‘Rosamund?’ He extended his hand to hers. ‘The more distance we put between us and them the better.’
‘I’m sorry, I can’t.’ She dragged in air.
He loured over her. Patches of moon and starlight filtered through the leaves, lighting his broad shoulders, tuning his face into a silver mask.
‘Yes, you can,’ he said, in his hard voice.
‘Oliver, I’m spent. Go on without me, it’s you they want, not me. They’ll leave me alone.’
‘Don’t be naive. You know where the camp is, they’ll want you silenced. You’re coming with me.’
‘I’ll slow you down.’
‘You’re coming.’
She stared up at him, he really did seem concerned.
‘Rosamund?’
‘You’re worried about me.’
Dark eyes narrowed. ‘You’ve told me that we’re lovers and I believe you. Should I not look out for my love?’
She gave him a little push. ‘That blow must have addled your wits. You were not so careful of my welfare before.’
He grinned. ‘Why ever not? Surely a sweet-tempered maid like you would merit my complete devotion?’ He cupped her cheek with his palm. ‘Angel, I need you to take me to your friends. And until my wits return, who better to trust but my love?’
Rosamund’s heart twisted. She had liked the old Oliver far too much, but this open, more loving Oliver was impossibly attractive. In truth, she couldn’t bear to lose him. If only she could keep him. For a little while. Just until his memory returned...
But that would be impossible. She would have to keep him ignorant of his real identity, and she couldn’t do that to him. It would be wrong, very wrong. Even if she persuaded Alfwold to agree to an annulment, it would be impossible...
Don’t tell him he’s a knight. She tried to turn her mind away from the thought, but once formed, it wouldn’t leave her. Don’t tell him he’s a knight.
It wouldn’t be for long, just long enough for her to experience loving and being loved on her terms, with no reservations. He wouldn’t be a knight and she wouldn’t be the miller’s daughter – they would simply be a man and a woman in love.
‘Very well, my love,’ he was saying. ‘We’ll rest awhile but I’ll not leave you.’
She groaned. ‘Oliver, this is impossible.’
Smiling, he smoothed a lock of hair from her face. ‘It will be easier once you’ve caught your breath.’
‘I don’t mean that.’ If we stay together, I will be tempted to mislead you...
‘What do you mean?’
He sat on a fallen tree trunk and drew her onto his lap. His face was open. Candid and trusting. She closed her eyes and caught her breath. Her thoughts were all over the place. She would never be presented with such a chance again. She must guard her tongue most carefully. If she let slip his identity, all would be lost. She was at war with herself. I can’t mislead him, I mustn’t.
What difference would a day or two more make? True, she’d be living a lie, but it would only be for a short time – either Oliver would come back to himself or Alfwold would come for her.
Alfwold. Would he have her branded an adulteress? It was one thing for Baron Geoffrey to take it upon himself to lock her into Oliver’s bedchamber, and quite another for her to agree to become Oliver’s belle-amie. She really ought not to be thinking about this until she had spoken to Alfwold about an annulment.
Leaning against a broad shoulder, she bit her lip. I am considering becoming Oliver’s mistress! The thought ought to shock her, but it didn’t. The thought of being separated from him was far more distressing. Stripped of the ambition that went hand in hand with his status, ignorant of the differences between them, he was temptation itself. She gave a deep sigh.
‘Angel?’
In the depths of the wood, a dog barked.
She smiled into his eyes, suddenly shy. ‘I’m sorry, my mind’s wandering. How do you feel? Your head must hurt.’
Rubbing the back of his scalp, he gave her a crooked smile. ‘It hurts like the devil. Rosamund-’ he broke off, studying her so carefully that she felt herself blush. It was as though he were seeing her for the first time. ‘Rosamund.’ He touched the top of her head, sliding his fingers into her hair, combing it.
She gave a little laugh. ‘It’s a complete tangle.’
His lips curved. He shook his head and his fingertips trailed slowly on, down over an ear, across her cheek. Her skin tingled. Her breathing was ragged. He was going to kiss her.
Please.
He lowered his head tentatively. It was as though they had never kissed before, and he was uncertain of his reception. His mouth was beautifully warm and their lips clung. His arm tightened about her waist, strong and welcome. Her limbs went weak. When he lifted his head, his eyes were black.