Her fingers itched to touch him, to smooth the crease from his brow, but she curled her fingers into her palms and steeled herself to resist. For all that she liked to dream, and for all Edwin’s misreading of her motives, she couldn’t deceive this man. And she knew that if she touched him without telling him that he was a knight, and thus was as far above her as the stars, she would be lost forever.
Had he heard anything of the conversation in the hut? Had his memory returned?
No matter. She couldn’t take another step towards him without him knowing the truth. Her heart must be in her eyes and she didn’t care.
The wind dropped and everything went quiet. She shivered and glanced up. There were a handful of clouds in the sky and a hawk, quartering the heather. There was nothing alarming in any of these things, so why this horrid prickling of her skin?
Oliver lounged, apparently relaxed on the door post, one thumb hooked casually over his belt. He was waiting for her to take that last step and touch him. It was as though he was daring her to move. A muscle flickered in his cheek. The grey eyes never left her. Try as she might, she couldn’t read him. She must tell him at once.
‘Sir Oliver?’ she said, making sure she stressed his title. She heard his swift intake of breath. Briefly, he shut his eyes. ‘Are you dizzy, sir?’ Some of the tension had left his face, but when he opened his eyes they were clouded.
‘Sir Oliver?’ he said.
She swallowed and nodded. ‘Sir Oliver.’
He smiled and she could no longer hold his gaze. She stared at the pulse in his neck. How much had he heard? Had he thought she would betray him?
He reached for her, extracting her hand from the folds of her gown. She hesitated before twining her fingers with his – the confusion and guilt remained. She couldn’t look at him and thus missed seeing his grey eyes soften as they rested briefly on her downbent head.
He pulled her against him and jerked his head at Alfwold. ‘You. Inside.’
Rosamund hadn’t spared Alfwold a thought since Oliver had stepped into the doorway. His scarred face was rigid, his eyes staring.
Oliver sighed and shifted. More of his weight leaned against her. His mouth was white about the edges. He feels weak, this isn’t easy for him. She pushed her shoulder under his arm and slid her arm about his waist. He laid his hand across her shoulders and held Alfwold’s gaze.
‘Alfwold?’
‘Sir?’
‘I’m not one for revenge,’ Oliver said.
Alfwold looked disbelievingly at him.
‘Mon Dieu, get inside, man, before I keel over. I merely want to talk with you. I’m hungry and I could do with a drink. Then I’ll leave you in peace.’
Alfwold went inside.
‘I’ve the thirst of a camel,’ Oliver said.
‘A camel? Whatever’s that?’ Rosamund asked.
Oliver grinned and squeezed her shoulder. That heart-warming light had appeared in his eyes, and his cracked tooth peeped out at her. ‘I’ll tell you later. In the meantime, I need to rest a little more. Help me inside, will you? I’m weak as a babe.’
***
‘Oliver, slow down!’ Rosamund said, panting as her feet slipped for the hundredth time on the steep, rock-strewn path leading down Blue Bank. Ahead, she could hear the faint grumble of the waterfall.
‘Almost at the bottom,’ he flung over his shoulder without slackening his pace. ‘The falls are just ahead.’
‘Yes, I can hear them. Must we go so fast?’
The water-skin hanging on a thong from Rosamund’s waist had slipped, it banged against her hips with every step she took. Irritably, she jerked it into place. She should have given in and let Oliver carry it. He’d wanted to, but back in Lufu’s hut he’d seemed so weak.
By rights, he should be resting, but he’d made it plain he intended to get to the castle with all speed. His pace was such that you’d never imagine he’d been lying senseless a few hours ago.
‘I don’t know how you can keep this up-’ she said, heart slamming as she snatched at a shrub for balance ‘-especially with that head of yours.’
He swung round. ‘I don’t waste breath bleating, that’s how.’ His voice held grim determination, but he was only human. There were dark rings under his eyes and his hair was damp with sweat.
The grumble of the falls turned into a roar and she gritted her teeth as she fought to keep pace. The path was precipitous, although Lord Geoffrey’s newest knight didn’t seem to be having any difficulty with it.
Unlike her. Stones shifted underfoot. Pebbles worked their way through the soles of her shoes. Something sharp dug into her heel. ‘Holy Virgin,’ she muttered, shaking her foot.