Shattered Vows (26 page)

She dug in her heels and looked to Alfwold for help, but his face was as hard as mill-stone grit. He was dragging her through the door, she could feel the wind as it swept over the heather.

‘No. No! Alfwold, I beg you, no!’

But Alfwold was deaf to all pleading and edged forwards, relentless. He wasn’t as tall as Oliver, but he had the strength of the devil and she soon found herself standing on the edge of the moor, screwing up her eyes against a shaft of sunlight. Lufu followed, wringing her hands.

Beads of sweat started on Alfwold’s forehead. ‘Holy Mother, save us,’ he said, looking back at the hut

Rosamund followed the direction of his gaze. After the dazzling brightness of the sun it was difficult to pick out what was happening inside, but a tall man stood by the box-bed, chest bare and clad only in his braies. Oliver was awake. Her heart jumped, she could see him dragging on his tunic. He took his time reaching the door, and when he got there he stopped to lean his shoulders against the door frame. He buckled on his sword belt and his grey eyes lifted.

Alfwold released her and stepped back.

‘Oliver!’ She stumbled towards him.

He looked drawn. The dark growth of his beard was masking his pallor. His mouth was set in a grim line and his eyebrows were drawn together. Was he in pain? When her eyes rose finally, inevitably, to meet his, she saw that he was examining her as minutely as she’d been examining him. The breath caught in her throat. There was something else, something lighting his eyes which she thought she recognised, for since meeting him, she had felt it herself often enough. He looked vulnerable, full of longing.

Her fingers itched to touch him, to smooth the crease from his brow, but she curled her fingers into her palms and steeled herself to resist. For all that she liked to dream, and for all Edwin’s misreading of her motives, she couldn’t deceive this man. And she knew that if she touched him without telling him that he was a knight, and thus was as far above her as the stars, she would be lost forever.

Had he heard anything of the conversation in the hut? Had his memory returned?

No matter. She couldn’t take another step towards him without him knowing the truth. Her heart must be in her eyes and she didn’t care.

The wind dropped and everything went quiet. She shivered and glanced up. There were a handful of clouds in the sky and a hawk, quartering the heather. There was nothing alarming in any of these things, so why this horrid prickling of her skin?

Oliver lounged, apparently relaxed on the door post, one thumb hooked casually over his belt. He was waiting for her to take that last step and touch him. It was as though he was daring her to move. A muscle flickered in his cheek. The grey eyes never left her. Try as she might, she couldn’t read him. She must tell him at once.

‘Sir Oliver?’ she said, making sure she stressed his title. She heard his swift intake of breath. Briefly, he shut his eyes. ‘Are you dizzy, sir?’ Some of the tension had left his face, but when he opened his eyes they were clouded.

‘Sir Oliver?’ he said.

She swallowed and nodded. ‘Sir Oliver.’

He smiled and she could no longer hold his gaze. She stared at the pulse in his neck. How much had he heard? Had he thought she would betray him?

He reached for her, extracting her hand from the folds of her gown. She hesitated before twining her fingers with his – the confusion and guilt remained. She couldn’t look at him and thus missed seeing his grey eyes soften as they rested briefly on her downbent head.

He pulled her against him and jerked his head at Alfwold. ‘You. Inside.’

Rosamund hadn’t spared Alfwold a thought since Oliver had stepped into the doorway. His scarred face was rigid, his eyes staring.

Oliver sighed and shifted. More of his weight leaned against her. His mouth was white about the edges.
He feels weak, this isn’t easy for him.
She pushed her shoulder under his arm and slid her arm about his waist. He laid his hand across her shoulders and held Alfwold’s gaze.

‘Alfwold?’

‘Sir?’

‘I’m not one for revenge,’ Oliver said.

Alfwold looked disbelievingly at him.

‘
Mon Dieu
, get inside, man, before I keel over. I merely want to talk with you. I’m hungry and I could do with a drink. Then I’ll leave you in peace.’

Alfwold went inside.

‘I’ve the thirst of a camel,’ Oliver said.

‘A camel? Whatever’s that?’ Rosamund asked.

Oliver grinned and squeezed her shoulder. That heart-warming light had appeared in his eyes, and his cracked tooth peeped out at her. ‘I’ll tell you later. In the meantime, I need to rest a little more. Help me inside, will you? I’m weak as a babe.’

