Page 76 of The Raven and the Rose
Bryan had trouble making a coherent speech, but he knew his lover would withhold his release until he obeyed him. “It must be in bed…. She must die—as she reaches her climax.”
“Yes, yes, you must plunge in the knife exactly when she comes!” gasped Jeffrey, excited by his own words and by the deed he pictured in his head. They cried out as they spent together.
With swift action Joanna took up her son’s crossbow and fired an arrow at the bodies on the bed, which joined them forever throughout eternity. The arrow impaled both naked bodies, piercing Bryan’s heart and killing him instantly. Not so Jeffrey; he lay writhing and screaming, attached to the body of his dead lover.
Roseanna had been rooted to the floor as the nightmare scene unfolded before her eyes. The evil in the room had had to be destroyed, and she knew that if her mother hadn’t taken action, she would have.
The two women approached the bed without hesitation, joined solidly in their purpose. Roseanna took a small knife from the belt at her waist, but Joanna held out her hand steadily. Roseanna placed the knife in her mother’s hand and watched with horrified fascination as she gave her son the coup de grace by slitting his throat.
“I could forgive him everything but the slow poison. Poison is a coward’s weapon.”
Roseanna gathered her mother into her arms and rocked her until her body turned limp. Then Roseanna urged her from the room. She took the chatelaine’s ring of keys from her mother’s waist and locked the chamber doors behind them.
In Joanna’s workroom, Kate Kendall, Roseanna, and Joanna spoke in hurried, low tones. “I must nurse him back to health. If he dies, I will never forgive myself,” sobbed Joanna.
Roseanna said firmly, “Go to my father now. Keep Alice with you, but say nothing to her. This must be a conspiracy of three. Kate and I will do what is necessary. We will say they died in a hunting accident.”
“I will never hurt Neville by telling him that his son tried to poison him,” said Joanna firmly.
“Of course not,” agreed Roseanna. “He too must be told that it was a tragic hunting accident. But keep the news of his son’s death from him until he is stronger. Once we are sure he will recover, we can tell him. I will stay at Castlemaine to comfort him until he is strong enough to command his own men again.”
They all agreed to the plan, and Kate and Roseanna set about the unpleasant task of separating the bodies and preparing them for burial. They burned the bloody sheets and dressed the young men in their finest doublets. When news of the hunting accident reached the Castlemaine men-at-arms, they did not ask many questions, for they had little love for their lord’s arrogant son who ordered them around as if they were dogs.
The following day brought news of a terrible feud between the Welleses and the Dymokes, two prominent families in Lincolnshire. Over the next weeks, the feud rapidly spread into a rebellion against the King. Since both Castlemaine and Ravenspur were in Lincolnshire, it touched all their lives closely. On March seventeenth— St. Patrick’s Day—Roseanna decided she had better return to Ravenspur, for she knew that if there were trouble, her husband would be returning immediately.
Joanna bade her daughter farewell. “Your father is still too weak to lead his men into a fight, although he argues otherwise. Tell Ravenspur that if he wants to add the fighting men of Castlemaine to his own, he is welcome.”
That night Roseanna prepared for bed, happy to be home at Ravenspur. She warmed her hands at the fire, then pressed them to her abdomen where the child nestled. She hoped that the ugly ordeal she had undergone would not mark the child in any way. She drew back the curtains of the great bed to let in the warmth from the fire and smiled at Kate as she climbed the three steps up into the bed. “I feel guilty about taking you away from my mother, Kate. She probably needs your strong shoulders to lean on more than I do.”
Kate shook her head. “Joanna is very strong, and so are you for that matter. But as long as you are with child, my place is with you.”
Somewhere on the far side of midnight, in the long hours before dawn, Roseanna came up slowly from a deep slumber. Her heart leaped as she realized Roger had tumbled into the bed beside her. At the time when Ravenspur had received the urgent messages from the King, he had been over a hundred miles away, behind the impassable mountains of Wales. He and his men had ridden nonstop through snow, day and night back to Lincolnshire—no easy task in winter. Once they had crossed the Welsh border, they rode north across flat Cheshire Plain; then they had climbed through the Penine Hills, where the cold rain came down in bucketfuls. There he met up with Lord Stanley, the greatest lord in Lancashire and Cheshire; Stanley had ten times as many men as Ravenspur. He was Warwick’s brother-in-law, so Roger knew he was on his way to aid Warwick and not the King. Roger recognized the blue and white banners instantly with their golden Eagle’s Foot and Three Stags’ Heads.
Ravenspur dismissed the herald sent to him. “Go back and tell Lord Stanley I’ll have a word with him. Tell him I act on the King’s behalf.”
Soon Stanley rode up flanked by two men-at-arms; Ravenspur did not hesitate. “I wish to use this road unmolested. If you do not move your army aside within the count of ten, I shall ride straight through it.” He held up both hands and began to clench one finger at a time. Lord Stanley stared, aghast. Ravenspur had the nerve of all the devils in hell; he hadn’t even bothered to use the forms of address proper for an earl of the realm. When Stanley saw this determination, he changed his mind about aiding Warwick.
This night, when Roger fell exhausted into the bed, he mumbled, “I didn’t mean to awaken you, darling.”
She drew his roughened hand to her belly, where the child kicked vigorously. “I don’t mind, but he does.”
He was asleep between one breath and the next. Roseanna scanned his dark features where the firelight illumined them. He looked much younger in sleep and disturbingly vulnerable, she thought with a catch in her throat. She had longed for him to return so that she could pour out the horror of the ordeal she and her mother had gone through and receive his absolution. But as she watched him sleep, she knew she wouldn’t burden him with her own conscience. He was burdened enough with leading his men to protect the King and the realm.
When Roger awoke, her breast was hot against his cheek. He gently played with the nipple to rouse her so they could make love before he had to leave again. This precious time at home was time stolen from the King.
Everynight since he’d been separated from her, his body had screamed aloud its need to be enclosed within hers. Slowly he drew down the covers, kicking them to the foot of the bed so that he could enjoy the full beauty of her nakedness and later observe their two bodies fuse together in their mating. An urgency in the very air told them that they would soon be parted again; their loveplay was rough and frenzied in its intensity.
His lips kissed and sucked and licked her entire body; her hair was wrapped around him, and he gloried in the delicious scent of her, filling his senses with the taste and touch of her.
Roseanna’s emotions were so intense, her kisses turned to bites. Her hot mouth moved down from his throat and across his wide, muscled chest. She stroked his maleness with hot hands, feeling his crisp black hair against her palms. Suddenly she wanted to kiss him there, and she moved down his body with her burning mouth. No experience had ever been as sumptuous as this one for them both. Roger was so wild for her that with one swift, smooth movement, she was beneath him and he straddled her. He sat back on his haunches to catch his breath, and his great lance thrust forward.
Suddenly he lifted her up from the bed, cradling her in his massive arms, and lowered her onto his weapon. They rocked back and forth until Roseanna shuddered with her fulfillment. Then he pressed her back down to the bed and, towering above her, impaled her deeply until it brought his own shuddering climax.
When their breathing slowed, he looked down at her, his dark eyes slumbrous with love.
“Oh, Roger, you are the strongest man I’ve ever known. I feel so safe with you. What am I going to do when you are gone?” she whispered on a half-sob.
After having tasted her richness, he felt like a god— invincible. He tried to calm her whispered fears.
