‘There’ll be more on our return,’ Oliver said.
It was easy to leave Ingerthorpe Castle when you were the lord’s squire. With much clanking and grating of metal, the winding mechanism was set in motion. The drawbridge was lowered and they were outside the curtain wall before the portcullis had even been fully raised.
Strong arms held her close as they trotted down the highway. Rosamund gripped Lance’s mane and glanced back. The wind was brisk, it stung her cheeks. It was pushing back the clouds, the crenellated walls looked dark as pitch, a jagged outline against a star-spangled sky.
The flambeau by the gatehouse soon receded – despite the stars, the cliff path was shadowy. A trickle of unease ran down her spine. A crescent moon was rising. Could Lance see his way with only the starlight and a sliver of moon to guide him? Rosamund had never ventured to the cliffs after sunset. She sent up a prayer for their safety, hoping fervently that there was no truth in the stories about the monsters and lost souls who wandered the cliffs at night.
Oliver’s cloak dragged on his shoulders as it billowed out behind him. He smiled grimly to himself, the set of Rosamund’s back betrayed her ill temper. Was he imagining it, or was she trying to prevent herself from leaning against him? He sent an unobtrusive command to Lance with his heels. When the stallion obediently danced sideways, she gave a little gasp and clutched at his forearms, sliding back against him in as satisfactory a way as he could wish. He eased his cloak about her to protect her from the wind and his lips curved. It was much more pleasant riding down the cliff path with the scent of Rosamund in his nostrils.
She was an infuriating, stubborn woman, but he loved the way her body fitted against his. If his cousin knew what he was about, he’d roar his mockery to the treetops. She’d been given to him and no-one would question his right to keep her. Oliver felt his smile fade. Except that poor wretch of a husband. And what was he doing considering the feelings of a stone-dresser? He must be going soft.
As they left the cliff path and dropped onto the shingle at the edge of the shore, the gentle churning of the waves reached them. The sea gleamed black as jet. The moon hung over the bay, a silvery reflection trembling beneath it. The water rippled, breaking the reflection into glittering fragments; it rippled again and the moon reformed.
Drawing rein, Oliver dismounted. One thought stood stark in his mind – in the days to come, he wanted Rosamund at his side. But he wanted her willing.
‘Why are we here?’ she demanded as he helped her from the stallion’s back. Pointedly, she stepped away from him, fluffing out her skirts. She didn’t look happy.
He put his finger to her lips. ‘Not a word.’ He hooked Lance’s reins round a boulder, and bent to remove his boots. ‘Unless you want your boots to be spoiled by salt, I suggest you do the same,’ he said.
‘Why are we here?’
‘Quiet! No arguments.’ He stood over her until she sighed and took off her boots and dropped them next to his. Grasping her hand, he strode onto the beach. It looked as though it had been touched by sorcery – everything glistened in the moonlight. By the margin of the sea, the wet sand shone like a dark mirror. It was cold on the feet and the wind buffeted them. The cliff wall was a mere stone’s throw away. He marched along.
‘Slow down!’ Rosamund said, struggling to keep her skirts clear of the wet.
Pausing, he searched the cliff wall. ‘There’s a sheltered spot close by.’ He towed her a few yards further. ‘Here we are. Sit.’
Crossing her arms, she scowled up at him. ‘I am not a guard that you may order me about in such a manner.’
He gave her an ironic bow. ‘My apologies, ma dame.’
‘Are you trying to give me lung-fever? I’m frozen. You have a cloak, while I-’
‘Come here.’ Oliver shook out his cloak and laid it on the ground.
Rosamund narrowed her eyes.
‘It’s as soft as our bed at the castle.’ He sat down and offered her his hand.
‘Our bed?’ Rosamund said, ignoring the hand. ‘I thought, sir, it was your bed.’
He sighed into the night. Catching her wrist, he tugged her to her knees. ‘Angel, the sand here is dry and in the lee of those rocks we’re out of the wind.’
Rosamund’s jaw worked. She opened her mouth.
‘Not a word, Rosamund. Not a word.’
And before she knew it, he had her lying alongside him on the cloak. He pulled it over them. She stirred and would have spoken, but a large hand covered her mouth. ‘Hush.’
She wasn’t afraid, but she was concerned. What was he doing? There was no point struggling, her strength was feeble compared to his and she would only be the loser. But she made sure her body was stiff as a poker in his arms.