by Anne Herries
Elona nodded but made no answer. She was being unfair and she knew it, but her spirit rebelled at being so closely confined. Why should they not take their chance now? They were at the edge of the camp. If they were to disappear into the woods this very minute…but Sir Stefan was watching them, his eyes hooded and veiled with thick dark lashes.
He had the eyes of a hawk, she thought angrily. As keen as any bird of prey—and she was his victim. One unwary move on her part and he would swoop on her and then… She did not know why the thought of Stefan swooping on her like a hawk on its prey was so disturbing, but it made her breathless all of a sudden, her heart racing. Anger swelled like a rising tide inside her as she walked towards him, head up, shoulders straight, every inch the proud lady. Clearly she could look for no help from Will. He seemed to have fallen under Sir Stefan’s spell as deeply as her foolish serving women! So she would vent her frustration on the man who was the cause of all her troubles.
‘How long before we reach the coast?’ she demanded imperiously.
‘It was my hope to reach the ship and board her before dusk.’
‘I am pleased to hear it. I grow weary of this journey.’
‘I am sorry it has taken so long, my lady. But I had not thought you in such a hurry?’
‘The sooner we reach our destination, the sooner I may be free of your company!’
‘Ah, I see…’
Stefan’s eyes narrowed. Now what was she up to? Had she some new plan to deceive him? It had not escaped his notice that she had seemed displeased with her squire. A faint smile touched his mouth. It seemed his precautions against Danewold were a two-edged sword, proving as effective at keeping the lady and her admirer inside the camp as Danewold’s men out.
The spy they had caught had talked readily when given the alternative of having his tongue split if he did not. Such barbarity was against Stefan’s principles as a Christian knight, but the threat had been sufficient, reducing the man to a gibbering fool ready to betray his own mother if need be.
Danewold’s men were under orders to watch and follow, nothing more. Clearly the Baron was too wise to risk an all-out fight with men trained and battle hardened as Stefan’s men were. Yet Danewold was like a dangerous snake hiding in the undergrowth, waiting his opportunity to strike the unwary. He would snatch Elona from under their noses by stealth if he could—but he would not get the chance. Nor would she take flight with the young squire if Stefan could prevent it.
‘This delay is tedious,’ Elona complained, irked by his silent brooding look into further speech. His mind was a closed book to her. She never knew what he was thinking. ‘Why do your men not take better care of the wagons?’
‘Accidents will happen,’ Stefan replied, but knew it was not the whole truth. One of his men had told him that he believed the pole had been deliberately weakened.
Perhaps Danewold had hoped to catch them at a disadvantage? If so, he had been sadly disappointed. Yet Stefan suspected another culprit. William de Grenville had had more opportunity to cause such accidents than Danewold’s men. But what purpose did he hope to achieve by these small delays? No serious harm was ever done, no man or beast injured; they were at worst a delaying tactic—but why?
There seemed no reason for them. Unless they were meant to give Danewold a chance to prepare a trap on the road ahead?
Stefan had sent two men on ahead to scout and warn him of any such plot, but so far there had been none. Danewold seemed content to bide his time, more like a scavenger waiting for the remains of prey left by a ravening wolf rather than a predator himself. Stefan’s reputation as a fearsome warrior was enough to hold off all but the stoutest hearts.
So if it was not Danewold and not Will… All his own men were loyal to him, he would swear to it. However, he would be extra-vigilant in future. The small mystery would be solved in time.
‘How many days shall we be on the road once we reach England?’
Elona’s question broke into his thoughts, causing his attention to centre on her once more. She was in a rare mood, clearly frustrated and choosing him as her whipping boy. Well, his shoulders were broad enough, and she was magnificent when she was angry. Gazing at her lovely face, he was seized with a desire to take her in his arms and kiss away the hurt and frustration he knew to be inside her—but that was forbidden him.
‘Three before we reach Henry’s court,’ Stefan told her. ‘We shall rest there for a few days. As you know, I have a message for the King from Duke Richard. Besides, I thought it might please you to visit the court, lady. Your father said you might want to order some silks from the merchants in London.’
‘Perhaps…’
It would please her very much to visit both the court and the silk merchants, Elona thought. But why should he want to please her? His usual expression was so cold and harsh when he looked at her…though she had seen him laughing with his men—and at her the night she had thought to get him drunk!—that she was certain he disliked her. Suddenly, her anger drained away and she felt close to despair, a small sigh escaping her.
‘Are you very weary?’ Stefan asked and the softer note in his voice made her heart jerk. ‘Once we are on the ship you will be able to rest. I fear I have pushed you too hard in my haste?’
‘No, I am not weary,’ she replied. Did he think her such a poor thing? Her head lifted with unconscious pride, banishing the momentary despair. ‘Merely sad. I am glad I did not bring my nurse. My poor Melise could not have stood the journey. It was for her sake that I left her behind.’
‘Do you miss her very much?’
‘Yes…’ Elona choked as the unexpected gentleness in him brought a tide of emotion welling up, filling her throat so that it felt tight and painful. Her situation was easier to bear when she was angry with him. ‘She loves me as much as any mother and I love her. I think it broke her heart that I was forced to leave her at my father’s house.’
