Shattered Vows(71)

‘That impossible. Hardly anyone knows this track, and I didn’t recognise those men as being native to Eskdale. They can’t know of it.’

‘See for yourself.’

A dog howled and her shoulders sagged. She touched his hand. ‘Oliver, you have to leave me. I can’t keep up. I’ll be alright. Leave me and follow the path-’

In a heartbeat, he was on his feet. Leave Rosamund? Never.

‘Rosamund, get up.’ Rather to his surprise she obeyed, but it was clear she could go no further, she was swaying on her feet. He scooped her into his arms.

‘Oliver, no!’

‘I’ll not leave a woman to face a pack of dogs.’

He didn’t speak again, he couldn’t. He forced himself back onto the track, Rosamund held fast against his chest. She put an arm about his neck and clung. As he ran, her hair streamed over his hands. At his heels...barking. Ahead...? He had no idea.

What he did know was that the gap between hunter and quarry was closing. He also knew he couldn’t keep going for long. Gritting his teeth, he forced his stride to lengthen. Every step felt like a hammer blow to his skull, but he told himself that he was nearing the summit. His throat was on fire. It wouldn’t be enough. That yelping...and he would swear he could feel eyes boring into the back of his neck.

A high-pitched shout floated up from the bottom of the bank, he couldn’t make out the words. And then his ears started to betray him, all he could hear was the sea. Wave, after wave, after wave. The sound was distant, miles away. Perhaps...after all...they had shaken them off. He stumbled and slowed to a walk. His heartbeat raced on, he was sucking in great gasps of air.

‘Stop, you stubborn fool. Put me down.’

‘Must...go...on.’

Heather was growing across the path. They’d reached the top, this was the moor. The wind was so cold it cut like a knife. He stumbled again – his head was one expanding field of pain. The dark moor tilted and the moon and stars whirled. His body had turned to lead. He staggered and caught his boot in a clump of heather.

His last conscious act was to lift a hand to protect Rosamund from being crushed beneath him. An image flashed in on him – a castle perched on the edge of a cliff. He could see it clearly, it was as though he were gazing right at it. He knew that from the battlements of the castle one could see a wide, wave-tossed sea.

There was something he must do. Something he had sworn on his honour to do and it was connected with that castle. Oliver struggled to hold the thought but the picture shifted almost as soon as it had formed. Despair was a cold fist in his chest.

‘Dawn,’ he muttered. ‘I should be back at dawn.’

His hand fell limp into the heather and everything went black.

***

Rosamund woke slowly. She was wrapped in a cocoon of blankets. Drowsy and content, she tunnelled deeper into the warmth.

‘Rose?’ It was a young woman’s voice and it was very familiar. ‘Edwin, she’s awake!’

There was a low murmur as a man responded. Rosamund puzzled half-heartedly over the voices. She felt too lazy to respond and she’d heard nothing to alarm her. She was so tired – a place where she could sleep and not be disturbed was heaven. A fire was burning nearby, she could hear it crackling.

‘Rose?’ The woman’s voice sharpened. Someone shook her shoulder.

Rosamund burrowed deeper into the blankets. ‘Want to sleep,’ she mumbled.

‘Rose, you have to wake up. It’s important.’

She opened her eyes. She was in a box-bed and Lufu was looking down at her, brow knotted.

‘Lufu!’ The desire to sleep gone, Rosamund pushed upright. The blankets slipped from her shoulders. Her naked shoulders.

Lufu smiled and caught the blanket. ‘You’re not dressed,’ her eyes danced. ‘And while you’ll not mind me seeing you...there is Edwin to consider.’

Rosamund shoved back her hair and looked past Lufu. Bright hazel ones met hers. Edwin, Lufu’s husband, was grinning across at her from the foot of the bed. She was in their bed, in the hut on the moor.

Edwin stroked his beard. ‘I’m not complaining, don’t mind me.’

‘What happened? Why am I here?’ Rosamund asked. Memory rushed back at her and she caught Lufu’s arm. ‘Lord, there were dogs...outlaws...where’s Oliver? Did they get him?’

Lufu pointed to the large body lying next to the blazing fire. ‘That, I take it, is Oliver?’

She went weak with relief. Oliver’s dark hair made a stark contrast to his face which was chalk white. His body – or rather, his clothes – were steaming gently in the heat of the fire. She couldn’t see whether he was breathing or not. She made to scramble from the bed, but Lufu put a firm hand on her chest.