Читать книгу Lady Rowena's Ruin - Carol Townend, Carol Townend - Страница 9

Chapter Two

Eric kept a firm hand on the wriggling bundle of fury that was Lady Rowena. He had hardly recognised her as she had ridden towards him through the orchard. How long had it been since he had seen her? Two years? Three? She must be eighteen by now.

Rowena de Sainte-Colombe had been a pretty child and Eric had heard she’d grown into a beautiful woman. However, nothing had prepared him for the sight of her, slender and elegant even in a drab gown and veil that could only have come from a convent. The grey that should have muted her looks did nothing of the kind. It framed a beauty that was simply breathtaking. Her eyes seemed brighter, bluer than they had done when she was a child. Her skin was flawless, perfect, and as for her lips, Lord, Eric had never seen such rosy, kissable lips.

They were the lips of a woman who wanted to become a nun, he reminded himself as he gripped her belt. Lips that wanted to do nothing more than chant litanies and sing psalms. Heavens, this woman had chosen life in a convent over life as the Countess of Meaux and, one day, Sainte-Colombe. She’d certainly looked prim as she had ridden towards him. Prim and aloof. There’d been no sign of the carefree child he’d once known.

As they moved off, Lady Rowena’s grey veil streamed out like a pennon. Eric stifled a grin. She didn’t look quite so prim now. Fearful her veil would become tangled in Captain’s hoofs, Eric leaned forward to gather it out of the way. He found himself holding more than he had bargained for, Lady Rowena’s blonde hair, bound in a neat braid, came too. He juggled with veil and braid, struggling not to pull on her hair. In the tussle, the ribbon fell from the tail of the braid and the long, golden tresses began to unwind.

Holding her firmly, Eric pulled up and glanced over his shoulder to see that Alard had dismounted. Arm looped through his reins, his squire had Lady Rowena’s groom at bay. The two other horses, Lady Rowena’s and the groom’s, were placidly cropping grass under one of the apple trees.

Eric nodded at Alard, it was a signal they had arranged earlier.

‘On your way,’ Alard said, dismissing the poor groom.

The groom hesitated, rubbing his skull. His expression was pained. ‘What about Lady Rowena?’

Alard’s sword caught the light as he leaned towards the groom. ‘On your way. Come back for your sword later.’

The groom stumbled over to the horses under the tree.

‘You may take your horse. Don’t touch Lady Rowena’s,’ Eric said. The groom would, Eric was certain, report what had happened the moment he was back at the convent. Eric was relying on him to do so. Word would be sent straight to Jutigny and Count Faramus would know that Eric had his daughter. Sir Breon would not be called into play.

All was proceeding exactly as Eric had planned.

It had been almost too easy, particularly once Eric had discovered Lady Rowena had not lost her habit of riding out every morning. He’d known that then would be the best time to strike. And with it being broad day, he thought and hoped she would be less fearful. Of course she would be alarmed at what had happened to her and as soon as they were out of sight of the convent, he would reassure her that she was safe.

Eric watched the groom hobble towards the convent gate with his horse and grimaced. It was a pity he’d had to suffer that crack on the head, but he didn’t look to be much the worse for it. Doubtless the convent would soon be in uproar.

Uneasy, he looked at the woman slung across his saddle bow. Even though Lady Rowena was unmistakably a woman, she was still tiny. Petite. She would mistrust him for a time, but it had to be better than her becoming Sir Breon’s captive. Realising that his gaze was resting rather too appreciatively on the gentle curve of her buttock, Eric heeled Captain into a walk and headed for the stand of chestnuts over the brow of the hill. He would set her down in cover of the trees and do his best to explain.

Eric wasn’t looking forward to the moment he took off his helmet. She’d be bound to recognise him, after all he’d been one of her father’s household knights for years. Why, when Lady Barbara had heard Lord Faramus turn down his request to learn to read and write, she’d run the gauntlet of her husband’s displeasure by allowing Eric to sit in on her daughter’s lessons. Eric and Lady Rowena had known each other quite well in those days.

He would ensure Lady Rowena understood that she must stay away from the convent for a time, then he would take her back to his manor at Monfort and there they would wait until Lord Faramus came to his senses. Though the idea of marrying Lady Rowena and one day becoming Count of Sainte-Colombe was tempting in many ways, he couldn’t in all conscience force her into marriage.

