Rosamund had discovered the ledge one summer when she’d been a child. It had been searingly hot and after she’d been banned the use of the millpond, she and Lufu had taken to swimming in the pool beneath the falls.
‘The millpond’s too deep, you can’t swim here,’ her father had said. ‘And it’s unseemly. Not to mention that you disturb the eel traps. We lost a good meal last week because of your foolishness. Get along with you.’
The summer being so hot, the girls had come here instead. This pool, with its noise and foam, had been exciting. It looked more dangerous than the millpond, although they’d soon learned it wasn’t very deep. There were no eel traps to worry about. It was here that they’d learned to swim. As long as you didn’t swim directly beneath the falls, where the drag could keep you under, you were perfectly safe.
The concealed ledge ran across the river behind the curtain of the falls. If you walked along it you ended up on the opposite bank. The moorland track Rosamund was heading for ran on from there.
Oliver was holding her hand so tightly that it hurt. Water was everywhere. Coughing and spluttering, she pressed on, inch by careful inch. It felt like drowning. Needles of water jabbed at her skin. Underfoot, a stone rocked. Her feet slid out from under her, and icy water closed over her head.
‘Rosamund!’ Blood pounding in his head, Oliver hauled on her arm. He wasn’t going to lose her, he couldn’t. Lifting her clear of the water, he stumbled with her towards the bank. She choked and spluttered and sat down – half in and half out of the pond.
‘We’re across!’ she said, her breathing harsh and laboured.
Kneeling over her, heedless of the wet, Oliver pushed her hair from her face. ‘Are you alright?’
‘Yes.’ Her teeth chattered, but she found a smile and some of his tension ebbed away.
‘On your feet.’ He put iron in his voice. ‘Move.’
She moaned.
‘On your feet. If a dog reaches the pool before we’ve taken cover, all that effort to spoil our tracks will have gone to waste. It will follow by sight. On your feet.’
‘You’re inhuman.’ None the less, she levered herself upright, hooking her hand into his belt for support.
‘Realistic, my angel, realistic.’
They staggered up the bank with their arms about each other’s waists. Rosamund was at the end of her tether, he could feel her shaking. Holding her as firmly as he could, he eyed the gorse bushes edging the path. ‘Only a few more feet, angel. Stand firm.’
‘I...I’m trying.’
She took another wobbling step and all but collapsed. The gorse snatched at her hair, he felt it scratch his hand and then they were safe. She sank onto the grass behind the gorse. His lungs were bursting and he was covered in goose-bumps. They were dripping like bundles of wet linen, but they were safe.
Squatting on his haunches, he peered through the bushes. Down by the pool in a scrap of moonlight, there was movement, definite movement. His heart sank. ‘Hell.’
‘Oliver?’
‘We’ve not lost them. I don’t know how they’ve done it, for I’d swear they didn’t see us.’
‘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.
‘You stay put, my lass. I take it you want us to look after him?’
‘Please.’
‘That’
s all we need to know. You rest, we’ll deal with your lad.’
Lufu and Edwin bent over Oliver and began to strip him, slinging his damp clothes over a line near the fire. Her pink gown was already drying there.
Your lad. Rosamund smiled despite herself. He’s a knight. Gathering a blanket around her, she clambered to her feet. ‘I want to help.’ The cottage shifted and her vision blurred.
Lufu set her hands on her hips. ‘Sit down, you daft woman.’
Rosamund subsided, but her eyes never left Oliver. Lufu and Edwin worked briskly, rubbing him dry and wrapping him in a blanket.
‘Shift over, Rose,’ Edwin said, as he and Lufu heaved Oliver into the bed. ‘There you are, lass. One dry lad.’
‘He...he’s very still.’ She touched his cheek, it was icy. ‘And cold.’
‘You can warm him.’ Chuckling, Edwin shook his head. ‘There’s no need to sigh and fret over that one, he looks as strong as a horse. He’ll be right enough come morning.’
‘He’s too cold.’ She piled more blankets on top of him and smiled at her friends. ‘Thank you for helping us.’
‘What happened, Rose?’ Lufu asked, sitting down on the edge of the mattress. ‘Why didn’t you stop when I called?’
She stared. ‘You called? When?’
