‘You say you know how to use your dagger? Then defend yourself, my lady,’ William said, his voice deathly quiet.

He took a step away from Eleanor and turned his back on her. She opened her mouth to ask what he meant, but with a speed that took her by surprise William twisted the sword about his wrist and spun round.

Before Eleanor could react William had the sword held full at arm’s length, pointing at her breast. The tip was barely a hand’s breadth from touching her dress. The words died on Eleanor’s lips and the only sound that came out of her mouth was a soft whimper. Her head jerked up in shock and she discovered William watching her intently, his face fiercer and more determined than she had ever seen him look.

AUTHOR NOTE

A widow in the Middle Ages was in a better position than most women. While there was pressure—either to remarry or enter a convent—a widow had a degree of independence unavailable to wives and daughters and was able to run her own affairs, often carrying on with the businesses left by her husband and acting as guardian of his estate until any children came of age.

The only real person mentioned in this story is John Fortin, a merchant who traded with Bordeaux in the late 1290s. He might have been generous enough to allow others to invest in his ventures, but whether he did or not the wine trade out of Bristol flourished from this period onwards and was a great opportunity for those with the finances available to make their fortunes.

A few inspirations helped me get into Will and Eleanor’s minds. This quote by Giacomo Casanova was one: ‘A girl who is pretty and good, and as virtuous as you please, ought not to take it ill that a man, carried away by her charms, should set himself to the task of making their conquest.’

‘Thunder Road’ by Bruce Springsteen was also playing in the background when I wrote, and on the journey to and from work while I did a lot of my thinking.

For readers wishing to search online for locations, or visit them, Eleanor’s house is heavily modelled on St Michael’s Mount, but also owes some influence to Lindisfarne Castle on Holy Island. Sir Edgar’s fortified house is based on Ightham Mote in Kent and Stokesay Castle in Shropshire.

A Wager

for the Widow

Elisabeth Hobbes

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ELISABETH HOBBES grew up in York, where she spent most of her teenage years wandering around the city looking for a handsome Roman or Viking to sweep her off her feet. Elisabeth’s hobbies include skiing, Arabic dance and fencing—none of which has made it into a story yet. When she isn’t writing she spends her time reading, and is a pro at cooking while holding a book! Elisabeth lives in Cheshire with her husband, two children, and three cats with ridiculous names.

To my mum, who inspired a love of reading and history and who took me round castles as a child.

Contents

Cover

Introduction

AUTHOR NOTE

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Epilogue

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

Eleanor Peyton was never certain what was worse: the dreams where her husband died, or the ones where he was still alive. The former were always the same: Eleanor would stand and watch as though she was carved from granite, unable to move while Sir Baldwin clawed helplessly at his throat, sliding to the floor of the feasting hall. The screams of their wedding guests would ring in Eleanor’s ears and she would wake sobbing and shaking.

Tonight’s dream was the latter type. Eleanor could almost feel Baldwin’s breath on her face as he drew her close for a kiss, his brown eyes filled with a warmth and hunger that he had never exhibited while he had lived.

Though three years had passed since his death, Eleanor woke with her heart racing, aching for something she could not name. They had never shared this bed, yet she felt his presence surrounding her like a shroud.

Wiping a sleeve across her damp eyes, Eleanor untangled the sheets from around her legs and drew back the bed curtains. Soft grey light was beginning to find its way through the gaps in the heavy curtains covering the windows. Slipping a fur-trimmed surcoat over her linen shift, Eleanor hurried across the chilly stone floor to the window seat. A biting squall was blowing in from the sea, tossing fishing boats around the jetty at the shoreline. Eleanor settled herself on to the thick cushions, curling her bare feet beneath her, and waited for the sun to rise.

She was perfectly placed, therefore, to spot the rider on horseback as he galloped down the road from the nearby village, coming to an abrupt halt at the water’s edge. He dismounted and paced back and forth, searching for something. At this time of year the arrival of a message from her father was neither unexpected nor welcome and Eleanor frowned to herself. Soon the tide would go out, revealing the causeway and the messenger would find his way across the narrow path that separated the islet from the mainland. The man lowered his hood, revealing a shock of hair the exact copper shade of Eleanor’s own. At the sight her heart leapt and she broke into a smile.

The door opened and Eleanor’s maid entered carrying a basket of wood.

‘Jennet, come look.’ Eleanor beckoned. She indicated to the figure huddling in the rain as the sea slowly receded. ‘Go tell Goodwife Bradshawe we have a visitor for breakfast, then help me dress. I need to look my best. I can’t have my brother reporting back that I’m fading away in my isolation!’

* * *

An hour later Eleanor stood in the doorway, watching with amusement as her brother made his slow ascent up the steep hill. He paused at the gate to hand his horse to a waiting stable boy before climbing the winding pathway of old, granite steps, the sleet making his progress slow. Eleanor grinned to herself at the sight of the heir to the barony of Tawstott red-faced and breathing heavily with exertion.

‘Good morning, Edmund. You must have risen early to beat the tide!’

Her brother scowled and pushed his dripping curls from his eyes. ‘Why couldn’t Baldwin have built a house somewhere flat?’ he grumbled good-naturedly.

It was a familiar joke and Eleanor laughed. ‘It’s because you’re a year older now. You didn’t complain when you were twenty-five.’ She reached up to bat him on the arm. Edmund caught her hand and drew her in a hug before holding her at arm’s length and examining her carefully.

‘You’re thinner than last year,’ he announced, ‘Mother won’t be pleased.’

Eleanor rolled her eyes. ‘I assume I will have a few days’ grace to make myself look presentable? I don’t have to return today?’

Edmund shook his head. ‘No. Now please can I come in? I need some wine to take the chill from my bones!’

Arm in arm, Eleanor led her brother to her favourite room, a cosy chamber overlooking the causeway. Food was waiting on the table before the fireplace and a maid poured goblets of warm wine and ladled steaming oysters into bowls.

Edmund pulled a fold of parchment from his bag and handed it to Eleanor. She examined the wax seal, recognising the crest of Tawstott and the personal arms of Sir Edgar. She dropped the letter unopened on the table and returned her attention to her bowl, scooping up the last of the creamy sauce with a hunk of bread.

‘Aren’t you going to read it?’ Edmund asked.

‘Is there any need?’ Eleanor stared into her brother’s green eyes, so similar to her own. ‘It will say the same thing it has done for the past three years. Our father reminds me that he tolerates my stubbornness in choosing to live in my husband’s house, but a spit of land cut off by winter storms is no place for a lone maiden. He commands my attendance in Tawstott over midwinter. Am I right?’

Edmund nodded. ‘I believe the term he uses is “wilfulness”, but otherwise, yes. He is sending a carriage three days from now to give you time to arrange your affairs.’

Eleanor scowled. ‘He’s so sure I will obey him. I hate it! Remind Father that I have my own carriage. I’ll travel in that.’

Edmund patted her hand, but she whipped it away, ignoring his injured look.

‘Eleanor, don’t be like this.’ Her brother frowned. ‘We all worry about you, living here alone.’

‘I’m not alone,’ Eleanor said lightly. ‘I have Jennet and Goodwife Bradshawe to keep me company. I spend my days reading and weaving, or walking on the shore.’

‘You used to spend your days dancing and riding! You’re only twenty, Eleanor. You should marry again.’

Eleanor pushed her chair back abruptly and walked to the window, her heart beating rapidly. At Edmund’s words the walls seemed to darken and close in.

‘I was lucky that father chose me a husband I would have been happy with. I don’t intend to risk my luck or my heart again.’

‘When have you ever risked your heart, Eleanor?’ Edmund snorted. ‘You didn’t love Baldwin.’

‘I might have grown to in time!’ Eleanor retorted. ‘I was fond of him.’ Her eyes fell on the portrait of her late husband. ‘Baldwin was a kind and gentle man. Life with him would have been safe and peaceful.’

Her brother looked at her disbelievingly. ‘Safe and peaceful? You don’t have the faintest idea what love is.’

Eleanor glared at him, hands on her hips, her hands itching to slap him. ‘And you do? Tumbling into bed with tavern wenches isn’t love, Edmund,’ she scolded.

For a moment they could have been children arguing again. Edmund laughed. ‘Fair point, though there’s a lot to be said for a quick tumble to lift the spirits. You need someone to kiss you properly, Sister. You might find you enjoy it.’

Eleanor blushed, the memory of her dream rising in her mind. She took a deep breath and turned to face her brother. ‘We have a day together, let’s not quarrel. There are bows in the armoury. Do you think you’ve improved enough to beat me yet?’

Edmund’s archery had improved, but Eleanor had the satisfaction of taking six out of the ten targets and the day passed quickly. Her heart sank when the causeway bells rang out, signalling the dusk tide. They stood together, watching as the water rose higher. In ten minutes more the tide would begin to cover the causeway. Edmund took his sister’s hand and kissed it formally. ‘Baldwin wouldn’t have wanted you to bury yourself away like this, you know.’

Eleanor’s heart twisted. ‘He wouldn’t have wanted any of this! He wanted to grow old, to have children, to live...’ Her voice cracked as the unfairness of it struck her. She took a deep breath and fixed a smile on her face.

‘I do love it here,’ she told him. ‘I have so much to do, managing the estate the way Baldwin would have wanted it run. I don’t get bored, or lonely.’

Edmund raised an eyebrow. He didn’t deny her words, nor did he confirm them.

‘One day you’ll have to marry again,’ Edmund said, ‘or find a very good reason why you won’t.’

With a nod he mounted his horse and walked it across the granite path. Eleanor watched as the mist swallowed him up before pulling her hood up and striding back to the house, her mind fixing on the tasks that would occupy her for the next few days.

* * *

Three days passed in such a whirl of organisation that Eleanor barely had time for sadness. It was only on her final morning as she wandered through the rooms, running her hand over furniture and tapestries, that her eyes began to sting. When she came to the portrait of Sir Baldwin, she stopped and regarded the serious man with the thinning hair and anxious face. She briefly raised a hand and touched the canvas in a gesture of farewell. She looked around her home one final time and began the descent to the waiting carriage.

* * *

They travelled fast inland, but it was late afternoon before Eleanor’s carriage reached the crossing of the River Taw. The wide river was unusually high for the time of year and moving faster than Eleanor had seen it before. Hers was the only carriage waiting to cross so the driver manoeuvred it into the front of the ferry. The craft, no more than a large, flat platform with low wooden railings at either side, dipped from side to side alarmingly.

Eleanor’s stomach heaved as the cramped carriage rocked on the chains suspending it within the wooden frame, adding to her sense of nausea. She peered through the curtain.

‘I’m going to get out,’ she told Jennet. ‘I think I’ll feel more nauseous if I stay inside.’ Eleanor fastened her cloak around her shoulders and drew up the hood, squeezing her way past the maid’s knees. A blast of wind hit her as she climbed down, whipping her cloak up around her. She clutched the edges tightly together with one hand while she gripped the low railing of the ferry to steady herself.

The ferryman braced his back and rammed his pole into the riverbank. The craft creaked alarmingly as it started to move away from the shore, the great chain that spanned the river pulling taut.

The shrill blast of a hunting horn sounded, ripping apart the peace. A commanding voice shouted, ‘Ferryman, stop!’

Eleanor peered back at the riverbank. A rider on an imposing chestnut-coloured horse was galloping along the road at the edge of the water. He pulled the horse up short.

