Shattered Vows (23 page)

Don’t tell him he’s a knight.
She tried to turn her mind away from the thought, but once formed, it wouldn’t leave her.
Don’t tell him he’s a knight.

It wouldn’t be for long, just long enough for her to experience loving and being loved on her terms, with no reservations. He wouldn’t be a knight and she wouldn’t be the miller’s daughter – they would simply be a man and a woman in love.

‘Very well, my love,’ he was saying. ‘We’ll rest awhile but I’ll not leave you.’

She groaned. ‘Oliver, this is impossible.’

Smiling, he smoothed a lock of hair from her face. ‘It will be easier once you’ve caught your breath.’

‘I don’t mean that.’
If we stay together, I will be tempted to mislead you...

‘What do you mean?’

He sat on a fallen tree trunk and drew her onto his lap. His face was open. Candid and trusting. She closed her eyes and caught her breath. Her thoughts were all over the place. She would never be presented with such a chance again. She must guard her tongue most carefully. If she let slip his identity, all would be lost. She was at war with herself.
I can’t mislead him, I mustn’t.

What difference would a day or two more make? True, she’d be living a lie, but it would only be for a short time – either Oliver would come back to himself or Alfwold would come for her.

Alfwold. Would he have her branded an adulteress? It was one thing for Baron Geoffrey to take it upon himself to lock her into Oliver’s bedchamber, and quite another for her to agree to become Oliver’s
belle-amie
. She really ought not to be thinking about this until she had spoken to Alfwold about an annulment.

Leaning against a broad shoulder, she bit her lip.
I am considering becoming Oliver’s mistress!
The thought ought to shock her, but it didn’t. The thought of being separated from him was far more distressing. Stripped of the ambition that went hand in hand with his status, ignorant of the differences between them, he was temptation itself. She gave a deep sigh.

‘Angel?’

In the depths of the wood, a dog barked.

She smiled into his eyes, suddenly shy. ‘I’m sorry, my mind’s wandering. How do you feel? Your head must hurt.’

Rubbing the back of his scalp, he gave her a crooked smile. ‘It hurts like the devil. Rosamund-’ he broke off, studying her so carefully that she felt herself blush. It was as though he were seeing her for the first time. ‘Rosamund.’ He touched the top of her head, sliding his fingers into her hair, combing it.

She gave a little laugh. ‘It’s a complete tangle.’

His lips curved. He shook his head and his fingertips trailed slowly on, down over an ear, across her cheek. Her skin tingled. Her breathing was ragged. He was going to kiss her.

Please.

He lowered his head tentatively. It was as though they had never kissed before, and he was uncertain of his reception. His mouth was beautifully warm and their lips clung. His arm tightened about her waist, strong and welcome. Her limbs went weak. When he lifted his head, his eyes were black.

‘My Rosamund.’ He cleared his throat. ‘You really are mine, your kiss betrays it.’

She thrust Alfwold to the back of her mind. In her heart, she’d been Oliver’s since May Day. ‘I’m yours.’

The dark head lowered and again they kissed. It was tender and oddly innocent. Achingly lovely.

‘Mine,’ he murmured.

The kiss changed, becoming surer, deeper. Rosamund moaned, she could lose herself in his kisses. A piercing sweetness flooded every vein. He kissed her fiercely, hungrily. She felt the same way.

Oliver, I love you. I want this to last forever.

When they drew apart, they were breathless.

‘I needed that,’ he said, thumb stroking her waist. ‘I’ve been wondering what it would be like to kiss you properly. Angry for not remembering.’

She reached for his head.

He shook his head. ‘No more. Angel, this is neither the time nor the place.’

‘You said something similar earlier,’ she said, and immediately wished she could call back the words. She was stepping into dangerous waters.

His brow creased. ‘I don’t remember.’

She hesitated, choosing her words. There were so many things she mustn’t mention – Lance, the castle, his cousin...

If he remembered too soon, he would rush to pick up the threads of his lost life and this newly discovered innocence would be lost in a tangle of ambition and obligation. ‘It was earlier this evening. Do you remember taking me to the beach?’

The crease deepened and the dark head shook. His face was white. Whether this was thanks to the moon or because of the blow to his skull, she couldn’t say. ‘I don’t remember the beach. Remind me.’ He rubbed the bridge of his nose.