‘I was behind you all the way up the Blue Bank. I called and called and Tatters was barking herself into a frenzy, but you never stopped. I couldn’t make out if he...’ Lufu jerked her head at Oliver ‘...was abducting you, or if you were going willing-like.’
‘You mean it was you? We were running from you?’
‘It would seem so.’
‘But the outlaws...we heard them in the wood. They were following us.’ Rosamund’s forehead felt as though it was encased in a tight metal band. She rubbed her forehead. ‘All that crashing about, all that barking...’
Lufu pointed at a brown mongrel chewing determinedly on a ham bone. ‘Meet Tatters.’
‘Tatters? Surely one small dog couldn’t make that amount of noise?’
‘Tatters was hunting. She rarely catches anything – her claws have been clipped – but she does enjoy the chase. She’s right noisy about it.’
Rosamund felt her jaw sag. ‘You’re saying we nigh on killed ourselves to escape from you?’
Lufu grimaced. ‘Strangers were abroad, I saw them down in the forest, but they never got past the waterfall. How could they know about the ledge?’
‘Poor Oliver, he ran all the way up the path for nothing. We were on our way here to beg for shelter.’ She smoothed a dark lock of hair from Oliver’s face and sighed.
Lufu tipped her head to one side. ‘I heard tell you’d been kept at the castle as the squire’s lover. Is he the lord’s squire?’
‘He was.’
‘You love him?’
Rosamund nodded sadly, her eyes travelling over Oliver’s still face.
Edwin dragged a stool to the fire and sank onto it. ‘Rose, lass, what do you mean he was the squire?’
‘He’s been knighted. I saw his spurs.’ Rosamund’s voice broke and her eyes swam with tears.
‘There’s no need to cry – you’ve a knight for a lover,’ Lufu said, patting her arm. ‘Many would deem that an honour-’
‘Not our Rose,’ Edwin said. A knife flashed – he was carving a twisted stick, enhancing the curve to make a shepherd’s crook. ‘She’s married. Do you have so little regard for sacred vows, wife?’
Lufu blew him a smiling kiss. ‘It’s not the same. We love each other. Rose has never loved Alfwold.’
Hot tears ran down Rosamund’s cheeks as it all tumbled out. ‘Oliver’s to marry Lady Cecily. He wanted me to live at the castle. I agreed, but I felt so bad betraying Alfwold.’ She sniffed. ‘I tried not to break my marriage vows. Truly. I...I ran away. I went back to the mill. I thought to ask Alfwold for an annulment.’
‘And...?’
‘Oliver came after me before I found Alfwold.’ She dashed away more tears. ‘We were caught in a trap. Attacked by outlaws – rebels, I think. Oliver was hurt, and he can’t remember anything.’
‘The knight remembers nothing?’
‘He doesn’t know who he is. Nor who I am, and...and-’
‘You are glad for it,’ Lufu said softly.
Startled, Rosamund met Lufu’s honest eyes. ‘How do you know?’
‘I know you.’
Rosamund wiped her eyes with the blanket. It smelt of wood smoke. ‘It’s as though I’ve been given a second chance.’ She stiffened her spine. ‘And I’m intending to make the most of it.’
Edwin’s knife stilled. ‘What do you mean?’
‘She means she’s not going to enlighten our noble friend as to his identity.’
‘You’re mad! Rose would not be so...’ Edwin broke off, studied her face, and his expression changed. ‘Rose? You’re surely not thinking of deceiving a knight?’
She squared her shoulders. ‘And if I am?’
‘You can’t!’ Edwin made a sound of exasperation. ‘Think what they’ll do when they discover the truth...’
Rosamund touched Oliver’s ashen cheek with the back of her fingers. ‘I know it’s wicked of me to be considering this. But if I tell him who he is, he’ll charge back to the castle, marry Lady Cecily, and I...I think it would kill me.’ Especially now. Her heart squeezed as she thought about the subtle changes the blow to the head seemed to have wrought in Oliver’s character. The trusting open-heartedness. The way he didn’t seem to question his feelings for her. If only he could stay this way forever.
‘I’ll not be a party to this!’ Edwin flung the half-carved crook to the floor. ‘Folk have been thrown in prison for less and I’ve a mind to spend my life walking through the heather on the open moor, not rotting in a dungeon.
