She swallowed, it wouldn’t be easy to be shut in this chamber all night with him...and she married to another...
He broke the silence. ‘What are you thinking?’
Her cheeks scorched. ‘I was thinking how grateful I am that it is you who is with me, and not your cousin.’
His eyes gleamed. ‘You were scared witless, weren’t you? I didn’t see you when they first threw me in. Were you hiding under the bedclothes?’
‘Beast.’ She put her nose in the air and he grinned. ‘I was a little scared.’
‘But now you see it’s only harmless Oliver, you are relieved,’ he said, rising from the bed and stretching like a cat.
‘Hardly harmless,’ she murmured, studying him. Oliver had the well-honed frame of a warrior and the careless grace of a man who was completely at ease in his body.
‘Hmm?’ He yawned.
Rosamund hid a smile. ‘I admit I was pleased to find I was to share this chamber with you, and not your cousin,’ she said, vaguely.
He wasn’t listening. Turning his back on her, he unbuckled his belt and dropped it onto a much-battered chest sitting under the wall light. He pulled off his over-tunic, folded it and then that too was set neatly next to the belt. Her mouth had gone dry. She watched, transfixed as Oliver removed his leather boots and his fine linen undershirt. Then, clad only in tightly fitting hose, he padded over to the washbowl. His ablutions complete, he came back to the bed.
‘In you get,’ he commanded, flicking back the bedcovers.
‘I...I...no, we can’t,’ she stammered, suddenly shy. She averted her gaze from his well-muscled torso, from his strong arms.
‘Still afraid, Rosamund?’
‘No!’
‘Get in, for pity’s sake. I’m not about to hurt you.’
‘No.’ She retreated to the bottom of the bed and glared at him. ‘You can’t expect us to share the bed?’
‘That was the general idea,’ he said, dryly. ‘Unless you have a better one?’
‘Oliver, we can’t share the bed!’
He shrugged and got into bed. Stretching out, he lay back against the pillows and watched her. There was a definite glint in his grey eyes.
‘The bed isn’t big enough for two,’ she said.
He clasped his hands behind his head and grinned. ‘It’s more than I expected when I arrived here. It’s fit for a king, and I’d be happy to wager that you’ve not seen the like of it before.’
‘That’s beside the point. Where’s your chivalry? You should give the bed to me and sleep on the floor.’
‘Why, Rosamund,’ he said, all innocence. ‘I do believe you’re angry – your accent is showing.’
She scowled. ‘You despise me for my peasant speech – that and my low birth. That’s why I must sleep on the floor.’
‘When have I mocked at your speech?’ The grey eyes glittered. ‘I merely observe that your accent is thicker when you’re angry. In truth, I like your voice – it’s not high and shrill like most maids. Quite pleasing.’
‘For a peasant.’
Shaking his head, he held out his hand. ‘Come here.’
She ignored the hand. ‘If...if you were a proper knight, you’d sleep on the floor.’
‘As you know, I’m not a knight. Be reasonable. I have much to do on the morrow, and I need sleep. This is my bed, and whilst I appreciate that you did not ask to be brought here, I would have you remember that I didn’t send for you either. I am happy to let you join me, but in the East I slept on more than my share of hard floors, and I’ll be damned before I give up my bed to you. Sleep where you choose. Good night.’
With that he turned on his side and pulled the covers over his broad shoulders.
Rosamund flounced off the bed. She went to the door and tried to open it, but it was a futile gesture and she knew it. She could feel Oliver’s gaze boring into her back, she could imagine the amused, supercilious expression on his face. She whipped round, but Oliver hadn’t moved. He lay facing the door with his eyes firmly shut. She could hear his breathing – it was deep and even. He was probably asleep already. Vile, selfish, arrogant man!
The candle sputtered. It was down to its last inch. Moving softly, so as not to attract Oliver’s attention, or waken him if he were truly asleep, Rosamund took his dagger from the coffer and trimmed the wick. She must be shakier than she had realised, for her fingers fumbled over the simple task. It was a beeswax candle – the scent was really most pleasant. They had to make do with stinking tallow candles at the mill. She noticed that the dagger hilt was bone and carved with an intricate design. Had it come from the Holy Land?