white, the other stood a hand width shorter and not so broad. Even were he as richly turned out, Anne would never have mistaken him for his lord. He lacked the commanding presence and assuredness of the other.
Still, they both appeared so grandly dressed to impress, she felt like asking where the tournament was.
Her uncle gave her a little shove from behind. “My lord comte, may I present my niece, the Lady Anne.”
The comte extended his right gauntlet to the boy who promptly tugged it off. Then, gracefully, he bowed and Anne automatically extended her hand. He raised it to his lips and barely brushed the back of her knuckles. He would have missed the contact altogether had she not shuddered at his touch.
“Welcome to Baincroft, my lord,” she said, trying not to sound as breathless as she felt. Many men had visited her father and her husband, but never in all her days had she laid gaze upon one such as this.
Dark as sin, he was. Midnight hair hung to the edge of the curved steel gorget that protected his neck. Long-lashed eyes the color of polished walnut regarded her with frank curiosity and not a little admiration.
Anne felt her face redden under his scrutiny. She wore one of her older gowns, a russet linen, and no headrail at all. MacBain had required her to don those old-fashioned wimples, since discarded, and she owned no other head coverings. No matter. So much the better if Trouville thought her unfashionable. He would leave her in Scotland where she belonged.
For a man coming off a tedious journey, he arrived remarkably groomed, clean-shaven, combed and exuding no unpleasant odors. Did he never sweat?
His features, while refined, held none of the soft comeliness she would have expected on a courtier. Nor did his form. He appeared battle hardened and muscled by frequent exercise, judging by his carriage, the width of his shoulders and narrowness of his waist and hips. Devastatingly handsome and self-confident described him well. Frightening described him better. Dealing with this one would take some doing.
He straightened and finally released her hand. “My lady, may I make known to you Sir Guillaume Perrer, knight in service to me.” He waited until the man made his bow. “And our herald this day, my son and heir, Henri Charles Gillet, Esquire.”
Anne regarded the serious young face that mirrored the father’s. Young for a squire, she thought. He looked hardly more than thirteen. His manners seemed as impeccable as his sire’s.
“Henri? See that fellow there beside the stair? He will show you to the chamber where you and your father will bide.”
As an afterthought, knowing well the constant hunger of growing lads, she added with a smile, “We sup in one hour. I trust you like sweets?” He rewarded her with a sudden grin that changed his whole appearance.
When she returned her gaze to the father, she noted an expression of relief, almost as transforming as the grin on his son. “Will you sit and take wine, my lord? You and Sir Guillaume must be weary.” She gestured toward the dais.
“My thanks, but I would go above with my son and disarm.” He turned to his knight. “Find the barracks, Gui, and join us here for the evening meal.”
Anne hurriedly took herself to the kitchens to give orders for extra food. Then she sent Simm, her steward, to locate her son quickly and send him to her chambers.
During supper, the comte held the seat of honor, her uncle on his left and she, at his right. Young Henri served his father and stood behind his chair. His man and her uncle’s attendants sat at the lower tables with her priest, just above the steward, and others of the household.
Never once did the noble lord comment on the meager fare dished out to her unexpected guests. Neither did he remark upon the state of the keep itself. While scrupulously clean, Baincroft boasted none of the frivolous amenities he must be accustomed to in his own. Surely he would have no wish to remain here for long, she thought with satisfaction.
Best of all, he made no mention of her missing son. Robert, by all rights, should have joined them at table, or in lieu of that, served as page.
Anne noted that, unlike Sir Guillaume, Trouville did not cast disparaging looks toward either the hall itself or her people. If he thought himself consigned to a large hovel full of backward peasants, his lordship hid it well and appeared quite content to be exactly where he was. Quite polite of him, she decided.
She accepted the offerings the comte held out from their shared trencher. He spoke of the weather during the crossing and the vicissitudes of their travel overland with a touch of wry and unexpected humor. Anne made certain that her soft laugh greeted his words in all the correct places.
Everything considered—and despite his fearsome appearance—the comte seemed a pleasant enough man. But Anne dared not deceive herself. His wittiness surprised her, but deception she would expect. He did, after all, want her hand and her property. Why would he not act charming at the outset? MacBain had done the same at their first acquaintance. It had not lasted long.
After the meal concluded, the comte asked to speak with her privately. Girding herself for the imminent and unavoidable proposal, she calmly invited him to share a cup of wine in her private solar just off the hall.
“All will be quite proper, my lord, for it is not my bedchamber,” she assured him as they entered. “I find it convenient to conduct business in the solar during the day, due to the better lighting. We also sew and spin there, for it is warmer and better lighted than the hall itself. I have rooms on the floor above this for my private use.”
He offered his arm. “I would never question the seemliness of it, Lady Anne, for I see that you are a model of propriety.”
Her face warmed at his ready compliment. “You are very gallant, my lord, seeing as how you hardly know me.”
His free hand covered hers which rested on his sleeve. “A condition I hope to remedy in short order.”
The moment they settled in the high-backed chairs beside her fire, he said, “I know that your uncle spoke of me before I arrived. Are you agreeable to a match between us, my lady?”
Welladay, this one obviously did not believe in dallying about once he made his decision.
“Aye,” she said after only a moment’s hesitation. She met his gaze directly and, she hoped, without expression of any kind. “I am agreed.” Damned if she would thank him for the honor, however.
He downed the contents of his simple chalice and set it on the floor. Then he reached for her hands, set her own cup aside, and drew her up to stand before him.
Without warning, he leaned down and pressed his lips to hers, putting a seal to their understanding.
Anne remained motionless, shocked by the warmth of his mouth on her own and the tingling pleasure it evoked. He released her and stepped away. They touched no part of each other now, but she could feel him still.
His compelling gaze held a measure of such satisfaction, he must know how easily, and how deeply, he had stirred her feelings with what should have been a formal gesture.
This would not do. She blinked her eyes to break the trance and shook her head to clear it. If the man could disable her thoughts with but a clasp of hands and a kiss of peace, what mischief might he wreak when it came time for real intimacy?
Nay, this would not
