Page 34 of His Betrothed
Chapter 10
Spencer awoke at dawn, having slept poorly. He couldn’t stop thinking of the rumors Roselyn had hinted at. He’d been gone from England well over a year, and his brother was supposed to be taking care of everything.
What was being said about him in London, and how could he pry for more information without sounding suspicious?
He heard the wood creak above as she dressed, and hecut another mark in the floor. Eleven days left.
She descended the ladder, giving a start as she looked at him. “You’re not usually awake,” she murmured, turning away.
“I couldn’t sleep well.”
She hesitated, glancing toward the door he’d barricaded with the cupboard. “Neither could I.”
He waited to be overwhelmed by his usual anger toward her, but couldn’t summon it as easily. She broughthim bread and cider beforehe could come to the table, and he pushed himself to a sitting position.
She straightened, and in the firelight he saw a shadow on her neck that disturbed him. “Come here,” he said, frowning.
She seemed too tired to protest as she knelt down. “Is something wrong with the food?”
He ignored her words, reaching out to lift her chin, making himself ignore the softnessof her skin. She inhaled swiftly, but didn’t pull away. Spencer saw faint bruises around her throat, the kind that could come only from a man’s hands.
“The Spaniard tried to strangle you,” he said, as a wave of frustrated rage swept through him.
She tried to pull away but he grasped her arm and held her near. He brushed the back of his finger against a bruise and she flinched, the pulse beatingat the hollow of her throat. Her skin was translucent, delicate.
“Are you going to finish the deed for him?” she asked.
“Of course not!” He let her go, not quite certainwhathe’d meant to do.
She stood up and he took a quick gulp of cider, unable to meet her eyes. For a moment he’d felt fiercely protective, outraged that someone had dared to touch…whom? His nurse? His betrothed? What was Roselynto him now, that he should feel such emotion?
He didn’t like it, but seeing the wounds she’d suffered because of him made things…different.
“Roselyn.”
She looked over her shoulder at him.
“I need to walk again today.”
She raised an eyebrow and waited. Why didn’t she just nod her head in agreement?
He let out his breath in a sigh. “Would you help me, please?”
She leaned back against thecupboard and folded her arms over her chest. “I could return from my chores in an hour or so and work with you, and then perhaps later in the afternoon again.”
“Thank you,” he said, studying her until she turned away. “And Roselyn, if you must go outside, be very careful.”
He saw her stiffen, saw the shudder she couldn’t hide. “Do you think another Spaniard could be out there somewhere?”
“Idoubt it. If he had a partner, they would have come together to overwhelm us.”
“I won’t go farther than the bake house,” she murmured, sitting down at the table to break her fast.
After milking the goats, Roselyn was kneading dough in the bake house, wondering if shewould ever get over the feeling of being watched. Just when she was starting to relax, instead of looking over her shoulderconstantly, she heard footsteps in the courtyard.
Her heart suddenly pounding, she picked up a knife and whirled toward the door.
Francis Heywood stood in the doorway, gazing at her in concern. “Lady Roselyn? Is something amiss?”
