Shattered Vows (14 page)

Alfwold looked at her, mouth working.

‘Alfwold, I mean it, I’ll not have your death on my conscience. Please, please, go.’

‘But you’re my wife!’

‘Yes, I’m your wife.’ Rosamund jerked her head towards the high table. ‘And he is Lord of Ingerthorpe. We can do nothing. Go, I tell you!’

As the guards marched Alfwold through the curtain and onto the landing, the sound of scuffling came back into the hall. Of a muffled thud.

‘I’ll to the abbot-’ Alfwold’s voice cut off with a grunt.

Chilled to the bone, Rosamund stared at the swinging curtain. The sounds moved off. A door slammed. She was a prisoner. Bewildered, she looked back at the dais. Sir Geoffrey was raising his wife’s hands to his lips in true courtly manner. He looked so concerned, so loving. Watching him it seemed incredible that he would separate her from her husband. Yet not only had he done that, but he’d threatened Alfwold with a flogging and her father with the loss of his mill. To be sure, she hadn’t been chained in the dungeon. She hadn’t been maltreated, she was fed and clothed – but for all that she remained his prisoner. His to command.

Blindly, she found her way to her place on the lower trestle. When she stumbled, someone steadied her.

‘There, lass.’ Marie’s voice penetrated the haze. They were all staring at her. ‘It’s over. Let’s leave these clods to entertain each other.’

Rosamund leaned gratefully on Marie’s arm, tensing when she saw that she was being steered back to the high table.

‘Baron Geoffrey?’ Marie curtsied.

‘Marie?’

‘If it pleases you, my lord, I’ll show the girl to her duties. May we have your permission to leave?’

The baron waved a careless hand. ‘Go. Most likely Cecily will be hanging about near the stables.’ A thought seemed to strike him and he fixed Rosamund with a look. ‘You don’t ride, do you, girl?’

An image of her sitting astride Lance as he walked along the beach flashed into her head. She’d never ridden before and she wasn’t likely to do so again. ‘No, my lord, I don’t ride.’

‘Thank God for that. There’s to be no encouraging Lady Cecily to ride, you hear?’

‘Yes, my lord, but-’

The baron jerked his head towards the curtained doorway. ‘Go on, girl. You’ve caused enough trouble for one day.’

This isn’t my fault!
Bile was bitter at the back of her throat, but clearly she’d be a fool to argue. Her head bursting with objections, Rosamund trailed obediently after Marie and left the hall.

I’m to be a nurse? Whose nurse? And what has Lady Cecily to do with this? Why am I to prevent her from riding?

***

Oliver lay on his bed, thinking. He was hoping that his confinement would be of a short duration. He couldn’t be sure, but he suspected his cousin was a man whose bark was far worse than his bite. Time would tell.

He stared at the lancet on the wall opposite. At last his long held dreams seemed to be coming to fruition. His aunt, Lady Maud de Warenne, had been right to set him on the road to Ingerthorpe and his cousin Geoffrey. A rueful smile lifted the corners of his mouth as he remembered how unwillingly he’d left his old home. Lady Maude’s instincts hadn’t let her down.

Sir Geoffrey’s character might remain a mystery, but it was clear he was desperate for reliable men. Oliver had received a harsh training whilst on crusade. It would stand him in good stead at Ingerthorpe. He had experience none of the other knights, not even Sir Gerard, could rival. The knights here might deride him for his birth, but none could deny that he was needed. With his cousin’s support and his sister to wife, Oliver finally had a future.

He stretched, running his commission over in his mind. The castle was full of men-at-arms who were little better than raw recruits. They needed moulding into shape. Morale was low. At present, they’d be hard pressed to defend the castle if it were attacked by a handful of peasants with pitchforks, let alone repel an attack from trained soldiers.

The household knights were also likely to prove a challenge. Sir Gerard had made it plain that as a well-born knight it was beneath his dignity to work hand in glove with a baseborn squire. The younger knight, Sir Brian, had shown willing, but lack of experience told heavily against him. Oliver rubbed the bridge of his nose. On the other hand, Sir Brian’s mind seemed keen enough – his questions were sharp and to the point. Maybe in time...

Oliver grimaced, however he looked at it, his position here was precarious. Diplomacy would be needed. One knight was overtly hostile, and the other was a callow youth.

The instant he heard the footsteps on the stairs, he swung his legs off the bed and got up. ‘Geoffrey?’

