Shattered Vows by Carol Townend Page B

love-words. She was warm all over – hot in every vein. And Oliver was moving within her, building the heat. Giving his heat to her. Faster and faster. Taking her with him to a place where the world exploded into a million glittering fragments, leaving them lying weak and spent in each other’s arms.
    The candle burnt down some way before Oliver made to ease away, and when he did, her sleepy protest gave him pause.
    ‘Stay,’ she murmured.
    He rolled onto his back and settled her in his arms. ‘I’m not going anywhere, we’re locked in, remember?’
    ‘Oh, aye. So we are.’ She snuggled close and pressed her lips to his chest.
    Oliver ruffled her long, love-tangled hair. ‘Well, my angel, I take it from your smile that you have no regrets.’
    Long lashes lifted and Oliver felt a pang almost of pain at the adoration he glimpsed in them. Not adoration – affection. She likes me, that is all.
    ‘No regrets,’ Rosamund said brightly.
    Rosamund was lying. Her heart ached. She felt as though she was being torn in two – she didn’t want to leave him. Ever. She couldn’t bear the thought of going back to the mill.

Chapter Four
    I n the pre-dawn darkness, the hall of Ingerthorpe Castle was quiet, with only the occasional snore breaking the silence. During the night, the pot boy Tate had been ousted from the fireside by another servant, but he’d found another source of warmth – he was curled up with Sir Geoffrey’s favourite bitch and her litter of pups.
    High in the tower bedchamber, Rosamund lay in Oliver’s arms wondering what had disturbed her. She couldn’t see him, but his warmth was comforting, and his deep, even breathing came softly through the dense blackness. It must be early – the dawn chorus had yet to begin. Inhaling slowly, she breathed in his scent. Her lover. There was little time left but she wanted to remember everything about this – the strong arms holding her so securely; the long legs lying casually tangled with hers; the hand at her waist. And this feeling of utter peace.
    If only it could last forever. Her eyelids prickled. When the first streaks of light shot across the sea, she would have to find her rose-coloured gown and leave – they probably wouldn’t even allow her to break her fast with him.
    She rubbed her cheek against his chest and sighed. She’d awoken to a sensation of peace, but it was fast disappearing. Her eyes strained in the direction of the window. All was dark. So little time remained...
    She ran her fingertips over his cheek. His morning beard felt harsh. Scratchy. She kissed his chin, and the grip on her waist tightened.
    ‘Rosamund? It’s morning already?’
    ‘I couldn’t sleep.’
    The large body stirred. She heard a contented yawn, and smiled into the darkness, snuggling closer, trying to hang onto the feeling of peace. Of belonging. He stroked her hair.
    ‘So soft,’ he muttered, huskily. ‘Like you, my angel. All soft and giving. Kiss me, Rosamund.’ She felt his lips first on her jaw and they moved slowly, inexorably, to her mouth. Her insides melted, and her arm stole around his neck. She pressed herself against him, unbearably happy. And unbearably sad.
    ***
    Afterwards when they were still, it gave her a jolt to realise that she could see grey eyes smiling at her.
    ‘Dawn!’ She burrowed into him.
    ‘They will release us soon,’ he said, idly tracing patterns on her back.
    She lifted her head. ‘And you are glad?’ Her voice was taut and brittle.
    ‘Glad?’ Broad shoulders lifted. ‘I but state a fact. It’s morning and the game they forced on us is ended.’
    She clenched her teeth. ‘Is that what this was to you? A game?’
    Oliver ruffled her hair and her heart contracted with longing. His loving had felt so tender, so considerate. Surely he must feel something for her...?
    ‘It was a very pleasurable game, my angel.’
    ‘But only a game?’
    ‘Rosamund, I warned you. I cannot love you.’
    ‘Cannot, or will not?’
    His