‘You’re too late, my friend, the current has us now,’ the ferryman called back.

‘Wait, I tell you. I must cross today. I have business to attend to.’ The rider’s voice was deep and urgent, his face hidden beneath the hood of a voluminous burgundy cloak. The ferryman shrugged his shoulders and dug his pole into the river, pushing further away. Keeping one eye on the drama playing out, Eleanor walked carefully around behind the carriage and made her way to the other side of the deck to get a better view.

What happened next had the texture of a dream. The horseman cursed and wheeled his mount around. He galloped away from the water’s edge, then turned back. With a sudden bellow he cracked the reins sharply and sped back towards the river. As the horse reached the edge, the rider spurred it forward. The horse leapt through the air with ease to land on the deck alongside Eleanor. The ferry bucked, the far end almost rising from the water. Hooves clattered on the slippery wood and the animal gave a high-pitched whinny of alarm.

It was not going to stop!

As a cumbersome-looking saddlebag swung towards her, Eleanor threw herself out of its way. The railing caught her behind the knees and she stumbled backwards, her ankle turning beneath her with a sickening crunch. Crying out, she flailed her arms helplessly, unable to regain her balance as the river came up to meet her.

She saw the horseman lunge towards her, felt his fingers close about her wrist. She gave a sharp cry as her shoulder jolted painfully and her feet slid on the deck. Cold spray splashed over her face as her head fell back, her free fingers brushing the surface of the water.

‘Take hold of me quickly. I can’t stay like this for ever,’ the rider ordered, tightening his grip on her wrist.

Eleanor raised her head to find herself staring up into a pair of blue eyes half-hidden in the depths of the voluminous hood. The rider was leaning along the length of his horse’s neck, body twisted towards Eleanor at what seemed an impossible angle. She fumbled her free hand to clutch on to his arm and he hauled her back to her feet. As she stood upright a spear of pain shot through Eleanor’s ankle. She gave an involuntary gasp and her knees buckled.

With the same speed as his initial rescue, the rider threw his leg across the saddle and dismounted with a thud. His arms found their way round Eleanor’s waist, catching her tight and clasping her to him before she slipped to the ground.

‘I’ve got you. Don’t wriggle!’

The man’s hood fell back and Eleanor saw him clearly for the first time. He was younger than his voice had suggested. A long scar ran from the outside corner of his eye and across his cheek, disappearing beneath a shaggy growth of beard at his jaw. A second ran parallel from below his eye to his top lip. His corn-coloured hair fell in loose tangles to his shoulder. Close up his eyes were startlingly blue.

Footsteps thundered on the deck as Eleanor’s coachman appeared. It struck Eleanor suddenly that the man was still holding her close, much closer than was necessary, in fact. She became conscious of the rise and fall of his chest, moving rhythmically against her own. Her heart was thumping so heavily she was sure he would be able to feel it through her clothing. As to why it was beating so rapidly she refused to think about.

‘You can let go of me now,’ she muttered.

The horseman’s eyes crinkled. ‘I could,’ he said, ‘though I just saved your life. There must be some benefits to rescuing a beautiful maiden in distress and holding her until she stops shaking is one of them. I suppose a kiss of gratitude is out of the question?’

‘You didn’t save my life. I can swim,’ Eleanor cried indignantly. It was true she was trembling, but now it was from anger. ‘I am most certainly not kissing you!’

The man’s forehead crinkled in disbelief. ‘Even though I saved you from a cold bath?’

Eleanor’s cheeks flamed. ‘It was your fault in the first instance, you reckless fool. You could have capsized us all. Your horse might have missed completely.’

The horseman laughed. ‘Nonsense, it was perfectly safe. Tobias could have cleared twice that distance. If you had stood still none of this would have happened. You panicked.’

With an irritated snort Eleanor pushed herself from the man’s grip, contriving to elbow him sharply in the stomach as she did so. She heard a satisfying grunt as she turned her back. She headed to the carriage, but her ankle gave a sharp stab of pain. She stopped, balling her fists in irritation. The horseman leaned round beside her. ‘Allow me,’ he said and before Eleanor could object he had lifted her into his arms and strode the three paces to the carriage. With one hand on the door handle he cocked his head. ‘Still no kiss? Ah, well, it’s a cruel day!’

‘There are no circumstances under which I would kiss you!’ Eleanor said haughtily, sweeping her gaze up and down him.

His face darkened and Eleanor took the opportunity to wriggle from his arms. Biting her lip to distract herself from the throbbing in her ankle, she swung the door open herself and climbed inside, slamming it loudly behind her.

Surreptitiously she peered through the gap in the curtains while Jennet fussed around exclaiming with horror at Eleanor’s brush with death. The horseman was facing the river, deep in conversation with Eleanor’s driver.

‘Who do you think he could be?’ Jennet asked curiously.

The heat rose to Eleanor’s face at the memory of the man’s arms about her waist. Baldwin had never held her so tightly or so close.

‘I have no idea,’ she replied icily. ‘Nor do I care. How dare he blame me for what happened and to hold me in such a manner! If my father was here he would have the wretch horsewhipped for daring to lay a finger on me!’

She flung herself back against the seat and shut the curtains firmly, not opening them until the ferry had come to a halt and she heard the clatter of hooves as the rider left the craft.

At least he had the sense not to jump off as well, she thought, breathing a sigh of relief that she would not have to encounter the stranger again.

* * *

The stars were out by the time they reached the long road that lead to Tawstott Mote, Sir Edgar’s manor that lay beyond the market town bearing the same name. Eleanor could not suppress a smile. Every year she resisted returning, yet there was something in the sight of lamps glowing in the windows of the long, stone building that brought a lump to her throat whenever she saw them. As they crossed over the moat and into the courtyard she leaned forward, anxious to catch a first glimpse of the heavy oak door standing invitingly open.

Her mother was waiting in the Outer Hall. Lady Fitzallan gave sharp orders for a bath to be prepared and would hear no protestations from Eleanor.

‘Your father is in his library at the moment. His business should be finished with by the time you’re presentable,’ she told her daughter as she ushered her up the broad staircase.

* * *

Half an hour later, clean and warm, Eleanor knocked softly on the north-wing door to Sir Edgar’s library and walked in.

Two men were sitting together at either side of the fire. Sir Edgar’s face broke into a wide beam at the sight of his daughter. Eleanor’s eyes passed from her father to the face of his guest and her skin prickled with a sudden chill. His gaudy cloak had vanished and his hair was combed smooth, but even so Eleanor would have recognised the horseman anywhere.

Chapter Two

‘Ah, Eleanor, it’s good to see you again, my dear,’ Sir Edgar Fitzallan cried. The Baron of Tawstott strode across the room and kissed Eleanor warmly on both cheeks. Eleanor dropped into a formal curtsy before embracing her father tightly. All resentment at being summoned home melted away as he enveloped her in a hug.

The rider had jumped to his feet upon Eleanor’s arrival, his eyes widening the slightest fraction as he looked at her. Could he be as surprised as she herself was at coming face-to-face again? He swept a low, elegant bow as Eleanor stared at him over her father’s shoulder. His head was down now, hiding his face from view, but she could all too clearly remember the way his eyes had glinted when he’d held her in his arms.

With difficulty Eleanor tore her eyes away from the stranger, her mind whirling as she tried to fathom why he was in her father’s house. He had mentioned having business to conduct before he jumped his horse on to the ferry, but at the time it had not occurred to Eleanor to wonder where he was travelling. If he had dealings with the baron, she hoped it would be concluded quickly and he would be gone before long.

‘Forgive me for intruding, Father,’ she said quickly. ‘I did not realise you had a guest. I will leave you in peace and come back after he has left.’

Eleanor made to leave the room, but Sir Edgar tugged her back.

‘There’s someone I want you to meet,’ Sir Edgar said. He tucked her arm under his and led her unwillingly towards the fire. Eleanor took a deep breath. She would greet him politely and leave. It would be done with in a matter of minutes.

Sir Edgar pushed Eleanor gently forward until she was standing opposite the man.

‘Let me introduce Master William Rudhale, my new steward. Master Rudhale, this is my daughter, Lady Peyton.’

Eleanor stared wordlessly at the man for what felt like minutes as her father’s words sunk in. His steward! Surprise fought with dismay in her heart that the man was not simply a visitor. They would be living under the same roof until Eleanor returned home.

Sir Edgar coughed meaningfully. ‘Is everything all right, my dear? Are you feeling unwell?’

Eleanor became conscious that Master Rudhale was staring at her intently. His cheeks had taken on a ruddy glow, the scars’ fine white furrows standing out across his face. His hands moved to brush away creases from his wine-coloured tunic, unlaced at the neck to expose the glint of fine hairs on his chest. He planted his feet firmly apart, his head tilted slightly on one side as he studied her reaction. If he had indeed been surprised by her appearance, he had recovered his equilibrium much quicker than she was managing to do. Her training since childhood in the behaviour required of a lady flooded back into Eleanor’s mind.

‘Not at all, Father. Please forgive me, Master Rudhale. My journey was long and I am forgetting my manners. How lovely to meet you,’ she said with a polished smile and a slight emphasis on the word meet.

On firmer ground her nerves settled and she inclined her head automatically with grace that would make her mother proud to witness.

Rudhale bowed deeply again, once more exhibiting the easy grace with which he had moved on the ferry.

‘Lady Peyton, I am at your service.’ His voice was deep and dripped honey. He spoke with a sincerity that would have fooled Eleanor if she had not already encountered him. He brushed a stray strand of hair back from his eyes and gazed directly at her through lashes almost indecently long on a man. A smile danced about his lips and Eleanor’s heart pounded with the intensity that had so confused her at their first meeting. She looked away, lost for words and unnerved by the reaction he provoked inside her.

‘Eleanor, you’re very late and I’m afraid I am neglecting you,’ Sir Edgar broke in. ‘William, please be so kind and pour my daughter some wine.’ He motioned Eleanor to take the steward’s seat by the fire. She sank down gratefully and stretched out her leg, glad to take the weight off her ankle. The short journey to Sir Edgar’s rooms had put more strain on it than she had realised.

‘Tell me, my dear, was your journey difficult?’ Sir Edgar asked. Without waiting for an answer he addressed the steward. ‘I do worry about my daughter travelling so far alone. No one knows whom one might encounter on the road, but she insists!’

From the corner of her eye Eleanor saw Rudhale stiffen and the steward’s broad shoulders tensed, his hand halfway to the open bottle nestling between piles of scrolls and parchments on the table. Eleanor glanced at him over Sir Edgar’s shoulder as he twisted his head towards her. Briefly their eyes locked. Rudhale raised one eyebrow questioningly, as though issuing a challenge to Eleanor to explain what had happened.

Her mind once again conjured the memory of him holding her close in such a disrespectful manner. And the kiss he had demanded. Even as she bristled at the memory a warm flush began to creep up the back of her neck as she stared at the full lips. Alarmed at the feelings that rose up inside her she ran her hands through her hair, pulling the long plait across her shoulder and away from her neck, hoping to cool herself.

It was clear that Rudhale had not been aware who she was on the ferry, but even so his manner had been unseemly. The man deserved to have his insolence revealed and it was on the tip of Eleanor’s tongue to tell her father everything. She looked back to Sir Edgar. His brow was furrowed with concern and she hesitated. An encounter with an unknown man whilst travelling alone would be the ideal pretext for Sir Edgar to curtail her independence. Unhurriedly she held her hands out to the fire, taking her time before she answered, enjoying making the steward wait.

