Oliver knelt before her. His sword flashed and he began slicing through the rope at her ankle. She rested a hand on his shoulder as he worked, talking to the top of his dark head.
‘Which is best, Oliver? Head or heart?’
He shot her a look which was half exasperated, half tender. ‘I should think it would be best to win a man’s head and his heart, don’t you? Angel, hold still.’
She drew a sharp breath. He called me angel...he’s remembering...
‘What ails you? Did I hurt you?’
‘You...you called me angel.’
‘What of it?’ His brow cleared. ‘Ah, I have called you that before.’
She nodded. The rope fell from her ankles and Oliver stood, parrying an imaginary thrust with his sword.
‘Good. Maybe my mind will come back to me soon.’ He tossed the dagger at her. ‘Here, you’d best have the man’s dagger, I want you to be able to defend yourself.’
She took the dagger and hunkered down to rub her ankles where the rope had chafed them. When she next glanced across, Wulfric had been bound and Oliver was grinning down at her.
‘Rosamund, watch.’ The sword flashed as it danced through the dark. ‘I may be short on memory, but I know how to wield a sword.’ The sword described another brilliant arc through the dank air. ‘This blade sits well in my hand.’
‘It should do-’ she bit her lip. Both the sword and the dagger were his, but he didn’t yet remember.
‘Go on....’
‘N...nothing...that is...you’re clearly a fine swordsman.’
‘Tell me more. Rosamund, tell me.’
She looked quickly away. His face was so earnest, but she was reluctant to reveal that he was a knight. This new Oliver seemed much kinder than the old one. He was warmer, he was less calculating and she was tempted, more than tempted, to see what other changes she might discover if she kept him ignorant of his true status. It would only be for a little while.
I need to think.
And, in the meantime...
‘Shouldn’t we be going?’ she said, frowning at the man on the ground. ‘Before someone comes to find out what’s keeping him?’
‘You’re right, we can talk later. We’ll break through the wall and make a run for it. This side?’ He gestured at the back wall.
‘Yes.’
He began prising the planking apart and she went to help. The wood was so rotten it took little more than a touch for it to break apart. The night air rushed in.
He touched her arm. ‘Stick as close as a burr.’
‘I will, don’t worry, I can run and my brain’s not been scrambled. Where are we going?’
He stared at her, his face a picture of confusion. ‘Hell burn it, I’ve not the slightest idea. You know the area?’
She nodded.
‘Find us a safe harbour. Is there an abbey where we can take sanctuary until my head clears?’
‘An abbey, yes, indeed-’ she shut her mouth with a snap. Alfwold! Alfwold had gone to the abbey to wait for the abbot to return from York.
They couldn’t go to the abbey! Alfwold would be lodged at the abbey guest house – they’d be sure to bump into him and the whole sorry tale would emerge. Oliver would realise he was a knight; he would remember his ambitions, and that would be the end of her as far as he was concerned. He would remember he was promised to Lady Cecily. Worse, he’d remember that she was married to Alfwold.
Firmly, she shook her head. ‘We can’t go to the abbey.’
‘Why ever not? It would seem the obvious place.’
She thought quickly. ‘Oliver, you may not recall but the leader of these men is a priest, Father Eadric. I don’t know whether he’s a rebel or an outlaw, but there may be others like him at the abbey. I daren’t take us there.’
‘Where then?’ He stole to the door and peered through the crack. ‘Lord, there’s an entire troop out there. Hurry!’
She toyed with the hilt of the dagger. They couldn’t head for the coast. Oliver would see the castle and he’d be sure to ask questions she’d rather not answer. There was also a risk he’d be recognised.
‘When they find us gone, those men will scour the river and outlying land,’ she murmured. ‘We could head for the moors. If we can get to the top of Blue Bank, I have friends there – a shepherd and his wife. They’ll shelter us.’ Her stomach knotted. ‘If we find them.’
Oliver was back at her side, eyes glittering like jet. He folded her hand in his and gave it a gentle squeeze. ‘We’ll find them.’
