Shattered Vows(15)

She must remember, she had vowed to please him. This was reality and she must make the best of it. Alfwold could, if he chose, ease the misery of her slave-like existence with Osric and Aeffe. What use was a mere dream?

Finding a smile, Rosamund held out her hand. The swarthy face lit up and blunt fingers closed over hers. He pulled her close and she gasped, fighting the instinct to draw back. She wasn’t ready. A strong stench of sour ale assailed her.

‘What’s amiss?’ he asked, kindly enough.

‘Nothing.’ She stared at the ground.

He misread the reason for her downcast eyes. ‘It seems your father was right,’ he said, in a pleased voice. ‘He swore you were chaste. Seeing you’re so comely, I found that hard to believe, but maybe he’s in the right.’

Rosamund nodded, she was chaste, that at least was no lie. What could she do? She could hardly confess that the real reason for her lowered eyes was that he revolted her?

‘Now, Rosamund, your kiss, if you please.’

She shut her eyes and angled her head to his. She held her breath.

The kiss was horrible. She’d known it would be, but mercifully he released her quickly. And now it was he who wouldn’t meet her eyes. His expression was carefully blank. Holy Mother, he knew how she felt.

Stepping back, Alfwold silently began brushing bits of leaf and grass from his worn grey tunic and hose. Coarse, workaday fabric. Rosamund stared at a large rent in one of his sleeves and her heart twisted. Her inability to respond to his kiss had betrayed her. There was but one tiny spark of hope remaining. Alfwold wasn’t cruel. Would he release her from her promise?

With a grunt, he heaved up his pack of tools and shouldered it. ‘Lead on, lass. We’d best go and see how much work your father has for me.’

‘It’s the same as ever, both sets of millstones have lost their furrows.’ Her lips twisted. ‘They’re as impossible to keep balanced as father’s temper.’

‘Come then, we’ll talk as we go,’ Alfwold said, giving her a quiet smile.

She could sense no passion in him. Let him release me from my promise, please, Lord, let him release me.

Side by side, they turned for the mill.

Alfwold was a stocky man, his height was equal to Rosamund’s, but no more. All his strength lay in his hands and arms and shoulders. Dressing millstones was punishing work – it could take up to a fortnight to finish a difficult pair. It wasn’t like whittling a child’s toy from wood. Stone dressing built up the muscles. Alfwold was generally reckoned as strong as an ox.

As they walked, Rosamund sent covert glances in his direction. His face and hands had suffered the most. Years of chiselling and hammering had sent thousands of stone and steel darts flying into him, scarring his skin and turning it dark, like a tattoo. He’d also been hit in the right eye, it was always bloodshot. The black scarring on his skin made him look permanently dirty. It wasn’t his fault. But did he have to reek of the tavern? And surely he could wash occasionally?

Surreptitiously, she glanced at her hands. They were clean and white. Work-worn, to be sure, but clean and white compared to Alfwold’s. They were shaking. She curled her fingers so the nails bit into the palm of her hands. She saw him glance at her and dredged up a smile.

‘I missed you, lass, these past weeks.’

She said nothing.

‘Lass, there are a number of reasons why I want to wed you. Will you listen if I tell them to you?’

She nodded and matched her pace to his.

‘The road I tread is a hard road. You’re always on the move from mill to mill with never a place to call your own. I’m not asking for pity, Rosamund, but I want you to know. Mine’s a fine trade to ply when you’re young, and the lust for travel runs fast in your blood. When you’re free and proud to own no man your master. The highways stretch out before you and you feel as though the world is at your feet. That you can do anything.’ Alfwold’s gaze went back to the mill and, grimacing, he adjusted his pack. ‘That time passed for me a few years since. My blood runs more slowly and the opportunities that I’d hoped for are long forgotten.

‘I need a place to settle. This past winter near turned me to ice. I thought that I could never be warm again, but with you, with you...’ He cleared his throat. ‘Do you understand what I’m saying?’

‘I think so. You’re saying that you would still wed me,’ she said, in a low voice.

‘Aye, lass, that I would. I’ve no young man’s passion that you’d want to share. Not now. But if you would try to accept me, I will guard you and keep you safe. I would look after you, and in return...’