‘Nothing eventful happened, Father. The river was flowing fast and the wind made climbing Kynett’s Hill hard for the horses, otherwise I would have been here an hour ago. Apart from that our journey was the same as it always is.’

A triumphant grin flitted across the steward’s face. It reminded Eleanor of an extremely self-satisfied cat and her stomach tightened with annoyance that she had passed up the chance to reveal his conduct. She expected him to leave now that she had arrived, but to her consternation he made no attempt to leave the room. Instead he drew up a low stool and sat between Eleanor and her father. Now she looked closely at his clothing she noticed the thin band of orange-and-green piping around the neck of his tunic, signalling the livery of Tawstott. As he handed her the wine cup, she held his gaze.

‘Master Rudhale, how long have you been in my father’s service? He has not mentioned you to me.’

Sir Edgar spoke before Rudhale could answer. ‘Rudhale has been in my service for a little over five months, though he grew up in the town here. His father was my falconer until his death two years past. You must remember old Thomas Rudhale, Eleanor?’

Eleanor wrinkled her forehead. Although she knew the name, hawking had never been a favourite pastime of hers and she spent little time in that part of the estate. The face finally crawled into Eleanor’s mind. A quietly spoken man who rarely strayed from the mews, his belt and jerkin hung about with bags and odd-looking equipment. Another memory surfaced, too, however: a young man slouching around the outbuildings. Eleanor’s eyes flickered to the steward. Surely that youth, too thin for his height with dull floppy hair, could not be the one who stood before her now, arms folded across his broad chest and a wolfish smile playing about his lips?

‘Yes, I remember,’ Eleanor said slowly. ‘I’m sorry for your loss.’

‘We all are. Never was a man so good with a goshawk,’ Sir Edgar barked, clapping his hand on the steward’s shoulder.

‘Unlike his son,’ Rudhale remarked darkly, tracing a finger meaningfully down the deep line of his scar. ‘Father sent me to work as usher to a merchant in the north in the hope I could make my fortune and keep my eyes.’

Eleanor’s eyes followed the path of his finger. Taking that side of his face alone he looked like a cutthroat, but the ugliness was tempered by his almost sapphire eyes and enticing smile. Rudhale watched her carefully, as though testing her reaction to his deformity. Determined not to respond, she fixed her eyes on his.

‘You seem rather young to be steward of such a large household,’ she remarked.

‘William may be young, but he comes highly recommended,’ the baron explained. ‘He and Edmund shared lodgings for a while.’

‘Edmund remembered me when this position arose.’ Rudhale smiled. ‘Sir Edgar was good enough to trust Edmund’s testimony. You are right though, few men my age could hope to attain such a prominent role, but I hope I am proving my worth.’

Eleanor narrowed her eyes, digesting the information as Sir Edgar hastened to assure Rudhale of his value. Her brother had a habit of choosing friends who shared his tastes for drinking and women. From Rudhale’s behaviour on the ferry it would seem he was yet another good-for-nothing reprobate of the sort that Edmund would naturally find delightful.

She took a large sip of wine, swallowing her annoyance down too. The wine was spicy and sweet and Eleanor relaxed as the warmth wound down to her belly. Sir Edgar placed great importance on keeping a good cellar stocked and Rudhale was clearly capable of rising to the challenge. Eleanor held the cup to her nose and inhaled deeply. She raised her eyes to find the steward watching her carefully, his blue eyes fixed on her as though he was assessing her evaluation. She took another mouthful.

‘It’s good,’ she commented appreciatively.

‘It’s seasoned with ginger and aged in whiskey casks,’ Rudhale explained as he refilled Eleanor’s glass. ‘I am trying to persuade your father to buy half a dozen barrels in preparation for the midwinter feast.’

‘You’re giving a feast?’ Eleanor stared at her father, unable to keep the astonishment from her voice. She forgot her irritation with the steward in the light of this news. Sir Edgar was notoriously reclusive and it was a family jest that if his wife permitted him to, he would live within the confines of his library on a permanent basis.

Sir Edgar frowned and threw himself heavily into the chair opposite Eleanor. He pulled fretfully at his greying beard, no longer the vibrant red Eleanor remembered from the previous winter.

‘I have no choice, my dear,’ he growled. ‘Unfortunately Duke Roland is rumoured to have made damaging losses at cards and dice. Whether or not that is true I don’t know, however he has decided that he will be spending the winter months touring his lands and living off the generosity of his tenants-in-chief. As his nephew by marriage, I am being granted the great honour of having his retinue here for two weeks. He expects a feast to celebrate the passing of the shortest day.’

‘Father!’ Eleanor’s eyebrows shot upwards at the incautious manner in which her father spoke of his liege lord in front of the steward. Her lord as well, she reminded herself, as Baldwin had also owed fealty to Duke Roland. She glanced across to where Rudhale was now busying himself replacing scroll boxes on the shelves that lined the walls. Sir Edgar must have read her thoughts because he leaned across and took her hand.

‘Don’t fear for what William here might think. He knows he is serving a cantankerous old man and, like the rest of you, I expect him to humour my moods. I trust his discretion absolutely.’

Rudhale nodded his head in acknowledgement. He placed the final caskets on the shelf and Eleanor found her eyes drawn to his slim frame as he reached with ease to the high shelves. Rudhale crossed the room and picked up the bottle from the table. He refilled their glasses and returned to lean against the fireplace beside Eleanor, his long legs crossed at the ankles and the firelight turning his blond locks as red as Eleanor’s own.

‘I suspect your mother might have had something to do with her uncle’s decision,’ Sir Edgar continued. ‘She sees certain advantages to having guests. The duke will be bringing a number of his court with him. Your sister is of an age where she needs to be seen in society and your brother should be married by now. For your part, Eleanor—’

‘I myself will be returning home as usual as soon as I am permitted, Father,’ Eleanor broke in sharply, anticipating what was coming next. The room, already stifling, grew hotter. She stood abruptly, walked to the window and leaned back against the cool panes. ‘You told me nothing of this in your letter. I will not be paraded around like one of your prize mares. I am done with all that!’

‘For your part,’ Sir Edgar continued, with only the slightest hint of reproach in his voice, ‘I would be grateful if you would provide a dozen or so casks of oysters for the feast. I have never found any finer than those from Baldwin’s fisheries. I am sure you would wish the duke’s party to be well fed and there could be business in it for you, too. If you will insist on living independently, I must at least try to aid you where I can.’

‘Oh!’ A prickle of heat flickered across Eleanor’s throat. ‘Of course, Father. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean...’

‘Oh, yes, you did,’ Sir Edgar chided gently. ‘I don’t say I blame you, but that is a conversation for another time.’

Eleanor glanced at Rudhale. The steward was now bent over the fire, adding logs to the diminishing flames. He gave every impression of appearing unaware of her blunder, though the deliberate way in which he went about his task left Eleanor in no doubt that he had been listening to every word. A burst of irritation shot through her that she had let her guard down in front of him. She crossed the room and refilled her cup before offering the bottle to her father and finally the steward. Hoping to break his self-possession, she addressed him with a demure smile.

‘This wine really is very good, Master Rudhale. I can tell you must have taken great pains to ensure its safe arrival!’

She had the satisfaction of seeing him blink a couple of times as he worked out the meaning behind her words, before he broke into a broad grin, his blue eyes gleaming. Even that had not appeared to disconcert him. He raised his cup to her and drained it.

‘May I compliment you on your taste, Lady Peyton. It needs time to settle really; being thrown around in a saddlebag has done nothing for it, but you can tell the quality, can’t you? How can you resist such a glowing recommendation, Sir Edgar?’ Rudhale asked the baron smoothly. ‘Will you write me an authorisation to purchase the remaining supply? I will attend to it first thing tomorrow. Master Fortin intends to travel to Bristol, then to Gascony, within the week and I would like to catch him before he leaves.’

‘Abroad, eh? Is he planning to trade? It’s a good time now we are at peace once again and there are fortunes to be made, I don’t doubt it.’ His mood warmed by the wine, Sir Edgar cheerily gave a wave of the hand. ‘Certainly, William, it’s a good vintage and it would be churlish of me to deprive you of your income.’

Eleanor wrinkled her forehead, aware she was missing something.

Rudhale smiled at her. ‘I have some personal interest in the matter, Lady Peyton. My last position was as pantler in the household of the wine merchant I acquired this from. When I left his employment he allowed me to invest a small amount in his business. If I can benefit both my previous and current employer, it is all to the best.’

‘And yourself?’ Eleanor asked.

‘Of course,’ he replied. ‘It may never make me wealthy, but only a fool would turn his back on the opportunity to add to his coffers.’

He moved to the table. Taking a quill in his left hand, he began scribbling rapidly on a sheet of parchment with confident strokes. Watching, Eleanor mused on Rudhale’s references to his previous positions. An usher, a pantler and now a steward: each position was more influential and well remunerated than the last. So Rudhale was ambitious, but also happy to move on before too long? She wondered if his time in Tawstott would be equally brief.

Sir Edgar affixed his seal and Rudhale folded the document carefully before slipping it inside his jerkin. Eleanor followed it with her eyes, her mood lifting a little. With any luck the man would see to the task personally and be gone again by morning.

‘If you will excuse me, I must leave you now. Dinner will be almost ready. Having been absent for three days, I would like to supervise the final preparations myself.’ With a bow to the baron he excused himself. He paused before Eleanor and looked deep into her eyes. ‘Now she has arrived I would like to give Lady Peyton a good impression of my competence.’

Eleanor smiled coolly and held out a hand. The steward hesitated briefly before taking it in his and raising it. Did his lips brush her hand for slightly longer than necessary, or with slightly more pressure than decorum allowed? Eleanor wasn’t sure. She inclined her head and bade him farewell, watching until the door closed behind him and fervently wishing the next two months would pass quickly.

Chapter Three

William Rudhale’s smile lasted for as long as it took to him to leave the room, then melted away to be replaced with a grimace. He breathed in a lungful of cool air and held it for a moment before exhaling deeply, admonishing himself for his lack of foresight. He had known for weeks that Lady Peyton was expected any day. Why had he not made the connection between Sir Edgar’s daughter and the woman on the ferry? Her hair alone should have given him enough of a clue; that intense shade of copper was so rarely seen that it would have been remarkable if the woman were not related to Sir Edgar.

Somehow he had forgotten that the widowed daughter must be younger than him. If he had pictured her at all, it had been a plain, pinched face atop a shapeless, thickening body swathed in black. Lady Peyton was as far removed from the dumpy, elderly woman in his imagination as it was possible to be.

He had spent most of his ride from the ferry to Tawstott happily reliving the sensation of the enigmatic woman’s slim frame pressing tightly against him. He had let his imagination have free rein with what he would do if they were to meet again. Certainly she would not have refused his kiss a third time, he would have made certain of that.

A shiver of desire rippled through him at the memory of the slender frame with such soft, tempting curves. He shook his head ruefully. No point spending too much time thinking about them. It was clear that Lady Peyton most definitely had not expected to encounter him again and, judging from her expression, she was not at all pleased to do so!

Will strode along the dimly lit corridor at a leisurely pace, the cold air providing a welcome blast of sobriety after the stuffiness of Sir Edgar’s library, and made his way to the kitchens. With an assured manner he gave orders, noting with satisfaction the efficiency with which they were carried out.

