Shattered Vows by Carol Townend Read Free Book Online

handsome? Not many, life left its marks on everyone one way or another. She thought of the widow Eva and the way poverty and grief had eaten away at her. She thought of her father – fat and ugly with greed and guilt. In drowning his sins in ale, her father had set out to dull the sharp edges of his mind – he had ended up blurring the contours of his body as well.
    No, she hadn’t been brought up to expect a handsome husband. She hoped for a companion who might come to care for her. A friend.
    The face of a young man with blue-black hair and sombre grey eyes flashed unasked-for into her mind. Rosamund stopped mid-stride and stood like a statue in the middle of the road. Yesterday had been a dream. Dreams weren’t supposed to invade one’s waking hours, they should know their place. It would seem that this particular dream was unruly. It had walked unbidden into the present.
    There was a faint rustling in the ditch, it was probably a field mouse. She huffed out a breath. She felt very ill-at-ease and that wretched dream was to blame. If only she’d gone into the village yesterday instead of heading for the beach. Meeting Oliver had somehow made it more difficult to accept what must be. Oliver-
    She felt sick. Until yesterday, she had been resigned to the thought of marrying Alfwold. Now the very thought turned her stomach – they’d probably have to carry her kicking and screaming to the church door...
    A hacking cough broke into the thread of her thoughts. It was coming from the ditch.
    Someone was watching her. Someone who had spent the night in the ditch at the side of the road and was lying there even now. Dark eyes were peering eagerly out of a face that had been pitted by flying stone chips. Alfwold’s trade had left its scars.
    ‘Alfwold!’ The shock of seeing him had her lurching into speech. The poor man was so ill-favoured. ‘Osric sent me to find you. The millstones need dressing, but you know that already, don’t you?’ Try as she might, she couldn’t invest the right amount of pleasure into her voice. She knew she must sound cold and unwelcoming.
    Alfwold stretched and some of the light went from his eyes. Rosamund looked away. She couldn’t help it if she didn’t love him. She must try. I will try .
    He rubbed his scarred chin with hands that were as pockmarked and blackened as his face, and looked at her, almost shyly. ‘You’ve grown prettier since last I saw you.’
    ‘Have I? Th...thank you.’ She could find nothing else to say, and fiddled with her belt.
    Alfwold climbed out of the ditch. ‘Is there no kiss for your betrothed?’ he asked. ‘No warm welcome after these long weeks apart?’
    Rosamund bit back the denial that rose to her lips. She felt stiff as a wooden doll, but she managed to halt her retreat. The past winter hadn’t treated him well. His scarred, dirty-looking face was tired. The lines and wrinkles were deeper. His hair was ragged and there were silver threads running through it that hadn’t been there before.
    She must remember, she had vowed to please him. This was reality and she must make the best of it. Alfwold could, if he chose, ease the misery of her slave-like existence with Osric and Aeffe. What use was a mere dream?
    Finding a smile, Rosamund held out her hand. The swarthy face lit up and blunt fingers closed over hers. He pulled her close and she gasped, fighting the instinct to draw back. She wasn’t ready. A strong stench of sour ale assailed her.
    ‘What’s amiss?’ he asked, kindly enough.
    ‘Nothing.’ She stared at the ground.
    He misread the reason for her downcast eyes. ‘It seems your father was right,’ he said, in a pleased voice. ‘He swore you were chaste. Seeing you’re so comely, I found that hard to believe, but maybe he’s in the right.’
    Rosamund nodded, she was chaste, that at least was no lie. What could she do? She could hardly confess that the real reason for her lowered eyes was that he revolted her?
    ‘Now, Rosamund,