Shattered Vows

by Carol Townend

  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.

  Rosamund’s heart began to race and that slow hollow ache started in her belly. ‘Every night?’ she asked, trying to harden her voice, but it meant a great deal that he’d come to find her. ‘Your lady wife wouldn’t think much of that. Put me down please, sir.’ She was painfully aware that those penetrating grey eyes might glean too much from her expression.

  I love you. Do you love me?

  ‘As you wish, my lady.’ Taking her to the bed, he lowered her onto it and sank to his knees on the floor. Their eyes were level.

  My lady? Rosamund couldn’t look at him, for some reason she felt shy as a maid who’d never been kissed.

  ‘I had hoped...’ he said, huskily ‘...that you would be pleased to-’ Breaking off, he put a finger under her chin. ‘Rosamund, I prefer watching your eyes to the top of your head.’

  She stopped breathing. His voice had deepened, he was going to kiss her. When he shifted an inch closer, she gave an inarticulate murmur and swayed towards him.

  His first kiss fell on her cheek, his second on her jaw, and then he was covering her neck with kisses. Feverishly, hungrily. He tugged the ribbon from her braids, fanned out her hair and buried his face in it. She heard him mutter her name. ‘Rosamund.’

  Swoony with want, she clung to his wide shoulders. He planted a line of kisses around her throat and she arched her neck to give him better access.

  Abruptly the kisses stopped. His eyes glittered. ‘Mon Dieu, how I’ve missed you. Rosamund, my Rosamund,’ he said fiercely, and his lips covered hers.

  So eager was she to explore the kiss that she slipped to her knees before him. They were kneeling on the matting, chest to chest. She held that dark head to her and their lips clung. He tasted of honeyed wine.

  ‘Rosamund?’

  ‘Mmm?’

  ‘What’s wrong with the bed?’

  Impatiently, she held him to her, enjoying the feel of his chest through the stuff of her gown. He was aroused, she could feel him pressing into her belly. She moaned and her lips sought his, she hadn’t wanted the kiss to end.

  He pulled back. She gave a murmur of protest and her fingers curled into his hair.

  ‘No, my sweet love, not the floor.’ There was laughter in his voice.

  My sweet love...

  She found herself staring into eyes that smiled as tenderly she could wish. Then his expression altered and the moment passed.

  ‘Up you get. There, that’s better.’

  He laid her back on the bed and sat down next to her. A long-fingered hand smoothed her hair, idly playing with a shining tress. Something about his manner sent a prickle of warning running down her spine – he was hiding something.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ she asked, touching his hand with hers.

  He smiled. ‘I’ve had wine brought up, would you like some?’

  He had posed the question casually, but a muscle flickered in his jaw. She followed his gaze to the other side of the bedchamber where a clay jug and two cups sat on a tray on one of the coffers. When he combed his fingers though his hair, it came to her that he was avoiding her eyes. He didn’t look angry though, so what was this about?

  ‘Thank you, sir, I should like some wine.’

  ‘For pity’s sake, stop calling me “sir.”‘

  ‘Oliver?’

  With a sigh, he rose and went to the tray. He reached for the wine-jug.

  ‘Rosamund, you’re to marry me in the morning.’

  Her eyebrows snapped together, she must have misheard him. ‘I’m to marry you in the morning?’ A thousand questions leaped into her mind. Surely that was impossible? What about his ambitions? Lady Cecily? I’m a miller’s daughter, I have no dowry. He can’t marry me!

  That stiff back told her nothing, she needed to see his face...

  ‘Well?’ Oliver said, staring with apparent fascination at the lime-washed wall.

  ‘Are...are you asking me or telling me?’

  There was a slight pause. ‘Asking.’

  In a heartbeat, she had crossed the chamber. She wound her arms about his waist and hugged him, resting her cheek against his back. ‘Oh, yes. I’ll marry you. Please.’ As she pressed her mouth against his tunic she felt him relax, and her lips curved into an understanding smile. Her brave, proud knight didn’t find it easy to ask.

  He set the wine-jug down and turned in her arms. ‘You’re willing?’