‘Rather young to be a steward,’ Lady Peyton had said, the scepticism clear in her voice. Will’s pride pricked for a moment. It was true enough that he was young, but what of it? The lady would find no fault tonight, he determined. He busied himself testing dishes and tasting wine. Satisfied with the quality of the food, he gave his praise to the cooks, then issued orders to the serving maids, bestowing charming smiles on them as he did. He smiled to himself as they blushed and scurried away giggling.

Will made the short journey to the Great Hall where two long tables were laid for the household members, one down either side of the room, leading to the raised dais where the family would sit. A man was lounging by the fire at the far end of the room. Perched on an iron stand was a small, hooded kestrel. As Will entered the hall the bird screeched. Sir Edgar’s current falconer pushed himself to his feet and hailed Will with a cheery wave of a bottle.

Will greeted his younger brother with a frown. ‘Rob, I’ve told you before, keep your birds out of here. How long have you been here? You’re not usually this early for meals.’

In response the sandy-haired man reached inside his jerkin and produced an embroidered yellow scarf. He twirled it above his head before holding it out to Will for inspection.

‘Eliza Almeny finally gave me her favour...and a little more besides.’ Rob grinned impishly. ‘I won the wager and you owe me five groats!’

The wagers had begun years ago when Edmund had loudly stated to their fellow drinkers that Will’s grotesque scars would ruin his ability to catch any woman. His pride injured, and still smarting from the damage to his face, Will had risen to the challenge. By the end of the evening he’d charmed the tavern maid into his bed and discovered that a ready wit could make a woman overlook most imperfections, especially when a quick tongue was combined with a thorough dedication to using it in a variety of inventive ways.

He’d won from Edmund his drinks for the next week and since then the wagers had been an amusing game between the two men. When he returned to Tawstott to find Rob mooning over the miller’s daughter, Will had seen no reason not to include him in the fun.

Will raised his eyebrows at his brother. ‘Five groats? I said three, you swindler!’

Rob laughed. ‘Yes, but you wagered I wouldn’t manage to kiss her before midwinter’s night. I’ve done more than that and I’m three weeks early so I believe I deserve more. Besides...’ he paused and his grin became suddenly bashful ‘...I’ll need the extra now I’m going to be a husband!’

Will’s face broke into a surprised grimace. ‘A husband, is it! Then you do indeed need more, though mayhap I should give the money to Eliza, as it seems she’s been the one to ensnare you rather than the other way about!’

Rob tipped the bottle towards his brother. ‘You say that now, but you may feel the same one day,’ he said with a sympathetic smile that made Will’s stomach twist.

Will shook his head and frowned darkly. ‘You know I have no intention of marrying,’ he said emphatically.

‘Remind me, in that case, is the next wager to be yours or Edmund’s?’ Rob grinned.

Will’s eye roved to the serving maid who was lighting thick beeswax candles in the sconces. He winked at her and she fumbled her taper, a blush spreading across her cheeks. The girl held no real attraction for him and his action had been instinctive.

‘Perhaps I’m getting a little tired of this sport.’ Will sighed. ‘I think no more wagers for me.’

‘In that case you may as well marry.’ Rob laughed.

‘However much you try convincing me otherwise I see no benefit in laying all my eggs in one nest,’ Will said.

Rob rolled his eyes. ‘How many women do you need to bed before you convince yourself you aren’t a grotesque?’

Unconsciously Will’s fingers moved to his scar. He caught himself and balled his fist. He reached for the bottle in Rob’s hand. It was empty, of course.

‘I meant to save you some, but you were longer than I expected,’ Rob said. ‘Sir Edgar kept you a long time tonight.’

‘I would have been finished sooner, but we were interrupted,’ Will explained. ‘Lady Peyton arrived in the middle of our discussion and delayed matters.’

Rob let out an appreciative whistle. ‘Is she as beautiful as ever, and as prickly?’

Will walked to the dais and straightened a couple of goblets, keeping his eyes averted from Rob. Prickly wasn’t how he would describe the way Lady Peyton had felt in his arms. In fact, she had been more appealing than any woman he had encountered in a long while.

‘I don’t remember how beautiful she was before,’ Will answered finally, raising his eyebrows. ‘I haven’t lived here for almost five years and when I left she was not yet a woman grown.’

He tried to keep his voice light as he considered the woman young Eleanor Fitzallan had become, but experience told him Rob would not be easily deceived. Sure enough Rob followed him across the floor, pursing his lips suspiciously. Will poured them both a drink. He raised his cup in salute and drained it in one. It was not as fine as the one he had shared with Sir Edgar, but was at least as potent. A warm feeling began to envelop his head again and the knots in his shoulders eased. He regarded Rob over the lip of his cup and refilled it.

‘Yes, she’s beautiful,’ he admitted. He thought back again to their first meeting and his lips twitched. When she had rounded on him with such indignation on the ferry it had taken all his self-possession not to silence her fury with a kiss! Will ran his fingers through his hair, thanking his good fortune he hadn’t done so.

‘I think prickly would be a fair description,’ he conceded.

‘I always imagined taking a tumble with her would be akin to falling into a holly bush!’ Rob laughed.

Will snorted noncommittally, wondering what his brother would say if he knew how close to the holly bush he had got. The way her green eyes had widened as he’d pulled her close to him had sent a throb of raw desire through his entire body that even now threatened to return.

Enticing smells drifted from the kitchen so Will struck the large brass gong sharply. Whisking away their goblets, he took his position by the double doors to greet the household.

Presently the family and household servants began to make their way into the hall. Sir Edgar and Lady Fitzallan led the procession followed directly by Edmund Fitzallan escorting Lady Peyton on one arm and Anne Fitzallan, fourteen and the youngest of Sir Edgar’s children, on the other. Will bowed deeply as Sir Edgar led his family to the table on the dais, but could not resist casting a surreptitious look at Lady Peyton. She caught his eye and her step faltered. A rose-coloured flush appeared enchantingly on each cheek. She nodded her head the smallest degree that manners would permit and Will hid a smile, turning instead to greet Edmund and Anne.

* * *

Throughout the meal Will’s mind was firmly on his duties, determined to ensure everything ran smoothly. Once or twice throughout the evening he sensed Lady Peyton’s eyes on him as he explained the ingredients of a particular dish to Sir Edgar, but if ever he looked directly at her she whipped her head down.

* * *

Before the sweet dishes were brought out Sir Edgar stood and left the table. The atmosphere took on a more informal air in his absence as members of the household dispersed or moved into groups and the hall became pleasantly alive with the sounds of voices and dice games.

Will found a spot on the end of a bench and allowed himself a moment of satisfaction that the evening had been accomplished smoothly. He watched as the three women and their attendants moved to seats by the fireside. Lady Fitzallan and Anne began to devour a plate of honeyed figs, but Lady Peyton seated herself slightly apart from her mother and sister, her body perfectly still and her eyes downcast. The air of melancholy surrounding her was almost tangible and Will’s heart lurched at the sight.

Edmund broke his reverie as he threw himself on to the bench and slung an arm around Will’s shoulder. Will greeted him with a distracted smile, the intrusion into his thoughts unwelcome.

Edmund picked up a bottle of wine and filled two goblets to the brim. ‘You look weary, Will,’ he commented. ‘Was my father particularly demanding tonight? Did he agree to buy the wine?’

‘No, he wasn’t—and, yes, he did. He recognised the quality straight away. With a little more money to invest I could earn well from this vintage alone,’ Will answered. He sighed deeply. ‘It’s a pity my stake is so small.’

They drank contentedly for a while, discussing the upcoming feast, Rob’s successful wager and impending marriage. Rob retrieved his kestrel from the perch by the fire with a bow and a few brief words to the ladies, then joined his brother and friend. Lady Peyton’s eyes followed him as he crossed the room and Will saw her expression change to a frown as she saw where he was heading.

‘Why does my dear sister keep glaring at you?’ Edmund asked suddenly, turning his head to Will. ‘Every time she glanced your way during dinner she looked as though she wished she had a sharper knife. Surely you can have done nothing in the hour or two she has been here to incur her displeasure?’

‘You must be imagining things, Edmund. What could I have done?’ Will asked innocently. He took a deep draught from his goblet.

Rob leaned forward on his bench. ‘Will, you’re hiding something, I can tell.’

Will sighed. He had intended to keep his encounter with Lady Peyton to himself, but now the matter had arisen of its own accord. The wine had relaxed his mood enough that he had a sudden impulse to share his tale.

‘We have met before tonight, though not in the best circumstances,’ Will admitted, a wry smile crossing his face. ‘Today I nearly caused her to drown. I’m fortunate not to be packing my bags as we speak!’ He described the encounter on the ferry and his requests for a kiss. By the time he had finished his tale Rob was open mouthed in disbelief. Edmund’s face was twisted into an incredulous smile.

‘I swear, Edmund, if I had known she was your sister I would never have behaved in such a manner,’ Will insisted. ‘I intended no offence.’

Edmund swigged his wine with a careless shrug and raised an eyebrow. ‘None taken. The thought of my dear sister in such disarray has brightened up an otherwise tedious day. In all honesty I wish you had kissed her, Will. I wish anyone would, in fact.’

Will and Rob exchanged a glance of surprise at Edmund’s words.

‘It would do Eleanor some good to be reminded that she’s a woman. She has been widowed so long I fear she has forgotten,’ Edmund explained. ‘She’s had a sad life,’ he said sorrowfully.

‘Here’s the target for our next wager,’ Rob crowed delightedly.

‘No, it isn’t,’ Will said sternly. ‘I’m done with all that and, even if I weren’t, I’m not putting my position here in jeopardy. I’ve worked too hard to get it.’

‘That would be the challenge, of course: to charm her without causing any risk to yourself.’ Rob smiled.

‘Coaxing a serving girl between the sheets is one thing. I have no intention of risking Sir Edgar’s rage by seducing his daughter,’ Will insisted.

‘I wouldn’t want her seduced completely,’ Edmund protested quickly. ‘I wouldn’t play games with her virtue so carelessly. A kiss, though, that would be a different matter and one that is unlikely to endanger your employment.’

‘A single kiss? That’s hardly any challenge,’ Will scoffed. He looked once more to where Lady Peyton sat staring solemnly at the fireplace. Her slender form was in silhouette and Will could make out the shape of the contours he had so recently held close. He remembered the purse of her lips as she had glared at him. Would they be as soft to kiss as he imagined them to be? A prickle of excitement ran down his spine at the thought.

Edmund eyed him for a moment. A familiar mocking glint flashed across his eyes. He stood up, wobbling slightly, and patted Will on the back. ‘Your limited charms won’t be enough to win my sister over anyhow. She’d never look twice at you.’

Lady Peyton was listening to her mother speaking but, as though she had felt Will’s eyes upon her, she glanced across, seeing the three men staring in her direction. Her green eyes narrowed suspiciously. Will remembered those clear, wide eyes scrutinising him in Sir Edgar’s library as she had hinted at their encounter. She could have told her father everything and yet something had stopped her. He had seen interest there, he was sure, and he had most certainly seen the flush in her cheeks when she was in his arms.

His jaw tightened as he recalled her declaration that she would never kiss him. She had been so confident of her assertion that his sense of pride flared at the thought of such a challenge.