Rosamund stepped into the chamber and his heart jolted. He was painfully aware that his ambitions might be about to be realised, but it was Rosamund who was being forced to pay the price. Did she understand that he hadn’t wanted to drag her into this? The idea that she was being manipulated appalled him. He wanted her to know that he would fight to win back her freedom.

‘Rosamund, we must talk, you and I.’

She looked blankly at him. ‘Lady Adeliza says you’re to accompany me to the upper hall. Lady Cecily is waiting to discuss your betrothal with her.’ To his horror, she gave him a clumsy curtsy.

‘Rosamund, don’t!’

‘You’d best hurry. Lady Adeliza doesn’t strike me as being a patient lady,’ she said, not meeting his eyes.

A shining brown tendril of hair had escaped from her braids. Oliver touched it lightly, scowling as she jerked her head away. He caught her by the shoulder and spun her back to him. ‘We shall talk. This evening.’

Beautiful blue eyes lifted to his. ‘Yes, sir. If you command it, I must obey.’ Her voice was bitter. ‘Doubtless I shall be made to attend to you as I was last night. And now, your lady awaits you. You mustn’t keep her waiting while you dally with the miller’s daughter.’

‘What do you mean?’ he demanded, conscious of spurt of anger.

Her eyes widened, innocently. ‘Why it’s broad day, sir, and you have your reputation to consider. We’re not safely hidden between the sheets. The door is ajar and anyone could enter. Noblemen don’t speak to slaves as though they had wits of their own. What would Lady Adeliza say if she learned of your liaison with me?’

‘Hell curse you, woman, do you think she doesn’t know?’

Her breath caught. ‘Oliver?’

He smiled grimly. ‘That’s better. If you’d called me sir once more, I’d have strangled you.’

‘Lady Adeliza knows?’ She seemed to gather her wits with an effort. ‘Then why on earth is she being so kind? She’s given me three gowns – me, the lover of her daughter’s fiancé.’

‘You’ll find out soon enough, my Rosamund,’ Oliver said, dryly. ‘In any event, she probably thinks the clothes you arrived in were thick with lice. The ones she’s given you won’t spread vermin about the castle.’

She glared at him, flushing, and her chest heaved. ‘I’m not your Rosamund. You have no right to call me so. You don’t even love me.’

‘Who needs love, my angel?’ Oliver grinned. ‘Lord, you’re beautiful even when you’re angry. Very kissable.’

‘Have you no shame?’

He gave a slow, deliberate headshake. ‘There’s no advantage in it.’

‘No?’ Flinging him a look of exasperation, she huffed out a breath. ‘Tell me, Oliver, do you think there’s advantage in obeying Lady Adeliza?’

Oliver inclined his head. ‘Most assuredly, my angel, the greatest advantage. Lead on, I am longing to speak to Lady Cecily.’

Chapter Five

A
t the head of the spiral stairs, Oliver’s hand was warm on the small of her back, urging her on. She hesitated. ‘Shouldn’t you go first?’

He made a brief negative gesture. ‘The solar is the ladies’ domain. Announce my arrival – Lady Adeliza will invite me in.’

If Rosamund cherished any hopes that the lord’s squire might feel something for her they were crushed when she searched his face. His expression was calm and implacable. Determined.

‘Are you really so unfeeling?’ she whispered. ‘Does ambition override common decency?’

A dark eyebrow rose. ‘What do you mean?’

‘You intend to marry Lady Cecily and keep me – a married woman – as your
belle-amie
. It’s wrong. How can you do it?’ The guilt of having given her innocence to Oliver was preying on Rosamund’s mind. She knew full well she shouldn’t have done it, but the idea of experiencing – just once – the joy of having a lover she desired had been irresistible. She’d never intended matters to go further than that.

Grey eyes held hers. ‘Rosamund, I did warn you. I told you last night I wasn’t capable of love and you accepted it.’

‘Sir Geoffrey is far too high-handed. And you...don’t you care how I feel?’

‘Feel?’ He looked genuinely puzzled. ‘We should discuss this later.’

‘Very well,’ Rosamund said. ‘I’ll announce you.’

She pushed at the door hanging and the curtain rings tinkled as she entered the solar. Conversation came to a halt, and half a dozen veiled heads turned her way. Needles hung suspended over linens, flashing like weapons as they caught the sunlight. Like the hall below, the solar was round. The ceiling was domed, partially obscured by heavy beams. A wide trestle had been placed where the light from the lancets fell on it. The ladies sat round it, their sewing before them, and stared at her.

