Myles turned to her with a rather inscrutable smile. “I like your uncle. He seems a good man.”
“He is,” she replied matter-of-factly.
“Then I envy you,” he answered in a similar tone, free of any self-pity.
She remembered what her uncle had told her of Myles’s family and a new idea presented itself to Giselle. Could it be that Myles wanted not just her dowry, but a family, too, one that would treat him better than his own? “He thinks highly of you,” she remarked.
“Yet he is willing to cast me aside as a husband for you,” Sir Myles noted.
“I think that you may blame on both his fondness for me and his desire to do right. But I’m sure he likes you.”
“I would far rather hear you say that you like me.”
“I thought you had already decided I must,” she said with a hint of mockery.
He didn’t reply and Giselle immediately regretted not being more circumspect. If her uncle had spoken truly about Sir Myles’s family, and there was no reason to suppose he hadn’t, Myles Buxton had not enjoyed a blissful childhood.
In truth, he might have suffered far more than she had. It could even be that while she saw marriage as causing her to lose something, he saw it as a way to gain what he lacked. And if he thought she alone could provide that, no doubt she should be truly flattered, as her uncle had said.
They rode awhile in silence, with Giselle occasionally watching him out of the corner of her eye while she mused upon this idea, which would explain why he continued to pursue her despite her rebuffs. “You seem thoughtful, too, Sir Myles,” she said at last.
He looked at her with a surprised and wary smile. “Forgive my preoccupation, my lady. I assure you, I was not contemplating my own attributes, or planning ways to force you into marriage against your will.”
“Oh, no. That is, I shouldn’t have said that, my lord.”
“Yes, you should, if you thought it the truth,” he replied calmly. “I have had worse things said of me, my lady.”
Again Giselle recalled her uncle’s words, and decided to try to begin the conversation anew. “I am not used to seeing you look pensive.”
He gave her a sardonic smile. “I was thinking about love.”
“Oh?” She blushed and desperately wished she wasn’t.
“Yes. Elizabeth Cowton is very much in love.”
Giselle frowned and said nothing, trying not to feel disappointed. After all, she should be relieved there was another woman who wanted him, if she did not, and she should be glad he was being honest with her.
“Not with me,” he added, after what seemed a very long moment.
“Elizabeth Cowton’s feelings are none of my business,” she said quickly.
Too quickly, to judge by the shrewd glance he directed at her. “Alas! I was hoping you might be jealous,” he said wryly.
“Why would I be? I imagine many women find you attractive.”
“But not you?”
Giselle flushed hotly and her grip tightened on the reins.
“Unfortunately, Elizabeth’s dowry is very small, and her beloved’s family is not in favor of the match.”
Giselle frowned with dismay. “It is a pity that marriage should depend so much upon money.”
“Life without wealth is not easy.”
“No.” She regarded him with some curiosity. “You sound as if you speak from experience, yet your family is very rich.”
“My father is.” He stared straight ahead. “My brothers lack for nothing. My circumstances are slightly different. My father has given me an estate, but as for money, that must come from other quarters.”
Moved by the seriousness of his tone and impressed by his apparent lack of bitterness, her heart went out to him.
Even then, her mind cried a warning. She should feel nothing for Myles Buxton, must feel nothing for him, or her freedom would be forfeit. “Such as your wife’s dowry?” she suggested.
He turned to regard her steadily. “Yes.”
“So when you marry, you will gain wealth, while I will lose mine without ever really possessing it. My uncle controls all my money now, and when I marry, my husband will.”
“You don’t believe your husband will let you have some say in how your money is spent?”
“You are going to tell me that you would allow me that privilege, I suppose?”
“Yes, I would,” he affirmed, and she heard his sincerity.
“Yet you think it ludicrous of my uncle to allow me some discretion in the choice of my husband.”
“That’s different.”
“I do not see why,” she retorted. “Besides, I know full well how it will be. You are acting all kindness and generosity before the marriage, and you will be quite different afterward.
