Shattered Vows (12 page)

There was more though – Sir Geoffrey wasn’t being entirely straight. There was something unpleasant behind his apparent generosity, something which he was taking care not to mention...

‘You are presumptuous, Oliver,’ he said. ‘I was speaking of Cecily, not Blanche. It is Cecily I would have you wed.’

There was a heavy silence, and Oliver’s face went blank. Yes, something here was very wrong. Oliver was wearing the face that appeared whenever he was struggling to hide some deep emotion. Watching him, Rosamund felt a pang of sympathy. Sir Geoffrey was offering to further his ambitions, but Oliver was going to have to pay a hefty price.

As the silence drew out the hairs lifted on Rosamund’s neck. What was that price?

‘Cecily. I see,’ Oliver said, in resigned tones. ‘In order to achieve my knighthood I must wed your sister Cecily.’ He shook his head.

‘Her birth’s better than yours.’

‘Without doubt, but...Cecily?’ Oliver was clearly at a loss for words.

Sir Geoffrey made a sound of exasperation. ‘That wasn’t quite the reaction I was hoping for.’

‘My apologies, cousin, but...Lady Cecily is...hell burn you, the girl bolts like a frightened colt every time I go near her, I haven’t had a word out of her in two weeks.’

‘It takes time, she’s not used to you.’

‘It will take more than time to mend what ails her.’

‘You refuse?’

‘I haven’t said so.’ Oliver glanced at Rosamund and scrubbed his face with his hands. ‘
Mon Dieu
.’

The Lord of Ingerthorpe narrowed his eyes. ‘Oliver, when I told you I didn’t expect complete fidelity I wasn’t suggesting that you should betray your knightly oath to me, your lord.’

Oliver’s head shot round. ‘Cousin?’

The baron gestured at Rosamund. ‘It was your wedding vows I was referring to. No-one could expect you to keep them, not with Cecily as your wife. But I must find her a husband. I want her safe and you’re kin. You’ll be as kind to her as any man alive. No, my lad, I wouldn’t expect any man to be faithful to Cecily. In my view, a knight is answerable to his lord alone. Keep faith to me, serve me well, and as far as I’m concerned you may take your pleasure where you choose.’

Oliver scowled.

‘Well, what do you say? Will you take Cecily to wife?’

Rosamund gripped the linen sheet.

‘Lord, that girl has speaking eyes.’ Sir Geoffrey said. His tone was cynical. ‘I can see you might not need words with her. Very well, if it’ll seal the deal, I’ll throw in the girl. You can have the knighthood you covet and this wench if you marry Cecily.’

‘But, my lord,’ Rosamund had to speak up. ‘I’m married to Alfwold!’

The baron drew himself up to his full height. ‘I think, my dear, you are in danger of forgetting who is Lord of Ingerthorpe.’

Cold sweat prickled down her back. ‘No, my lord, I have not forgotten, but-’

‘What is your name?’

‘Rosamund.’

‘Rosamund, I am lord here and I’ll not have a drab of a girl dictate terms.’ He turned back to Oliver, who was watching them, flexing and unflexing his fingers. ‘Your answer, cousin?’

‘I accept your terms. All of them.’ Oliver said, curtly. His face was well guarded, but she knew from his tone that he was holding back anger – Oliver didn’t like being forced any more than his lord.

Sir Geoffrey grinned and clapped Oliver on the shoulder. ‘I knew you were my man. Here’s my hand on it, we are agreed.’

‘Aye, damn you, we are agreed.’

The door had no sooner shut behind Baron Geoffrey than Rosamund let loose her fury.

‘You swine! You vile, arrogant swine! How could you? What do you think I am? Do I not have feelings? I hate you, do you hear me? I hate you!’

‘I should think they’d hear you in Paris, my angel.’

‘I am not your angel! Is it not enough that I am brought here against my will and mauled and-’

‘Hardly mauled, Rosamund.’

The dry tone fuelled her rage. ‘And mauled, and insulted – called a whore. You call yourselves men? Noble men? Pah! You’re not men, you’re rutting swine!’

Oliver closed the gap between them and brought his face close to hers. ‘You were not averse to sharing my sty last night,’ he said, quietly.

She jerked her gaze away. She was uncomfortably aware that her body had reacted instantly to his nearness. Her breath had caught in her throat and she knew she was blushing. Hopefully, he’d take it for anger...

Oliver caught a strand of her hair and wound it thoughtfully round his forefinger. His expression softened. ‘Rosamund.’ Shaking his head, he released her hair and scooped up the blue gown. ‘You’d better clothe yourself...’ he cleared his throat ‘...otherwise I shan’t be responsible for my actions and will indeed become the beast you named me. Hurry, we’re expected in the hall.’

