Sir George replied gallantly, giving her another long, slow smile, his blue-eyed gaze as intense as ever.
Suddenly Aileas thought she should get away from Sir George de Gramercie at once. Maybe then she would stop thinking it was a pity he had put on his clothes.
“Since I am to be deprived of your company, I might as well show this simple little trick to your friend,” he said with sincere disappointment. The look in his eyes changed ever so slightly, as if he were reaching in to touch her very heart—which began to beat faster in response.
“After the noon meal, we could go riding together, if you like, Sir George,” she offered impetuously, then silently cursed herself for a fool. She shouldn’t be alone with this man. Not today and not ever, with his blue eyes and his smiles and his handsome face and astonishingly fine body!
“I would like that very much, my lady.” Then he spoke quietly, so that only she could hear. “So much, I can almost forgive Rufus for being so rude.” Aileas realized with a barely perceptible start that she had forgotten all about Rufus. “Until later, my lady.”
He strolled back to join the others and Aileas hurried away. She rounded the keep, then hesitated. After first ensuring nobody was nearby to see her, she peered around the building to watch the men again, her heart pounding and the blood throbbing in her ears.
Rufus was already on the ground. “Show me again,” he demanded petulantly as he lumbered to his feet.
“It’s quite simple, really,” Sir George said, feinting with his sword, then kicking out and twisting with all the suppleness of an eel.
Rufus landed hard on his rear and let out a bellow of frustration. Sir George leaned over to help him to his feet, then whispered something in Rufus’s ear. They both burst out laughing.
“I’m glad you are such fast friends,” Aileas muttered as she turned on her heel and marched away, determined to find her father, tell him what she had seen, and even more determined to be quite cool and composed when she went riding with Sir George, for only a coward would run away and hide from an opponent.
Yes, Sir George was her enemy, for it was Rufus she wanted, despite Sir George’s winning ways.
Having changed his less-than-pristine tunic for another in a more sombre shade of blue, George sauntered toward the stable, his mood quite pleasant. He had undoubtedly proved his prowess as a swordsman to Aileas that morning. Now she would know that while Rufus might have the advantage of size, he had the advantage of skill and experience.
Not that he need fear any competition from Rufus. Not anymore.
He smiled to himself as he thought of the pile of linen he had found on the stool in his bedchamber. Someone had been in his room, and he could guess who—someone who had apparently investigated his scented soap, a costly indulgence all the way from Constantinople.
Sir Thomas’s cowed pages or any other servant would surely never dare to touch any of a guest’s personal belongings, let alone unwrap one.
Aileas would face no such strictures. Indeed, he could believe she would disobey almost any rule that did not apply directly to her.
Therefore, Aileas had investigated his soap. Perhaps even lifted it gingerly to her shapely nose and smelled it.
He wondered if she liked the scent, then grinned. She had to, if for no other reason than it would be a most pleasant change from the host of unpleasant odors lingering in the hall, the result of too many unwashed bodies.
What else had she touched in his room? What did she think of the bed? Had it crossed her mind that she could share it with him? That together they could sink into its soft depths, while he kissed and. caressed and made love with her?
God’s holy rood, he had better get control of his thoughts, George thought wryly, or he was going to be most uncomfortable in the saddle!
He rounded the corner of the stable and saw Aileas already astride a huge black stallion. He quickened his pace and smiled when she spotted him. “Is that the beast that so callously abandoned you yesterday?” he asked jovially.
“This is Demon,” she acknowledged, her expression inscrutable.
As if in answer to its name or to prove its worthiness, the horse started to prance impatiently.
George was very impressed with the ease with which Aileas maintained control over the animal. “We missed you at the noon meal.”
“I wasn’t hungry.”
“Your father did not join us, either,” he noted.
“No,” she said with a frown. “Apparently he has gone after poachers. He won’t be back until the evening.”
“I pity the man who dares to poach on his lands.”
“So you should,” she answered coolly.
“If you excuse me, I’ll fetch my horse.” Before he could enter the stable, however, a groom came out leading his own stallion, a brown horse nearly a hand smaller than Demon. “This is Apollo,” he said by way of introduction as he swung himself into the saddle. “Shall we?”
“By all means,” Aileas replied, and then she punched her heels into the sides of her horse, which leapt into a gallop.
George stared, dumbfounded, as she rode out of the gate at a breakneck pace, soldiers and servants scattering in her path. Then, with a determined expression, he urged his own horse forward, calling out his apologies to the people as he galloped after her.
Aileas led him a merry chase, first along the main road through the village, sending the villagers running as she had those in the castle, then across the muddy fields, where peasants were sowing the first crops, before galloping along a woodland path that bordered the river.
Despite her horse’s speed and the rough course, she kept glancing over her shoulder, obviously seeing if he was keeping up. He was—barely.
They crossed a large meadow on the side of a hill where several sheep were grazing, until the progress of the two riders interrupted them. The animals bleated in alarm and scattered. A young shepherd, startled out of an afternoon’s slumber, jumped to his feet and stared at them.
Aileas and her horse plunged into a wood at the top of the hill. As George and Apollo entered the sheltered gloom, George told himself this chase was madness. He was risking his horse and his neck following the headstrong Aileas, who obviously knew the terrain well. If she wanted to behave in such an immature way, he decided as he pulled his horse to a halt, let her. As for him, he was getting hot and upset, two states he deplored.
Then he saw Aileas’s horse slow. She slipped from its back and, with a challenging glance, led it into a group of willow trees, beside a stream or creek, no doubt.
He was thirsty, he realized, and a cool drink would do wonders toward restoring his equanimity, so he, too, dismounted and followed her through the trees. There was indeed a babbling brook there, and he saw her horse drinking. Tethering Apollo to one of the willows where he could still reach the brook, George looked around for her.
“You ride well.”
Startled
