Shattered Vows(17)

‘I know, aunt, and I am grateful for it,’ Oliver had said stiffly.

Even then he had known, as had his aunt, that it wouldn’t be the same in his cousin’s household. Oliver’s experiences abroad had taught him that the tolerance he took for granted in his late uncle’s establishment was far from universal. His aunt’s words were meant as a warning, but the fact that they had to be uttered at all branded him as different.

There was a sense in which Oliver was an outcast and whilst most of society might pretend to his face that it made no difference, he had seen the furtive glances. He had heard the sniggers behind his back. He would never be able to take a lady to his wife.

A knighthood would have proved his worth, but Robert de Warenne was dead, which meant that Oliver must begin all over again. He must convince his cousin, Baron Geoffrey Fitz Neal, that he would bring honour and not shame to the knightly estate. It might not be easy – Sir Geoffrey’s officers might see his arrival at Ingerthorpe as a threat.

When discussing his future with his aunt, Oliver had struggled to keep her from seeing his misgivings.

The Lady Maud de Warenne had looked at him with shadowed eyes that were filled with the shock and grief of her bereavement. ‘I see your cousin Claire in you more and more,’ she said.

Oliver’s throat had worked. He’d never liked the way Lady Maud pretended, for form’s sake, that his mother was his cousin. ‘Claire was my mother, my lady, my mother.’

A sad smile played across Lady Maud’s lips. ‘If only she’d confessed who it was she’d loved, I’ve always wondered. But she never breathed a word. I liked her, very much. Claire would have been thrilled to see you knighted, Oliver, but...’ Lady Maud shook her head, and her voice faded.

‘Aunt?’

Lady Maud’s smile was sad. ‘I truly regret that it is not within my power to dub you knight. Your cousin Geoffrey will give you another chance to earn your place. I fear twenty-four is somewhat old for a squire, but it will do you no lasting harm. Take Robert’s destrier, I know you love that animal. Robert would want you to have him.’

Oliver’s jaw had dropped. ‘Take Lance, my lady?’ A warhorse of Lance’s quality was worth a king’s ransom. ‘Are you certain?’

‘What should I do with a warhorse?’ She sighed. ‘Robert should have taken the brute on crusade, it wasn’t easy exercising him with both of you fighting in the Holy Land.’

‘There wasn’t much that was holy about that campaign,’ Oliver muttered.

‘Oliver?’

‘Nothing, my lady.’ Oliver had smiled. ‘Lord Robert didn’t want to risk Lance on the journey.’

‘So he told me. Instead he risked himself and I shall never see him again.’

Oliver winced, he was uncomfortably aware that in his aunt’s view, the wrong man had returned.

Lady Maud made an impatient gesture and smiled, a shade too brightly. ‘I cannot alter the past. Nor can I help but think that if Robert had taken Lance he wouldn’t have fallen.’ She cleared her throat. ‘Oliver, you will take him?’

‘Thank you, my lady, I would be honoured.’

‘That is a relief – every time I look at him I’m reminded of Robert. Of the hours he spent honing his skills. And all for nought.’ A delicate hand covered her eyes. ‘Farewell, my boy. Take Lance and go. Go. Before I shame us both by weeping. Farewell.’

So Oliver de Warenne had ridden away from the place and the people he loved as his own. There’d been no point pleading with his aunt let him stay, she had grief enough to cope with without him whining about his fate.

And now he was looking down the length of his cousin’s hall, counting the sleeping men, all of them strangers. Strangers who, he suspected, resented his appearance at the castle.

He’d known this wasn’t going to be easy. It wasn’t just that there were no familiar faces. He hadn’t yet got to grips with the local dialect. And his cousin’s retainers were testing him – setting little traps for him to see how he would react. Teasing him, pushing his temper to the limits. So far, he’d kept himself in check. He’d told himself they would accept him in time. And then his mother’s sin would no longer be something to mock at.

He would be accepted and he would win his golden spurs.

Oliver went to stand over two of the younger lads and prodded them awake with his boot. ‘John? Matthew? What’s this? Didn’t you tell me you planned to join Baron Geoffrey’s guard? No guard I know of would sleep so long.’

Muffled groans and stirrings came from the floor and a boy emerged from within his cloak. He was about fourteen years of age. He peered at Oliver through lank and tousled yellow hair.