Rowena felt the wretch who had abducted her take her veil and hair firmly in hand. The knight’s spurs flashed and his horse lurched into a trot. It was a struggle to find air—with every step the horse took the breath was pushed from her lungs. Rowena supposed she should be grateful the knight was riding an ordinary saddle rather than one designed for battle. Otherwise she’d be wrapped round a horrible pommel and then it really would be impossible to breathe.

He planned this. What is he going to do with me? Can he really be one of my father’s household knights? Father will kill him!

The lack of a large pommel was small comfort as they made their way up the rise. Fear felt like a lump of lead in her chest, constricting her breathing every bit as much as the saddle digging into her ribs. The irony of her position flashed through her mind—to think that a short while ago, she’d been wishing for more excitement! Twisting her head the better to see, gasping with the effort, Rowena saw they had reached the small copse. Shadows dappled the grass as they rode in between the chestnut trees.

‘Keep still, my lady. Not much further,’ the knight said.

True to his word, a couple of heartbeats later the grey stallion came to a standstill and the knight dismounted.

‘With your permission, my lady,’ he said.

Warm hands took her by the hips and Rowena was half-lifted, half-dragged from the grey and set on her feet next to a tree. Her veil floated to the ground. Her hair was in her eyes. The knight was yet wearing his helmet and his visor remained down so she couldn’t see his features. Save for the helmet and the knight’s spurs, he was dressed as a huntsman, with a brown leather gambeson over a blue tunic and hose. He towered over her. Determined not to be daunted by his height, Rowena took in a shaky breath and glared up at him.

‘My father will kill you,’ she said. ‘I know you are one of his household knights. You might have the decency to show your face.’

‘Very well.’ Calmly, he unbuckled the strap and removed the helmet.

He shook his head and ran his fingers through dark, tousled hair. He wore it slightly long for a knight. He had warm, unforgettable eyes. Rowena remembered them well, they were green with bright flecks that appeared gold in some lights and amber in others. Here in the copse, they were gold.

She felt her jaw drop. ‘Eric? Sir Eric?’ Her mind raced. Sir Eric de Monfort hadn’t been her father’s man for a few years, but he had indeed been a Jutigny knight. A favourite of Sir Macaire’s, Eric had earned his spurs early. Then he had won his manor in a tourney. Shortly after that he had left her father’s service—a landed knight had no need to be at another man’s beck and call.

Rowena had been delighted by Eric’s success. There was a world of difference between the life of a knight who had won lands and that of a landless knight. A knight with land had some measure of security, he had revenues he could call upon and a place to call home. For someone like Eric—a foundling—that must mean much. If Eric had remained landless, his life would have been very different. He would have been reliant on short-term contracts with men like her father, in short, Eric might have ended up being little better than a paid mercenary. Landless knights too old or too weary to fight often ended up in the gutter. She wouldn’t have wanted that for Eric.

She scowled up at him, she had been fond of Eric. Unusually so. When he’d been a youth she had had a crush on him. Before he had won his manor and gone away, sight of him had filled her with secret longings. Surely he couldn’t have changed that much? ‘I demand you untie me.’

‘You won’t scream or try and run back to the convent?’

‘No.’ Her chin lifted. ‘Not immediately, at any rate.’

His eyes danced and Rowena remembered something else about Sir Eric. He could be charming when he chose, the castle maids had adored him. With a slight huff, she turned to face the tree so he could reach her bonds. Leaning her cheek against the bark, she felt his fingers on her wrists.

‘Hold still, my lady, I don’t want to cut you.’

The rope gave. Turning, Rowena rubbed her wrists and glared at him.

‘Why are you doing this, sir?’ She searched her mind for possible explanation. This was Eric, for heaven’s sake—he had played with her as a child, they had learned to read together. It was hard to believe ill of him. ‘Is this a wager of some kind?’

His jaw tightened. Gesturing her towards a patch of sunlight, he spread his cloak on the ground. ‘Please sit, my lady.’

Rowena stood firm. Her foot tapped. ‘Sir?’

‘No wager.’ His eyes held hers. Above them, leaves rustled in the breeze. Dappled light played over his hair.

