She set the lantern down on matting so encrusted with filth that it should have been burnt years ago. It stank. In truth, the entire place smelt like a sty, there must be other horrors hidden in the gloom. Wherever they were, the place reeked of squalor.
A tiny line appeared on her brow. ‘I’m not afraid of you, not exactly. I was concerned you might be angry. You mustn’t be angry, I didn’t do it.’
His head pounded, he was becoming more confused by the minute. ‘Didn’t do what?’
‘Betray you.’
‘That’s reassuring,’ he said, playing for time. The abominable headache told him that he’d been hit on the skull. The blow seemed to have cracked his wits – he hadn’t the faintest idea what she was talking about. It was plain she knew him, but he couldn’t for the life of him place her. How could he have forgotten such a face? The face of an angel. An angel...
A half-remembered emotion stirred in the back of his mind but he couldn’t grasp it, it was like clutching at mist. His head ached. ‘Did you tie me up?’
‘Hardly. Look, they tied me too.’ She drew his attention to a thick cord round her ankle.
Lord, she was roped to the central post. His legs were fastened in the same way. He studied their bonds and the post, assessing their chances of breaking free. The post held up what passed for a roof in this misbegotten hovel. It looked depressingly strong. However, with a bit of work they might be able to dig down round the base of the post – of course, the whole structure would likely collapse but...
He glanced at the girl. Who had put them here? How trustworthy was she? She wasn’t tied as securely as him and she had mentioned betrayal. Might she be one of them? Whose side was she on? He smiled as engagingly as he could.
‘Is there anything to drink?’
She pulled a face. ‘That depends on how thirsty you are. There’s sour ale.’
‘Any water?’
She shook her head. ‘You’d be mad to risk drinking that. I used most of it to wash the blood from your head.’
He summoned up another smile. ‘Then sour ale it will have to be. Could you...?’ Grimacing, he gestured at his bound hands.
She didn’t hesitate. Taking the jug in one hand, she slipped the other beneath his neck and held the jug to his lips. He kept his gaze on her face and watched with relief as a flush rose to her cheeks. She’d been so pale when he’d come back to himself. The flush told him she didn’t fear him, she’d not be handling him so willingly if she did.
‘Thank you,’ he murmured when he’d quenched his thirst. ‘I suppose we should be grateful they left your hands free.’
‘It was in their interests to do so. I’m meant to be looking after you. I’m keeping you alive until-’
‘I trust you,’ he said, speaking to himself more than to her.
She drew her head back. ‘I should think so. Especially after I stayed here, risking life and limb for you.’
‘Lord, I meant no offence, come back.’ He gave her a rueful smile. ‘You’re the sweetest smelling thing for miles, I want you near. Tell me, what’s your name?’
Ale slopped over the rim of the jug.
‘Oliver, this is no time for childish games. We’re prisoners. We might be killed-’
‘I’m not playing games,’ he said, flatly. ‘I gather that you know me, and that you expect me to know you-’
‘Know me? Merciful Heaven-’
‘-But I don’t. The blow to my head has knocked my senses to the devil. I don’t remember anything.’
Her mouth fell open. ‘What?’
‘I don’t remember anything. Nothing at all.’
Carefully, she set the jug to one side. ‘I don’t believe you.’
‘It’s the truth.’
‘Your name, tell me your name.’
He smiled. ‘That I do know, it’s Oliver.’
‘There, that proves it – you haven’t lost your memory.’
‘The only reason I know my name is because you used it. I know nothing more. I feel I should know you-’ he ignored her indignant splutter and swept on ‘-and I may wish that I did, but I’ll swear any oath you like, if it will help you believe me. I can’t remember who you are. I can’t remember anything about myself.’ He paused, she was chewing her forefinger. ‘Believe me. Tell me your name. Please.’
She muttered something under her breath.
‘What?’
‘My name, as you well know, is Rosamund. But if you must play your foolish games, I am Rosamund. There, has that pleased you?’
‘Rosamund.’ The name rose easily to his lips. I know this girl. ‘Do you think you could unfasten my hands?’