The Rebel Heiress and the Knight

by Melissa Oliver

  ‘Wait, you don’t have to do this.’

  Fighting her way out of this seemed impossible. Her head hurt, she felt far too weak, but she had to do something. She dragged her feet against the ground, but it was in vain. She was overpowered by his superior strength.

  ‘It would be so much easier if you were to accept your fate more readily, my lady.’

  He yanked at her so aggressively that she collided into him, hard, making them both tumble backwards, close to the mossy edge that seemed to fall away to nothing. She heard the sound of gushing water, flowing from the stream some distance below, and steadied herself.

  ‘What are you trying to do? Kill us both, you stupid woman?’ he spat.

  ‘That’s preferable to what you have planned.’

  She pushed herself free and tried to get away, but his arms came around her in a vice-like grip. One hand went to her throat, squeezing softly, and the other moved around her waist, holding her still.

  ‘Don’t try that again or I’ll hurl you off here myself!’ he muttered in her ear, squeezing her neck a little tighter.

  Dear God, she was choking. She couldn’t breathe. The glorious hues of green in front of her on the horizon reminded her so much of Hugh’s eyes but they were fading to nothing...

  Her body slumped as she bitterly accepted that all had been lost.

  Suddenly she faintly heard something that broke through her desperate thoughts. It gave her hope, even though all hope had seemed lost. It was the distant sound of barking... But, no, she must be imagining things. And yet the hound’s barking had become louder and louder, and there was something else... The sound of a horse galloping towards them. Could it be?

  Balvoire turned, having also heard the din, and just as he did so an arrow flew past and lodged itself at the centre of his floppy drab hat.

  ‘Let her go,’ said a steely low voice that was somehow familiar to her.

  Lord Balvoire swung her around, clasping her tightly, pressing her back to his chest, with his dagger drawn and held against her throat. Eleanor peered from under her lashes and was surprised to see the figure in front of her... It was a man whose head and face were hidden under a fox-trimmed hood.

  He dismounted effortlessly and prowled towards them, an arrow stretched and nocked against his bow, aimed at Balvoire’s chest and ready to be released.

  The man was evidently dressed as Le Renard. But that was not possible. Unless...

  No, her eyes must be deceiving her.

  ‘I said, let the lady go.’

  Balvoire took a small step to one side. ‘You...? It can’t be... I have the real Fox here.’

  ‘I don’t think so.’ The imposter smirked.

  Oh, Lord, could it be...?

  Hugh?

  ‘I don’t believe you. The outlaw Le Renard is small and wiry. I have met him before,’ Balvoire spat, tightening his grip on Eleanor.

  ‘Frankly, I don’t care what you believe—although it has been known for boys to develop into men,’ he drawled. ‘Now, I’m going to give you one last chance, Balvoire. Let her go.’

  ‘I don’t take kindly to demands, you know...because they make me do this.’

  Balvoire drew the tip of his dagger down Eleanor’s neck, cutting her, making her gasp as she bled.

  ‘The next one won’t be so light. Now, this is what you’ll do, whoever you are: you will leave quietly and go back to wherever you came from. I will then take Lady Eleanor with me, and you are not going to stop me or follow me. I will otherwise have no choice, sadly, but to kill her.’

  ‘No, I don’t think so. This is what you will do: you’ll step away from my lady and only then will I allow you to leave. But I swear if you come near her, or touch her again, you will be cut from here...to here.’

  Le Renard—or rather Hugh—indicated from Balvoire’s neck to his navel with the tip of his arrow.

  ‘And I suppose you would be the one to do that, eh?’ Balvoire snarled.

  ‘Oh, no, not I...’ He chuckled. ‘But him.’

  Lord Balvoire jerked his head in the direction Hugh had tilted his head—only to encounter the sharp tip of a sword jabbing him under his chin. And the man holding the hilt of the sword was none other than... Anselm.

  ‘Missed me, my lord?’

  ‘You!’ he breathed. ‘What are you doing here? You have some nerve.’