She looked back down the hill. ‘What happened to Aylmer?’

‘He’s your groom?’

She nodded. ‘Did you hurt him?’

‘Aylmer will be safely back at the convent by now.’

She felt her brow crease in puzzlement. ‘You do know that Aylmer will send word to my father?’

‘I am rather hoping that he will.’

‘Are you mad? My father will kill you.’

A small smile lifted one side of his mouth as slowly, Eric shook his head. ‘I doubt that, my lady. You see, I am doing this at the behest of your father.’

She felt the blood drain from her face. ‘Father asked you to carry me off?’

‘Please, my lady.’ Again Eric gestured at the cloak. ‘Sit down and I will do my best to explain.’

Stunned into silence, Rowena sank on to his cloak. Her father had asked Eric to do this? Her father?

Eric sat on the ground beside her and rested his arms on his knees. Rowena noted the sprinkling of dark hair on his forearms and found herself studying him. She couldn’t remember when she had seen him last, and there were differences as well as similarities. He looked older, although traces of the boy she had known remained. His features were more clearly defined—the line of his jaw, his nose, his lips. A fluttery feeling made itself felt and she jerked her gaze away from his mouth. His hair was as thick as ever, dark brown with rich auburn glints that caught the light when he moved. His shoulders were wide, he looked strong and much more masculine. A man, a real man. Rowena didn’t like many men and she hadn’t been in the company of men as powerful as Eric since she’d entered the convent. It felt strange. Oddly, it didn’t feel as alarming as she had imagined it would, she had known him for many years after all. With a start, she realised the fear she had felt when he flung her across his saddle had gone the moment she’d seen his face. Her heart was still thudding—with excitement rather than fear. She felt more alive than she had in weeks.

Except—there was only one reason she could think of for Eric abducting her. She swallowed. ‘My father doesn’t want me to take my vows.’

‘No.’

‘He’s asked you to take me back to Jutigny?’ Despite herself, her voice cracked. ‘He’s found someone he wants me to marry?’

Eric shifted, he looked decidedly uncomfortable. Reaching for a blade of grass, he picked it and twirled it between his fingers. Fingers that for no reason that Rowena could think of held her gaze. Eric had capable hands, with blunt fingers. His hands were the hands of a successful knight, and as long as she had known him they had never been put to any dishonourable task. She did not think he could have changed that much and yet snatching her from the convent was hardly the action of a man of honour.

‘Eric?’

‘Aye?’

‘Take me home. Please?’

‘I take it by home you mean the convent, not the castle?’

‘Yes.’

Not meeting her gaze, he shook his head. ‘I cannot. My lady, it pains me to admit it, but Count Faramus has indeed found another man for you to marry.’

Rowena shivered and wrapped her arms about herself. ‘Do...do you know who it is?’

Green eyes lifted, held hers. ‘It’s me. Lord Faramus has asked me to marry you.’

‘You?’ Rowena blinked and her heart started to race. ‘Eric, you do know I am set on being a nun.’

His mouth twisted and Rowena felt her cheeks burn under the intensity of his gaze. He sighed and looked away. ‘Aye, the whole of Champagne knows of your wish to take the veil.’

She leaned forward, running her gaze over his face, the face that was so familiar and yet so changed. Had Eric’s character altered as much as his features? When she was young, he had been an entertaining playmate. She bit her lip. He had taught her chess and she had enjoyed the games, even if Eric had wearied of her company far too soon. Once he’d been made squire, it had been impossible to wring so much as a smile out of him.

‘Father can’t make me marry,’ she said. ‘I got the king’s agreement to enter the convent. The king—he is my godfather, if you recall—approves of my wish to take my vows.’

‘Sadly, your father does not.’

Rowena chewed her lip, conscious that even as they were speaking her excitement was rising. She couldn’t understand it. God was surely testing her resolve again, tempting her by offering her a way out of the convent, tempting her almost beyond endurance by sending Eric to her. ‘Sir, I cannot renege on my decision to become a nun.’

No sooner had the words left her mouth than Rowena found herself wondering what would happen if she did indeed change her mind. What would the king say? She would be pleasing her father, and whilst Rowena couldn’t forget her father had tried to force her into marriage with Lord Gawain when she wasn’t ready, she hadn’t enjoyed fighting him. It had really upset her mother.

