Shattered Vows(89)

‘My lady?’

‘Nothing, my dear, nothing.’

Rosamund took up another cloth, dipped it into the cooling water and wrung it out. ‘My lady, it’s your turn to rest. Let me do this.’

‘You’re a sensible woman, Rosamund,’ Lady Adeliza said, heaving herself to her feet.

Rosamund gave her a straight look. ‘For a peasant, you mean?’ she asked, voice dry.

Lady Adeliza’s lips twitched. ‘You’re an impudent chit, but you’ll do.’

***

Three evenings later.

Rosamund paused as she trailed her fingers over the door of Sir Oliver de Warenne’s chamber. The wind was rushing past the narrow lancet, but other than the wind, she could hear nothing. There was no sound from either the bedchamber or the hall below. She’d been released from her duties too late to partake in the nightly revels and the victory celebrations would have been over days ago. Not that she minded.

Lord Geoffrey was sleeping – genuinely sleeping. His fever had finally left him late that afternoon. Apart from a brief walk round the outer bailey, Rosamund had watched over him most of the day. She should be pleased, her hard work hadn’t been wasted. Baron Geoffrey was well and Lady Adeliza regarded her with much favour.

She and Lady Adeliza had worked as one to save him, and Lady Adeliza had told her that she was grateful. She had also told Rosamund that she was not one to let her debts go unsettled.

Rosamund didn’t know what that meant. A permanent position in the castle, perhaps? Then she needn’t worry about returning to a cold welcome at the mill. Surely that should be a cause for jubilation? She would wear fine clothes, and eat good food every day....

However, at the moment she felt nothing, she was empty. Drained. And it was more than just physical tiredness – the realisation that Alfwold had only wanted her for the mill had shocked her to her core. Alfwold wanted me as a means of getting the mill; my father tolerated me as a servant...

Were all men the same? Was everything a means to an end to them? She stared at the closed door, pressing her palm against the solid oak. Briefly, she’d thought that one man was different. Was she a fool to nurse the hope that she hadn’t been mistaken?

She hadn’t seen Oliver to speak to for days. Too taken up with nursing her lord, she’d hardly had time to eat or sleep. She’d eaten on the run and she’d slept on the long, hard bench at the foot of the baron’s bed. And now, at last, Lady Adeliza had waved her away.

‘Get to bed, Rosamund. My son no longer needs your assistance. Our thanks,’ Lady Adeliza had said.

Rosamund stared at Oliver’s door. Is he already in bed? Asleep? She could see him as clearly as if he was lying in front of her. His dark hair would be tousled, his long limbs would take up most of the bed...

Get to bed. Lady Adeliza’s parting words echoed through her mind. The question was...which bed? Should she be joining the other ladies in the women’s quarters or...?

Her fingers closed on the latch. She bit her lip in an agony of indecision. Should she go in? If only she’d been able to speak to him, but since coming back from the falls there’d been no chance. She had no idea what he expected of her. And with him due to marry Lady Cecily, she really didn’t have the right to lift that latch and go to him...

Chest aching, her fingers slid from the latch. She could assume nothing. She had no rights, it was Lady Cecily who would have the rights.

The wind whistled through the lancet, and the wall torch sputtered and went out. Head bowed, she caught up her skirts and felt her way down the dark spiral. A door clanged in the bowels of the castle.

Quick footsteps sounded on a landing above. ‘Rosamund?’

Oliver! Her heart began to thump. ‘Sir?’

A dark shape appeared at her side. ‘Give me your hand, angel, I can’t see a thing.’

She reached through the gloom and found his chest. Warm fingers gripped hers.

‘Where the devil are you off to?’ His fingers tightened. ‘You weren’t thinking of running away again?’

‘I was going to bed.’

‘You’re going the wrong way.’ He lifted her into his arms and forged up the winding stairs. ‘I won’t have you playing the coy maid tonight.’

‘Oliver!’ She clutched at his tunic, her heart light. ‘You’ll drop me.’

Laughter rumbled in his chest. ‘Never.’

At the bedchamber, he shouldered open the door and bore her inside. He kicked the door shut behind him and a wall candle hissed. Grey eyes gleamed down at her – he was panting and slightly flushed.

‘I can see I’ll have to take training more seriously if I’m going to carry you up to bed every night,’ he said, with a grin. His chipped tooth gleamed.