As he poured another round of drinks, playing for time, Lady Peyton rose from her seat. She crossed the hall—still not putting the weight fully on her foot, Will noticed. Edmund hailed her with a cheery goodnight and she bent unwillingly while Edmund planted a drunken kiss on her cheek. Her eye fell on Will. He inclined his head towards her and she gave him a nervous smile. He watched her depart, her skirt swaying gracefully despite the unevenness of her step, emphasising her narrow waist and the curves of her hips.

‘You’ve got a fancy for her, haven’t you, Brother? I can tell,’ Rob said. ‘Well, you can put her out of your mind. It’s common knowledge she has no time for any man.’

‘Rob’s right. I’d be happy for you to kiss her. I might even welcome you as a brother-in-law, but you’d be on a hiding to nothing,’ Edmund agreed. ‘I reckon Mother will be looking at the duke’s entourage for husbands for my sisters.’

‘Why should that concern me? I’m not looking for marriage,’ Will said. ‘I’ll leave it to Rob to exceed the terms of the wager so foolishly.’ Of course a noblewoman such as she would have her eyes on a mate of equal status. He sat back in his chair, arms stretched behind his head. ‘Very well, I’ll bet five groats I can kiss her by midnight on the night of the midwinter feast.’

Rob laughed, ‘You’re aiming too high this time. In fact, I’m so sure you’ll fail that I’ll make it ten groats.’ He chortled.

‘Ten from me, too,’ Edmund agreed.

Will sucked his teeth thoughtfully. Twenty groats was almost a month’s salary, much more than any wager previously. He could ill afford to lose such an amount. To win it though was tempting indeed. Visions of Master Fortin’s ship laden with wine barrels passed before his eyes. Twenty groats more to invest and for what hardship? Doing something he wanted to do anyway.

Why was he even hesitating! A widow must miss some comforts of marriage after all.

‘One kiss, nothing more? And you assure me I will not incur your father’s wrath?’ he asked once more.

Edmund nodded. ‘How would Father ever find out? Eleanor would never tell him. On the lips, mind,’ he said. ‘None of this virtuous hand-raising or brotherly cheek-brushing.’

Brotherly cheek-brushing was the last thing on Will’s mind. He drained his goblet and slammed it down on the table.

‘I’ll do it. The wager is on!’

Chapter Four

An insistent knocking at the bedchamber door dragged Eleanor from her sleep much sooner than she would have liked. She buried her head beneath the warmth of the covers, but the rapping became louder until it had the rhythm and intensity of a drum and she could ignore it no longer. She climbed out of bed with a groan. Her foot was still tender as she hobbled to the door.

Anne stood with one hand raised, caught mid-knock.

‘I thought you were never going to wake up,’ the younger girl said petulantly, twisting a lock of her strawberry-blonde hair around her fingers. ‘You left the hall early enough last night to have had more than enough rest.’

Eleanor smiled and beckoned her in, relieved it was only her sister and not her mother. Lady Fitzallan had definite opinions about the hour her daughters should be dressed by. Even after running her own establishment for years Eleanor found herself squirming at the thought of a scolding. She half-hopped back to the bed and climbed in, stretching her leg out.

‘Open the shutters, please, Anne,’ she instructed and watery daylight flooded into the room. Eleanor peered down at her ankle, wincing at the sight. Released from her tightly laced boot, the foot had swollen overnight and an ugly bruise crept from her instep across and round her anklebone. No wonder it hurt to walk on. Anne gasped in disgust at the sight of Eleanor’s ankle and climbed on to the bed, leaning heavily against her sister and drawing the thick blanket close around them both.

‘You said nothing of this to Mother last night,’ Anne exclaimed accusingly. ‘How did you do it?’

Eleanor reached down and gave her ankle an experimental prod. A biting pain shot across her foot as she touched the tender flesh. It would take days to heal, she was certain of it. Her anger at Rudhale’s ludicrous actions on the ferry returned in a rush.

‘I slipped on the ferry crossing the Taw and twisted it,’ she explained crossly. She threw herself back against the pillow in annoyance. ‘It was not my doing. I was almost knocked overboard thanks to the reckless behaviour of...’ Her voice trailed off cautiously. Last night she had passed up the chance to tell her father what had passed between herself and the steward. She could hardly now share that with Anne, at least not if she expected it to remain secret any longer than it took for the girl to leave the room.

Anne was watching her closely, her hazel eyes wide. ‘Of who?’ the girl asked eagerly.

‘A stranger on horseback. No one important,’ Eleanor continued. Her irritation mounted as she recounted the incident. Anne’s reaction was not at all what she had expected, however. Her sister’s eyes shone and she clutched Eleanor’s arm passionately.

‘Eleanor, that’s the most exciting thing I’ve ever heard!’ Anne’s voice was a high-pitched squeal. ‘He saved you from the water and pulled you into his arms, yet you didn’t kiss him? How could you have resisted him?’

‘How could I have resisted an arrogant man who thinks he could demand such an intimacy from a woman travelling alone?’ Eleanor asked in surprise. There were six years between them and sometimes she forgot how silly Anne could be.

Anne snorted and hugged herself tightly, her face wistful. ‘A kiss from a dashing stranger! It’s like something a troubadour would sing about. It’s so romantic, Eleanor. Was he handsome?’

The steward’s face rose in Eleanor’s mind and an unwelcome blush began to creep around her neck at the memory of his eyes flashing in her direction. She bit her lip and reached for the comb that lay on the table.

‘I don’t recall,’ she said frostily, pushing down the memory of the way her heart had thumped. ‘Besides, however handsome he was, it would not excuse such rudeness.’

Anne took the comb from Eleanor’s hand and began to run it through the tangles of her sister’s hair. ‘So he was handsome!’ Anne said triumphantly. ‘Promise me that if it should ever happen again you will not refuse,’ she begged.

Eleanor’s heart lurched at the thought. She caught the direction her thoughts were leading and scolded herself. The steward’s manner towards her in Sir Edgar’s library had been courteous and there was no reason to believe he would be so brazen in future. It most certainly would not happen again.

‘I would do no such thing,’ she said calmly. ‘And neither would you unless you wanted to ruin your reputation.’

Anne pouted. ‘That’s easy for you to say. You’ve already had one husband and I’m sure you could catch another any time you chose. I’ve never had a suitor, not properly, and Mother isn’t even looking for me. No one will ever marry me!’

Eleanor took her sister’s hand and smiled. ‘You’re three years younger than I was when I married Baldwin. There’s plenty of time for suitors.’

Anne’s face lit up. Eleanor bit her lip thoughtfully. Anne had been only ten years old when Baldwin had come into Eleanor’s life. How could she begin to explain what it felt like to be presented to a stranger ten years her senior and informed she would be his bride? ‘Don’t be too keen to give your freedom away, it will happen soon enough,’ she said earnestly. ‘Let’s not talk any more of this though. Dinner seems a long time ago and I want some breakfast.’

Leaning on her sister’s arm for support, Eleanor made her way to the Great Hall. Unlike the evening meal, breakfast was a more informal affair with members of the household coming and going as their needs and duties dictated. By the time Eleanor and Anne arrived the servants and the girls’ parents had long since departed—Lady Fitzallan to her solar and Sir Edgar no doubt to his library—so the hall was empty. The two girls settled on to the padded seat in the window alcove and set about devouring the remaining bread and ale. Their earlier conversation was forgotten as they swapped tales of what had passed since their last meeting.

The door opened and Eleanor’s heart sank as William Rudhale entered. She had hoped him to be miles away by now, riding back with his wine order. Rudhale did not seem to notice the women at first. He stood on the threshold and glanced around the room, his brow knotted with concentration.

‘William!’

Anne’s unexpected cry of greeting brought Eleanor out of her reverie. She frowned at her sister, but Anne was watching the steward too intently to notice, her cheeks reddening visibly.

On realising he was not alone the steward gave a start, but his face broke into a charming smile. He walked to them in long, confident strides and bowed deeply. Eleanor studied him surreptitiously. The last time she had seen him he had been well into a flagon of wine with Edmund. Unless her brother had greatly changed his habits, by rights this morning Rudhale should be suffering from a sore head and longing for a darkened room. Instead he looked fresh and well, his hair curling about his collar and his beard trimmed close. He was dressed plainly in a dark-blue tunic and black breeches. The leather belt that drew his waist was ornately stamped: the only touch of vanity in an otherwise sober outfit.

‘Good morning, William. I didn’t see you yesterday,’ Anne said, her words rushing out in a tumble before anyone else could speak. Her eyes glowed. ‘I looked for you when I was riding, but Tobias wasn’t in the stable. Will you be riding today? I shall be.’

As she heard the excitement in Anne’s voice a terrible realisation struck Eleanor. Her sister was attracted to Rudhale. With a head filled with tales of romance and bandits, naturally Anne would find such a well-looking young man attractive. His scar would no doubt only contribute an air of danger and add to his appeal rather than detract from it. If only she had told Anne the horseman’s identity and warned her away when she had the chance.

Eleanor leaned forward and stared at the steward, watching his reaction as a fox might watch a rabbit. Her sudden movement caught Rudhale’s attention. His eyes slid to Eleanor’s and widened as he obviously realised the conclusion she had arrived at. He shook his head in a gesture of denial. The movement was so small as to be almost imperceptible, but his meaning was clear. He was aware of Anne’s feelings, but did not reciprocate them.

Rudhale smiled politely at Anne, his hands stiffly by his side. ‘I’m sorry, Miss Anne,’ he said formally. ‘I hope you enjoy your ride, but I have so much to do today after arriving back so late yesterday evening.’ His tone was polite, but his face showed none of the vitality it had contained when he had demanded the kiss on the ferry. Eleanor sat back against the window frame, her shoulders dropping slightly with relief. Anne sighed with dissatisfaction.

‘Perhaps your sister will accompany you,’ Rudhale suggested, smiling at Eleanor with a good degree more warmth than he had her sister.

‘She can’t. She’s injured her foot,’ Anne replied. She sighed heavily. ‘Ah well, I shall have to ride alone and hope I encounter a dashing horseman like Eleanor did yesterday!’

Eleanor’s mouth dropped open at her sister’s indiscreet words. Rudhale’s eyes lit up and he looked at her with interest.

‘Those were not my words as well you are aware, Anne,’ Eleanor said sharply. Her stomach curled with embarrassment. The thought that Rudhale might believe she had described him as such was excruciating. ‘I think I shall return to my room. I have some business to attend to.’ She lowered her feet to the floor, wincing slightly. Anne moved to help her, but Rudhale stepped forward.

‘Allow me to assist you, Lady Peyton,’ Rudhale said gallantly. ‘It would be a shame for your sister to delay her ride.’ He held an arm out to her.

Eleanor opened her mouth to refuse him, but changed her mind. The necessity of needing his help won out over her reluctance to be in his company. They walked silently side by side, Rudhale supporting her weight as though she was little more than a child. He slipped his arm around her waist as she leaned heavily against him. His hips brushed against hers and the contours of his broad chest were unmistakable through his tunic. Try as she might, Eleanor could not ignore the way her heartbeat quickened at his touch.

‘I thought you were leaving today,’ she muttered as they left the Great Hall.

‘Other matters prevented me going personally so I sent a messenger. I trust dinner lived up to your expectations last night, Lady Peyton?’ Rudhale asked as they walked slowly along the corridor.