‘I want you out of here, Rose. This instant. And you can take your precious knight with you.’
‘Edwin, no!’ Lufu jumped to her feet and waved at the bed. ‘Look at them, weak as kittens. It would be murder to throw them out in this state, and you know as well as I that the penalty for murder is worse than prison.’
Edwin narrowed his gaze on his wife and tugged thoughtfully on his beard. ‘I don’t know, you cast me out of my bed in the middle of night, put strange folk in my place, and then you tell me what I cannot do. Wife, you’re a trial to me, a sore trial.’
When Lufu turned to wink at her, Rosamund realised that Edwin would let Lufu have her way. His bark had always been worse than his bite.
‘Rose, rest,’ Lufu said, firmly. ‘And warm your Oliver.’
Edwin reached for his crook and grunted. Rosamund relaxed. The box bed was warm and cosy and she was bone tired. Yawning, she sank into it and wound her arms around Oliver. ‘Where will you sleep?’
Lufu chuckled. ‘Don’t you worry about that, my lass. We’ll be fine by the fire.’
‘We will, will we?’ Edwin said, but his voice remained calm, the anger had gone.
‘We’ll decide what to do in the morning,’ Lufu said. ‘Sleep well.’
‘Good night and my thanks,’ Rosamund mumbled. Her lips were pressed against Oliver’s torso and her eyelids were drooping. ‘We’ll talk in the morning.’
Chapter Eight
Edwin left the hut at daybreak with the small mongrel. He’d been muttering about his flock. That had been hours ago. Lufu had lent Rosamund a gown, and Rosamund was sitting cross-legged on the floor close to the box-bed whilst she mended hers. Oliver hadn’t moved – he was as still and as grey as a stone. The girls were arguing.
‘Lufu, no!’ Rosamund said. ‘I’d rather live in sin with Oliver than spend the rest of my life tied to Alfwold.’ She stabbed the needle through the pink cloth. The fabric was fraying, the edges of the tear needed to be over-stitched before it could be repaired.
‘Anyone would think it was you who’d been struck on the head,’ Lufu said. ‘Do show some sense. You can’t hope to hide a knight. What will you do, lock him up?’
‘Of course I
won’t lock him up!’
Lufu gave her a straight look. ‘In that case, someone’s bound to recognise him, and then where will you be? You’re not thinking straight. Rosamund, you must tell him everything.’
Rosamund held down a sigh. She knew Lufu was angry, she only ever called her by her full name when she was angry. She set her jaw. ‘Lufu, I won’t deceive him for long. I will tell him everything, I swear.’
‘When? Tomorrow? Next week? When?’
‘When he starts to remember. I won’t stop him returning to the castle.’
‘You’re a fool.’
Rosamund tossed her head and her unbound hair rippled down her shoulders. ‘It will be worth it.’
The only time I am truly myself is when I am with Oliver. Oliver sees just me; no-one else has really seen me. To Father I’m a means of him keeping his place at the mill, even in old age; Aeffe sees me as a servant; and I’m beginning to suspect that Alfwold sees me as way of putting a roof over his head. But Oliver...
‘Worth it?’ Lufu’s eyes bulged. ‘The man’s a knight! Since when has it been worth risking your neck for a few days of bliss? No man is worth such a price.’
‘He is.’
Lufu snorted. ‘What do you think he will do when he discovers you’ve deceived him? I doubt he’ll be thanking you.’
Rosamund’s needle went still.
‘Aye, think on that,’ Lufu said, darkly. ‘You’d be forcing him to break his vow to Lord Geoffrey.’
Rosamund hesitated, she could remember Oliver talking about the importance of honour – about the importance of keeping his vows. ‘The baron can’t hold him responsible if he’s lost his memory!’
‘Can’t he? And what about you, what will the baron do to you?’ Lufu leaned closer. ‘Rose, Oliver is a knight, you are Alfwold’s wife. He belongs at the castle, you at the mill.’
‘You don’t have to remind me.’ Rosamund felt her shoulders droop. ‘In truth, I think he might be beginning to remember already. Last evening, I let slip something about the castle and he went very quiet. Lufu, I do know he’ll have to go back.’
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