Rosamund glimpsed his cracked tooth – he saw this as a challenge and he was relishing it. Unlike her. She stared at the ground. ‘I wish this was over, I’m afraid.’
He tilted her chin and dropped a swift kiss on her mouth. ‘Don’t be. We’ll find your friends. With a little luck, it’ll be awhile before these beggars miss us.’
Turning back to the wall, he shoved more wall planks aside. ‘It would be too risky to take the lantern, we’ll have to rely on the moon.’ With a last grin, strong fingers wrapped round her wrist and he dived through the opening. ‘Which way?’
As Rosamund’s eyes adjusted to the moonlight, she glanced at the stars. They would tell her the way. She pointed. ‘We go through the wood, climbing all the time. If we find we’re going downhill, we’ve taken the wrong path. We should come to a waterfall, we can follow the sound of it. And then-’
‘That’s enough for the moment. Remember, tread softly...’
***
Rosamund could no longer tell whether the moon was shining or not. She rather thought not, for black shapes were swimming in and out of her line of vision. Her lungs ached.
‘Keep going,’ Oliver said, forging on up the track. Relentless. Merciless.
The dark trees were losing their individual outlines. Their shapes blurred together, seeming to shift and form a cavernous pit. It was waiting for her to fall into it. She was panting, desperate for breath. Oliver was pitiless. Inhuman. Didn’t the air sear its way into his lungs as it did with her? His breathing sounded laboured, but he was showing no sign of slackening.
His grip on her hand was unyielding. If he would but let go she could pause awhile. She moaned. He checked and she stopped, chest heaving.
‘Listen!’ Frowning, he gave her hand a little shake. ‘Rosamund, listen.’
‘Hmm?’ Spots danced before her eyes.
‘The waterfall, can you hear it?’
‘All I can hear is waves on the beach.’ She groaned and Oliver steadied her. ‘We must have gone the wrong way, they’ll catch us if we head for the sea.’
‘Rosamund!’ His voice sharpened. ‘There’s been no sign of pursuit. Pull yourself together. Listen, can you hear it?’
She listened and realised the swishing wasn’t waves on the beach, it was water cascading down the falls...
‘That’s it – Angel Falls! There’s a pool at the bottom. Keep the water to your right, the path to the moor veers off to the left. It’s a steep climb.’
He turned immediately, tugging her after.
Silly man, he must know she would only slow him down. She jerked her hand free.
‘Rosamund?’ He extended his hand to hers. ‘The more distance we put between us and them the better.’
‘I’m sorry, I can’t.’ She dragged in air.
He loured over her. Patches of moon and starlight filtered through the leaves, lighting his broad shoulders, tuning his face into a silver mask.
‘Yes, you can,’ he said, in his hard voice.
‘Oliver, I’m spent. Go on without me, it’s you they want, not me. They’ll leave me alone.’
‘Don’t be naive. You know where the camp is, they’ll want you silenced. You’re coming with me.’
‘I’ll slow you down.’
‘You’re coming.’
She stared up at him, he really did seem concerned.
‘Rosamund?’
‘You’re worried about me.’
Dark eyes narrowed. ‘You’ve
told me that we’re lovers and I believe you. Should I not look out for my love?’
She gave him a little push. ‘That blow must have addled your wits. You were not so careful of my welfare before.’
He grinned. ‘Why ever not? Surely a sweet-tempered maid like you would merit my complete devotion?’ He cupped her cheek with his palm. ‘Angel, I need you to take me to your friends. And until my wits return, who better to trust but my love?’
Rosamund’s heart twisted. She had liked the old Oliver far too much, but this open, more loving Oliver was impossibly attractive. In truth, she couldn’t bear to lose him. If only she could keep him. For a little while. Just until his memory returned...
But that would be impossible. She would have to keep him ignorant of his real identity, and she couldn’t do that to him. It would be wrong, very wrong. Even if she persuaded Alfwold to agree to an annulment, it would be impossible...
Don’t tell him he’s a knight. She tried to turn her mind away from the thought, but once formed, it wouldn’t leave her. Don’t tell him he’s a knight.