‘Perfectly, Master Rudhale,’ Eleanor said coolly, ‘Though I’ll admit they were low to begin with.’

Rudhale stopped walking. He cocked his head, a small frown furrowing his brow. ‘How so, my lady?’ he asked. ‘You do me an injustice.’

‘An injustice?’ Eleanor folded her arms across her chest and gave a short laugh of disbelief. ‘What indication have you given me that you are anything more than an irresponsible fool?’ she asked scathingly. ‘Your behaviour yesterday was hardly to your credit. Leaving aside the injury you caused me, if my father knew what you had demanded do you think you would continue in his employment for long?’

Rudhale’s gaze became iron hard. ‘Contrary to what my appearance might suggest I am not in the habit of “demanding”. I merely suggested it because when a beautiful woman ended up in my arms it would be foolish not to!’ He crossed his own arms and planted his feet apart, mirroring Eleanor’s stance. ‘And you did not tell Sir Edgar what happened when you had the opportunity,’ he pointed out. ‘Why is that? What stopped you revealing my improper behaviour? It can’t be simply because you thought me dashing, though I owe you thanks for that compliment.’

A knot of irritation blocked Eleanor’s throat, choking her retort. Truly the man was more arrogant than she had believed possible! ‘Believe me, Master Rudhale, I do not find your behaviour “dashing”. That was my sister’s word as I already explained. Nothing could be further from the truth.’

Rudhale was grinning again. Really, did the man find everything in life amusing?

Eleanor smoothed her hair back, conscious that she was losing her composure in front of him.

‘I did not tell my father purely for my own ends. I have spent too long battling to be allowed my independence for some fool to ruin that for me. The fact it benefitted you is purely coincidental. Now you may help me to my room or leave me to manage by myself, but I do not wish to speak of this any further.’

* * *

Lady Peyton began to limp away, leaving Will staring at her slender back. The encounter was not going how he had pictured it when he had first seen her in the Great Hall. He had congratulated himself on succeeding in getting her alone so quickly, but he had not anticipated her being quite so cold. Seeing his chance to lay the groundwork for the wager about to disappear, Will caught her by the arm. She glared at him once again. He held his hands up and fixed her with a disarming smile.

‘I think it is fair to say we did not begin on the best footing, my lady,’ he said, inclining his head towards her ankle. Her face softened at his jest, but she bit her lip, as though she was amused, but did not want to admit such a thing. He stored the information away for future use.

‘Shall we start again?’ he asked. Lady Peyton said nothing, but when he held an arm out again she took it. A small thrill of victory ran through Will. Their progress to Lady Peyton’s chamber was slow, but that gave him all the more time to win her over.

‘I noticed when you came to dinner that you were limping. Is it very painful?’ Will asked, filling his voice with concern. ‘I hope it doesn’t interrupt your activities too greatly, though I’m afraid it will stop you riding for a few days at least.’

Lady Peyton shook her head. ‘It aches, but I have no plans to ride,’ she replied.

‘I hope it is better before the midwinter feast. It would be a shame if you could not dance.’

‘I don’t dance,’ she answered, bowing her head and increasing her speed slightly. In the dimly lit corridor her face was obscured by shadows, but something in her tone caught Will’s attention. A hint of regret nestling amongst the aloofness, he thought.

‘I thought all ladies could dance,’ he said, raising one eyebrow.

The muscle in her arm tightened involuntarily under his. ‘I didn’t say I couldn’t. I choose not to,’ she said curtly before lapsing into silence.

They had reached her bedchamber. Lady Peyton untwined her arm from Will’s and opened the door. A crumpled green-velvet coverlet was visible on the bed and Will’s mind began to wander down paths it shouldn’t. Moving a touch closer, he rested one arm on the door frame and bent his head over Lady Peyton, fixing her with the intense gaze that never failed to leave his targets breathless with desire.

‘Lady Peyton, I owe you an apology,’ he breathed huskily. ‘What I did on the ferry...what I asked of you...I was wrong to do so.’ Her green eyes widened in surprise. This was almost too easy. ‘I have no excuse other than that I was swept away by your beauty.’

Will dropped his eyes to the ground as though ashamed, before raising them to look at her once more through half-closed lids. Instead of the rapt expression he expected, Lady Peyton looked outraged.

‘Swept away?’ she said disdainfully. ‘It’s fortunate indeed your horse did not miss his landing if you are swept away so easily!’

‘I mean no offence,’ Will answered calmly. ‘It is a compliment to you that I was overcome by sentiments stronger than my sense of propriety.’

‘I want no such compliments, Master Rudhale,’ Lady Peyton exclaimed. Two pink spots appeared enticingly on her cheeks. ‘If I must suffer to live under the same roof as you, the greatest compliment you can pay me is to believe me when I say I wish you to stay out of my presence as much as possible.’ She spun on her heel and half-flung herself into the room, slamming the door behind her.

Will stood alone in the corridor, scarcely able to believe what had just happened. He fought back a laugh of glee. Truly she was wonderful.

There had not been a woman yet who had resisted Will’s attempts at seduction—few even tried. Now he was more determined than ever that a woman as captivating as Eleanor Peyton would not be the first!

Chapter Five

Her heart thumping, Eleanor banged the door closed behind her and leaned back heavily as though Rudhale might attempt to barge his way through at any moment. She raised a hand to her neck and was unsurprised to feel her skin hot to the touch, a telltale prickle of a blush creeping across her chest. Her hand was trembling and she clenched her fist tight.

Jennet was emptying Eleanor’s travelling chest with her back to the door. At the sound she jumped, her head twisting round to where her mistress stood.

‘You startled me, my lady. Is something the matter?’ she asked in alarm.

Eleanor smiled faintly at the absurdity of her behaviour and shook her head. The steward might be egotistical and his words far too personal for comfort, but there was no reason to suspect he would commit so violent an indiscretion. Really, she was not herself this morning.

She crossed the room and sank on to the low folding stool in front of her window, rummaging on the ledge among the boxes until she found the green glass bottle containing her favourite scented oil. She dabbed a drop on her temples, inhaling the fresh aroma of lemon balm, and slowly her composure returned.

Jennet came and knelt at her side. ‘My lady, do you remember the man on the ferry—?’ she began. Eleanor cut her words off before she could continue.

‘I know.’ She nodded. She took Jennet’s hands. ‘You must not tell anyone what happened. I have spoken to him and told him I will not discuss the matter again...’

Her voice trailed off as she thought back to the conversation. Never before had she spoken in such a manner to anyone, least of all a man! She reminded herself that until she met the steward there had never been any cause to do so.

Even so, she could not blot out the vision of Rudhale’s eyes penetrating her with such open, honest desire. He had made his attraction perfectly clear and it unsettled Eleanor deeply. Even more troubling was the constriction in her belly whenever she was in his presence, as though a fist was wrapping her stomach around itself and pulling her closer to his reach whether she willed it or not.

‘My lady?’ Jennet prompted.

Eleanor realised with a start that she had been staring at the wall, seeing nothing for who knew how long. She shook her head and smiled at Jennet.

‘I could not have made myself any clearer. If Master Rudhale has anything of the gentleman about him, that should be the end of it,’ she finished.

Drawing a deep breath she picked up a book and began to read. Becoming engrossed in the subject, she soon forgot about Rudhale. When a knock at the door brought her mind back to the present, it never even occurred to her to worry whom it might be.

Jennet rushed to the door and the wise-woman from Tawstott Town followed her into the room. Eleanor beamed at the thickset, wispy-haired woman dressed in black. Joan Becket had brought all of Lady Fitzallan’s children into the world. A close friend of Lady Fitzallan, she still maintained an interest in the lives of the three who had survived.

Crossing the room, she curtsied to Eleanor and kissed her hand. ‘Eleanor, good to see you again. Someone told me you’ve got yourself injured.’ Mistress Becket smiled.

Eleanor’s hand instinctively moved to her ankle. Mistress Becket’s eyes followed her action and she nodded.

‘Well, let me have a look and I’ll see what I can do.’

Eleanor lifted her foot on to a stool and unrolled her stocking. Anne must have told their mother, of course. The girl was incapable of keeping anything a secret. Eleanor frowned to herself. No doubt she would be called to explain what had happened before long.

The examination was quick and a mild sprain the verdict. Mistress Becket smeared a foul-smelling poultice of crushed comfrey and nettle leaves over Eleanor’s ankle. She bound it tightly with thin straps of flannel and stood back with a smile.

‘Walk lightly for the next few days. Borrow a stick from your father and you won’t have to spend your days hiding away in here.’

Eleanor reached for the purse that lay on her table, but Mistress Becket held up her hands.

‘The payment has already been settled,’ she told Eleanor as she wiped the remaining mixture on a cloth and packed it into her basket.

‘Did Mother pay you?’ Eleanor asked, surprised.

The old woman’s eyes twinkled. ‘Not her,’ she said with a grin.

‘Who, then?’ Eleanor asked curiously. Mistress Becket’s fees were not cheap and Anne was unlikely to have the funds or inclination to pay. Becket smiled as she reached the door.

‘Why, by the person who asked me to attend you, of course,’ she said with another grin. ‘Master Rudhale.’

Eleanor leaned back in her chair, her mind in a whirl. She ordered Jennet to find her a crutch as the wise-woman had recommended. She could barely contain herself while she waited. The words on the page jumbled themselves in disordered sentences. She tried to calm herself with embroidery, but found the threads knotting under her touch. Twice she stabbed her finger and she finally flung the cloth on to the bed and settled for staring out of the window at the clouding sky until the maid returned.

* * *

Eleanor found the steward in the rear courtyard supervising deliveries of grain. He had his back to Eleanor and at first was unaware of her presence. She had intended to confront him immediately, but instead held back, curious to see him at work. She watched as he gave orders to the two servants. He spoke in a quiet voice and from the expressions on the faces of the other men he commanded their respect. He stood with his wax tablet in hand, tallying up the sacks as they were hefted from the delivery carts and carried into the granary.

The sky had been darkening steadily and large drops of rain began to fall. Rudhale slipped his note tablet into the leather satchel that crossed his chest and, joining the two servants, hefted a sack across his shoulder. He lifted the burden without apparent effort and an unexpected shiver ran along through the length of Eleanor’s body as she recalled him lifting her equally as easily on the ferry.

Despite the bitter coldness of the day, he was wearing no cloak over his wool doublet and the contours of his torso were evident beneath the slim-fitting garment. An unwilling smile formed on Eleanor’s lips as she watched. Rudhale turned towards the granary and noticed Eleanor for the first time. The steward’s expression had been one of concentration, but as he saw Eleanor his eyes widened and his face relaxed into a grin. She forced the smile from her face, unwilling for him to see it. Still carrying his sack, he strode to Eleanor.

‘I did not expect to see you here, my lady,’ he said in surprise. ‘Is there anything I can help you with?’

‘I need to speak to you,’ Eleanor said firmly.

Rudhale glanced at the sky. ‘As you can see I am rather occupied and you are at risk of getting a soaking for the second day running. Might I suggest you return to the house and I will find you once I am done?’

Eleanor folded her arms and looked at him defiantly. ‘No, I want to speak to you now. Leave the men to work without you.’

To Eleanor’s surprise Rudhale shook his head. ‘No, I’m sorry, Lady Peyton, but this is too important. I cannot afford to have a month’s worth of grain drenched, even for you.’

