Shattered Vows(38)

‘Oh?’

Marie refused to be drawn. ‘And then there are my lord’s knights. Sir Gerard is the older one, he’s sire to that lad sat next to little Henry. Sir Brian’s the one talking with Oliver de Warenne.’ Marie cocked her head at her. ‘You know all about the new squire, don’t you?’

Outside the main doorway, a dog began to bark.

Ignoring Marie’s probing, Rosamund scoured the high table. She couldn’t help but notice that someone was missing – Lady Cecily, Oliver’s betrothed. ‘Where’s Lady Cecily?’

Marie’s eyes were quickly veiled. ‘She’ll be down later. Gracious, listen to those dogs. Methinks it’s time the baron had a cull. They’re forever scrapping over the smallest crumb.’ She bent to squint under the table.

‘Marie, that barking’s coming from the entrance.’

Marie lifted her head. ‘You’re right, I can hear the porter arguing with someone. It’s a mite early for petitioners...’

Inga jabbed Rosamund in the ribs, her smile was malicious. ‘Maybe our peasant cockerel has come to claim his hen.’

Rosamund swallowed down a gasp. Holy Mother, Inga was right, that was Alfwold’s voice! He was shouting and...

There was a thud and a scuffle and Alfwold flew into the hall. Under the scarred, pitted skin, his face was blood red.

Rosamund leaped to her feet, her insides a knot of guilt and shame. The hall went pin-drop quiet.

‘Ugh!’ Inga’s mocking laugh rang out. ‘The cockerel’s been wallowing in the mire, look at his fouled feathers.’

Someone tittered.

Shooting Inga a glance which should have felled her, Rosamund took a step towards her husband. Her feet seemed weighted with lead. Alfwold started towards her, but the guards sprang to life and wrestled him to the ground.

‘Rosamund!’ Alfwold’s voice broke as he struggled.

A guard hit him across the face with the back of his hand. ‘Quiet! You were anxious to see Sir Geoffrey...well, now you shall, my fellow, now you shall.’

Rosamund could only watch as Alfwold was dragged to the dais.

What kind of a place was this? Were she and Alfwold the only ones to see the wrong here?

She could feel Marie tugging insistently at her gown, trying to make her sit down again. Impatiently she tugged free.

‘Captain, must you interrupt my break fast?’ Sir Geoffrey asked, leaning back in his chair.

‘My apologies, my lord, but this man insists on speaking to you. He claims you are holding his wife.’

‘Holding?’ Sir Geoffrey narrowed his eyes on Alfwold. ‘Are you implying that I have imprisoned the woman?’

Alfwold’s mouth opened and closed. ‘I...I...’

‘Come, come, speak up. Do you not see her over there? Is she in chains? Does she languish in the dungeon?’ He laughed and his sister Lady Blanche joined in.

‘You mock me, my lord,’ Alfwold muttered stiffly.

Oliver couldn’t tear his eyes from Rosamund’s husband. He was an ugly brute, the scars of his trade had marred his skin more than most – his face...his hands. What was his name? Alfwold. Oliver knew that Alfwold couldn’t help having scars, no stone-dresser ever escaped them, yet the thought of those calloused hands touching Rosamund filled him with revulsion.

None the less, this man was her husband, he had accepted responsibility for her in a way that Oliver never could. Oliver was surprised to discover that he felt some sympathy towards the man. Perhaps if he were to make a public denial of interest in Rosamund, then his cousin would be forced to release her and she could return home. He hadn’t known Geoffrey for long and it was hard to judge whether he would hold to the arrangement regarding his knighthood. Maybe he would, maybe he wouldn’t. Either way...

Rosamund was biting her finger, she looked utterly miserable.

Oliver pushed to his feet.

‘Oliver,’ Geoffrey’s voice held a warning. ‘We have an agreement, and I want you to honour it. Sit down.’

Oliver remained standing.

‘De Warenne! Am I to clap you in the dungeon? Obey your lord!’

Oliver was achingly aware of a pair of blue eyes staring at him from across the hall. Rosamund’s face had lost its healthy glow, she was as pale as ivory, but her eyes blazed. Surely she would welcome his repudiation, if it meant she regained her freedom...

‘My lord, I must speak.’

Baron Geoffrey’s face was stony. ‘Hold your tongue, de Warenne. You will honour our agreement. Captain?’

‘My lord?’

‘Your men will escort my cousin to his bedchamber. He wishes to meditate on the advantages of a knight honouring his agreements.’

‘Yes, my lord.’