It wouldn’t be for long, just long enough for her to experience loving and being loved on her terms, with no reservations. He wouldn’t be a knight and she wouldn’t be the miller’s daughter – they would simply be a man and a woman in love.
‘Very well, my love,’ he was saying. ‘We’ll rest awhile but I’ll not leave you.’
She groaned. ‘Oliver, this is impossible.’
Smiling, he smoothed a lock of hair from her face. ‘It will be easier once you’ve caught your breath.’
‘I don’t mean that.’ If we stay together, I will be tempted to mislead you...
‘What do you mean?’
He sat on a fallen tree trunk and drew her onto his lap. His face was open. Candid and trusting. She closed her eyes and caught her breath. Her thoughts were all over the place. She would never be presented with such a chance again. She must guard her tongue most carefully. If she let slip his identity, all would be lost. She was at war with herself. I can’t mislead him, I mustn’t.
What difference would a day or two more make? True, she’d be living a lie, but it would only be for a short time – either Oliver would come back to himself or Alfwold would come for her.
Alfwold. Would he have her branded an adulteress? It was one thing for Baron Geoffrey to take it upon himself to lock her into Oliver’s bedchamber, and quite another for her to agree to become Oliver’s belle-amie. She really ought not to be thinking about this until she had spoken to Alfwold about an annulment.
Leaning against a broad shoulder, she bit her lip. I am considering becoming Oliver’s mistress! The thought ought to shock her, but it didn’t. The thought of being separated from him was far more distressing. Stripped of the ambition that went hand in hand with his status, ignorant of the differences between them, he was temptation itself. She gave a deep sigh.
‘Angel?’
In the depths of the wood, a dog barked.
She smiled into his eyes, suddenly shy. ‘I’m sorry, my mind’s wandering. How do you feel? Your head must hurt.’
Rubbing the back of his scalp, he gave her a crooked smile. ‘It hurts like the devil. Rosamund-’ he broke off, studying her so carefully that she felt herself blush. It was as though he were seeing her for the first time. ‘Rosamund.’ He touched the top of her head, sliding his fingers into her hair, combing it.
She gave a little laugh. ‘It’s a complete tangle.’
His lips curved. He shook his head and his fingertips trailed slowly on, down over an ear, across her cheek. Her skin tingled. Her breathing was ragged. He was going to kiss her.
Please.
He lowered his head tentatively. It was as though they had never kissed before, and he was uncertain of his reception. His mouth was beautifully warm and their lips clung. His arm tightened about her waist, strong and welcome. Her limbs went weak. When he lifted his head, his eyes were black.
‘My Rosamund.’ He cleared his throat. ‘You really are mine, your kiss betrays it.’
She thrust Alfwold to the back of her mind. In her heart, she’d been Oliver’s since May Day. ‘I’m yours.’
The dark head lowered and again they kissed. It was tender and oddly innocent. Achingly lovely.
‘Mine,’ he murmured.
The kiss changed, becoming surer, deeper. Rosamund moaned, she could lose herself in his kisses. A piercing sweetness flooded every vein. He kissed her fiercely, hungrily. She felt the same way.
Oliver, I love you. I want this to last forever.
When they drew apart, they were breathless.
‘I needed that,’ he said, thumb stroking her waist. ‘I’ve been wondering what it would be like to kiss you properly. Angry for not remembering.’
She reached for his head.
He shook his head. ‘No more. Angel, this is neither the time nor the place.’
‘You said something similar earlier,’ she said, and immediately wished she could call back the words. She was stepping into dangerous waters.
His brow creased. ‘I don’t remember.’
She hesitated, choosing her words. There were so many things she mustn’t mention – Lance, the castle, his cousin...
If he remembered too soon, he would rush to pick up the threads of his lost life and this newly discovered innocence would be lost in a tangle of ambition and obligation. ‘It was earlier this evening. Do you remember taking me to the beach?’
The crease deepened and the dark head shook. His face was white. Whether this was thanks to the moon or because of the blow to his skull, she couldn’t say. ‘I don’t remember the beach. Remind me.’ He rubbed the bridge of his nose.