***

‘Oliver, slow down!’ Rosamund said, panting as her feet slipped for the hundredth time on the steep, rock-strewn path leading down Blue Bank. Ahead, she could hear the faint grumble of the waterfall.

‘Almost at the bottom,’ he flung over his shoulder without slackening his pace. ‘The falls are just ahead.’

‘Yes, I can hear them. Must we go so fast?’

The water-skin hanging on a thong from Rosamund’s waist had slipped, it banged against her hips with every step she took. Irritably, she jerked it into place. She should have given in and let Oliver carry it. He’d wanted to, but back in Lufu’s hut he’d seemed so weak.

By rights, he should be resting, but he’d made it plain he intended to get to the castle with all speed. His pace was such that you’d never imagine he’d been lying senseless a few hours ago.

‘I don’t know how you can keep this up-’ she said, heart slamming as she snatched at a shrub for balance ‘-especially with that head of yours.’

He swung round. ‘I don’t waste breath bleating, that’s how.’ His voice held grim determination, but he was only human. There were dark rings under his eyes and his hair was damp with sweat.

The grumble of the falls turned into a roar and she gritted her teeth as she fought to keep pace. The path was precipitous, although Lord Geoffrey’s newest knight didn’t seem to be having any difficulty with it.

Unlike her. Stones shifted underfoot. Pebbles worked their way through the soles of her shoes. Something sharp dug into her heel. ‘Holy Virgin,’ she muttered, shaking her foot.

He turned and offered her his hand. By now they had passed the scrubby gorse bushes and were near the base of the falls. Spray cooled her face. Oliver’s eyes looked glassy.

‘You look half-dead,’ she said.

He grimaced ruefully. ‘My thanks.’

He guided her to a moss-clad boulder and she sat down. Dragging off her shoe, she probed for the pebble while Oliver sank to the ground and rested his arms on his knees. His chest heaved.

‘Why so much haste?’ she asked. ‘There’s no point killing yourself.’

Grey eyes held hers. ‘I’d like you to show me the location of the rebel camp and then I want you to direct me to the castle. It sounds as though I have duties which I’ve been neglecting. The baron will be relying on my help to muster the forces against the rebels. If I don’t get back quickly, I shall be deemed a traitor and my life will be forfeit.’ He lifted an eyebrow and gave her a straight look. ‘It’s possible my absence will already have condemned me.’

She tapped a shoe against the boulder. ‘How much do you... that is...how much do you remember?’

His face twisted. ‘I have a hazy recollection of a grey horse...’

‘That’s Lance, your destrier. The rebels took him. I think they wanted him as proof you were their prisoner. They went to negotiate your ransom.’

‘Then that’s another reckoning that I shall have to settle with Eadric and his gang. I’ll get Lance back.’ A crease formed in his brow. ‘I keep seeing a castle sprawled on top of a cliff. Is that-?’

‘That’s Ingerthorpe. You’re remembering!’

‘I could do with remembering more. Much of it is very hazy.’

‘You will soon remember everything, I am sure.’

‘Would that I were gifted with your faith. I know I was given a commission of some importance and I very much fear I should have been executing it at dawn. But as to the details...’ He ran his hand through his hair, fingering his wound, and his dark locks became more disordered than ever. ‘It was likely connected with those swine who clouted me. I pray this Baron Geoffrey is merciful towards forgetful knights. Holy Mother, what a mess.’

‘He might be lenient with you.’

Oliver eyes sharpened. ‘How so?’

‘He’s your cousin and you’re to wed his sister.’ She shoved on a shoe and pulled off the other one. ‘She’s the Lady Cecily.’

Oliver linked his hands and rested them on his knees. ‘That displeases you, as I recall.’

Rosamund cheeks grew warm. ‘You overheard us. It was not honourable to listen.’

His lips twitched. ‘It wasn’t something I intended to do. I was wandering in and out of my wits and couldn’t help myself. It was nigh on impossible to differentiate between dream and reality.’

Rosamund glared at her shoe and jammed it back on. ‘How much did you hear?’

‘I learned that I’m a knight, and that I owe my allegiance to Lord Geoffrey at Ingerthorpe. I rather imagine he’ll be relying on me to assist in rounding up the rebels who addled my brains.’

‘What else did you hear?’ she asked, watching him out of the corner of her eye.
Does he know I want him to love me, and that I would marry him if he asked me?

‘What else?’ His wide shoulders lifted. ‘Nothing of any import.’