Running his finger down her cheek – his touch was light, but it burned – he turned his back on her.

She didn’t need to be told twice. Yanking the gown over her head, she scrambled up, shaking out the full skirt to remove the creases. She started at the side lacings.

‘Oliver, what will you do? You can’t keep me here, I’m a married woman, and my duty is to my husband.’

‘Your obedience to your lord comes first.’

‘How can that be? I’m not a serf, I was born a free woman. My father was given his freedom when he got tenancy of the mill.’

Oliver turned and frowned at her. ‘Hurry up, what’s taking so long?’

‘It’s the lacings. They’re awkward to get at, and I’ve never worn a gown with such long sleeves, they’re getting in the way.’

‘Allow me.’

Rosamund held still as Oliver tightened up the fastenings, jerking and jolting her in his impatience. She watched him out of the corner of her eye – he was wearing his distant look.

‘It matters not that you are a freewoman,’ he said. ‘If the lord commands you, you must obey. Baron Geoffrey’s word is law.’

She shook her head. ‘Fine lord he is. He snatches me from my husband and my maidenhead is stolen. I’m insulted. He threatens me himself. And if that weren’t enough, he rubs salt into the wound by offering me to you as part of a bargain whereby you achieve your knighthood.’ Her voice rose. ‘He threw me in with the deal in very much the same way as he throws largesse to the children after the harvest supper. And you-’

‘Aye, Rosamund, what did I do that was so very wrong?’ Oliver asked. There was a strange glint in his eyes.

‘You accepted his terms without so much as a murmur of protest! Holy Mother, where’s your sense of justice?’ She put scorn into her voice. ‘I judged you to be upright, to be honest – but you’re worse than a cheating whore, far worse.’ Striving for calm, she took the comb from the coffer, divided her hair, and deftly braided it.

‘How so?’ His voice was cold.

‘Whores don’t tend to involve others in their sordid little deals. You, however-’

‘Enough!’ He raked back his hair. ‘If I hadn’t intervened, you might have found yourself Geoffrey’s leman. I thought I did right by stepping in. Maybe I misread you, maybe you are angry at a lost opportunity.’ His lip curled. ‘After all, who would bed with a mere squire when they might bed their liege lord instead?’

‘Why you...you...’ Words failed her.

Grey eyes bored into her. ‘As for this choice you seem so intent on...if you put your wits to some use, you’d see that I have no choice either. I refuse to end my days as a squire, I will be knighted. I am new to Ingerthorpe but my cousin is giving me a chance. What kind of a fool would I be to let a peasant maid come between me and a knighthood?’ He sighed. ‘Rosamund, it was not at my instigation that you were included in the deal. So, think again, angel, before you cry to me that this is not to your liking.’

Rosamund glared up at him, she was shaking with anger. ‘At least we know where we stand. And what to expect from each other.’ She tossed her braids over her shoulders. ‘Hadn’t you better escort me to the hall?’ She gave him a sweet smile. ‘I hope I don’t shame you, for I’m a low-born peasant, and I’ve never broken bread in a castle before.’

She laid her hand on his arm, for all the world a grand lady and started to the door. She didn’t see the grudging admiration lighting his eyes.

***

Oliver led Rosamund to a place on one of the trestles, and his fingers tightened briefly on hers. A caress? She looked up in time for him to drop her hand, give her a formal bow, and stride off to the high table on the dais where Sir Geoffrey sat with his family and intimates.

A few cursory introductions were made. Rosamund sat stiffly on the bench, hoping she would remember the names. She felt very out of place. The Great Hall was huge, as large as the village church, and she was hemmed in on one side by a black-eyed ladies’ maid called Inga, and on the other by a plump, red-cheeked nurse whose duty it was to keep an eye on the lord’s son and heir, Henry. The nurse’s name was Marie.

‘I don’t know what the world’s coming to,’ Inga said, looking down her nose at Rosamund.

‘What’s that?’ Marie asked, speaking through a mouth crammed with fresh bread.

Inga made an extravagant gesture which dug Rosamund in the ribs and almost had an ale jug fly off the trestle.

Grabbing the jug, Rosamund pushed it safely to the middle of the board.

Inga leaned in and lowered her voice. ‘Sir Geoffrey’s taken to throwing peasant’s wives at his squires...’

Rosamund’s jaw tightened, and her cheeks scorched.