‘Later. You’re very pale, you should be resting after a crack on the head like that.’ Gently, she moved his hand aside. His cheeks were ashen. The handsome face was taut with pain. Lined with exhaustion. Strong as he was, he was not made of steel. ‘Before I forget, this is yours.’ She unhooked his purse from her belt. ‘I took it to stop Father Eadric and his friends from getting it.’

‘My thanks.’ Taking it from her, he fumbled over the fastening.

‘Allow me.’ Frowning thoughtfully, Rosamund pushed his fingers to one side – he looked utterly drained – and tied the purse to his belt. ‘I don’t think we should go any further tonight. Let’s find somewhere to sleep. It’s a pity Wulfric took your cloak, but if we curl up together-’

He touched his hand to her mouth. ‘I can hear barking...’

She listened. Not far away she could hear a series of excited yelps. Baron Geoffrey’s hounds barked in that way when closing in on their quarry...

‘It’s getting louder.’ She threw a look over her shoulder. She hadn’t noticed dogs at the rebel camp but that didn’t mean there weren’t any. Had Father Eadric learned of their escape? Was he coming after them?

‘At least one dog is hot on a trail – our trail?’ Oliver’s eyes glittered in a way she was coming to recognise. He was summoning strength from a hidden reserve.

‘It couldn’t be after us, our friends would be sure to go east.’

‘Why?’

‘Because that’s where the castle-’ she broke off abruptly. Holy Mother, she shouldn’t have mentioned the castle. She shot him a surreptitious glance but he was listening to the dog...or was it dogs? An entire pack might be after them...

Pushing her from his lap, he stood. ‘Which way?’ He gripped her hand.

‘Past the pool at the bottom of the falls and up the path to the top.’

‘Lead on.’

She lurched into a run. The yelps and barks were alarmingly close and, rather more worrying, it sounded as though someone was forcing their way through the undergrowth behind them. Twigs snapped and cracked. Whoever it was, they were confident enough not to muffle their approach. The track opened out and they tore up it, feet pounding in unison.

‘Hell, we’re too visible,’ Oliver said, panting.

‘Not far now.’ Rosamund was straining her ears for a subtler sound, the rushing of water. From a distance, the sound of the falls could be mistaken for thunder. A faint rumble brought a smile to her lips. ‘We’re almost there. It won’t be easy for them to follow once we get past the falls.’

They ran on. The barking got louder. More frenetic. An owl hooted and another gave an eerie echo.

Oliver groaned. ‘Pray that’s not an attack signal.’

They had reached the pool. Water thundered into it from the top of a steep bank, ruffling the surface, filling her ears with noise. Spray sparkled in the starlight. She looked up to the summit and grimaced. It was like looking up a cliff, they’d never make it, not with Oliver in this condition. A faint yapping was becoming audible over the thunder of the water.

Oliver put his lips to her ear. ‘Hurry and we’ll manage.’ There was no weakness in his voice, just grim determination. It was heartening to hear.

Tugging at his hand, she stepped boldly into the pool. They waded through it until they stood near the base of the falls. Water cascaded over them. They’d be soaked from head to foot, but the hounds would lose their scent. A wild laugh bubbled up. Rosamund struggled to contain it. If they’d stayed on the bank, they’d have been torn to pieces. Instead, they’d probably die of lung-fever.

‘I’ll take my chance with the lung-fever,’ she muttered.

The stones were worn smooth by the crashing waters. Slippery. She missed her footing. Oliver braced her, his arm steady about her waist. Foam frothed around their knees. Behind the wall of falling water the cliff shone like polished jet. There were no weeds, the falls had scoured them away. Oliver shot her a puzzled glance but thankfully he was accepting her guidance. She feared he was near to losing consciousness. She waded on, searching frantically for a foothold, praying that he wouldn’t faint before they were across. Her ears were full of water, her heart was hammering and she could hardly see, but she found the foothold she was searching for – a ledge hidden by the falls. She stepped onto it.

Water lapped about her ankles and she edged along, wary of slipping under the rush of water. The force could keep you under, in places it was strong enough to drown the king’s champion.

Rosamund had discovered the ledge one summer when she’d been a child. It had been searingly hot and after she’d been banned the use of the millpond, she and Lufu had taken to swimming in the pool beneath the falls.

‘The millpond’s too deep, you can’t swim here,’ her father had said. ‘And it’s unseemly. Not to mention that you disturb the eel traps. We lost a good meal last week because of your foolishness. Get along with you.’

