Shattered Vows (29 page)

She could only have been sleeping for a moment when something brushed lightly over her hair. ‘Who’s that?’ she muttered, her brain was too fogged for anything more.

A spur jingled. She looked up in time to see someone walking into the stairwell. The door closed behind a tall mailed figure. She had been too late to make out which knight it was, but the sudden pulsing of the blood in her veins gave her the answer.

Oliver.

Tired? She wasn’t tired. Scrambling up, she hurried after him, even though she didn’t have any idea what she would say when she caught up with him.
What am I to you? A lover? A friend? Will you ever love me?

Unfortunately, Oliver’s long legs were too quick and there was no chance of private conversation for when she reached at the top of the keep, his voice was coming out of the small bedchamber presently occupied by his wounded cousin.

‘He rambles yet,’ Lady Adeliza said. ‘But I have hopes, nephew, he’s strong. Your wench – remind me of her name?’

‘My wench, my lady?’

Lady Adeliza gave a dry laugh. ‘You know very well who I mean. Rosamund. The miller’s beautiful daughter.’

‘So you do know her name,’ Oliver said softly.

‘Touché, de Warenne. A hit.’

‘What of Rosamund, my lady?’

‘You mar your looks when you scowl, de Warenne,’ Lady Adeliza said. ‘Be at ease, that girl has been more use to me these past days than all my other ladies put together.’

‘I’m glad of that, my lady.’

‘Who’s there?’ the baron broke in. His voice was weak and querulous.

Rosamund went swiftly in, brushing past Oliver to reach the bed. The bedchamber wasn’t large, Lady Adeliza had insisted that her daughter-in-law’s confinement should take place in the main bedchamber and she had had her son carried to this smaller one. Save for the fact that a fireplace took up the whole of a wall, it was much the same as Oliver’s. A tapestry showing a hunting scene hung behind the bed.

Oliver was painfully conscious of Rosamund sweeping past him. The urge to snatch her to him and hold her close was intense. He ached to inhale the subtle fragrance of rose which she rinsed into her hair; he longed to hold that soft body close to his heart. Keeping his arms firmly behind his back, he laced his fingers together and tried not to stare at her. Clearly, he’d been too long in the rough company of soldiers. He was missing feminine company.

It took effort for Oliver to give Rosamund only the briefest of glances. He pinned his gaze on his cousin, but he’d made the most of that short glimpse. Every detail of her appearance seemed to have burned into his mind. She was wearing a blue gown he’d not seen before – a lady’s gown. Lady Adeliza must have given it to her. The colour became her, emphasising as it did the vivid blue of her eyes. Her cheeks were pale and there were dark smudges under her eyes. She’d darted him a glance from under her long lashes, and her lips had trembled. He wanted to tease them into a smile. Her hair was braided into a thick, glossy rope and bound with blue ribbon. It was pretty, but he wanted to untie the ribbon, that honey-gold hair was prettier undone.

Knocked back by the way his every nerve was aware of her, Oliver tried to concentrate on his cousin. Lord Geoffrey’s colour was high, his brown hair was drenched with sweat, and he was struggling to push himself up on the pillows. His eyes were glassy. Lord, he looked ill.

‘Be calm, Geoffrey.’ Lady Adeliza laid a firm hand on her son’s chest. ‘Or you will undo all our good work.’

‘Mother, you’ve not allowed de Warenne into the keep, have you?’ Sir Geoffrey asked hoarsely. Weakly, he pushed his mother’s hands aside.

Oliver kept his expression neutral. ‘Yes, cousin, I’m here,’ he said. ‘You must rest, you can trust me.’

‘Trust you?’ Baron Geoffrey choked. ‘For God’s sake, Mother, get him out of here! He’s planned everything, he’s after my lands.’ Chest heaving, he struggled to a sitting position.

Lady Adeliza exchanged glances with Rosamund. Between them, they guided Lord Geoffrey back under the covers.

‘He’ll kill me,’ the baron muttered, rolling his head from side to side. ‘He broke his bond, and a man who breaks his word is capable of anything. When he left the castle he had no intention of fulfilling his obligations.’

‘That’s not true, my lord,’ Oliver said. ‘I have not broken faith with you.’

Lord Geoffrey went still and his eyes cleared. ‘You should have been back at dawn, why weren’t you?’

‘Bodily weakness prevented me, my lord.’

Lord Geoffrey glanced briefly at Rosamund. His lip curled into a sneer. ‘Bodily weakness? That’s one way of putting it.’

Oliver’s face heated. ‘My lord, if I hadn’t gone after Rosamund, I would never have found the rebel camp.’