‘...And then they are brought to table, stinking from the midden and we must break bread with them. Marie, I don’t know how you can enjoy your meat sitting next to her. She’s a whore, a verminous whore.’

The nurse glanced at Rosamund, and wiped the back of her mouth with her sleeve. ‘Pot calling the kettle black, is it?’ she remarked lightly.

Inga’s face froze. She hunched her shoulder on them and turned huffily to a groom seated at her other hand.

‘Pass the loaf,’ Marie said, winking at Rosamund. ‘Thank you, love. Don’t pay no mind to Inga. She’s not wed, and I can tell you she’s no innocent. Saints, there’s not much I can’t stomach, but hypocrisy sticks in my gullet.’ Settling more comfortably on the bench, Marie picked up her cup. ‘This is a good brew, you should try it. Here, take some bread. You’ve got to eat, girl.’

Rosamund found herself warming to Marie. She took a chunk of bread, and managed a smile.

‘That’s better,’ Marie grinned. ‘Never let them see that they’ve got to you, it only encourages them. What you need is some good meat inside you – build up your strength.’

Maybe Marie was right. After a few mouthfuls Rosamund was better able to take stock of her surroundings. Last night she had been blind to everything but her own terror.

Ingerthorpe Great Hall was famed for miles about because rather than being rectangular it was round. It was large and airy and magnificent. The roof beams arched up and met at a central point. They were painted in deep blues and reds. On the walls, every available inch of plaster had been decorated with murals and patterns. It was true that the murals lay beneath a light film of dust and soot, but none the less Rosamund had never broken bread in anywhere half as grand.

Baron Geoffrey’s servants and retainers were ranged about on trestles set up in the central space. The high table overlooked all from a dais in front of the wide fireplace, so those privileged enough to sit there had the warmth of the fire at their backs. Not so Rosamund. Her table was at right angles to the raised high table, and everyone sitting with her had to suffer the draughts from two stairheads.

Oliver was in earnest conversation with his neighbour, he didn’t look her way.

The rushes rustled and something warm brushed across Rosamund’s feet. Rats? With a shudder, she leaned back to peer beneath the board.

‘It’s only the hounds. Throw them a lump of gristle and they’ll go on to the next person,’ Marie said. With a contented sigh, she pushed the bread away. ‘That’s better, I was so hungry, I couldn’t think. Tell me about yourself. What do they call you?’

‘Rosamund. I’m Osric Miller’s daughter.’

‘Talk right pretty don’t you, for the miller’s lass?’

‘I copy what I hear...’ she indicated Oliver with her eyes ‘...I didn’t want his mockery. And now I suppose I’ll have the mockery of my fellows instead.’

The nurse smiled. ‘I make no judgements.’

‘Thank you. None of this is my fault, and frankly, I can’t believe it’s happening – it’s all so unfair.’

‘You expect life to be fair?

‘I...yes!’

‘Go on. What happened?’

Rosamund took a deep breath. ‘Yesterday I was wed to Alfwold – he’s a grindstone dresser. Baron Geoffrey decreed that instead of my father paying the bride fine I should be brought here, to wait upon his pleasure. I suspect my father didn’t object very strongly.’

‘No?’

Rosamund shook her head, she was reluctant to elaborate on the reasons behind her father’s betrayal.

‘Go on, girl.’

‘After the wedding I was brought here. Baron Geoffrey and several other men – I don’t know their names – locked me in a bedchamber with Oliver de Warenne. I gather it was a drunken joke. I was to be freed this morning. Except my lord has changed his mind, he refuses to release me. And Oliver does nothing!’

Marie’s eyes were round. ‘The squire’s to keep you?’

‘Apparently. He wants his knighthood and Sir Geoffrey has promised to knight him if he fulfills a request.’

‘A request...? What request?’

Rosamund bit her lip as it dawned on her that it might not be wise to mention the extraordinary conversation Sir Geoffrey had had with Oliver concerning Lady Cecily. ‘I...I’m not certain. All I know is that Baron Geoffrey has said that if Oliver keeps his part of the bargain, I am to remain here for...for Oliver.’ Her eyes stung. She had never felt so angry and helpless in her life.

‘A stolen bride!’

Rosamund blinked away a sheen of tears. ‘I don’t find it amusing, I can assure you.’

‘Don’t come the noble lady with me, lass, I have eyes. You like that boy. One sight of the way you and that squire keep staring at each other – he fascinates you as much as you fascinate him.’

Rosamund’s stomach cramped. As far as she could see Oliver was taking no notice of her. ‘I’m married to Alfwold and I ought to go home. I’m being treated as though I were a sack of flour to be traded at will.’