Shattered Vows by Carol Townend Page B

what’s left after last night’s feast. I’ll accompany you.’
    He was half-way to the door when behind him Matthew cleared his throat. ‘I saw you on the beach, de Warenne,’ he said.
    Oliver checked mid-stride before continuing towards the kitchen. His reaction must have been almost imperceptible, but others in the hall were waking and several pairs of sharp Yorkshire eyes were on him. He gritted his teeth, he was determined not to be drawn.
    Matthew’s mocking voice followed him. ‘Was she pretty, that wench?’
    Rosamund. His stomach tightened.
    Someone guffawed. ‘De Warenne met a maid? What maid would be foolish enough to meet him? Who was it?’
    Doubtless revelling in the attention his announcement had won him, Matthew pressed on. ‘I never said she were a maid. No lass with what she had to offer could possibly still be a maiden. They were together for an age. I didn’t get too close, for I was on the cliff, but it was de Warenne right enough. He has the only grey destrier for miles.’ Matthew lowered his suggestively. ‘Was the girl good de Warenne? Does she have a liking for the kisses of a bastard? How much did you have to pay her?’
    ‘Enough!’ Baron Geoffrey Fitz Neal, Lord of Ingerthorpe Castle had entered. As he crossed the hall, his footsteps echoed on the wooden boards. Sir Geoffrey was a large man whose girth matched his height. His brown hair was thinning on the top, like a monk’s tonsure.
    ‘Good day, cousin,’ he said, genially. He clapped Oliver on the shoulder. ‘Are these pests annoying you?’
    ‘They’re easily brushed aside.’
    Perceptive dark eyes took in Oliver’s set shoulders and tight mouth. ‘Are they, cousin?’ he murmured, softly. ‘I thought, for a moment, Matthew had scored a hit.’ His gaze settled on Matthew. ‘You! Scullion!’
    ‘My lord?’
    ‘You forget your station. Every man has his place, and you’d do well to remember yours. Leave it to the women to bitch, God knows there are enough of them here.’
    Oliver made a dismissive movement. ‘My lord, I don’t need your assistance.’
    ‘I know that, lad.’
    Oliver gave a little smile at the way his cousin addressed him. Geoffrey was but two years his senior, yet he made it sound as if he were Oliver’s grandsire.
    ‘Matthew’s done no harm, mon seigneur ,’ Oliver said, jerking his head at Matthew’s white face. ‘You’ve terrified the boy.’
    His cousin grinned. ‘He does right to be terrified. Anyone who doesn’t know their rightful place needs to be reminded of it. You may be acting as my squire, but you are of my blood and I won’t permit anyone to forget it. It’s not their place to mock you. Do you hear me, Matthew?’
    ‘Yes, my lord.’
    ‘Good lad. Now – what about breaking our fast?’ he said, turning wide eyes on the trestles stacked around the wall. The boys sprang into action.
    Oliver stared thoughtfully at his cousin. ‘ Mon seigneur -’
    ‘Cousin, you know my name. Use it.’
    ‘My thanks. Geoffrey, you say it is not their place to make a game of me. It sounds as though you have plans in that direction...?’ Oliver arched a brow. He’d heard talk in the armoury – his cousin was known for his wicked sense of humour.
    ‘Aye, I claim that right. If anyone mocks you, it must be me.’ Geoffrey laughed. Turning for the dais where John was setting up a trestle, he sank onto a cushioned chair. It was Baron Geoffrey’s privilege to be seated in a chair, most people made do with benches. ‘Fetch me my ale, squire, and bring bread. I would break my fast.’
    Geoffrey followed his cousin with his eyes as he left the hall. Thoughtfully, he rubbed the bridge of his nose. Geoffrey was proud of his birthright. He couldn’t begin to comprehend the resentment that Oliver must feel at being mocked at for his illegitimacy, but he felt impelled to try. He liked the look of him and he hoped he’d become a loyal comrade. A friend. His cousin had a strong, upright bearing and,