  ‘As do you, ’olding up my lady, ’ere. And you dare call me the villain.’

  ‘Lady Eleanor Tallany is the traitor I’ve been seeking—as you well know.’

  ‘So, you’re dishin’ out justice where no one can see what you’re about, eh? Truest villain I ever did see.’

  ‘How dare you? When I get my hands on you again, I’ll enjoy cutting your entrails out while you’re still alive and—’

  ‘Enough!’ Le Renard strode forward, closer to Balvoire. ‘I said, let my lady go—now!’ He aimed his arrow close to the man’s chest. ‘It’s over.’

  ‘Never!’

  It happened so quickly.

  Balvoire took a small step backwards and slipped on the wet, grassy edge, losing his balance. His eyes widened with shock and he fell, plummeting down below, dragging Eleanor with him.

  Hugh hurled himself at her and grabbed her hand just as she felt the ground disappearing beneath her. For a long moment they just stared at each other as she dangled over the edge, suspended in mid-air. But she could feel her grip slipping.

  ‘It’s no use, Hugh, I can’t hold on,’ she whispered.

  ‘I’ve got you!’

  ‘I’m slipping...’

  ‘Hang on tightly so I can pull you up.’

  ‘It’s too difficult to hold on,’ she said, as one finger after another slipped away from Hugh’s grasp.

  ‘Damn it, Eleanor, I won’t let you go.’

  He pulled her up with a strength from somewhere deep inside, hauling her back to safety and into his arms.

  ‘I will never let you go, do you hear?’ he said softly. ‘Never, my love.’

  ‘Balvoire’s dead good and proper, Fox.’ Anselm looked down to the stream. ‘Cracked his ’ead on a boulder.’

  Hugh looked up and nodded at Anselm grimly, wrapping his arms around Eleanor, who was shivering, and dropping a kiss on the top of her head. ‘Hush, sweetheart. It’s over now.’

  * * *

  Eleanor fell in and out of sleep on the ride back to Tallany Castle. Hugh had parted ways with Anselm, who had now paid his debt by helping Le Renard with his rescue mission, and he had left Balvoire’s accomplice tied to a tree.

  Once the Tallany guards were dispatched they would find Balvoire’s body, and the accomplice, from whom they’d get a confession about the attempted abduction of Eleanor.

  That was as much as Hugh was willing to do, so as not to expose Eleanor’s complicity with the outlaws. And, although it didn’t sit right with him that he would have to bend the truth for King John, the alternative was inconceivable.

  All that mattered to him was that his wife was safe. When he’d watched Balvoire threaten her, and cut her with his dagger, Hugh had had to use all his resolve to keep himself from pouncing on the bastard. And when she’d almost fallen down that gorge...

  It didn’t bear thinking about.

  Yes, all that mattered was that she was safe and back where she belonged...with him.

  ‘Hugh?’ Eleanor muttered. ‘I still can’t believe that you came to save me.’

  ‘You’re awake, sweetheart?’ he said gently. ‘How do you fare?’

  ‘Tired, sore, and my head is ready to burst—you didn’t answer my question.’

  ‘We’ll be home soon and then you can rest properly.’ He stroked her cheek with the back of his hand. ‘You must have a low opinion of me if you believed that I wouldn’t come for you.’

  ‘Oh, I have a high enough
opinion of you—but that’s not what I meant. I can’t believe that you came disguised as Le Renard.’

  Hugh tugged at the reins, bringing her palfrey to a halt, and sighed. ‘A wise woman once told me that sometimes there are no choices when there’s a desperate need.’ He shrugged, smiling. ‘Besides, I thought it was about time you received a few surprises of your own.’

  ‘So now do you understand? About everything that I had to do?’

  ‘For me, there was a much greater need that made me desperate.’

  She looked faintly confused. ‘A need for what?’

  ‘You, Eleanor...’

  ‘Oh, Hugh.’ She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him softly on the lips.

  ‘I love you, Eleanor Tallany. I love you, body and soul. You challenge me to be a better man. A man worthy of you.’