  Her eyelids prickled – that faint uncertainty was most endearing. ‘Of course I’m willing.’ She felt as though she was glowing with happiness. Smiling, she hugged him again. He was kissing the top of her head when it struck her that the barriers between them hadn’t gone away. Her smile faded.

  ‘Angel, what’s the matter?’

  ‘I don’t understand. How can you marry me when you swore to marry Lady Cecily? Isn’t it dishonourable to break your vow to her? And in any case, I’m only a miller’s daughter, I have no dowry.’ Frowning, she slid her fingers into his hair, probing for the scar the rebels had left on his scalp. ‘You weren’t struck on the head again?’

  He grinned down at her. ‘No, my love, I was not.’ He drew her towards the bed and warm lips covered hers. ‘We’ll be married in the morning.’

  It took all her willpower to twist away from his kisses. ‘And your ambitions?’

  Grey eyes looked steadily into hers. ‘My ambitions are satisfied.’

  ‘What, all of them?’

  His smile was crooked. ‘Most of them. Rosamund, I asked for you and my cousin has consented. Even Lady Adeliza has given us her blessing.’ His voice took on an edge of laughter. ‘And when the Lady Adeliza does that – why, it’s tantamount to a command. She said she’d not have her daughter terrified into an early grave.’

  Rosamund shivered. ‘I don’t think Lady Cecily is long for this world.’

  His expression sobered. ‘She has the wasting sickness. Poor lady, her life has been one sad trial from start to end. Lady Adeliza has persuaded Geoffrey not to coerce her into anything. He said he thought to give her a protector but Lady Aleliza has persuaded him that Lady Cecily doesn’t have to marry me to secure her place at Ingerthorpe.

  ‘Lady Adeliza has decided that you’re more suited to be my wife. You have a formidable ally there, my love, she holds you in great esteem.’ His voice went husky. ‘Angel, I do have one ambition that has yet to be met, and it’s becoming more pressing by the moment. Rosamund?’ He lowered his head, and pushed himself against her.

  She turned her mouth to his and let out a sigh of pure pleasure. Her blood tingled and her toes curled. If it weren’t for one thing – Alfwold! – she would be dissolving into a puddle of bliss. However, she didn’t want Alfwold to end his days in a ditch and since returning to the castle, she’d not had a moment to make enquiries about his fate.

  Grimacing, she held back. ‘Do you know what’s to happen with Alfwold?’

  ‘Lord, but you’re a wriggler,’ Oliver said, without rancour. ‘Do
n’t worry about him. I’ve spoken to my cousin on his account, recommending him as the next tenant of your father’s mill. That way he can stay there – the village could do with a permanent stone-dresser, in any case.’

  Rosamund stared mistily up at him. ‘Thank you, I was worried. At heart, he’s a kind man and it seemed so unjust that he should have to spend his days trudging the highways. He hates it. He’ll be able to help my father, and he’ll have standing in the village.’ She paused, flushing. ‘And the villagers will know that one day they’ll have an honest miller who gives them their full measures.’

  Thoughtfully, she twirled a strand of hair round her finger.

  ‘Something else troubles you?’

  ‘I’ll be a lady if we marry.’

  ‘Not if, when.’ He cupped her face with his palm. ‘You’ll be a lady in the morning.’

  ‘It’s an honour I’d not thought of. I don’t think I can-’

  ‘You can and will,’ he said, firmly.

  ‘But...me? A lady?’

  ‘You’ll not be too much of one, I trust.’ Oliver said, kissing her nose.

  ‘So my name will be-’

  ‘Lady Rosamund de Warenne.’ He kissed her neck.

  Stunned by her extraordinary rise in fortune, Rosamund waved her hand about the bedchamber. ‘I’m not born to this. I only know half a dozen words of Norman French.’

  His arms tightened. ‘You can learn.’

  She shook her head. ‘I can’t believe you want me as your wife.’

  ‘Rosamund, hear this – I was prepared to give Lance to Geoffrey if it meant I could have you.’

  Her mouth fell open. ‘Truly?’