And, most shocking of all, she even found herself wondering if marrying Sir Eric wasn’t such a terrible idea—provided she could reassure herself that Eric wasn’t going to turn into a tyrant like her father. How much had he changed in the years since she’d known him?

‘Dear Lord,’ she said, alarmed at how easily her thoughts had run away from her. ‘I was certain that if I won the king’s agreement to take the veil, even Father wouldn’t dare go against him.’

‘I agree, it’s surprising,’ Eric said, quietly. ‘However, I should warn you that Lord Faramus is showing no sign of backing down.’

Rowena touched his sleeve and snatched her hand back as soon as she realised what she had done. She was almost certain she liked this man as much as she had done when he had been a boy. But she would never agree to marry him. Marriage was such a large step. If she married this knight, she would have to obey him for the rest of her days. This was a test of her vocation and she must resist. ‘Sir, let me in on your plans. I need to know your mind.’

What she couldn’t say, not out loud, was that she really needed to know whether Eric had mirrored himself on her father. What did he intend to do with her? Would he think nothing of riding roughshod over the needs of others to achieve his ambitions?

He smiled. ‘My lady, I must confess I am reluctant to stand between you and your vocation.’

‘Then why kidnap me?’ She stared at his profile. There was more here that Eric wasn’t saying and he seemed determined not to tell her. As a young man he had always been determined. Sir Macaire had once told her that Eric had been set on being a knight from the moment he’d arrived at the castle. He’d been—what?—six years of age. No one knew for sure.

Rowena hadn’t been born then, so she couldn’t remember Eric’s arrival, she had to rely on what she’d been told. Everyone at Jutigny knew about the small boy her mother had found shivering in the snow one Christmastide. There had been no sign of his parents, so Lady Barbara had taken him in. Eric had been a foundling and he had risen to become a knight thanks to her mother’s charity and his own formidable talents.

Eric had taken to castle life as though born to it. He was there in Rowena’s deepest memories—practising swordplay with a wooden sword; sneaking out to ride horses that a boy double his size would think twice about mounting; teaching her to climb the plum tree in the herb garden because she had an insatiable fondness for ripe plums...

Eric was proud, he wouldn’t like to be reminded that he’d been a foundling. To Rowena’s knowledge, he never mentioned it. On the heels of that thought came the realisation that it had been stupid of her to ask why he had fallen in with her father’s wishes. Eric was bound to feel beholden to her family. Her father had allowed him to rise through the ranks and win his spurs. Without her father, Eric would not be the man he was today.

She sighed. If only her father was less intransigent. He wanted her to marry and he had remembered that she had liked Eric as a child. And he must know how Eric coveted lands. Land represented security—every knight she knew wanted a larger estate and Eric was bound to crave security more than most.

Had Eric’s nature changed? Had the kind boy grown into a kind man?

Eric tossed the blade of grass aside and gave her another of those intense looks. ‘My lady, this is most awkward, I do not wish to tell you the whole. Suffice it to say that Lord Faramus put me in a position when I had no choice but to agree to snatch you from the convent.’

‘Sir, there is surely always a choice.’

‘Not this time.’

‘Father threatened you.’

‘Not precisely.’

‘But he wants you to marry me?’

‘So it would seem.’

‘I can’t help wondering what Mama would say if she knew.’

Eric’s skin darkened. ‘My lady, your mother knows about this. Lady Barbara was present at my meeting with Lord Faramus.’

A cool finger lifted her chin and green eyes looked earnestly into hers.

‘My lady, you need not fear me.’ Briefly, his gaze lingered on her lips and his lips quirked into one of those charming smiles she’d seen him direct at the castle maids. ‘Much as I would like to fall in with your father’s suggestion, I believe he is being over-hasty. I am sure that when he is given time to reflect, he will change his mind.’

The stab of disappointment was unexpected. ‘You’re going to take me back to the convent?’

‘Sadly, I can’t do that.’ Eric shoved his hand through his hair. ‘My lady, I didn’t want to tell you this, but if you refuse to come with me, your father is holding someone else in reserve. Someone who may not be as forbearing as I when faced with your refusal to marry him.’

Rowena could hardly breathe. ‘Do I know him?’