Lord Geoffrey’s eyes glittered, the fever was back. ‘That’s when you betrayed me, you’re after my lands!’

‘Ignore him, it’s the fever talking,’ Lady Adeliza said. She touched her son’s arm. ‘Geoffrey, the fever has you, you’re raving. And in any case your sons are next in line.’

‘Sons? Sons? I’ve only one son, Henry. And he’ll kill him too, to get his filthy hands on my lands.’

‘I’d better go,’ Oliver grimaced. ‘I seem to be making him worse.’

Lady Adeliza shook her head and her veil rippled. ‘Pay no heed to what he says, nephew, he’s out of his mind. Feel his head, he’s as hot as a smithy.’

Baron Geoffrey’s face gleamed with perspiration. He lay panting against the pillow – the brief conversation had sapped him of strength. Tenderly, Lady Adeliza wiped her son’s forehead with a damp cloth. She glanced across the bed at Oliver. ‘You may not have heard, nephew, last night Lady Margaret was safely delivered of another boy. I have told Geoffrey, of course, but he’s too sick to recall it. If he can’t remember he has another son, he certainly can’t cope with anything else.’

‘My lady, I am delighted to hear Lady Margaret and the child are well. I shall give my report to my cousin later.’

‘That might be best,’ Lady Adeliza said. ‘Come back tonight, he may be calmer by then. In the meantime, if he comes to his senses I shall be sure to tell him how much Ingerthorpe has relied on you these past-’

Below, a door slammed and a gust of laughter rolled up the stairs. Lady Adeliza pursed her lips. ‘Who’s making that noise? Rosamund, go and tell them to be quiet. My son needs rest.’

‘Yes, my lady.’

Oliver caught Rosamund’s arm as she made to leave and questioning blue eyes met his. ‘I’ll tell them on my way out,’ he said. ‘The men are celebrating – they might not heed a maid.’

‘Celebrating?’ Lady Adeliza said. ‘It’s over?’

‘Yes, my lady, for now. I came to tell you that we’ve routed the rebels. The camp is destroyed.’

Lady Adeliza let out a huge breath. ‘
Dieu Merci!
Thank God. Was their much slaughter?’

‘Some men were killed.’

‘On both sides?’

‘It couldn’t be helped. But we took many captives and weapons. And horses, including Lance.’

Oliver was still holding Rosamund’s arm. Reluctantly, he released her. He tried not to look too obviously at her mouth. She was smiling, pleased that the rebels had been routed but he sensed some reserve in her. That smile was half-hearted and he wanted her full smile.

‘Where have you put the prisoners?’ Lady Adeliza asked. ‘In the dungeons?’

‘Yes, when Geoffrey’s recovered, he’ll want to question them.’ Oliver couldn’t stop looking at Rosamund. Her eyes. Her hair. The tantalising way she bit her lip. Her womanly, beautiful shape. His gut twisted, and he cleared this throat. ‘My Lord of Hewitt has his prisoners too.’

‘You’ve done well, de Warenne,’ Lady Adeliza said. ‘If my son needs proof of your fealty, what you have done today should speak for you.’

‘Thank you, my lady.’

Rosamund knew she was flushing. Oliver was staring at her and Lady Adeliza was bound to have noticed. He might try for a little subtlety. His eyes had darkened and when he’d taken her arm, his fingers had rubbed up and down in a secret caress. She held down a sigh, and braced herself for one of Lady Adeliza’s sharp, knowing remarks. This was embarrassing. Desire was all very well but she wanted more than to be seen as his
belle-amie
. She wanted his love. However, this wasn’t the place for discussion, not with Lady Adeliza watching them like a hawk.

‘You’ll be back tonight, de Warenne?’ Lady Adeliza said, smiling.

Oliver bowed. ‘As you wish, my lady.’ The latch clicked and he was gone.

Rosamund turned back to the bed, the lord of Ingerthorpe had fallen asleep. ‘Shall I fetch more cool water, my lady?’

Lady Adeliza put her head to one side. ‘My nephew is a fine young man,’ she said, eyes shrewd. ‘He’ll make a handsome husband for my Cecily, don’t you think?’

Rosamund stared blindly at the narrow window. The bedchamber seemed very quiet, and she had a lump in her throat. ‘Sir Oliver is most handsome, Lady Cecily should be pleased to marry him.’

‘Yes, she should.’ Lady Adeliza’s voice faded as she dipped the cloth into the water and bent over her son’s perspiration-streaked face. ‘As would any real woman. Unfortunately, Cecily isn’t pleased and I find I don’t want to force either of them. Bah, what a rat’s nest.’ Lady Adeliza stared into the water bowl.

