Page 82 of The Raven and the Rose
Joanna looked at her daughter with admiration. “’Tis said he is a young man. If he has a young man’s appetites, he will not be immune to your beauty.”
Kate brought a heaping tray for Joanna, for she knew what a lusty eater she had always been. Roseanna said, “Kate, find Mr. Burke and come back. I want to speak with you both.” When they returned and stood waiting for her decisions, she was very grateful to have such loyal people who really cared about what happened to her. “Mother is taking my son to Castlemaine. Alice and Rebecca will accompany them. I must leave tomorrow on an important mission, and I want you both with me. Ravenspur’s fleet of merchant ships is anchored at Liverpool. I must speak with the captains and get the ships safely out of the country. They are responsible for much of Ravenspur’s wealth, and I cannot let them fall into the hands of the Duke of Clarence. Mr. Burke, do you think it would be feasible for them to sail out of Drogheda?”
He nodded. “Aye. The Boyne empties into the sea close by Drogheda.”
“Good. You’ll both come with me to Liverpool? Tell no one,” she cautioned. “We travel in secret.”
James Burke spoke up. “The most direct route is through Derby. There is a Roman road from that town that leads directly to the coast.”
Roseanna spent the next twenty-four hours patiently trying to feed her son bread and milk. He ate it hungrily, yet still cried for his mother’s breast as if that were the only thing that would satisfy him. Kate fashioned him a dummy teat that he sucked willingly enough, but he screamed furiously when no milk was forthcoming. Finally Roseanna came to a hard decision. “Mother, my time is running out. I want you to leave for Castlemaine today. Little Ned won’t starve; his appetite is too voracious for that. He’ll adjust much more quickly when I’m not available.”
Once the child was not there to occupy every waking moment, she found herself longing for Roger. She busied herself with preparations for the journey to Liverpool throughout the day, but that night she found she couldn’t sleep because her body ached for him. Thinking back, she found it incredible that she had ever rejected him, and she regretted all the time she had wasted defying him. Yet it had been a sort of mating dance they had performed; irresistibly, male and female had been drawn together, becoming one. But how cruel it was to be wrenched apart! She felt mutilated.
It was late when the closed carriage drew up at the innyard in Derby. James Burke went into the hostelry while the women waited inside the coach. He secured two bedrooms and a private dining parlor and asked for extra logs for its fire.
Roseanna pulled her hood closely around her face as she quit the coach and entered the inn. She did not remove it until they were safely ensconced inside the private parlor. A door that joined the room to another private parlor opened and a servant brought an armful of logs. Briefly, before the door was closed, Roseanna saw a man staring at her with open admiration in his eyes. She was used to men staring boldly at her and thought nothing more of it.
The young man in the next room immediately inquired about the lady’s identity. The innkeeper could tell him nothing. He sent wine around to her; it was politely refused, and he felt thoroughly frustrated.
He was a young nobleman returning from Coventry, where he and the other earls of the realm had been closeted with Warwick, deciding England’s future—if they could ever come to an agreement. He did not know what intrigued him more, her outrageous beauty or the air of mystery surrounding her, but in that one brief glimpse he had been snared.
Roseanna would not have been indifferent if she had known the man occupying the other private parlor was the Earl of Lincoln.
She met with the captains of Ravenspur’s merchant fleet. At least two of them were familiar with the Drogheda estate in Ireland. She appointed one of them captain over the others and authorized him to take care of her son’s shipping enterprise. She told them they must never drop anchor in an English port unless King Edward was returned to the throne. She arranged to travel to Ireland the following summer, when most of them would be returning from trading ventures in far-off lands.
It would be easy to sail to Ireland with them and thereby escape the Duke of Clarence. She had the deed to the estate in Drogheda, which Ravenspur had given her. It was separate from the other landholdings and could not be taken from her, but if she abandoned Ravenspur, it and the other castles would be snatched from her son forever. Resolutely, she prepared to return home.
The closer she got to Ravenspur, the more she dreaded another encounter with the Duke of Clarence. She shuddered. The memory of him clung to her like scum on a pond! She calmed herself by making plans to visit the Earl of Lincoln and beg him for his aid. Upon her return, she rested for one day only, for she found herself at the upper windows anxiously scanning the countryside so often that she knew she could not let another day pass without taking action.
The ancient town of Lincoln was pre-Roman in origin; it was dominated by a cathedral built by William the Conqueror four centuries before. The castle seemed ugly to Roseanna after the elegance of Ravenspur, but it was a formidible stronghold. She took Kate with her to attend to her toilette, for Roseanna was a woman who knew the true value of appearance. She was a woman appealing to a man, and she intended to use every feminine device she possessed.
There was nothing she could do about the color of her gown: she was in mourning, and it had to be black. But she chose the finest black silk gown, which rustled provocatively; its neckline, which seemed modest, was deceptive in that it molded her breasts and exposed them when she dipped into a deep curtsey. She had swept her hair back to show off her heart-shaped face. It was held in place by a gold filigree clasp, then fell straight down her back in a silken waterfall. With her hair pulled back, her cheekbones stood out, and her eyes were slightly slanted. Her mouth was painted the same deep luscious red as the rubies in the diamond necklace Roger had gifted her with. Its huge pearl nestled in the deep valley between her breasts.
The castle chamberlain led her into the reception room, where the earl received the people of Lincolnshire who requested audiences with him. A calmness came over her. The Earl of Lincoln was seated at an ornate refectory table doing paperwork, when he glanced up and saw her approach. His eyes widened, and he was on his feet instantly, coming forward to meet her.
She was surprised by his youth. He could be no more than twenty-five. He was of medium build but so good-looking, she couldn’t help but stare. He had silver gilt hair and silver eyes.
“Who are you?” he asked, forgetting his manners completely. His voice was deep and rich as if it belonged to a much older man.
She sank into a graceful curtsey that displayed her magnificent breasts. “I am Lady Roseanna, Baroness of Ravenspur.”
“I’ve seen you before,” he told her.
Her eyebrows went up in a question, and he supplied, “At the inn in Derby a fortnight past.”
The corners of her mouth went up deliciously. “You were the gentleman who stared so boldly?”
“I confess I was, madame. You were right to treat me with disdain.”
Her lashes swept to her cheeks. “I—I am recently widowed, unprotected. I am easy prey, my lord.”
He stiffened. “Some man is forcing his attentions on you,” he said with perception.
She sighed deeply and sadly and nodded. “I came to you for advice, my lord. Though you and my husband were on different sides, you are technically my overlord.”
“Who is this man who dares offer you insult?” he asked.
Her eyelashes sparkled with unshed tears. “I am frightened to tell you his name,” she murmured.