He walked to the granary, his shoulders set under the weight of his burden. Eleanor watched him go, his dedication to the task unexpected. She took a step back towards the house, then wavered. The rain was coming down faster now. She had no wish to get wet, but no man would order her around in that fashion. She stood her ground, leaning on the stick for support and wishing she had brought a cloak.

Rudhale returned from the building empty handed after a few moments and found her still standing there. With a stern look he dipped his hand into his satchel and handed the wax tablet to her.

‘Stay if you must, but if you insist on waiting at least be of assistance to me.’ He nodded his head towards the granary. ‘Stand in the entrance and tally the sacks.’ He walked on without waiting for her response and heaved another sack from the cart on to his shoulder.

Eleanor wavered, her pride rebelling at the way he ordered her, but if she returned to the house she did not know when they might meet again so she made her way to the granary and stood inside the entrance of the stone building. She did as Rudhale asked, adding her own precise marks next to the neat lines of his tallies. Her sense of organisation took over and she happily instructed the servants and steward how best to proceed. The cart was soon emptied and the sacks stacked neatly on the stone shelves in the granary.

After a few words of thanks, Rudhale sent the cart driver and servants on their way. He walked back to Eleanor and stood beside her, brushing his hands briskly down the length of his arms and torso to brush the worst of the rain off. Eleanor found herself following the movement closely. She raised her eyes to meet his. Droplets of water glistened in his beard and hair. He cocked his head to one side and ran a hand through his hair, watching Eleanor closely. She held the tablet out and he took it. His fingers touching lightly against her hand for the briefest moment and Eleanor shivered.

‘Thank you for your help,’ Rudhale said. ‘You have saved me a degree of trouble. I am in your debt.’ He walked into the granary and shifted a sack further on to the shelf.

His words reminded Eleanor why she had come and she followed him inside. The storeroom was shadowy, the only light from the open door and the small holes around each wall. The air was sweet with the scent of grain and she took a deep breath.

‘It is I who am in your debt,’ Eleanor said. ‘I have come to settle it now.’ Her hand moved to the pouch on her girdle. ‘How much did Mistress Becket charge you?’

Rudhale raised an eyebrow at her words. ‘You owe me nothing,’ he said. ‘I summoned her to attend you. I will pay for it.’

‘I didn’t ask you to do that.’ Eleanor put her hands on her hips and glared at him. ‘What right do you have to act on my behalf in such a way?’

Rudhale moved closer to her. ‘I did it because I could see you were in pain and did not believe you would take care of it yourself. I’m right, aren’t I?’

Eleanor’s mouth dropped open. She closed it quickly and took a step back, surprised at the gentleness in his voice. ‘Even so, that is no business of yours.’

‘The responsibility for the injury was mine,’ Rudhale said firmly. ‘The decision to ask Mistress Becket was mine. The cost will be mine also.’

Eleanor dug her hand into her pouch and produced a groat. She held it out to Rudhale. He folded his arms and set his jaw, eyeing Eleanor defiantly.

‘Take it, for goodness’ sake,’ she exclaimed, her temper rising. ‘I don’t want your money. I can afford to take care of my own affairs.’

‘Your father pays me well. I am not as poor as you suppose,’ Rudhale said scornfully.

‘That isn’t what I meant!’ Eleanor grimaced as she realised how her words must have sounded. She lowered her voice and said, ‘I refuse to be under obligation to any man.’

At her tone Rudhale’s expression changed. He looked at her quizzically. ‘There is no dishonour in doing so,’ he said, his voice earnest. He looked away as though deep in thought, and when his blue eyes slid back to Eleanor’s they gleamed. Eleanor’s throat tightened.

‘If you wish to repay me, you could do so in another manner,’ Rudhale suggested. ‘As your ankle will be healed soon, you can dance with me on the night of the midwinter feast.’

A long-buried sense of yearning struggled inside Eleanor. The now-familiar sense of indignation she felt in his presence fought back. The indignation won. She squeezed the coin tightly into her hand.

‘I told you before, I never dance. I certainly won’t with you.’

‘Why not?’ Rudhale moved closer again and this time Eleanor did not move away. Rudhale lowered his voice. ‘Are you ashamed to be seen with a servant, or is it my face that prevents you?’

‘Neither!’ Eleanor cried indignantly. ‘Do you imagine me so proud?’

‘What are you afraid will happen if you do?’ Rudhale breathed.

Eleanor swallowed. ‘I am afraid of nothing,’ she said boldly. She ignored the voice that whispered how much of a falsehood her denial was and looked him squarely in the face. She held the coin in front of her once more. When the steward ignored it, Eleanor placed it on the shelf beside the grain sacks.

‘Since my marriage ended I have looked after myself. I do not intend to cease now. Take the money or leave it. It’s all the same to me.’ She walked out of the granary and back to the house, using all her willpower not to turn to check if Rudhale had picked up the coin.

* * *

Will watched Lady Peyton depart. He scratched his beard thoughtfully. Every instinct told him she found him attractive, so why was she so determined to deny the fact? He picked the coin from the shelf where Lady Peyton had placed it. It was still warm from her touch. He rolled it between his fingers, contemplating his next move. This was the second time in one day the infuriating woman had left him standing alone. As long as she kept retreating he could never begin to break down her reserve.

Complimenting her beauty had not worked. Calling the wise-woman should have softened her attitude towards him. She lived alone, with no male company or protection. By rights she should be longing for someone to take care of her. Instead she had insisted on that ridiculous notion of independence. Clearly he would need to use different tactics in this conquest.

He walked back to the house, examining the completed tally. Lady Peyton’s hand was neat and businesslike. He recalled the way she had directed the servants, more enthusiastically than he had seen her do anything so far. A grin spread across his face as a plan began to form in his mind.

* * *

Sir Edgar was poring over a large ledger when Will entered his library. He shut the ledger with a bang and grimaced at Will.

‘Duke Roland’s visit is going to bankrupt me, I fear,’ he grumbled. ‘The costs keep mounting.’

‘There is much to be done before the visit,’ he agreed. ‘I should be happy to have twice the assistance I have now.’

‘Well, I can ill afford to hire anyone else,’ Sir Edgar cautioned. Will’s heart leapt with glee. The baron had practically introduced the subject himself.

Sir Edgar picked up his quill and tapped the end irritably against the table edge. ‘My only hope is that my wife finds husbands for my daughters and makes the expense worthwhile, although I can scarcely afford dowries at this time. Eleanor will have to provide her own, though I’m sure she would be more than happy to do so. Never have daughters if you can help it, young man!’

This was even better, Will thought triumphantly. He fixed his face into a sympathetic smile. ‘It is about Lady Peyton that I have come to see you...’ he began.

‘Eleanor, what of her?’ Sir Edgar peered at Will warily. ‘You don’t wish to marry her, do you?’ He laughed as he spoke, though Will thought he could hear a note of hope in the baron’s voice.

‘I would not presume to reach so high,’ Will declared. ‘I merely came to say that I have noticed Lady Peyton seems rather...’ he searched for a word that would not offend ‘...rather listless and vexed. I wondered if she might need something to occupy her.’

‘I’m sure she does,’ Sir Edgar agreed. ‘If I only had the time or finances to fill her days, I’m sure she would be much happier.’

Will sighed, then his face lit up. ‘I have an idea—!’ he began, then broke off. ‘No, it would never do,’ he said with a regretful shake of his head. He walked to the window and gazed out. From the corner of his eye he could see Sir Edgar leaning forward with interest.

‘If you have something to say, tell me,’ Sir Edgar instructed.

With mock reluctance Will spoke. ‘I have a suggestion that might satisfy all our needs.’

He outlined his idea to Sir Edgar. The baron sat back in his chair, hands together across his belly. ‘Excellent idea, William,’ he said finally. ‘Would you find Eleanor? I shall tell her immediately.’

‘May I suggest Lady Peyton is led to believe the plan is yours alone? After all, it was you who gave me the inspiration and I would not wish to take the credit.’

‘Nor the condemnation if it does not meet with Eleanor’s views?’ Sir Edgar asked shrewdly.

The two men’s eyes met and an unspoken acknowledgement passed between them. The baron recognised his daughter’s temper, too. An unprecedented twinge of sympathy seized Will at the thought of Lady Peyton’s brother and father both conspiring against her. Little wonder she preferred to live elsewhere.

Still, that was not his problem. He had less than three weeks to win his wager. Whistling cheerfully, he made his way in search of Lady Peyton, picturing the look on her face when she learned of his plan.

Chapter Six

‘Have you succeeded yet?’

Will had been so engrossed in his musings as he made his way from the north wing that he had not noticed Edmund Fitzallan standing in the hallway until his friend shouted after him. Despite the weather Edmund was dressed in his heavy riding cloak and hood. Will experienced a momentary pang of envy, wishing he too could spend his days at leisure. He didn’t need to ask what Edmund referred to.

‘After less than a single day? I’m flattered you credit me with such ability!’ Will leaned against the stair banister and inspected his fingernails, assuming an untroubled expression. ‘I haven’t yet, but I will. In fact, I’m in search of your sister now—do you know where she is?’

Edmund raised his eyebrows and laughed. ‘Would I tell you if I did? I might as well throw my stake down the well if I’m going to help you.’

‘It’s hardly much of a help,’ Will replied. ‘Helping would be telling her of my excellent character and suggesting she finds comfort from widowhood in my arms. Besides,’ he added, ‘your father sent me.’

Edmund jerked his thumb towards the stairs. ‘I haven’t seen her, but try the solar. Mother will be there as usual. It’s possible Eleanor might have decided to join her. If she has, she might even be pleased to see you as a result!’ He opened the door and turned back with a grin. ‘Don’t take too long over the matter, Will. There’s a new dairymaid over at Collett’s farm and I’m eager to try a taste of her cream.’

‘Then do so,’ Will replied, wincing slightly at Edmund’s words. ‘You needn’t delay on my account.’

Edmund laughed. ‘What, and waste the chance to win my money back?’

Will smiled and crossed his arms, ‘So you do believe I’ll succeed!’ he crowed.

The frown Edmund gave as he left kept Will amused as he climbed the stairs to the solar, Lady Fitzallan’s domain at the top of the south wing. As Will entered the light, airy room and bowed, Lady Fitzallan lifted her moss-green eyes to notice him. She was not the kind of woman who would wrinkle her nose, but Will always had the distinct impression that if she were not the well-bred niece of a duke she would have done whenever she saw him.

She was sitting close to the fire, her tapestry frame close beside her. Anne sat on a low stool by her feet, a lute in hand which she laid on her lap as she saw Will. Three maids completed the picture of domestic harmony. They had paused in their task of sorting coloured wools and buried their heads together amid hushed giggles when they saw who stood there. Will and Edmund had spent happy evenings drinking and laughing in their company during Will’s first month in Tawstott. He hoped the information would not find its way to Lady Peyton, otherwise he might as well pay Edmund and Rob this very day!

Lady Peyton was sitting in the window seat, removed from the company. Her grey woollen dress almost veiled her against the stone wall, a stark contrast to the brightly coloured clothes of her mother and sister. Only her copper-coloured plait prevented her from disappearing entirely. Her feet were drawn up and an embroidery ring lay on her lap though she was staring at the rain. She glanced across when the door opened. Will might have imagined it, but he swore the briefest flash of a smile crossed her face before she looked determinedly out of the window once more.

‘May I help you, Master Rudhale?’ Lady Fitzallan asked coldly.

