Shattered Vows(25)

Rigid with apprehension, she heard the door slam. A key grated in the lock. There were more shouts of mocking laughter from the drunks in the corridor. And another of those curt, angry responses which Rosamund had half-heard a moment ago.

Terror-struck though she was, the anger was a puzzle. It jarred with the hooting and merriment outside the chamber. She heard a deafening thud – as though someone was striking his fist against an unyielding door. It was followed by a torrent of swearing.

How strange. Merriment outside the bed-chamber, and anger within? Had Sir Geoffrey changed his mind? Did he no longer want her? Hope and curiosity warred with fear. Carefully, making as little movement and sound as she could, she pushed back the bedcovers.

He was tall. With the build of a warrior. He had his broad back to the bed, and he was striking the door with such force that the wooden planks bowed with each blow. Someone outside struck up a lewd song and other sozzled, off-key voices joined in. It was enough to drive the devil to flight.

The tall warrior swore and shoved his hand through his hair – unlike Sir Geoffrey’s, it was as black as night. He turned and their eyes met.

‘Oliver!’ Rosamund sat up, her fear was gone.

Oliver stared. ‘Rosamund.’ He said her name very slowly, then he bowed. ‘Welcome to my humble abode.’ His grey eyes were cold as ice. Hard, like the lines of anger etched into his face.

‘You don’t look very welcoming.’

‘To tell the truth, ma demoiselle...’ he stressed the last words so she would have no doubt he was insulting her ‘...I don’t feel very welcoming at the moment. My apologies if that distresses you. I wouldn’t want to cause you any distress, would I? Not after this.’

‘What do you mean?’ Rosamund swung her legs over the edge of the bed and got up. He might be angry, but she was safe. This was Oliver.

Wintry grey eyes were narrowed on the door. The caterwauling sound was fading. Bored with their diversion, their tormentors were doubtless stumbling down the spiral stairs, the lure of the wine kegs was strong.

‘Couldn’t resist, could you?’ Oliver sneered.

‘I...I’m sorry?’

‘It’s fruitless playing the innocent with me, I fell for that game before and I’m rarely caught in the same trap twice. You would do best to remember that, my sweet. Never the same trap twice.’

He closed the distance between them and steely fingers clamped round her wrist. He found the white ribbon, jerked it free, and her hair tumbled about her. Tears sprang into her eyes.

‘Oliver,’ she saw him through a haze. ‘None of this was my doing.’

‘You’re quite the noble lady tonight.’

His hand was running down her newly-washed hair. He was looking her body up and down. His gaze lingered for a moment on the swell of her breasts.

‘I hope they paid you well, for I promise you, by the time I’ve finished with you, you’ll have earned every last farthing. Got everything you wanted have you? And what about Oliver? Is he to have what he wants? Or are you to take on the wiles of fine ladies along with their clothes? Are you going to purse those pretty lips of yours and look down your nose at me. A squire. A poor, bastard squire of little account.’

‘Oliver,’ she whispered, ‘please don’t.’

‘Please don’t.’ His tone mocked hers. He pulled her up against him and his eyes narrowed. ‘What? No shrinking from me in horror? No twisting away to escape?’

His mouth came down hard and his kiss was bruising. She tasted wine on him but she knew instinctively that he wasn’t drunk. He’d been maddened by the wretches who had locked them in this chamber. He believed she was their conspirator.

She had to get through to him, to reach the Oliver she’d met on the beach. The man who was holding her as if in a vice was not the man she knew. She must reach that other Oliver. She didn’t struggle – what was the point? – that hard, well-muscled body was too strong to resist. So she stood immobile in his hold, a deep feminine wisdom telling her that she could best reach him by not responding. He wasn’t one to want a puppet, he would want a real woman, and at the moment he was being ruled by his fury.

It was shaming to realise that even though he was kissing her in anger, he was reaching her. She felt a slow, warm glow in her belly. She couldn’t understand it, her body was responding to him despite his lack of gentleness. Alfwold, with all his careful consideration had never kindled the tiniest spark of a response. She stood stone-still – she’d be lost if Oliver realised the power he had over her.

He lifted his head, eyes glittering in the candlelight. When she raised a hand to her mouth – she could taste blood – his dark eyebrows snapped together. He swore, loudly and fluently in the foreign tongue she knew that the nobles used and flung her away from him. She fell onto the bed.