to encourage an interest in her. ‘She tried to fight them off and save her honour, but if I had not chanced to hear her scream and come to her aid, she would not have had strength enough to succeed. Rest assured, my lord, your daughter is not a wanton and her honour is intact.’
This was a thought that had not occurred to Lord Henry as of yet, and he spoke sharply to his wife. ‘You have examined Eleanor? She is virgin still?’
‘Of course,’ murmured Lady Joanna through stiff lips, a guilty blush flaring upon her cheeks as she had not considered such an examination necessary and her blush deepened as her son and his companion stared uncomfortably at their boots.
‘And you,’ Lord Henry spoke with equal abruptness to Troye, ‘what state was my daughter in when you found her?’
‘Well, naturally, she was very distressed—’
‘That was not what I meant! In what state was her clothing?’ Lord Henry leaned very close, his eyes full of glittering danger. ‘Was she…undressed?’
‘Nay, my lord!’ Troye protested hotly. ‘It was as I have told you. Her clothing, and her honour, were all intact.’ He thought it best not to mention that he had, in fact, refastened her hose and garters, sensing that even this brief assistance to a distraught and dishevelled damsel would send her father into a paroxysm of rage.
Lord Henry released a pensive sigh, and then jerked a brief, grudging bow to Troye, ‘My thanks for your assistance. We are grateful. I trust,’ he said with grave warning, ‘that this will not be a topic for campfire conversation. My daughter’s reputation relies upon your discretion.’
‘You have my word.’ Troye bowed and then turned to leave with Rupert, who hurried to where his sister lay in her pavilion. Troye halted outside and laid a hand upon Rupert’s arm. ‘I would like a word with her first, in private. With your permission.’
Rupert eyed him for a long moment, taking his measure, and then nodded and scanned the neighbourhood. ‘Be quick. I will stand guard.’
Both acknowledged in silence the suspicion that Lord Henry would not take kindly to a knight such as Troye de Valois being alone with Ellie, even if it was just to speak to her.
It was dim within the pavilion, after the bright glare of the late afternoon without. Troye stood still for a moment and let his eyes accustom themselves, and then he looked about at the comfortable but far-from lavish furnishings that signified her family were well off, but certainly not extravagant. There were several brass-bound coffers spilling linens and furs, some small tables holding silver goblets and a tray of untouched food, two X-shaped chairs and numerous furs and carpets strewn about on the canvas ground sheet. Four cots were placed against the edges of the tent and in one of them he discerned a slim female shape, only recognisable to him by the long swathe of dark auburn hair that hung down and swept to the ground, obscuring her face.
Troye crept softly across the space and then squatted down upon his heels, whispering gently, ‘Ellie?’
She started, with a small gasp, and turned her head towards him, her eyes narrowed with fearful alarm. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Rupert told me that your father was upset, and I came to explain to him what occurred.’
Silent tears began to streak from her eyes and track down her cheeks. ‘My father thinks I am a wanton, so please go, lest his fears be true.’
Troye smiled, a slight, puzzled frown creasing his brows. ‘But you have done nothing, and I have told him so.’ He reached out then, and brushed aside her hair so that he might better see her face, and her expression. ‘Come, where is the brave little knight who would fight the world? A knight cannot collapse in defeat at the first obstacle, and life is full of obstacles.’
She smiled then, weakly, raising her eyes to his as she lay upon her stomach, twisting her neck a little the better to see him, ‘Do not mock me, or tease, for I have not the heart to laugh.’
‘’Tis better to laugh than to cry.’
‘Go away!’ She shifted then and rolled to her side, wincing as pain shot through the back of her thighs and buttocks.
Troye frowned. ‘I heard that your father beat you.’
‘Aye, and how I wish I was a man, like Rupert, for I would strike him back! But I am only a weak female and have no choice but to allow men to overwhelm me.’
‘’Tis not weakness,’ he admonished in a whisper, glancing quickly over his shoulder to the shadow of Rupert as he kept lookout, ‘but respect for your father. He was afraid, and that is why he lashed out.’
‘Afraid of what?’
Troye shrugged. ‘That I am not sure of, but I implore you, little maid, to get up and stand firm, as any knight would.’
Ellie sighed with heavy exasperation, goaded by a niggling dislike for the way he spoke to her, as though she were just a child. ‘Very well.’ She rolled awkwardly and rose with stiff and aching difficulty to her feet. She swayed a little, light-headed from weeping and lack of nourishment, and then gasped as his arm went about her waist and steadied her. She laid a hand on his chest, at first to hold him back and then out of curiosity as her fingers splayed and she felt beneath their tingling tips his warmth and hard muscles.
She tipped back her head and looked up at him, for though she was not as small as her Aunt Beatrice, who was tiny and dainty, neither was she as tall as her mother. The top of her head reached to his chin, and with her eyes wide and wary she noted that he was certainly the most handsome man she had ever seen. His dark hair was fine and cut close to the neck and his level brows neither too coarse nor too thin. Her eyes roved over his face, noting his nose that would have been elegant if it had not been broken at some stage in his life, mayhap more than once. The slightly flared nostrils, and his square forehead and lean, hollowed cheeks were all very masculine. Her gaze lingered for a moment on his mouth, with its curved lower lip and narrow, well-disciplined upper. His eyes were a very dark brown, and now they narrowed.
She felt his hands let go of her waist, yet they stared at each other for long moments, and then abruptly he took a step backwards, as though he had suddenly found himself teetering upon a cliff edge and sought to evade the danger.
For a moment Ellie could not resist lifting her glance to look at his mouth, and the faint shadow of stubble upon his firm jaw. She wondered how it would feel to be kissed by him, to feel his lips on her lips, to feel the rough scrape of his chin, so very male, against her tender skin.
Her emotions were obvious to him and he sighed, looking away from her lovely face and curious eyes. ‘I am of no use to you, child, so waste not your time looking at me in such a way.’
Ellie felt a blush burn along her cheeks and she dropped her gaze, yet her pride goaded her to ask, ‘Am I so ugly that you would turn away from me, sir?’
‘Nay, you are not ugly. The fault is mine, not yours.’ He was not one to divulge his private affairs, but he took pity upon the doubts that shadowed her eyes and her tender, innocent ego, ‘You are a very beautiful young girl. One day you will make someone a fine wife.’ Then he bowed in farewell and his footsteps were a soft sound upon the ground as he left her.
Ellie sighed, and watched as Troye de Valois departed, not at all sure what her reaction should be. Her confusion was mounting. She jumped with nervous guilt as another figure entered the tent, but