  ‘Fortunately...’ he grinned ‘...Lady Adeliza took my part, and it wasn’t necessary.’

  Her heart lifted, he must really want to marry her if he’d been prepared to part with Lance. Oliver loved her, and she wanted him to admit it. She opened her eyes at him. ‘You would have chosen me, the miller’s daughter, rather than your destrier? Sir, I’m flattered.’

  He gave her a wary look. ‘Rosamund?’

  ‘Luck has been on your side of late, hasn’t it? You have your warhorse back unharmed and-’

  ‘Not quite unharmed. The wretches damaged his mouth. And they’ve used a whip on him. I’d be the first to admit that Lance needs firm handling, but they’ve mangled him.’

  She touched a lean cheek. ‘I’m sorry, will he heal?’

  ‘Yes, but it’s a mercy he wasn’t with them for long, they’d have ruined him.’

  She sent him a wry look. ‘Ah well, that puts me firmly in my place. To be rated more highly than a warhorse was perhaps too much to expect. I see now my true worth – you would have exchanged me for a broken nag.’

  He looked deeply into her eyes. ‘Angel, I do want to marry you.’

  She tipped her head to one side. ‘Why?’

  A dark flush ran up under his skin, and he nuzzled her shoulder. ‘Lord, I don’t know, I like having you by me.’

  ‘Tell me, Oliver, I have to know. Do you love me?’

  A hand reached for her, coming to rest on her breast. ‘I’ll love you all you want,’ he murmured, moving his thumb.

  Rosamund frowned and tried to ignore the slow ache of desire. ‘That’s not what I mean, and you know it. Why did you ask for me?’

  The wide shoulders lifted. ‘You’re not wed and I might already have got you with child. I’ll not see my son or daughter named a bastard.’

  She stared at him. ‘That’s not the whole truth. I think you love me. You said you were incapable of loving but I don’t believe you. You’re in love with me but you’re afraid to admit it.’

  Oliver snorted. ‘Afraid?’

  ‘Yes, afraid. My brave knight, you’re courageous on the battlefield, but in the bedchamber...you’re afraid.’ She took his hand. ‘Admit it, Oliver. Admit that you love me. I love you so much, it hurts. And I need your love. I can’t marry you without it. I’ll need your love to support me if I’m to learn to be a lady.’

  A muscle flickered in his jaw. ‘Why must you insist on the impossible? I told you I couldn’t love. I warned you. As my wife, you’ll have a title and position. You’ll never go hungry and you’ll have fine clothes and money. Isn’t that enough?’

  ‘Lord, give me strength. Oliver, only a fool would turn down the chance to sleep between smooth linen sheets like these, and drink fine wine like that over there. But I wasn’t born to this. I’ll never be a real lady, not without your love. I need your love. I will need it to support me. To help me, to teach me – to forgive me when I make mistakes.’ She cupped his face with her palms. ‘Without your love, we cannot wed.’

  Silence. Clouded grey eyes looked deep into hers.

  ‘Oliver, I love you.’

  He stared at her and she held her breath for his answer.

  He swallowed. ‘Angel, I love you,’ he murmured, in a cracked voice.

  She smiled up at him. ‘Thank you, my love.’

  His lips twisted. ‘Though why on earth I should pick such a nagging wench... I’d rather fight a dozen Angevin armies than wrestle words with you. However, since you need the words...’

  Rosamund’s lips curved. ‘I do, I need the words.’

  He picked up a strand of her hair and stared at it. ‘I’m no troubadour to give you pretty words, my angel, but know that I love you. I think I loved you from the first, although I couldn’t admit it even to myself.’ He kissed her ear. ‘I should have realised when you ran away, but I was hot with rage – you’d dented my pride. All I could think of was that I wanted you back. Yet it was more than that, I was afraid – yes, desperately afraid that you’d come to harm. I’ve never felt that way about anyone else.

  ‘A man who is illegitimate has to steel himself against feeling early on. I thought I was well protected. But you...from the first you were so easy to talk to. You’d no haughty airs, and such innocent eyes. You crept under my guard and before I knew it, my heart was in your keeping.’