‘Later. You’re very pale, you should be resting after a crack on the head like that.’ Gently, she moved his hand aside. His cheeks were ashen. The handsome face was taut with pain. Lined with exhaustion. Strong as he was, he was not made of steel. ‘Before I forget, this is yours.’ She unhooked his purse from her belt. ‘I took it to stop Father Eadric and his friends from getting it.’
‘My thanks.’ Taking it from her, he fumbled over the fastening.
‘Allow me.’ Frowning thoughtfully, Rosamund pushed his fingers to one side – he looked utterly drained – and tied the purse to his belt. ‘I don’t think we should go any further tonight. Let’s find somewhere to sleep. It’s a pity Wulfric took your cloak, but if we curl up together-’
He touched his hand to her mouth. ‘I can hear barking...’
She listened. Not far away she could hear a series of excited yelps. Baron Geoffrey’s hounds barked in that way when closing in on their quarry...
‘It’s getting louder.’ She threw a look over her shoulder. She hadn’t noticed dogs at the rebel camp but that didn’t mean there weren’t any. Had Father Eadric learned of their escape? Was he coming after them?
‘At least one dog is hot on a trail – our trail?’ Oliver’s eyes glittered in a way she was coming to recognise. He was summoning strength from a hidden reserve.
‘It couldn’t be after us, our friends would be sure to go east.’
‘Why?’
‘Because that’s where the castle-’ she broke off abruptly. Holy Mother, she shouldn’t have mentioned the castle. She shot him a surreptitious glance but he was listening to the dog...or was it dogs? An entire pack might be after them...
Pushing her from his lap, he stood. ‘Which way?’ He gripped her hand.
‘Past the pool at the bottom of the falls and up the path to the top.’
‘Lead on.’
She lurched into a run. The yelps and barks were alarmingly close and, rather more worrying, it sounded as though someone was forcing their way through the undergrowth behind them. Twigs snapped and cracked. Whoever it was, they were confident enough not to muffle their approach. The track opened out and they tore up it, feet pounding in unison.
‘Hell, we’re too visible,’ Oliver said, panting.
‘Not far now.’ Rosam
und was straining her ears for a subtler sound, the rushing of water. From a distance, the sound of the falls could be mistaken for thunder. A faint rumble brought a smile to her lips. ‘We’re almost there. It won’t be easy for them to follow once we get past the falls.’
They ran on. The barking got louder. More frenetic. An owl hooted and another gave an eerie echo.
Oliver groaned. ‘Pray that’s not an attack signal.’
They had reached the pool. Water thundered into it from the top of a steep bank, ruffling the surface, filling her ears with noise. Spray sparkled in the starlight. She looked up to the summit and grimaced. It was like looking up a cliff, they’d never make it, not with Oliver in this condition. A faint yapping was becoming audible over the thunder of the water.
Oliver put his lips to her ear. ‘Hurry and we’ll manage.’ There was no weakness in his voice, just grim determination. It was heartening to hear.
Tugging at his hand, she stepped boldly into the pool. They waded through it until they stood near the base of the falls. Water cascaded over them. They’d be soaked from head to foot, but the hounds would lose their scent. A wild laugh bubbled up. Rosamund struggled to contain it. If they’d stayed on the bank, they’d have been torn to pieces. Instead, they’d probably die of lung-fever.
‘I’ll take my chance with the lung-fever,’ she muttered.
The stones were worn smooth by the crashing waters. Slippery. She missed her footing. Oliver braced her, his arm steady about her waist. Foam frothed around their knees. Behind the wall of falling water the cliff shone like polished jet. There were no weeds, the falls had scoured them away. Oliver shot her a puzzled glance but thankfully he was accepting her guidance. She feared he was near to losing consciousness. She waded on, searching frantically for a foothold, praying that he wouldn’t faint before they were across. Her ears were full of water, her heart was hammering and she could hardly see, but she found the foothold she was searching for – a ledge hidden by the falls. She stepped onto it.
Water lapped about her ankles and she edged along, wary of slipping under the rush of water. The force could keep you under, in places it was strong enough to drown the king’s champion.
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