Shattered Vows by Carol Townend

future, there was nothing to be gained in maudlin reflection. The uncle who had treated him as a father was dead, and his aunt had seen fit to send him here, to his cousin.
    ‘Baron Geoffrey needs a squire, Oliver,’ his widowed and grieving aunt had announced. ‘I know you’ll be a boon to him, for my beloved Robert has taught you all the knightly skills. Lord Robert would have given you your knighthood in time, for he doted on you. You know we have never let your birth affect the way we have treated you...’
    ‘I know, aunt, and I am grateful for it,’ Oliver had said stiffly.
    Even then he had known, as had his aunt, that it wouldn’t be the same in his cousin’s household. Oliver’s experiences abroad had taught him that the tolerance he took for granted in his late uncle’s establishment was far from universal. His aunt’s words were meant as a warning, but the fact that they had to be uttered at all branded him as different.
    There was a sense in which Oliver was an outcast and whilst most of society might pretend to his face that it made no difference, he had seen the furtive glances. He had heard the sniggers behind his back. He would never be able to take a lady to his wife.
    A knighthood would have proved his worth, but Robert de Warenne was dead, which meant that Oliver must begin all over again. He must convince his cousin, Baron Geoffrey Fitz Neal, that he would bring honour and not shame to the knightly estate. It might not be easy – Sir Geoffrey’s officers might see his arrival at Ingerthorpe as a threat.
    When discussing his future with his aunt, Oliver had struggled to keep her from seeing his misgivings.
    The Lady Maud de Warenne had looked at him with shadowed eyes that were filled with the shock and grief of her bereavement. ‘I see your cousin Claire in you more and more,’ she said.
    Oliver’s throat had worked. He’d never liked the way Lady Maud pretended, for form’s sake, that his mother was his cousin. ‘Claire was my mother , my lady, my mother.’
    A sad smile played across Lady Maud’s lips. ‘If only she’d confessed who it was she’d loved, I’ve always wondered. But she never breathed a word. I liked her, very much. Claire would have been thrilled to see you knighted, Oliver, but...’ Lady Maud shook her head, and her voice faded.
    ‘Aunt?’
    Lady Maud’s smile was sad. ‘I truly regret that it is not within my power to dub you knight. Your cousin Geoffrey will give you another chance to earn your place. I fear twenty-four is somewhat old for a squire, but it will do you no lasting harm. Take Robert’s destrier, I know you love that animal. Robert would want you to have him.’
    Oliver’s jaw had dropped. ‘Take Lance, my lady?’ A warhorse of Lance’s quality was worth a king’s ransom. ‘Are you certain?’
    ‘What should I do with a warhorse?’ She sighed. ‘Robert should have taken the brute on crusade, it wasn’t easy exercising him with both of you fighting in the Holy Land.’
    ‘There wasn’t much that was holy about that campaign,’ Oliver muttered.
    ‘Oliver?’
    ‘Nothing, my lady.’ Oliver had smiled. ‘Lord Robert didn’t want to risk Lance on the journey.’
    ‘So he told me. Instead he risked himself and I shall never see him again.’
    Oliver winced, he was uncomfortably aware that in his aunt’s view, the wrong man had returned.
    Lady Maud made an impatient gesture and smiled, a shade too brightly. ‘I cannot alter the past. Nor can I help but think that if Robert had taken Lance he wouldn’t have fallen.’ She cleared her throat. ‘Oliver, you will take him?’
    ‘Thank you, my lady, I would be honoured.’
    ‘That is a relief – every time I look at him I’m reminded of Robert. Of the hours he spent honing his skills. And all for nought.’ A delicate hand covered her eyes. ‘Farewell, my boy. Take Lance and go. Go. Before I shame us both by weeping. Farewell.’
    So Oliver de Warenne had ridden away from the place