He’d been so certain that he’d made it plain he’d let her out without payment if she’d grant him but a few moments’ joy. But the girl had stuck her nose up in the air. Now he understood it. She’d been spoiled by the attentions of Sir Oliver de Warenne. She thought herself above pleasuring a mere sentry.
‘Finished with her?’ Sir Oliver’s lips thinned. ‘I hadn’t begun!’
‘She gave me this to open the road.’
The guard held out his hand, palm up, and Oliver stared. Rosamund’s brass wedding ring winked up at him.
The guard sniffed. ‘I thought you must’ve paid the lass well for her to be giving the likes of me this.’
Oliver’s stomach twisted into a painful knot. ‘Lift the portcullis.’
‘But...but, sir...the rebels! Anyway, by now she’s sure to warming someone else’s bed.’
Oliver felt a muscle twitch in his jaw.
‘Pick another, lass, me lord,’ the guard was saying. ‘If you ask me, there’s nothing to choose between them. Come to think of it, there’s plenty of willing women in the castle. Why traipse all the way to the village? I can recommend-’
‘That girl’s no whore.’ Oliver dug his spurs into Lance’s side and the stallion, unused to such cavalier treatment jibbed, stamping his hooves an inch from the guard’s boots.
The guard paled and scrambled back.
‘Open up. Now.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Oliver could waste no more time, he must find her and bring her back. He must be back before reveille. He’d not taken his oath of fealty lightly, and the idea that he might be forced to break his knightly oath because he was looking for Rosamund sent cold sweat trickling down his spine.
At the council meeting he’d undertaken to lead the search parties. When dawn came, he must be hunting for the traitors’ encampment. Should he not be back at the castle by then...
The word ‘deserter’ jumped into his mind. It was an ugly word. No baron gave his vassals licence to shirk their obligations. His kinship to Sir Geoffrey wouldn’t help him if he weren’t back in time. An example would have to be made.
He scowled at the portcullis – it was taking an age to lift. ‘A snail would leave you standing, man, move!’
The portcullis creaked ponderously up and he spurred through the gap.
***
Rosamund hesitated. The planks of the mill door were rough beneath her fingers. There were no welcoming chinks of light shining through the cracks. The mill looked deserted. Taking a breath, she balled her fist and hammered on the door.
‘Father? Father!’
When nothing happened, she tried again.
‘Father? Aeffe? It’s Rosamund, open up!’
She strained her ears at the door. She heard a thud and then, but for the wind in the trees, silence.
‘Father?’
She glanced anxiously over her shoulder. An owl hooted. She didn’t like being out alone at night. Hitherto her mind had been closed to everything but her need to escape the castle, sheer determination had kept her going. It was strange though, now she was within feet of safety her mind had opened to the sinister aspect in every shifting shadow. She was alarmingly aware of her vulnerability.
‘Father?’ Her voice cracked.
She heard another thud, and this time – thank the Lord! – light crept under the door. When the door swung open, she stumbled over the threshold.
‘Rose.’ Her father was holding a smoking candle. ‘Has he finished with you? Are you back to stay?’
The ungracious, callous greeting had her stiffening. ‘I chose to leave, Father. I need to speak to Alfwold.’
She didn’t know why she hadn’t thought of this earlier, but her marriage to Alfwold hadn’t been consummated. Perhaps he’d agree to an annulment. She had to speak to him, she had to ask him. Annulments were common amongst the nobility, Rosamund couldn’t recall hearing about a peasant having their marriage annulled, but it might be possible...
‘Alfwold’s not here,’ her father said, handing her the candle. He was already turning for the steps and a ring of light upstairs, where a lantern was wavering in Aeffe’s grasp. ‘Bolt up when you’re done, Rose.’
Aeffe smothered a yawn, her face was pale, her hair tousled. ‘Is Alfwold back so soon?’
‘It’s Rose,’ her father said, mounting the stepladder as Rosamund bolted the door.
‘I’m surprised she dare show her face here,’ Aeffe murmured. ‘In the village they said that she was only too happy to pay the price of her merchet. Lady Adeliza gave her pretty gowns, and the baron’s squire loaded her with jewels that he brought all the way from Constantinople.’ Aeffe paused, and a wheedling tone entered her voice. ‘See if she’ll show them to us, my love.’