‘I have a message for your daughter—’ he began. Anne’s lute fell to the floor with a clatter.

‘For Anne? Well, deliver it,’ Lady Fitzallan said crisply, frowning at her daughter.

Lady Peyton had turned her head at Anne’s reaction. Now she looked at Will, suspicion flashing in her green eyes.

‘It is for your elder daughter, my lady,’ Will explained. He bowed to Lady Peyton. ‘Your father wishes to speak to you, my lady.’

‘Tell my husband he must wait, Eleanor is engaged at this moment,’ Lady Fitzallan replied before her daughter could respond. Lady Peyton’s brow furrowed and Will recognised the temper he had borne the brunt of. He hid a smile and adopted a humble expression as he crossed the room to the window.

‘He expressly told me he wishes you to come now,’ he said.

Lady Peyton looked past him to the huddle of women.

‘I’ll come,’ she said.

She unwound herself from her seat as Will bent to pick up the crutch that lay at her feet and held it out. Lady Peyton took it, her eyes gleaming and her lips twisting into a conspiratorial smile. Together they left the room.

* * *

A welcome blast of cold air hit Eleanor as she left the room. The solar was always far too hot and she had been in danger of falling asleep. She took a deep breath.

‘You looked like a lost sailor who needed rescuing from a sea of boredom,’ Rudhale murmured as they walked along the corridor.

He wore his customary cocksure expression, as though he viewed himself as a knight errant who had saved Eleanor from certain death rather than a slightly tedious afternoon of sewing.

‘What a vivid image. Perhaps you should become a bard when you tire of stewardship,’ she suggested.

‘I’ve done many jobs in my time, but I’ll admit that isn’t one I’ve considered.’ He fixed her with a wicked smile. ‘Perhaps I need something to inspire me. Or someone.’

Eleanor blushed at his insinuation. She gave him a hard stare to disguise her discomfiture. ‘Isn’t it rather beneath you to deliver a summons?’ she asked. ‘Has Father run out of messenger boys?’

Rudhale raised his eyebrows, though Eleanor could not tell if he was pretending to be offended or if her words had really stung him.

‘He asked me to find you,’ the steward said. ‘I like to take care of important tasks myself wherever possible.’

He sounded sincere, but almost out of habit Eleanor rolled her eyes. Seeing the gesture, Rudhale frowned.

‘Do you doubt me, my lady? Haven’t you seen enough to convince you I take my duties seriously?’

He sounded genuinely offended now and a needle of shame pricked Eleanor’s conscience. Certainly this morning in the granary he had shown more conscientiousness than she would have expected and the meal last night had been excellent. She looked down at her hands, knowing she was being unjust.

‘I apologise,’ she said quietly. ‘Other than our first meeting I have no grounds to doubt you.’

Rudhale nodded his head in satisfaction. His face softened once more and he held out a hand to Eleanor. Recognising the peace gesture, she accepted his arm.

‘You seem to have done many different jobs?’ she asked curiously. ‘Is it the places you tire of or the roles?’

Rudhale looked thoughtful. ‘A little of both, perhaps. I have no ties to bind me and one should never pass up the opportunity to experience something new.’ He tipped his head to one side and raised an eyebrow, leaving Eleanor wondering what he wanted to experience with her. Rudhale changed the subject, however.

‘Aren’t you curious why Sir Edgar wants you?’ he asked as they walked along the dimly lit corridor.

‘Do you know?’ Eleanor asked suspiciously. She had thought nothing of it, but now she was alert. She pursed her lips thoughtfully.

The steward tilted his head in acknowledgment. ‘I do. I could tell you if you wish,’ he suggested teasingly.

‘And what would the price of that information be?’ Eleanor asked. Her mind went back to his suggestion of a suitable form of payment on the ferry. Before he could answer she said, ‘I am more than happy to hear it from my father’s own lips. Yours may stay closed.’

Rudhale laughed. ‘Do you believe this is some ruse to get you alone?’ He cocked his head to one side. ‘Is that what you hoped?’ he asked with a wily smile.

Eleanor lifted her chin and glared at him. ‘Of course not,’ she declared, before relenting slightly. ‘Though another half-hour of listening to the maids gossiping and I may have taken the chance anyway.’

Rudhale’s eyes crinkled at the corners. Eleanor’s stomach curled around itself. She dropped her head and walked faster.

The staircase was narrow and the two moved closer together. Momentarily their shoulders brushed, before Rudhale released Eleanor’s arm and stood back to let her pass. As she stepped, her crutch slipped on the oak floor. Her ankle gave a twinge and she drew her breath sharply. Instantly Rudhale’s hand shot out to her waist, steadying her, fingers spreading wide across her back. His arm was as firm as a rock and a shiver passed through Eleanor’s body as she leaned against him. She allowed him to take her weight and hoped he could not tell the sensation his touch had produced in her.

‘It would be much more convenient if my parents would inhabit rooms next door to each other instead of at other ends of the building,’ she said crossly as she descended the staircase.

‘Different floors, different rooms and different interests? It isn’t uncommon,’ Rudhale remarked lightly.

Eleanor gave a vague murmur of agreement. She had often wondered about her parents’ marriage. The ambitious baron had courted and won the niece of a duke, but Eleanor had never known if there was anything beyond the attraction of the dowry. Would her own marriage have been the same? she wondered. Forty years of indifferent conversation and dutiful lovemaking? What had she said to Edmund? Safe and peaceful? And utterly devoid of passion. Not for the first time she thanked her stars that the prospect of that was over and done with. Her conscience stabbed her, reminding her of the price Baldwin had paid for her freedom and she winced with guilt.

‘Not that I ever intend to marry, but it occurs to me that if I needed to separate myself from my wife that much, the marriage would not be worth speaking of,’ Rudhale said thoughtfully.

‘You don’t intend to?’ Surprised, Eleanor glanced at him.

Rudhale gave a careless shrug. ‘How long do you think desire would last if your choice was ill made? Why take the chance?’

It was almost as though he had read her thoughts. The certainty with which he spoke of irritated her however. Eleanor’s cheeks coloured and the blood thumped in her ears.

‘At least if you did marry the choice—and the mistake—would be yours to make,’ she replied, more bitterly than she’d intended. ‘You will never be sold off for financial advancement, or your family’s position. It’s easy to speak of love when that is the only factor you need consider.’

It was the first time she had voiced her feelings to anyone so clearly. How did Rudhale constantly provoke her to be so unguarded?

‘I didn’t mention love,’ Rudhale said smoothly. He fixed Eleanor with an unyielding look, his lips curling into a hard smile. ‘And it’s easy to speak of money when you have it.’

‘Is that why you won’t marry?’ Eleanor asked.

A momentary expression of hardness flitted across Rudhale’s face. ‘My reasons are my own,’ he replied curtly. Eleanor blinked in surprise and, seeing her expression, Rudhale’s face softened once more.

‘Your father will be waiting. We should hurry.’ He strode down the passageway, leaving Eleanor behind and burning with curiosity.

* * *

Sir Edgar was standing looking out of the window when they arrived.

‘Ah, you found her, William, well done. Eleanor, good of you to come so quickly,’ he said. Rudhale bowed and left the room, closing the door softly behind him.

‘Eleanor, as you know our guests will be arriving shortly. There is a great deal to prepare and time is running short.’ Sir Edgar gestured to the table that was piled high with rolled scrolls and heavy books. ‘You will assist William in making the arrangements.’

‘I will what?’ The exclamation burst from Eleanor before she could stop herself. She folded her arms and looked at her father in astonishment. Whatever reasons she could have imagined, this had never occurred to her.

‘You heard me,’ Sir Edgar said. ‘William is capable, but is stretched to his limit already.’ He took one of Eleanor’s hands and patted it. It was the same gesture he had done to cajole her ever since her childhood, and despite herself Eleanor smiled. ‘Also, it is my opinion that you need something to occupy your days, my dear. It seems to me to be the perfect solution.’

‘Father, I don’t know...’ she began hesitantly. She stopped as a suspicion occurred to her. ‘Does Master Rudhale agree to this?’

‘Of course,’ her father said airily. ‘William is willing to do whatever it takes to make this occasion a success. It reflects on him, too, you see.’

That was true enough. Eleanor wondered if perhaps she was being unfair after all. The few times Rudhale had spoken seriously had been when she had called his abilities as steward into question. Her mind became so tangled whenever he was around that she could well be attributing blame where there was none. But still, the thought of spending more time in his company was unsettling.

‘Why does it have to be me?’ she asked. ‘Why could Edmund not work with him? They are friends after all.’

Sir Edgar gave a mirthless laugh. ‘You know I love your brother dearly, as I love all my children, but credit me with knowing you all well. Edmund lacks the character and inclination to accomplish what I require him to do. I would go so far as to say, the wisest thing he has done this far is to befriend William and bring him into my service. At least he will be sure of sensible counsel when he succeeds to the title.’

‘I barely know Master Rudhale,’ Eleanor protested, clutching for any more ways out of the situation. ‘It wouldn’t be appropriate for me to spend time alone in his company.’

Sir Edgar tilted his head and gave Eleanor a thoughtful look. ‘Eleanor, you are in danger of becoming a recluse. You need to become accustomed to the company of people again. William is a fine young man and very conscientious in his duties. It will do you good to spend time with him. The more I think about this, the more I see only advantages.’

He nodded to himself in satisfaction. Eleanor’s heart sank, knowing his mind would not be changed. She sighed her agreement, dropped a curtsy and left the room.

Rudhale was leaning against the wall opposite Sir Edgar’s library. His long legs were crossed at the ankles and he was whittling something with a short knife. He stowed them in the pouch at his belt and smiled at Eleanor. She recalled the hints he had dropped as they walked to Sir Edgar’s study. In a rush her suspicions regarding the part he played returned. Eleanor put her hands on her hips. She stared at the steward angrily.

‘Was this your idea?’ she asked.

He stared at her and spread his arms wide. ‘My idea? How could it have been? Do you think I have so much influence over your father? You must regard my abilities higher than I thought. I am not sure if I should take the compliment to myself or be offended by the slight on my employer.’

Eleanor narrowed her eyes. The steward’s face radiated innocence. Too much innocence by far. She crossed the space between them, her crutch tapping sharply on the stone floor, punctuating the silence with irritated bursts that perfectly echoed her mood.

‘I don’t believe you,’ she said. ‘You had something to do with it, I am sure of it.’

‘I merely commented to your father that if he could spare me anyone to assist, I would be most grateful. I may have remarked that you appeared in need of distraction. If Sir Edgar chose to combine those two facts, I can hardly be held responsible for that, can I?’

Eleanor cursed inwardly. She knew he would never admit it.

‘Lady Peyton.’ Rudhale inclined his head and smiled down at Eleanor. The unsettling feeling rose in her stomach again. ‘I will not hold it against you if you prefer to return to your woman’s work. I shall tell your father you prefer to spend your days sewing with your mother and sister.’

Still holding Eleanor’s gaze, Rudhale circled around her so he was now outside Sir Edgar’s door. He continued smoothly, ‘I am sure he will understand and I shall manage as best as I can. I would not want you to feel under obligation to do this if you feel the task is too daunting.’

Too daunting! Eleanor’s pride flared at the implied insult and blood rushed to her cheeks. The jibe about woman’s work had been bad enough, but she would not stand by and be held as incapable.

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