  ‘And I love you,’ she murmured, her eyes filling with tears. ‘With all my heart.’

  ‘Ah...is that the same heart that you once declared would never be mine?’

  ‘Yes, the very same.’ She smiled, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.

  ‘Good to know.’ He shook his head, chuckling.

  ‘Does this mean that you have forgiven me?’ she asked.

  ‘Let’s not get carried away, now.’ He smiled, raising his brows.

  ‘Well, I’m hopeful that you will. After all, a wise man once promised me hopeful futures that would drown out disastrous pasts.’

  ‘True.’ He grinned. ‘And now that I hold the constancy of your heart in mine I have no choice but to use it for my own ends.’

  ‘Confounding man! Of all the ridiculous, arrogant—’

  Hugh silenced her with a kiss so passionate that it rendered her speechless—if only briefly.

  ‘Hugh?’ she said, eventually.

  ‘Yes, my love?’

  ‘You didn’t really mean that, did you?’ She bit her bottom lip.

  ‘Oh, yes, Eleanor, I meant every word,’ he drawled, and bent his head to kiss her again.

  Epilogue

  Six months later...

  Eleanor watched her husband bade farewell to Will as his friend left on yet another mission for the Crown.

  The state of the kingdom was incredibly dire, with the animosity between King John and the Rebel Barons now as bad as ever—as Hugh had predicted. It hadn’t helped that once again the King had reneged on all the promises he had made, even after the Great Charter—a document that the man had signed himself. No wonder the Rebels found him so difficult to trust.

  Eleanor realised that for Hugh it was a difficult balancing act, but at least they were no longer on different sides of this divisive conflict.

  With so much strife in the kingdom she knew that her husband felt a huge amount of guilt at being so ridiculously happy and content with Eleanor...as she was with him. And it was the strength of their love and devotion that had slowly restored the trust and faith to their marriage. Something that brought so much joy to Eleanor that it made her heart soar.

  And, when all was said and done, that was all that truly mattered...

  As for Le Renard—Eleanor had all but retired him...for now.

  Hugh was a diligent and effective lord, working with her to re-establish Tallany during these dark times. And even when he was commanded to court, and forced to turn his mind to matters of the Crown, Eleanor knew he safeguarded their land and its people. To her relief, he had also ensured that Osbert and Godwin were freed and returned safely to their families.

  And for Eleanor there were now other things for her to focus on. She rubbed her stomach, delighting in the secret she would soon be letting her husband in on.

  Hugh strode back towards her and smiled that lopsided smile of his that still managed to make her heart skip a beat. She returned his smile and stood beside him, waving Will off.

  Will nodded at Hugh and winked at her, making her smile again. The man just couldn’t help being a consummate flirt, but she was inordinately fond of him and, like Hugh, considered him to be like a brother.

  ‘You’re going to miss him, aren’t you?’ she said, squeezing her husband’s hand.

  ‘Will seems preoccupied these days. A lot more serious.’ Hugh shook his head and sighed, looking down at her. ‘I hope that all goes well for him, this time.’

  ‘I hope so too,’ she said, tilting her head to gaze at Hugh. She frowned. ‘What is that in your hand?’

  ‘Ah, this?’ he said, tapping a package that had been wrapped with a thin layer of fabric and tied with string. ‘I wanted to give this to you later, but you may as well open it now.’

  ‘What is this? Another present, husband?’

  ‘Precisely, wife. Now, open it.’

  Eleanor opened the package to find the most incredibly soft cape lined with an even softer woollen fleece.

  ‘It’s beautiful. Thank you.’

  ‘Made from the wool from your own sheep and their lambs.’ Hugh’s smile widened. ‘Not that I believe you are as meek as one.’

  ‘Oh, I would dearly like to know what you believe me to be.’

  ‘Well, you’re maddening,’ he said, kissing her on the lips. ‘You’re tempestuous,’ he said, planting another kiss. ‘You’re brave,’ he said, kissing her once more. ‘And I love you.’