The summer being so hot, the girls had come here instead. This pool, with its noise and foam, had been exciting. It looked more dangerous than the millpond, although they’d soon learned it wasn’t very deep. There were no eel traps to worry about. It was here that they’d learned to swim. As long as you didn’t swim directly beneath the falls, where the drag could keep you under, you were perfectly safe.

The concealed ledge ran across the river behind the curtain of the falls. If you walked along it you ended up on the opposite bank. The moorland track Rosamund was heading for ran on from there.

Oliver was holding her hand so tightly that it hurt. Water was everywhere. Coughing and spluttering, she pressed on, inch by careful inch. It felt like drowning. Needles of water jabbed at her skin. Underfoot, a stone rocked. Her feet slid out from under her, and icy water closed over her head.

‘Rosamund!’ Blood pounding in his head, Oliver hauled on her arm. He wasn’t going to lose her, he couldn’t. Lifting her clear of the water, he stumbled with her towards the bank. She choked and spluttered and sat down – half in and half out of the pond.

‘We’re across!’ she said, her breathing harsh and laboured.

Kneeling over her, heedless of the wet, Oliver pushed her hair from her face. ‘Are you alright?’

‘Yes.’ Her teeth chattered, but she found a smile and some of his tension ebbed away.

‘On your feet.’ He put iron in his voice. ‘Move.’

She moaned.

‘On your feet. If a dog reaches the pool before we’ve taken cover, all that effort to spoil our tracks will have gone to waste. It will follow by sight. On your feet.’

‘You’re inhuman.’ None the less, she levered herself upright, hooking her hand into his belt for support.

‘Realistic, my angel, realistic.’

They staggered up the bank with their arms about each other’s waists. Rosamund was at the end of her tether, he could feel her shaking. Holding her as firmly as he could, he eyed the gorse bushes edging the path. ‘Only a few more feet, angel. Stand firm.’

‘I...I’m trying.’

She took another wobbling step and all but collapsed. The gorse snatched at her hair, he felt it scratch his hand and then they were safe. She sank onto the grass behind the gorse. His lungs were bursting and he was covered in goose-bumps. They were dripping like bundles of wet linen, but they were safe.

Squatting on his haunches, he peered through the bushes. Down by the pool in a scrap of moonlight, there was movement, definite movement. His heart sank. ‘Hell.’

‘Oliver?’

‘We’ve not lost them. I don’t know how they’ve done it, for I’d swear they didn’t see us.’

‘That impossible. Hardly anyone knows this track, and I didn’t recognise those men as being native to Eskdale. They can’t know of it.’

‘See for yourself.’

A dog howled and her shoulders sagged. She touched his hand. ‘Oliver, you have to leave me. I can’t keep up. I’ll be alright. Leave me and follow the path-’

In a heartbeat, he was on his feet.
Leave Rosamund? Never.

‘Rosamund, get up.’ Rather to his surprise she obeyed, but it was clear she could go no further, she was swaying on her feet. He scooped her into his arms.

‘Oliver, no!’

‘I’ll not leave a woman to face a pack of dogs.’

He didn’t speak again, he couldn’t. He forced himself back onto the track, Rosamund held fast against his chest. She put an arm about his neck and clung. As he ran, her hair streamed over his hands. At his heels...barking. Ahead...? He had no idea.

What he did know was that the gap between hunter and quarry was closing. He also knew he couldn’t keep going for long. Gritting his teeth, he forced his stride to lengthen. Every step felt like a hammer blow to his skull, but he told himself that he was nearing the summit. His throat was on fire. It wouldn’t be enough. That yelping...and he would swear he could feel eyes boring into the back of his neck.

A high-pitched shout floated up from the bottom of the bank, he couldn’t make out the words. And then his ears started to betray him, all he could hear was the sea. Wave, after wave, after wave. The sound was distant, miles away. Perhaps...after all...they had shaken them off. He stumbled and slowed to a walk. His heartbeat raced on, he was sucking in great gasps of air.

‘Stop, you stubborn fool. Put me down.’

‘Must...go...on.’

Heather was growing across the path. They’d reached the top, this was the moor. The wind was so cold it cut like a knife. He stumbled again – his head was one expanding field of pain. The dark moor tilted and the moon and stars whirled. His body had turned to lead. He staggered and caught his boot in a clump of heather.