Shattered Vows(8)

‘It’s free,’ she said, holding out her arms.

Taking her by the waist, he set her down. Still with that look on his face. He didn’t release her immediately, and his eyes wandered slowly over her. Rosamund’s breath caught, and she became conscious of her hands resting on his forearms. It was hard to breathe.

‘You are an unusual maid,’ he said, softly. His gaze was lingering on her mouth.

Her cheeks burned. ‘Am I?’ The wool of his tunic was soft to the touch and the body beneath felt strong. Oliver was certainly as strong as Alfwold. Yet she felt no urge to wrench herself out of his hold as she had that day last autumn, when Alfwold had sealed their pledge with his kiss.

What would Oliver’s kiss be like? It wouldn’t be rough and crude and careless of her distaste, nor would it be tainted with yesterday’s fare and reeking of onions.

Oliver’s kiss would be clean and sweet...

‘Aye, you are a strange maid. Most ladies would twist their lips and turn away from a mere squire, but you-’

‘You’re a squire? Sir Geoffrey’s squire?’

‘Aye.’

‘From your manner I thought you to be a leper at the very least. But a squire...you really are Sir Geoffrey’s squire? I am honoured!’ She attempted a mocking little curtsy, but the effect was rather spoiled as Oliver hadn’t let go of her waist.

‘You don’t know the worst of it,’ he said. His eyes were full of shadows.

‘Oliver, don’t. You’re set on souring the dream and I won’t let you. Can’t you accept today for what it is? It’s May Day – we can surely be ourselves for one day? Our real selves, as we are deep down. Forget that you’re a squire. Forget that I’m the miller’s daughter. We have no duties today.’

Even as Rosamund spoke, thoughts of Alfwold turned her heart to lead. She’d finally given Alfwold her pledge, albeit that he was not her choice. Hastily, she pushed her forthcoming marriage to the back of her mind. Alfwold had no part in a May Day dream, he belonged in the real world and she wouldn’t allow him to step into this fantasy and spoil it, any more than she’d allow Oliver his gloomy thoughts.

‘Yesterday and tomorrow have no place in our dream,’ she said, firmly. ‘Our dream is now, that’s all that matters.’

Oliver pulled her against him and stroked the hair from her face. His fingers lingered and her belly clenched. She rubbed her cheek against his hand.

‘Rosamund, you child.’

Heart thumping, she turned her head into his palm and kissed it.

Oliver snatched his hand away. ‘Don’t.’ His voice was gruff. ‘You know nothing about me.’

‘I don’t have to.’ She waited a moment or two, holding her breath while behind her the waves broke on the shore in an endless, steady beat. He was going to kiss her, she knew it. When nothing happened, she looked up. ‘When are you going to kiss me?’

‘I’m not.’ He shifted, putting her at arm’s length. His eyes were like flint.

She had shocked him. Who was she, a peasant girl, to speak to her lord’s squire in such a way? Cheeks scalding with shame, she covered her face with her hands. ‘I am sorry,’ she muttered, ‘I’m not normally like this. I’m not a...a...’ She couldn’t bring herself to say it. She risked a glance through her fingers. He was smiling, almost. Yes, he was smiling – she could see that broken tooth.

‘Rosamund.’ He shook his head on a sigh, but the way he spoke her name made her sound important. She knew then that he would let her have her way.

Oliver wouldn’t sour the dream but neither must she.

***

They removed their boots and followed the crescent curve of the cliffs, one on either side of the grey stallion. The sun warmed their faces. The waves hushed and the air tasted of salt. Rosamund loved the feel of the gently warming sand beneath her feet, but Oliver rolled up his chausses and waded calf-deep through sea foam.

‘Does Lance mind the waves?’

‘Not at all, though I warrant that by now he’d relish fresh water. We’d best find a stream.’

Rosamund pointed. ‘Over there. Our river divides up in the hills, and part of it runs into the sea yonder.’

‘Our river?’

‘The one that turns my father’s millwheel.’

Oliver grunted and turned for the stream.

‘There are more snake-stones here,’ Rosamund said. ‘I found a fair number of them at the end of last summer.’ Her stomach rumbled and she wrapped her arms about her middle to muffle the sound. Sad to say, she was always hungry.

‘You need food,’ Oliver said, with a grin. He secured Lance’s reins loosely so the horse was free to graze on the riverbank or drink the clear mountain-water. ‘Here, catch.’