
“And we shouldn’t,” Rosalyne replied.
Edward wiped the blood from his baselard and slipped it back into his boot before entwining his fingers with hers. He led her to the door and opened it. They stepped outside and found everyone waiting across from the cottage.
Rosalyne found herself being embraced by Lord Geoffrey and Lady Merryn. Then she met Sir Hammond and a dirty child who beamed at her, which she assumed was the mysterious Timothy.
“Thank the Blessed Virgin that you are safe, Rosalyne. We need to get you back to Sir Harry’s and let me look at your face,” Lady Merryn said. “I have something that will help the swelling. Oh, I cannot believe what you have gone through, my dear.” The noblewoman looked upon her with warmth and kindness. “And I cannot wait to have you back at Kinwick. Just think, Geoffrey, we now have another daughter—and our Edward at Kinwick once again.”
“Life has been good to us, Merryn.” He placed an arm about his wife and looked to his knight. “Hammond, will you take care of things here? Mayhap young Timothy could help you.”
“Aye, my lord.” The knight frowned down at the boy. “Come along, lad. You can start earning your keep by doing what I say.”
“Sir Hammond?” Rosalyne touched his sleeve and the knight halted. “Besides Perceval Rawlin, there is another man inside. I fear Rawlin killed him in order to have a place to hold me hostage. Would it be possible to arrange for his burial?”
“Of course, my lady. I can do that and still be ready for us to leave tomorrow, once you and Sir Edward have delivered the king’s portrait to the palace.”
“The king!” Rosalyne cried. Sheepishly, she said, “I had forgotten all about him.”