‘Yes, my lady, it is Sir Breon de Provins.’ His eyes were watchful. ‘I do not think Sir Breon will hesitate to use force. And imagine the chaos he will cause if he has your father’s blessing to enter the convent.’

‘Not Sir Breon, the sisters would be terrified.’ Rowena put her hand to her throat. A lump had formed and she was very much afraid that she might burst into tears. As a knight Sir Breon was efficient enough. Personally, he came over as brusque and cold and Rowena had always kept out of his way, she could never warm to a man like that.

She felt utterly trapped, exactly as she had done when her father had faced her with marriage to Lord Gawain. ‘I thought Father would leave me in peace once I had the king’s blessing to enter the convent,’ she whispered. ‘I thought I had escaped. I thought I had won leave to order my own life, but it would seem I’ve just swapped one tyranny for another.’

She stared at a spot of sunlight playing on the trunk of a tree and gritted her teeth. She should have known it wouldn’t be easy to escape her father’s will.

Unless she married Eric.

If she married Eric she would be obeying her father and escaping him. A voice in her head was muttering: Better Eric than the convent. Better Eric than Sir Breon. She couldn’t bring herself to say the words out loud.

Mathieu’s face swam into her mind and a pang went through her. It was obvious she wasn’t going to be allowed to mourn him in peace.

Could she marry Eric? She gave him a sideways glance. His strong arms had had no difficulty overpowering her. The boy she had dreamed about so long ago was a successful knight, a landed knight. Doubtless the habit of command had become his second nature. Would he seek to dominate her as her father sought to dominate her mother?

‘Sir Breon is as much a victim as anyone else,’ she murmured.

Eric’s eyebrow shot upwards. ‘You like Sir Breon, my lady?’

Rowena shuddered and gave a swift headshake. She didn’t like Sir Breon, but she thought she understood him. Over the years she’d watched Sir Breon’s ambition warp his nature. He’d begun in a small way. There’d been an archery contest one winter—the men of Jutigny had been pitted against the Provins guard and Sir Breon had been put in charge. The Jutigny team had won, much to her father’s delight. After that the rumours had begun, rumours which went something like this—Sir Breon had contacts in Provins and he’d bribed one or two of their archers to miss their mark. Provins had lost, not badly, just enough to ensure that the Jutigny team won.

‘My father is a cunning man,’ she said. It was clever of her father to offer Eric her hand in marriage. By holding out the promise of a county he was offering Eric everything he’d always wanted. If Eric married her, he would no longer feel like an outsider. ‘He is also a cruel man.’

‘Cruel?’

She shrugged. ‘He is offering what you most want—land—and he is using your best quality—your loyalty—to bend you to do his will.’

‘My lady, I will not marry you if you do not wish it.’

The gold cross at Rowena’s breast flashed as she took in a deep breath. Eric’s heart clenched. His aloof would-be nun was looking rather the worse for wear. Her hair streamed down her back like silk, she didn’t seem to have noticed how it had unravelled. Her eyes, the colour of forget-me-nots, were shiny with unshed tears.

‘Father is such a trial,’ she murmured. ‘Sometimes I think that he hates me.’

Eric shook his head. She looked so small and defenceless. So hurt. He was taken with the urge to take her hand, he wanted to comfort her. She wants to be a nun, don’t touch her, it’s obvious she dislikes men. Eric could understand why. It took a strong man to hold on to a county and her father was just such a man. Sadly, Count Faramus could be extremely inflexible, certainly as far as his womenfolk were concerned. Yet it was more complicated than that. Her father had fought to keep his county and he wanted it to go to his daughter and in turn to her heirs.

‘My lady, you are an heiress. The County of Sainte-Colombe could be yours one day.’

‘I don’t want to be an heiress.’

He smiled. ‘Nevertheless, my lady, that is the role you were born to.’

Her chin lifted. ‘What happens next?’

‘Next, I take you back to my manor where we will wait. I swear you will not be forced to do anything against your will. I feel sure your father will reconsider. After that, you’ll be safe to return to the convent.’

‘And if Father doesn’t relent?’

‘My lady, I will take your part.’

Her pretty mouth set in a bitter line. ‘Much good that will do me.’

‘My lady?’