  ‘I love you too—but it’s no use, Hugh. You cannot make a virtue out of my hopeless qualities,’ she said, biting the inside of her cheek. ‘Mayhap I am more the cunning fox, after all?’

  ‘Mayhap,’ Hugh said as he curled his fingers around her waist and pulled her closer towards him. ‘But either way, sweetheart, you have the heart of a lioness. My lioness,’ he murmured, and he kissed her again.

  She giggled. ‘Well, your lioness has a little secret.’

  ‘Oh?’ He raised his brow. ‘And what is that?’

  Eleanor shook her head. ‘I think my surprise may be best shared later...when we are alone.’ She met his smouldering eyes and smiled.

  ‘As you wish, my love, as you wish.’

  * * *

  Keep reading for an excerpt from The Scoundrel’s Bartered Bride by Virginia Heath.

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  The Scoundrel’s Bartered Bride

  by Virginia Heath

  Chapter One

  Mayfair—November 1817

  ‘I heard an interesting rumour about you today, Lydia.’

  Just the sound of his deep voice cutting through the music and incessant chatter of the ballroom behind caused her step to falter. She’d seen him earlier. Of course she had. Shaking hands with the great and the good. Smiling. Charming. The most striking man in the room. Because Owen Wolfe was hard to miss no matter how much she always tried to and had a way about him which vexingly drew the eye. But tonight she wasn’t quite herself, so hadn’t diligently avoided him with the same dogged determination as she usually did.

  Wasn’t quite herself!

  An understatement. Tonight she was reeling and in no fit state to spar with him—although hell would have to freeze over before she ever allowed him to see how much he affected her. How much he had always affected her, dratted man, regardless of how worryingly prophetic his comment was. She stared back towards the dancing couples twirling on the crowded floor dispassionately in order to centre herself before flicking her eyes coldly back to his, hoping against hope she projected a blandness she did not feel.

  ‘Then gossip and scandal must be painfully thin on the ground if I am the current topic of it. And it is my lady to you.’

  Gossip was inevitable, she supposed, although surely the news could not have spread so soon? Not when she had only found ou
t herself this very afternoon and had only been shamed into agreeing to the proposal with great reluctance moments before she strapped on her brave face and came here as was expected. A last resort, her brother had reassured her. Only if all else failed...

  Although what the else was, she still had no earthly idea seeing that the Bartons were rapidly running out of options.

  And credit.

  Ignoring the sudden tentacles of dread at the daunting prospect which loomed before her, she tossed him her most irritated and imperious glance as she sailed past, avoiding the urge to run away as fast as her legs would take her to the sanctuary of home where she could lick her wounds in private. Coming here had been a mistake—one borne out of sheer denial that her life was about to thoroughly implode.

  He, of course, was leaning against a pillar with his customary, casual arrogance, strong arms nonchalantly crossed. Effortlessly elegant. Aggravatingly handsome. Smug blue eyes far too intelligent for his own good—but then again, for all his many and hideous faults, Owen Wolfe had always been exceedingly clever. Even as the lowliest stable boy in the Barton mews on Berkeley Square all those years ago, his canny intelligence had shone like a beacon.

  ‘It’s true, then?’ Despite her haste to be shot of him, this cloying ballroom and the new, oppressive weight sat squarely and solely now on her shoulders, his long legs easily fell into step alongside hers. ‘Your father really is auctioning you off to the highest bidder, my lady?’

  Yes. Because things had apparently become that dire and debtors’ prison loomed. Something he undoubtedly knew because he had the vexing habit of knowing almost everything well before everyone else nowadays.

  ‘Is that the actual rumour?’ It took every ounce of pride and fortitude Lydia possessed to shake her head in mock exasperation and to not allow the stunned despair and outrage to show on her face. ‘Gracious.’ She flicked open her fan for good measure and gave it a curt waft while another part of her died on the inside. ‘Well, I suppose while the gossips are talking utter nonsense about me, they are giving another poor soul a reprieve.’