‘There is no reason why you should not send for her once you are settled at Banewulf. She could travel with a small escort at her own pace. I dare say it might be easier for her if she were carried in a wagon with a straw pallet to lie on and a young woman to care for her needs.’
Now the tears were very close. Elona was almost overcome. ‘You show an unexpected concern, sir. I did not think you understood my feelings on the matter.’
‘You thought me an unfeeling tyrant, I dare swear.’ Stefan laughed deep in his throat. It was a strangely pleasing sound, husky and warm. ‘Well, you are not entirely wrong, my lady. I can be impatient and harsh at times—but I have it in me to be generous. When we are safe on board the ship bound for England, a man shall return to your home and arrange for the old woman to be brought to you. It is an easy enough matter.’
‘Thank you. You are generous indeed.’ Elona turned away quickly, afraid that she would weep. Such a thoughtful act of kindness had unsettled her. Why had she not thought of the solution for herself?
She had been too angry with Sir Stefan, and, indeed, her father also. Besides, in her innocence, she had imagined it would be an easy matter to slip away with Will. How little she had understood the man who was to be her escort!
Wandering away from him, Elona realised that she still did not understand the man. He had seemed so stern and hard, but now he had offered her a precious gift. She had been told he was a brave, true knight, but she had not wanted to believe it. Now she began to see him as others must—and how weak and shallow some men appeared in comparison.
The scales of self-deception had begun to fall from her eyes and she realised that she had been fooling herself to believe that her father would ever countenance a marriage between William de Grenville and his daughter. In truth, when she looked deep into her heart, she did not really wish for it herself…
Then what did she wish for? Elona could not answer the questions her mind immediately threw up. When viewed calmly and sensibly, it seemed unlikely that she would be able to return home, at least until she was married and no longe
r at risk of abduction—but did she wish to marry Alain de Banewulf? From what she had heard of him from the crumbs gleaned by her women and from Stefan himself, it seemed that he was a pleasant young man, though untried and perhaps no more capable of commanding a garrison than her squire.
The knowledge that Baron Danewold had been shadowing them, that he was intent on snatching her from beneath Stefan’s nose if he could, had somehow unsettled her. It seemed that women were always at the mercy of men, some more unscrupulous than others, and she was coming to the conclusion that her father had been right after all. Because of the rich lands she would inherit one day, she must either wed a man strong enough to hold them for her or enter a convent.
A life spent in fasting and prayer held no promise for her and, being a sensible girl at heart, Elona saw that she must make up her mind to marry. But the matter of her husband’s identity was still to be resolved. Why should she let others choose for her—why not take her destiny into her own hands? No one could force her to marry against her will for her father had signed no contract.
But if she did not wish to wed Alain de Banewulf, or Will—who did she picture as a husband she could respect and admire? The man who would stand by her side, her equal in birth and wealth, her champion and trusted protector. Her eyes moved slowly over the men gathered about the clearing, noting that the wagon had been repaired and that they were almost ready to leave.
How disciplined the men were, she thought. She had reprimanded Sir Stefan for their carelessness, but in truth she knew that accidents must happen. These men were respectful and worked with a show of eagerness to please the man who commanded them. Her father was respected by his people—but they did not worship him as Sir Stefan’s men did their lord.
Surely she was not thinking…? Elona pulled her thoughts together with a sense of shock. Only a few moments ago she had been hating him and now… But no, that was not quite true, she realised, a little smile curving her soft lips. She had resented his attitude, her feeling of being his prisoner, but she did not hate him. Indeed, she had come to respect him during these past days of their journey. In some strange way, she had enjoyed pitting her wits against his, taunting him to see the glint of anger in his eyes, and sometimes a smile that turned to laughter.
And now that he had shown her his softer side… After all, if she must marry for her safety, she would clearly do better to choose the strongest man she could find. And if rumour spoke true, there was none stronger or more respected than her escort.
How foolish she was! Elona laughed inwardly at her own thoughts. Sir Stefan…no, Stefan, for they had gone beyond formality…found her nothing but a nuisance. She had believed that he disliked her but, if that were true, why should he promise to bring Melise to her?
And there was an odd look in his eyes at times. Elona had thought it temper or some strong displeasure, but now she wondered if its cause was very different. Was it possible that he felt attracted to her? Not love, perhaps, for she did not see him as being a sentimental man—but certainly desire. Yes, he was certainly a man of strong passions, even if he kept them under strict control.
Yet he had given her no hint of his feelings and she doubted her own senses. Will had offered her a gentle tender love, though she sensed a deeper passion hidden beneath the surface—but, she imagined, Stefan’s feelings would be fiercer, lustier. If he desired a woman, he would put his mark on her. His wife would belong to him, body and soul. Let Danewold and all others beware if she was his…
No, no, she was imagining things! Where were her wits? Bethany’s foolish talk had turned her head. Stefan de Banewulf did not see her as a desirable woman; he was merely acting the part of her guardian, taking her to his home to be his brother’s bride.
She turned as she heard his voice call her name.
‘We are ready to leave, my lady. I hope that you are ready to continue?’
