Shattered Vows(7)

Her eyes filled with reproach and her chin lifted. ‘Just for today,’ she said. ‘You agreed. And it’s only a dream, remember?’

He looked at her. The wind was whipping her hair about her head and with the sun streaking it with gold, she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. ‘And tomorrow?’

‘You will be back at the castle and I shall be back at the mill. We will have woken.’

She said it so simply. Oliver saw her eyes flicker over the blue flowers in his hand.

‘And those will have faded.’ She shrugged.

Oliver’s hand crept to the pouch at his belt and he dropped the flowers inside. Smiling, he looked down at her bare feet. ‘Come then, find your boots. You can ride Lance.’

***

Rosamund didn’t like it. It was fast, frightening and uncomfortable. The destrier’s hooves beat like a drum on the damp, compacted sand. Oliver’s arm was tight about her waist, and she was confident that he wouldn’t let her fall, but the sand looked very hard – people weren’t born to ride these huge creatures.

The saddle had been designed for a knight in battle. It was shaped so the pommel rose up in front of the rider, and this was no doubt useful if the knight was wounded and needed something to hang on to. It certainly hadn’t been created for two and although Oliver had shifted back – she rather thought he was perched on his saddlebag – she found the saddle a great trial. She was sliding all over the place. The pommel chafed. Wondering if they could exchange places, she twisted to look over her shoulder.

‘What’s the matter?’ His voice warmed her ear and they slowed to a bouncing, jarring trot.

She grimaced, leaning against his arm to look past him. Her heart thudded. ‘I am sure you could be dead in this saddle and still stay on, but I don’t feel safe.’

‘Impertinent wench,’ he said cheerfully. Sliding off the horse, he started walking beside her.

‘Oliver!’ Even though he still had the reins, her stomach turned to water. A sandfly flew past, and the horse tossed his head. ‘He’ll have me off!’

‘Not Lance.’ Oliver’s tone was soothing. ‘He’s trained to suffer the heat of battle, your screams are nothing after what he’s seen and heard.’ Slate grey eyes held hers. ‘However, not all horses are so well trained. One of the first things you must learn when riding is not to make unexpected or violent sounds.’ He grinned.

‘I’m not like to ride again. Riding is for fine ladies, not peasant girls. Get me off, for pity’s sake.’

Oliver’s grin widened, but she was too busy clinging to the saddle to notice. He continued, almost on a monotone as if chanting plainsong. ‘The second thing to learn is to sit properly. Move back.’

Leather creaked as she shifted to obey him. It was that or take a tumble.

‘That’s better. Let me adjust the stirrups.’

‘Oliver, I beg of you, get me down. There’s no point you trying to teach me.’

He ignored her. He had her seated to his satisfaction with both feet in the stirrups, and before she could protest was leading her along the beach. She gripped the leather pommel until her knuckles went white and scowled at the back of his head. He was giving her no choice but to accept the strange motion of the horse.

After some minutes, she discovered it was easier than she’d expected. The saddle was holding her in place, and the horse – Lance – wouldn’t bolt with Oliver at the reins. A seagull shrieked above them and she spared it a glance.

Oliver noticed. ‘There! I knew you’d like it, it can’t be that terrifying if you’re looking at the gulls.’

‘You’re right, it isn’t. It was the saddle – it felt wrong before.’

‘It’s a soldier’s saddle.’

‘I know.’ Rosamund bit her lip. Only knights had such saddles and a girl of her station really ought not to be talking to a knight, particularly in so familiar a manner. ‘Oliver?’

‘Mmm?’ He patted Lance’s neck.

‘Are you a knight?’

His mouth thinned. ‘No, I borrowed the saddle.’ He gestured at his boots. ‘My spurs are of base metal, knights bear gilded ones.’

She felt herself relax. ‘That is a relief.’ Lance’s ears twitched. ‘Your horse looks as though he’s listening to us.’

‘He probably is.’

‘It must be wonderful to control him. You must feel – invincible. For myself, it’s still a little worrying, I’ve had enough. Oliver, I pray you, help me down.’

He moved to her side and pulled her foot from the stirrup. ‘You’ve done well, we’ll make a lady of you yet,’ he said, lightly. ‘Kick the other foot free.’ He had a strange look on his face.