Lady Adeliza was examining a seam on one of the cloths. Dropping the cloth, she sent Rosamund a thin smile. ‘What is it, girl? Couldn’t you find him?’ she asked, in her immaculate, aristocratic English.

The woman called Inga sniggered and muttered. Her neighbour covered her mouth with her hand and Rosamund heard a stifled giggle. Gritting her teeth, she stared over the ladies’ heads. There was a cobweb hanging high in the roof beams. She fixed her gaze on it.

‘Speak up, girl,’ Lady Adeliza said, brow creasing.

‘My lady, Oliver de Warenne is waiting outside.’

‘Good. Inga?’

Inga jumped to her feet. ‘My lady?’

‘Tell Marie that he is here. She may bring Lady Cecily in.’

‘Yes, my lady, at once.’

Inga vanished through a studded door, and Rosamund became aware that Lady Adeliza’s dark eyes were studying her. She squared her shoulders.

‘Your name is Rosamund, as I recall?’ Lady Adeliza said.

‘Yes, my lady.’

‘You had best wait outside till this...interview is ended. Then you may return and Marie will take charge of you.’

Rosamund curtsied. ‘My lady.’

‘Send him in, then. Wait on the landing until you are called.’

On the other side of the curtain, Oliver caught her by the wrist. ‘I’m to go in?’ he asked, his thumb tracing tingling patterns on her skin.

She shook him off, exasperated at her reaction to such a slight contact. ‘You might have the decency to hide your eagerness, but, yes, you’re to go in. I’m to wait here.’

‘Lady Adeliza has much wisdom.’ He dropped a careless kiss on her nose, and shouldered past the curtain.

She stared somberly at the swinging curtain, absently touching her nose where he had kissed it. For years she had wanted a glimpse inside the castle and now that she was here, she didn’t think she liked it. Nothing was straightforward, there were incongruities everywhere. And so much she didn’t understand.

Why even this curtain...it was covered with red and blue flowers and doubtless it had been embroidered by Lady Adeliza’s most talented needlewomen. It told of the Fitz Neal family’s wealth and standing. Here was the finest wool, the most costly silk...

And yet...she bent to peer at a red flower. Yes, it was unraveling. In truth, close to, she could see many hanging threads. Some patches were threadbare – any former brightness was faded with grime.

She thought of the cobweb high among the beams in the solar and frowned. How very strange. The Fitz Neals wore the finest clothes – lack of money couldn’t be the cause of the decay. In truth, everyone in the castle, from her liege lord down to the lowliest scullion were well clothed and well fed, but now she thought about it, there were signs of neglect in the castle itself. Here, the landing needed sweeping – dust balls had gathered at the side of the doorway. The door curtain needed to be hung outside and beaten. Why hadn’t the ladies repaired it? She grimaced, none of this should matter to her. In any case, notwithstanding the decay, Ingerthorpe Castle was still the most magnificent place she’d ever seen.

It was odd to think how she’d longed for a taste of life in the castle. She’d cast envious glances up at it on the top of the cliff and she’d wondered what it would be like living with the ladies inside. She’d tried to imagine sleeping on a real featherbed; she’d tried to imagine how an undergown made of the finest linen would feel next to her skin. All her life she’d listened to tales of noisy feasts and glittering banquets, and she’d wished with all her heart that she belonged there, high up in Ingerthorpe Castle. Now she was inside the castle and...

I really don’t like it.

From the solar, Lady Adeliza’s imperious voice broke into her thoughts.

‘Cecily, my dear...Oliver de Warenne....’

The words fell like stones – the introductions were being made. Rosamund shut her ears and struggled to pick up the thread of her thoughts. Why did she feel so ill-at-ease? What was the matter with her? She’d been presented with a chance most girls in the village would leap at. She ran her hands down the delicate stuff of the blue gown. Her friend Lufu would be most envious of it. What would Lufu say when she heard that she’d slept on a featherbed, and had had as handsome a lover as one could wish?

Rosamund’s mind, though nimble, was untaught. She was fumbling with concepts beyond her reasoning. She knew she should be back at the mill with Alfwold, yet she was here at her lord’s behest. What could she do? She hadn’t asked to stay. She couldn’t fight her lord.

And as for Oliver...she couldn’t help but like him. She liked him much more than Alfwold. She pulled a lose thread from a flower on the curtain. On the one hand she wanted Oliver to set her free, but on the other hand she – God have mercy – she wanted to stay. Even though she didn’t like it here.