‘Lord Gawain took my part when he released me from my betrothal. He went to Paris and convinced the king to let me enter a nunnery. If Father won’t listen to the king, sir, I hardly think he will listen to you. He is determined to marry me off.’

Eric lifted an eyebrow. ‘I too would petition the king on your behalf. Don’t you trust me?’

‘I trust you.’ Blue eyes searched his. ‘Up to a point.’

Eric stiffened. ‘My lady, I take exception to that remark. You have my word that if all else fails, I will petition the king.’

‘Thank you.’ She pushed a strand of hair back over her shoulder and sighed. ‘This is all because of my cousin, Sir Armand.’

‘Yes, Count Faramus mentioned him.’

‘Father hates him, he will do anything to prevent him inheriting the estate.’ She looked pleadingly at him. ‘So you plan to take me back to Monfort. And then?’

‘We wait for your father to come to his senses.’

She shook her head and her hair rippled out over her shoulders. ‘That day will never dawn. Father thinks to win you over by giving you a chance to step into his shoes. He’s tempting you as he has tempted Sir Breon over the years.’

Eric stared at her. ‘My lady?’

She shrugged. ‘You must have noticed. Every time Father wants something unsavoury doing he goes straight to Sir Breon and offers him something he knows Sir Breon will not be able to resist. And however distasteful the task, Sir Breon always steps up to the mark. If silver is offered he accepts it. Every time.’

‘I am not Sir Breon.’ Eric’s voice was gruff. It irritated him beyond measure that Lady Rowena should compare him to Sir Breon. Particularly since marriage with her would give him the security he had always longed for. Him? A count? Once it would have seemed impossible, yet now... ‘You will have to trust me, my lady.’

She gave him a small smile that reminded him of her mother and shook her head. ‘Sir, I can see I have little choice but to go with you.’

Eric breathed a quiet sigh of relief. Thank heaven, she was prepared to put a little trust in him, he didn’t want to ride back to Monfort with her fighting him every step of the way.

As soon as Lord Faramus realised that he could not force her into marriage—after all, Lady Rowena was the king’s goddaughter—Eric would do the right thing and send her back to the abbey.

Nearby, a horse whinnied. Alard had followed them into the copse and stood with the horses a little way off. Rising, Eric had extended his hand to help Lady Rowena up before he recalled that she would not like to touch him. To his surprise and pleasure her tiny hand took his and she came gracefully to her feet.

She straightened the cross at her breast, shook out her grey gown and started to tidy her hair. ‘Goodness,’ she said, flushing like a rose as she realised how much of it had worked loose. ‘What a mess. You should have told me.’

Her hair looked beautiful to Eric—small golden tendrils framed her face, long shimmering waves cascaded down her back. A compliment hovered on the tip of his tongue. He folded his lips together and kept it in. A woman who was shortly to make her preliminary vows wouldn’t appreciate compliments.

He cleared his throat. All in all, Lady Rowena was taking this better than he had dared hope. Nevertheless, the tremor in her hands as she plaited her hair told him that she was nervous. Was she afraid of him? Lord, he hoped not. It wouldn’t be surprising if she were though. This—being abducted from the convent—had to be the most unnerving experience of her life.

Eric had considered her cossetted as a child. Now he realised how wrong he’d been. Not having parents himself had blinded him to the truth. Cosseted was definitely not the word to use for the count’s treatment of his only child. Restricted would be a better word. When Lady Rowena had been young, Count Faramus had watched over her like a hawk and, as soon as she had left her childhood behind, she’d spent half her time in a convent.

The nuns must have been instructed to teach her the skills necessary to become some great lord’s wife. Eric’s mouth twisted. They didn’t seem to have followed their instructions very well, all they seemed to have instilled in her was a desire to become one of them. And a dislike of her father and a wariness of men in general. Still, at least she had agreed to go with him to Monfort.

Eric looked at the small, shaking fingers deftly braiding all that golden glory into the tightest, most repressive braid he had seen. She must feel the world was falling apart around her. He should say something that would put her at her ease. ‘Until I spoke with your father I had other plans for today.’

She gave him a brief glance. ‘Oh?’

Eric picked up his cloak and shook it out. Crossing to Captain, he fastened the cloak to the back of his saddle and checked the girth. ‘I intended riding to Bar-sur-Aube, to buy horses.’

