Shaking inside, she staggered to the central beam and covered her face with her hands. The dreadful choking stopped and someone touched her gently on the shoulder. She flinched and the hand was removed. Oliver was beside her, sword firm in his grasp. His legs were free of the tether.
‘Is...is he dead?’
He made an impatient sound. ‘You can’t be sorry for that animal. You know what he’d have done to you if I’d been unconscious?’
‘I know, but...’ her voice wavered ‘...but to die for it?’
Oliver’s eyes were sombre. He trailed a finger down her cheek and she was startled to see that it wasn’t quite steady. ‘He’s not dead. Though I’m angry enough to murder an army. You must indeed be close to my heart to arouse such a fury – the thought of him molesting you almost drove me berserk.’
Rosamund stared. Never in a thousand years had she expected Oliver to make such an admission. And he was looking at her in such a way...
Her breath stopped. The warmth in his eyes...the old Oliver wouldn’t dream of looking at her like that. She stepped towards him and laid her head against his broad chest. At once, his arms enfolded her, pulling her tight against him. Their bodies touched from chest to thigh. She sighed and raised her head. ‘I knew you’d save me.’
He touched her brow with his lips. ‘Even though I do not know you?’ His voice was teasing.
‘Your head might have forgotten me, but your heart has not.’
He shrugged. ‘Possibly.’
Her spirits rose.
‘Rosamund? Why the smile?’
‘No reason.’
He kissed her nose and her fingers curled into his tunic. ‘Do you mind a man without a memory kissing you?’
‘Not if it’s you,’ she laughed. ‘In truth, I’m thankful you’ve lost your memory.’
‘Thankful?’
She tipped her head to one side. ‘Do you think it’s best to win a man’s head or his heart? I think his heart is worth most, don’t you?’
‘You make no sense.’ He glanced at the unconscious man. ‘We have to get out of here. First, we free you, then I shall gag and bind our friend over there.’
Oliver knelt before her. His sword flashed and he began slicing through the rope at her ankle. She rested a hand on his shoulder as he worked, talking to the top of his dark head.
‘Which is best, Oliver? Head or heart?’
He shot her a look which was half exasperated, half tender. ‘I should think it would be best to win a man’s head and his heart, don’t you? Angel, hold still.’
She drew a sharp breath. He called me angel...he’s remembering...
‘What ails you? Did I hurt you?’
‘You...you called me angel.’
‘What of it?’ His brow cleared. ‘Ah, I have called you that before.’
She nodded. The rope fell from her ankles and Oliver stood, parrying an imaginary thrust with his sword.
‘Good. Maybe my mind will come back to me soon.’ He tossed the dagger at her. ‘Here, you’d best have the man’s dagger, I want you to be able to defend yourself.’
She took the dagger and hunkered down to rub her ankles where the rope had chafed them. When she next glanced across, Wulfric had been bound and Oliver was grinning down at her.
‘Rosamund, watch.’ The sword flashed as it danced through the dark. ‘I may be short on memory, but I know how to wield a sword.’ The sword described another brilliant arc through the dank air. ‘This blade sits well in my hand.’
‘It should do-’ she bit her lip. Both the sword and the dagger were his, but he didn’t yet remember.
‘Go on....’
‘N...nothing...that is...you’re clearly a fine swordsman.’
‘Tell me more. Rosamund, tell me.’
She looked quickly away. His face was so earnest, but she was reluctant to reveal that he was a knight. This new Oliver seemed much kinder than the old one. He was warmer, he was less calculating and she was tempted, more than tempted, to see what other changes she might discover if she kept him ignorant of his true status. It would only be for a little while.
I need to think.
And, in the meantime...
‘Shouldn’t we be going?’ she said, frowning at the man on the ground. ‘Before someone comes to find out what’s keeping him?’
‘You’re right, we can talk later. We’ll break through the wall and make a run for it. This side?’ He gestured at the back wall.
‘Yes.’
He began prising the planking apart and she went to help. The wood was so rotten it took little more than a touch for it to break apart. The night air rushed in.
He touched her arm. ‘Stick as close as a burr.’