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