“My friend Cecily’s husband made no end of generous promises before they were married. She wrote me all about him, telling me how kind, how sweet, how wonderful he was. Oh, she was going to be so happy!”
“Am I to understand she is not?” Myles asked when she paused to draw breath.
“No, she can’t be! I have not had one word from her since she’s been married, nor has she ever come to visit, and I’ve invited her more than once. I’m sure her husband prevents her, for Cecily and I were like sisters. I know she would come if she could.”
“Granted there are some men who say one thing before marriage and another after, but I am not of that ilk,” Myles said. “I promise you that you will have as much freedom as any married woman may reasonably desire, when we are married.”
Giselle shot him a questioning look. “You will decide what is reasonable, I suppose.”
“Who else?”
Her only answer was to press her lips together in anger. To be sure, he had been kind and generous, but undoubtedly that would only last until they were safely wed. Then she would lose even the small measure of freedom she had at present. And he was so handsome, he would probably have a lover in every town under his rule. Oh, she never wanted to marry, not Sir Myles or any man!
“Shall we see how this mare gallops?”
“No,” Giselle replied peevishly. All she wanted to do now was get back to the castle.
Suddenly Sir Myles reached out and slapped the mare on the buttocks, which made the beast break into a startled gallop. Giselle cried out and held on for dear life as the mare ran off the road and into an opening in the trees.
“Something’s spooked Lady Giselle’s horse.” Myles called out to the company who had all been too occupied with their own conversations to see what he had done, a fact he had ascertained before slapping the mare. “I’ll stop her!”
He kicked his horse into a canter and followed, determined to have it out with Giselle Wutherton once and for all, challenge or no challenge.
Giselle finally managed to slow the mare, and when the horse halted, she slipped from its back, breathing shakily but happy to be on firm, if snow-covered, ground. It was a miracle she had not struck a tree branch and been knocked off her horse.
Sir Myles appeared, pulling his stallion to a stop and dismounting with a flourish.
“Why did you do that?” she demanded, her hands on her hips. “I could have been killed!”
“I thought you were a good rider.”
“My skill would have had nothing to do with it, if an oak tree had been in the way.”
He tossed his horse’s reins over the bare branches of a nearby bush and walked toward her. “Then I must beg your forgiveness, my lady. I can only plead a tremendous desire to be alone with you as my excuse.”
Giselle swallowed hard, realizing for the first time that they were alone. In the woods. Just the two of them. “We should rejoin the others,” she said, moving close to her mare.
“Not just yet,” Myles said, coming toward her and putting a detaining hand on her arm. “I want to talk to you without interruption.”
“You didn’t have to risk my life,” Giselle noted angrily as she faced him, uncomfortably aware of his
proximity.
“I didn’t think I was.”
“Be that as it may, Sir Myles, what do you have to say that is so important that you must risk injury and scandal?”
“I want to tell you that I truly want to marry you.”
“You made that plain enough before, the last time we were alone in my uncle’s solar, when you seemed so certain I would love you.”
His brow furrowed and she thought she saw genuine concern in his dark eyes. “I know I’ve blundered—”
“Yes, you have!” she said, triumphantly interrupting him, for once. “You interfere in my duties, follow me about like an annoying shadow, you tell me I will love you and then you wonder that I do not leap into your arms with gratitude!”
His frown deepened. “I am trying to apologize.”
She opened her mouth to tell him she didn’t want his apologies, but something in his eyes made her hesitate. What was it? Dismay? Disappointment? Fear?
“Sir Myles,” she said in a somewhat calmer tone. “I don’t want to be married to anyone. Can’t you understand that? I want to be free, at least for a little while.”
His frown became a scowl. “Because your friend married a less than accommodating husband?”
“Because...because I’m afraid.”
He drew back with a look of genuine astonishment. “Not of me?”
“I’m afraid I’ll find marriage a worse prison than Lady Katherine’s.”