‘My lady?’

‘Nothing, my dear, nothing.’

Rosamund took up another cloth, dipped it into the cooling water and wrung it out. ‘My lady, it’s your turn to rest. Let me do this.’

‘You’re a sensible woman, Rosamund,’ Lady Adeliza said, heaving herself to her feet.

Rosamund gave her a straight look. ‘For a peasant, you mean?’ she asked, voice dry.

Lady Adeliza’s lips twitched. ‘You’re an impudent chit, but you’ll do.’

***

Three evenings later.

Rosamund paused as she trailed her fingers over the door of Sir Oliver de Warenne’s chamber. The wind was rushing past the narrow lancet, but other than the wind, she could hear nothing. There was no sound from either the bedchamber or the hall below. She’d been released from her duties too late to partake in the nightly revels and the victory celebrations would have been over days ago. Not that she minded.

Lord Geoffrey was sleeping – genuinely sleeping. His fever had finally left him late that afternoon. Apart from a brief walk round the outer bailey, Rosamund had watched over him most of the day. She should be pleased, her hard work hadn’t been wasted. Baron Geoffrey was well and Lady Adeliza regarded her with much favour.

She and Lady Adeliza had worked as one to save him, and Lady Adeliza had told her that she was grateful. She had also told Rosamund that she was not one to let her debts go unsettled.

Rosamund didn’t know what that meant. A permanent position in the castle, perhaps? Then she needn’t worry about returning to a cold welcome at the mill. Surely that should be a cause for jubilation? She would wear fine clothes, and eat good food every day....

However, at the moment she felt nothing, she was empty. Drained. And it was more than just physical tiredness – the realisation that Alfwold had only wanted her for the mill had shocked her to her core.
Alfwold wanted me as a means of getting the mill; my father tolerated me as a servant...

Were all men the same? Was everything a means to an end to them? She stared at the closed door, pressing her palm against the solid oak. Briefly, she’d thought that one man was different. Was she a fool to nurse the hope that she hadn’t been mistaken?

She hadn’t seen Oliver to speak to for days. Too taken up with nursing her lord, she’d hardly had time to eat or sleep. She’d eaten on the run and she’d slept on the long, hard bench at the foot of the baron’s bed. And now, at last, Lady Adeliza had waved her away.

‘Get to bed, Rosamund. My son no longer needs your assistance. Our thanks,’ Lady Adeliza had said.

Rosamund stared at Oliver’s door. Is he already in bed? Asleep? She could see him as clearly as if he was lying in front of her. His dark hair would be tousled, his long limbs would take up most of the bed...

Get to bed. Lady Adeliza’s parting words echoed through her mind. The question was...which bed? Should she be joining the other ladies in the women’s quarters or...?

Her fingers closed on the latch. She bit her lip in an agony of indecision. Should she go in? If only she’d been able to speak to him, but since coming back from the falls there’d been no chance. She had no idea what he expected of her. And with him due to marry Lady Cecily, she really didn’t have the right to lift that latch and go to him...

Chest aching, her fingers slid from the latch. She could assume nothing. She had no rights, it was Lady Cecily who would have the rights.

The wind whistled through the lancet, and the wall torch sputtered and went out. Head bowed, she caught up her skirts and felt her way down the dark spiral. A door clanged in the bowels of the castle.

Quick footsteps sounded on a landing above. ‘Rosamund?’

Oliver! Her heart began to thump. ‘Sir?’

A dark shape appeared at her side. ‘Give me your hand, angel, I can’t see a thing.’

She reached through the gloom and found his chest. Warm fingers gripped hers.

‘Where the devil are you off to?’ His fingers tightened. ‘You weren’t thinking of running away again?’

‘I was going to bed.’

‘You’re going the wrong way.’ He lifted her into his arms and forged up the winding stairs. ‘I won’t have you playing the coy maid tonight.’

‘Oliver!’ She clutched at his tunic, her heart light. ‘You’ll drop me.’

Laughter rumbled in his chest. ‘Never.’

At the bedchamber, he shouldered open the door and bore her inside. He kicked the door shut behind him and a wall candle hissed. Grey eyes gleamed down at her – he was panting and slightly flushed.

‘I can see I’ll have to take training more seriously if I’m going to carry you up to bed every night,’ he said, with a grin. His chipped tooth gleamed.

Rosamund’s heart began to race and that slow hollow ache started in her belly. ‘Every night?’ she asked, trying to harden her voice, but it meant a great deal that he’d come to find her. ‘Your lady wife wouldn’t think much of that. Put me down please, sir.’ She was painfully aware that those penetrating grey eyes might glean too much from her expression.