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.
‘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,’
