Oliver caught the Lady Adeliza’s eye and gave a swift headshake.
Rosamund stifled a laugh that was tinged with hysteria. The ugly surge of resentments and anger had vanished and she felt only a deep pity. Lady Cecily was beautiful, but it was not a beauty that belonged on earth. Death sat in her eyes. The blacksmith’s little boy had worn just a look and he’d not lived out last winter’s frosts. Lady Cecily was dying. They were giving Oliver a dying girl.
Allowing the curtain to swing back into place, she turned instinctively for the nearest lancet. The stone embrasure was cold and hard and the air pouring through it was cool and salty. Outside, the seagulls were screaming as they soared over the cliffs. If she closed her eyes, she could call to mind a sandy beach washed by the outgoing tide; she could see the gulls; she could feel the sun on her face.
She had to get away. Somehow, anyhow, she would get away. It didn’t much matter where she went, but even a life of toil at her father’s mill would be better than life in a castle filled with sick intrigues. People weren’t counters in a game that they could be moved hither and yon.
How can they do that to him? To her?
And how can he agree?
It had to be better at the mill. Her father’s ill-humour and Aeffe’s selfishness were as nothing compared to what went on in the castle. An image of the cobweb in the solar filled her mind and it wouldn’t leave her. Turning for the stairs, she reached for the rope rail.
Somehow, she would get out of here. She’d not gone more than a couple of steps when there was a rush of air. Behind her the curtain rings rattled. and Oliver loomed, large in the half-light. With his back to the window-slit, she couldn’t read his mood. He stared at her for several heartbeats and silently held out his hand.
Fool! Fool! A voice in Rosamund’s head screamed as she placed her hand in his. Then his tall, strong warmth enveloped her and he was hugging the breath from her lungs.
‘Oliver, I shall suffocate!’
‘Not you, my Rosamund. Thank God, you are made of sterner stuff.’ His grip eased. He pressed a burning, biting kiss on her neck and his tongue flickered over her, tasting the skin beneath her ear.
Heat flooded through her, he needed her. ‘You’re alright then,’ she said, discovering to her shame that her fingers had tangled in his hair.
He lifted his head, his eyes fixed on her mouth. ‘Kiss me and I shall be.’
He needed her.
She lifted her mouth and allowed her body to soften against him. His low groan was echoed in her heart and she knew then that she couldn’t escape the castle. Not while Oliver needed her. Not while he wanted her. The castle had spun a web for her and she was caught fast.
‘Rosamund?’ Marie’s voice made them spring apart. ‘Come on, lass, Lady Adeliza’s waiting.’
‘Pity.’ Oliver ran his hand down her arm, and lightly squeezed her fingers. ‘Until later, my angel.’
He clattered down the stairs whistling, looking as though he hadn’t a care in the world. Had she just responded to a need that didn’t exist? Did Oliver de Warenne really need her? Did he need anyone?
‘Rosamund?’ Marie stuck her head through the curtain and beckoned.
‘I’m coming.’
For a moment she’d thought she’d got past his shield. Saints. Her chest heaved, she must have been mistaken – he’d run jauntily enough down the stairs...
‘Rosamund!’
She pushed the curtains aside and went into the solar.
There was no sign of Lady Cecily, but Lady Margaret was leaning awkwardly against the studded door, rubbing her belly. She was staring at her mother-in-law, her pale brows puckered.
Rosamund stood by the door and waited for instructions. Lady Adeliza was surrounded by her ladies – with their heads bent diligently over their work, they made a pretty vision of domesticity. Bees in a hive, obeying their queen. She glanced at the cobweb up in the rafters, and shuddered. No, not bees. They were flies, caught in a web. Whatever they were working on, it wasn’t the castle furnishings. Lady Cecily’s bride clothes?
Lady Margaret moved to the trestle, she seemed to have come to some decision. ‘Lady Adeliza?’ Her voice was soft and hesitant. To Rosamund’s relief, she was speaking in English.
Lady Adeliza didn’t so much as lift her eyes from her work, but she replied in the same tongue. ‘Margaret. What is it?’
‘I...I am afraid...’
Lady Adeliza’s head shot up. ‘Holy Virgin, preserve us. Margaret, it’s not your first. There’s no reason to suppose it will be as hard as last time. Didn’t the midwife explain that it gets easier with each confinement? Why, when I had Blanche it was over in a couple of hours.’ Her voice bristled with impatience, and she gestured at her ladies. ‘If you kept yourself busy and saw to your duties, you’d not have time to dwell on such maudlin thoughts.