It was the first time he had asked rather than simply commanding. She smiled at him and for a moment fancied she saw fire leap in his eyes. He looked at her now as a man dying of hunger might look at a feast—a feast at a rich man’s table that he might not taste. She could not be mistaken this time!
Romantic love might not be in this man’s thoughts, Elona thought, but she certainly was. She was sure that Bethany was right—he did desire her. Yet even as she gazed up at him, her heart beginning to thud madly against her ribs, she saw the fire dim and he turned from her abruptly, barking an order at one of his men to bring her palfrey forward.
When he turned back to her, she saw that his face was wearing its usual look of icy reserve, but she was not deceived. She had seen that look and she was sure that she understood what was in his mind—an honourable man could not steal his brother’s bride. Even if he wanted her, she was forbidden to him. But she had no such reservation. She was not promised to Alain de Banewulf, and if she had decided she would have Stefan instead of his brother… But had she?
‘Will you help me mount, sir?’ she asked, a husky note in her voice as her palfrey was made ready. ‘Persimmon was a little restive this morning. If your man could hold her while you help me…?’
Stefan seemed to hesitate, then took two steps towards her. Instead of offering his hand for her to place her small foot in it, his hands seized her about the waist and he lifted her easily to the saddle with one flowing movement that left her breathless.
How strong he was and powerful! Perhaps not handsome in the way that Will was, and yet now she had begun to see that the squire was almost too pretty to be a man. Indeed, compared to Stefan, he was still a youth.
A faint flush touched her cheeks as Stefan remained by her side looking up at her, and she knew that he had been as affected by what had just passed between them as she. Yes, he did want to bed with her—but was she playing with fire? Was her wilful nature leading her towards something dangerous?
Stefan de Banewulf would be the master in any marriage. He would dominate and his wife would be expected to give all that he demanded. She knew that and her pulses quickened as she wondered what it might feel like to lie beside him…to feel the touch of his hands on other, more intimate parts of her body, his lips on hers.
‘If your mount is restive, I will get one of my men to lead you on a rein,’ he said, breaking into her thoughts and bringing her back to earth with a bump. All sign of his softer side had gone so that she thought she must have imagined it. He was glaring at her as if he hated her now.
Had he read her thoughts somehow? Had she given herself away—was that why he had withdrawn once more?
‘I need no leading rein!’ she retorted, angry now. ‘Would you insult me, sir? I am perfectly able to manage my horse.’
‘As we both know,’ he said, an irritating gleam in his eyes. ‘This new behaviour will avail you nothing, lady. If you think to blind me to your wiles, you are mistaken. I have given my word to deliver you safely to Banewulf and that is what I intend. You will be given no chance to run off with your squire.’
Elona gasped, feeling as if he had slapped her in the face. She flicked her reins and moved past him, wishing she dared to ride at him and knock him to the ground, to let her horse trample on him. What a fool she had been to imagine for one second that she could ever find content as this man’s wife! He was an arrogant bully and she would think no more of him!
Oh, how she wished she might die! Would this torment never be done?
Elona rolled on to her side as another wave hit the ship full on and caused it to shudder; it seemed to lift into the air, hover, and then fall back down—so far that she felt her stomach lurch and the vomit rose in her throat once more. She leaned over her cot and vomited on the wooden floorboards, groaning as she felt pain in her stomach; she had vomited so much that it hurt her now to move.
‘Ohhh,’ she muttered miserably. ‘What have I done that I should be punished thus?’
Her father had sought to protect her, but instead he had sent her to her death, for, if the storm did not soon abate, she feare
d she would never survive it. If this sickness did not kill her, the ship would surely sink!
She was aware of movement beside her and wondered which of her serving women had managed to stagger to her side, for both were similarly afflicted, though not as violently as she herself.
‘Is that you, Bethany? Go and rest yourself. There is nothing you can do for me. I am dying…’
‘I doubt that, Elona,’ a strong, too-cheerful voice said at her side. ‘You are suffering from sea sickness, but it will pass when we reach land.’
‘If we ever do,’ she muttered resentfully as she realised who had come to her. The ship rolled yet again and her stomach lurched. Would this terrible voyage never cease? ‘Why are you here? Have you come to gloat over me?’ How she hated him! Her annoyance was such that she was able to raise her head and look at him. He looked disgustingly fit and well. She might have known that he would not be affected by the weather. Nothing touched him. She closed her eyes again, sinking back with a groan.
‘No, not to gloat—to give you something that may ease you, foolish one.’ His hand was on her brow, soothing the damp hair back from her forehead and she found his touch comforting.
Elona opened her eyes as she felt his body close to hers, and then his strong arm was beneath her, lifting her clear of the cushions, holding a cup to her lips. She set them against him, sure now that he meant to poison her. In her distress she blamed him for her sickness.
‘Leave me…’ She made the mistake of trying to order him away from her and found that a vile-tasting potion was immediately poured down her throat, making her gag and spit. ‘You beast!’ she cried when she had stopped choking. ‘Have you killed me with your poison?’
Stefan’s laugh was warm and amused, coming from deep down inside him as he stood looking at her.