‘Nothing of any import?’

He shook his head and she glimpsed his cracked front tooth. She clenched her jaw. ‘Then why insist I come back with you?’

Slowly he unclasped his hands. Holding her with his eyes, he pushed to his knees. He took her by the waist and his gaze dropped to her mouth. ‘Because you’re my lover?’

‘Not because you need me to take you to the rebel camp?’ She moistened her lips. Her mouth was dry and it was a struggle not to look at his mouth. She ached for his kiss – and a sign that he felt something for her. Although of course, even if he kissed her, she couldn’t be sure that what he felt was affection. He wanted her in his bed.

His hands fell from her waist and his eyes gleamed. ‘Of course! I knew there must be some good reason for bringing you with me but, sweet lady, it had quite escaped my mind.’

She jumped up and moved to the edge of the pool.

‘Take care, my sweet.’ His deep voice warmed her ear and a tingle ran through her. His arm slid about her. Warm lips moved softly on the nape of her neck and she shivered. It was too easy for him to affect her and he knew it.

‘Oliver, don’t.’
Not unless you love me.

She felt him stiffen. ‘My apologies, I thought you had a liking for my kisses. When we left the moor you were glad enough to accept my company in place of Alfwold’s.’

‘It’s not that-’ Her voice broke.

‘What then? My love?’

She felt him trying to turn her in his arms but she held her ground and stared at the tumbling water as it frothed and thundered into the pool. She couldn’t face him. He sounded so tender and it was agony. He was mocking her with false concern.

‘Rosamund?’

She took a deep breath, and faced him. Beads of spray were shining in his hair. ‘Don’t mock me, Oliver. Don’t make a game of me.’ She spoke so softly he had to stoop to catch her words.

He took her by the chin and his eyes darkened. For a heady moment she thought he would tell her how wrong she was, and that he’d never use her as a toy. Instead, he simply grinned. ‘You have a halo, love, an angel’s halo.’ He ran his fingers over the top of her head. ‘The water droplets look like pearls.’

Even as disappointment curled through her, she warmed at his touch. Long fingers found her ear and caressed it; they traced a path lightly across her cheeks to her mouth. She ached with longing, with loss.
I’m free, can you love me?

His eyes were alight – with mockery? She twisted away. ‘I think I hate you.’

‘I don’t believe you.’ His voice was warm, it held promise. ‘You like it when I touch you.’ He kissed her forehead and she put her palm on his chest to ward him off. To her shame, her fingers clutched at his tunic. ‘You like it when I kiss you.’ Catching her hand he lifted it to his lips. He shifted closer and before she could evade him, his mouth was on hers.

She abandoned any attempt to twist away and lost herself in the kiss. His lips burned. She felt him teasing her mouth open. He tasted achingly sweet. The moment her tongue tangled with his, the kiss changed. He gripped her shoulders and kissed her hard. He was ruthless. Hot. Inescapable. This was a searing, branding kiss – it felt as though he were marking her for his own.

He lifted his head, and cloudy grey eyes stared into hers. They were both breathless. ‘You like my touch.’

‘That’s why I hate you,’ she said, with a shy smile.

He smiled back and she caught sight of that chipped tooth.

‘You are an arrogant swine.’ She touched her mouth. ‘You bruised me,’ she said, though she knew her expression betrayed her. She’d needed that kiss.

His fingers were weaving in and out of her hair. ‘Your halo’s reappeared. It’s beautiful, like a rainbow.’

‘A halo, that’s very apt – do you know what this waterfall is called?’

‘If you recall, my love, there’s not much I do know at the moment.’ His eyes were bleak.

She stroked his cheek. ‘You will remember.’

‘I pray so.’

‘Oliver, you will. You remembered the castle, the rest will come in time.’

‘And what am I supposed to do while I wait? I must be mad to think I can bluff my way through this with addled wits.’

‘You’ve got me, I’ll help. You can trust me.’

‘Can I?’

His voice was so dry, she felt herself flush. ‘Of course you can. I’m not deceiving you.’

He gave her a penetrating look. ‘I hope not, but it’s entirely possible that when I awoke and stopped Alfwold taking you back to the mill, you decided it was in your interests to be honest with me. You know I heard much of what was said. I wonder what would have happened if I hadn’t overheard you...and if Alfwold hadn’t arrived at the shepherd’s hut? It’s interesting to speculate, don’t you think?’