‘Thank God for that. There’s to be no encouraging Lady Cecily to ride, you hear?’
‘Yes, my lord, but-’
The baron jerked his head towards the curtained doorway. ‘Go on, girl. You’ve caused enough trouble for one day.’
This isn’t my fault! Bile was bitter at the back of her throat, but clearly she’d be a fool to argue. Her head bursting with objections, Rosamund trailed obediently after Marie and left the hall.
I’m to be a nurse? Whose nurse? And what has Lady Cecily to do with this? Why am I to prevent her from riding?
***
Oliver lay on his bed, thinking. He was hoping that his confinement would be of a short duration. He couldn’t be sure, but he suspected his cousin was a man whose bark was far worse than his bite. Time would tell.
He stared at the lancet on the wall opposite. At last his long held dreams seemed to be coming to fruition. His aunt, Lady Maud de Warenne, had been right to set him on the road to Ingerthorpe and his cousin Geoffrey. A rueful smile lifted the corners of his mouth as he remembered how unwillingly he’d left his old home. Lady Maude’s instincts hadn’t let her down.
Sir Geoffrey’s character might remain a mystery, but it was clear he was desperate for reliable men. Oliver had received a harsh training whilst on crusade. It would stand him in good stead at Ingerthorpe. He had experience none of the other knights, not even Sir Gerard, could rival. The knights here might deride him for his birth, but none could deny that he was needed. With his cousin’s support and his sister to wife, Oliver finally had a future.
He stretched, running his commission over in his mind. The castle was full of men-at-arms who were little better than raw recruits. They needed moulding into shape. Morale was low. At present, they’d be hard pressed to defend the castle if it were attacked by a handful of peasants with pitchforks, let alone repel an attack from trained soldiers.
The household knights were also likely to prove a challenge. Sir Gerard had made it plain that as a well-born knight it was beneath his dignity to work hand in glove with a baseborn squire. The younger knight, Sir Brian, had shown willing, but lack of experience told heavily against him. Oliver rubbed the bridge of his nose. On the other hand, Sir Brian’s mind seemed keen enough – his questions were sharp and to the point. Maybe in time...
Oliver grimaced, however he looked at it, his position here was precarious. Diplomacy would be needed. One knight was overtly hostile, and the other was a callow youth.
The instant he heard the footsteps on the stairs, he swung his legs off the bed and got up. ‘Geoffrey?’
Rosamund stepped into the chamber and his heart jolted. He was painfully aware that his ambitions might be about to be realised, but it was Rosamund who was being forced to pay the price. Did she understand that he hadn’t wanted to drag her into this? The idea that she was being manipulated appalled him. He wanted her to know that he would fight to win back her freedom.
‘Rosamund, we must talk, you and I.’
She looked blankly at him. ‘Lady Adeliza says you’re to accompany me to the upper hall. Lady Cecily is waiting to discuss your betrothal with her.’ To his horror, she gave him a clumsy curtsy.
‘Rosamund, don’t!’
‘You’d best hurry. Lady Adeliza doesn’t strike me as being a patient lady,’ she said, not meeting his eyes.
A shining brown tendril of hair had escaped from her braids. Oliver touched it lightly, scowling as she jerked her head away. He caught her by the shoulder and spun her back to him. ‘We shall talk. This evening.’
Beautiful blue eyes lifted to his. ‘Yes, sir. If you command it, I must obey.’ Her voice was bitter. ‘Doubtless I shall be made to attend to you as I was last night. And now, your lady awaits you. You mustn’t keep her waiting while you dally with the miller’s daughter.’
‘What do you mean?’ he demanded, conscious of spurt of anger.
Her eyes widened, innocently. ‘Why it’s broad day, sir, and you have your reputation to consider. We’re not safely hidden between the sheets. The door is ajar and anyone could enter. Noblemen don’t speak to slaves as though they had wits of their own. What would Lady Adeliza say if she learned of your liaison with me?’
‘Hell curse you, woman, do you think she doesn’t know?’
Her breath caught. ‘Oliver?’
He smiled grimly. ‘That’s better. If you’d called me sir once more, I’d have strangled you.’
‘Lady Adeliza knows?’ She seemed to gather her wits with an effort. ‘Then why on earth is she being so kind? She’s given me three gowns – me, the lover of her daughter’s fiancé.’