She came to stand at his elbow and the rest of what Eric had been going to say flew out of his head. She really was a tiny thing and her father was a bully for trying to force her into marriage. His chest ached. ‘My lady, I swear I will do my utmost to help you.’

‘Thank you, Sir Eric.’

He swallowed. ‘You will ride before me?’

She glanced at her own horse. ‘May I not ride Lily?’

‘I am sorry, my lady, not at the moment.’

‘You think I will gallop back to the convent?’

The grin was out before he could stop it. ‘Something like that. Alard will look after Lily.’

Biting her lip, she nodded. Eric took the reins and mounted. Alard came forward to help her up and then she was sitting before him and they were riding towards Monfort. Eric kept one hand on the reins and the other on her waist. She sat before him, stiff-backed. Trying, no doubt, to keep space between them. Eric took a deep breath. It wasn’t going to be the easiest of rides.

By the time they reached the main highway, Lady Rowena’s body had slipped back against his. Eric’s nostrils twitched. When he bent his head to hers, he could smell flowers, she smelt like a summer meadow. He kept his hand firm about that tiny waist. She shifted forward. Captain walked on and gradually she slipped back against him. No sooner had her body touched his than she shifted forward.

Eric ground his teeth together. ‘My lady, it will make for an easier ride for both of us if you would relax. I am not going to hurt you.’

She muttered an apology—her voice was strained—and allowed Eric to pull her more firmly against him.

‘Thank you, my lady. It will be safer this way.’

For the rest of the ride she remained quiescent, but Eric could feel the tension in her. She had said that she trusted him. Why then was she holding her back ramrod straight? She would surely ache when they reached his manor. He held his tongue, likely she would resent further comment.

At least she had agreed to come with him. He could keep her safe until he persuaded Count Faramus to think better of his plans for her. Her reaction when he had mentioned Sir Breon had been telling—she loathed and feared the man. That was some justification for the penance of having to take her back to Monfort. A penance that might go on for some time if her father proved intransigent.

Eric wished Lady Rowena wasn’t quite so pretty; he wished her waist wasn’t so tiny and that she didn’t smell of flowers; he wished that she wouldn’t keep squirming against him. It made him think thoughts that would shock this prim, would-be nun so much she’d never speak to him again. It made him want to take up her father on his suggestion and ask her to marry him, in truth. Not that she would accept him, of course. It just made him wish. She would be his wife and he would have the pleasure of teaching her that men weren’t all monsters. He would enjoy discovering the delights of the marriage bed with Rowena de Sainte-Colombe as his partner. His blood heated at the thought.

Did Count Faramus realise what a temptation he had set before him?

Of course he did, the man was as wily as a fox, as his daughter had already pointed out. Except...the count was clearly of the opinion that the real prize was the lands that went with his daughter rather than his daughter herself.

A mule was headed for the market, laden with bales of cloth. As they trotted past it, a jay screeched somewhere in the woodland to their left. Eric focused his gaze on a large oak and tried not to think about what it would be like to really marry Lady Rowena.

He would think instead about what it would be like to be Count of Sainte-Colombe. It was an honour he had never looked for. Eric still felt stunned when he thought back on yesterday’s interview in the solar of Jutigny Castle. Clearly, the count was desperate. Desperate and determined. Eric hadn’t said as much to Lady Rowena, she was obviously worried enough already, she didn’t need to be told that Eric suspected Lord Faramus might take some while to come to his senses. Lord, the count had suggested that he should seduce his daughter into marriage. He must really hate Sir Armand.

Lady Rowena didn’t need to be told that Lord Faramus had asked him to ruin her. What kind of a father would do that? Eric shook his head. A ruthless one. Which brought his thoughts round to Sir Armand again. When they got to Monfort, Eric would make enquiries. What kind of a man was Sir Armand that he should drive Lord Faramus to have his daughter snatched from the nunnery she had chosen to make her home?

Dipping his head a fraction, Eric inhaled. Summer flowers. His hand shifted on her waist.

Mon Dieu, just thinking about marrying her made his blood heat.

Poor, innocent Lady Rowena. She is going to take her vows. She is going to take her vows and I must not think of her in that way.