  ‘I’ll treasure it,’ she said, smiling through a shimmer of tears.

  He gave a rueful grin. ‘It took a blow from a rebel’s cudgel to knock some sense into me. I’d not been used to trusting myself to others. But back there, in that squalid hut, there was nothing but you between me and oblivion. I trusted you completely. At the time it seemed perfectly natural. I never doubted either you or our love, I knew I could trust you with my life.’

  She grimaced, remembering a moment when her integrity had been sorely tested. ‘I almost failed you. There was a time when I-’

  ‘When you thought to deceive me? Angel, I know. I overheard some of that in Lufu’s hut.’

  She bit her lip. ‘I’m sorry for it.’

  ‘Don’t apologise, when it came to it, you were honest. After I came round, when Alfwold was about to take you back to the mill, you deliberately called me Sir Oliver. You weren’t to know I’d overheard and understood I was a knight.’ He tugged her to him. ‘Back then, everything was so clear. Sadly, the more my memory returned, the more confusing it became.

  ‘For years I’d striven with no goal in mind save winning my golden spurs. I’d wanted nothing else. Yet suddenly, that ambition looked tarnished, worthless. I wanted you, I wanted your love. But as memory crowded back, I found to my horror that I’d made commitments that would keep me from you. I’d no desire to honour them, if it meant that you’d be insulted by becoming my whore. And unless I broke my vows to my cousin, that was all that I could offer you.’

  Rosamund looked thoughtfully at him. ‘Would you have broken your vow for me?’

  Oliver gave her a straight look. ‘When I went to my cousin to ask for you, I was prepared for a nasty wrangle. Thanks to my success with the rebels and your winning favour with Lady Adeliza, it wasn’t necessary.’ His smile lightened the depths of his eyes. ‘And so tomorrow, thanks to both our efforts, we will marry.’

  She sighed happily. ‘Yes.’

  ‘When you look at me like that, love
, the words fly from my head,’ he said, softly.

  Rosamund slid a hand round his neck. ‘Do they?’ Reaching up on her toes, she kissed him briefly on the lips and glanced at the bed. ‘That’s no bad thing. I believe I’ve had enough of words for the moment.’ Her hand went to the lacings of his tunic.

  A dark eyebrow lifted. ‘My lady, what can you mean? Surely you’re not inviting my advances? It’s most improper for a lady to proposition a knight, even if they are to be wed.’

  She pulled a face she was sure was most unladylike and slid her fingers into the neck of his tunic. His skin was warm. She gave a sigh of pleasure and watched his face soften. ‘Oliver, I’m afraid I have much to learn.’

  ‘Thank God for that,’ he said, fervently. He was working at the fastenings of her gown. ‘In truth, there are some lessons that I would prefer you never learned.’

  ‘What can you mean?’

  He grinned, put his hands on her breasts, and bent to nibble her neck.

  ‘You mean you want me to be Rosamund Miller inside the bedchamber, and Lady Rosamund de Warenne without?’

  ‘That’s it,’ he muttered, giving her earlobe a soft bite.

  She cleared her throat. ‘I’m not sure I can manage that, it sounds very difficult.’

  ‘We had better practise,’ he said, smiling. ‘Kiss me, Rosamund.’

  ‘But I know all about being Rosamund. It’s the lady part I’m not sure of.’

  ‘In case you hadn’t noticed, we’re in the bedchamber now, my angel,’ Oliver said, resorting in desperation to logic.

  Smiling, Rosamund tugged his head down. ‘So we are, my love. So we are.’

  *****

  Books by Carol Townend

  The Knights of Champagne – set in twelfth century France:

  Lady Isobel’s Champion 2013

  Unveiling Lady Clare 2014

  Palace Brides – trilogy set in eleventh century Byzantium:

  Bound to the Barbarian 2010

  Chained to the Barbarian 2012

  Betrothed to the Barbarian 2012

  Wessex Weddings – mini-series set in Early Norman England:

  The Novice Bride 2007

  An Honourable Rogue 2008