His gaze searched her face. “Do you truly believe that I would treat any wife of mine with so little regard?”
At this moment, she doubted it. Yet, at one time she would have said that Cecily’s husband would not have treated her badly; either.
“I want you to be my wife, Giselle,” he said huskily, reaching out and tugging her into his warm and strong embrace. “You, Giselle, for yourself. For your intelligence and kindness, as much as your beauty. Because I can imagine our lives together, and know it will be wonderful. Because I want to have children with you.”
Then he bent his head and kissed her. Not fiercely, like before, but tenderly. Lovingly. As if to promise that he meant everything he said. Tempted beyond her resolve by his gentleness, Giselle abandoned herself and her fears to savor his touch and his caress.
How easy it would be to give in to him! How simple to agree to be his wife.
Part of her wanted to do so very, very much, recognizing that she was more than half in love with him already.
But what of freedom? another part of her urged. You cannot be sure that he will not change toward you once you are wed! Delay! Delay!
She pulled back and tried to keep her regard steady as she looked at him. “Sir Myles, I—”
He stared at her suspiciously. “You still doubt my sincerity? Or do you think I am not worthy to be your husband?”
“Yes! No! I don’t know!”
“Enough!” he declared, his voice as cold as the snow beneath their feet as he moved away from her. “I have tried. I have been as patient as I know how to be, but I refuse to be subject to any woman’s whims and indecision for days, especially when I had been assured the marriage contract was as good as signed!”
“Sir Myles!” she cried as he marched to his horse.
“No! No more words. No more talk!” he growled as he prepared to mount, glancing at her over his shoulder. “I am not some boy you can play like a fish on a line!” He leapt upon his prancing stallion. “I am Sir Myles Buxton, and if you do not think me worthy of your hand, there are plenty of other women who will! Now, my lady, mount. I will take you back to the others, but I will have no more speech from you.”
For an instant, she was too astonished to move, and not only because of his harsh tone and imperious manner. What shocked her was the burning anguish in his eyes as he gazed at her.
“Do not tempt me to leave you here,” he warned, looking away.
Quite convinced that he might very well do so, Giselle went to her mare. He made no move to get down and help her, so she hiked up her skirts as much as modesty permitted and climbed into the saddle. Once mounted, she did not wait for any further commands from him, but turned her horse back the way they had come and nudged her to a walk.
Giselle said nothing as they returned to the road and rejoined the party. She dared not, for she feared that if she spoke even one word, she would burst into tears.
Chapter Seven
On the morning of the eleventh day of Christmas, as Giselle lay sleepless shortly before dawn, she was eagerly, if morosely, anticipating the end of the celebrations. What had at first seemed an exciting test was now merely tedious and too much hard work.
During the past few days, she had had plenty of time to think about what had happened between Sir Myles and herself. Not during the day, when her duties kept her most thankfully occupied, but at night, when she couldn’t sleep, or early in the morning.
She had tried to convince herself that her state of ennui had little to do with Sir Myles’s absence after their foray into the woods, and that his abrupt departure was all for the best. Everything he had done had probably only been intended to guarantee that the marriage contract was signed, so that his pride did not suffer. He made no real effort to understand her concerns or her feelings...just as she had made no effort to understand him, either, at least at first.
Despite her efforts to deny that she was at all to blame, she was once again forced to come to this conclusion. She knew now that she had blundered from the moment of their first meeting. She should have been more amiable and pliant, until he came to know her better. Then, when she had told him of her fears and concerns, perhaps he would have understood, or made more of an effort. Instead, she had acted the shrew, with results that she should have foreseen.
She should have been more patient, too, until she had learned more of other men, as she was doing now. There were plenty of noblemen in attendance for Christmas and it seemed, unfortunately, that several of the unmarried ones were anxious to take Sir Myles’s place, once it was clear he was gone away. They all seemed to assume they stood an excellent chance of marrying her, yet not a one of them excited her as much as Myles Buxton had, even when she had been doing all in her power to ignore him.
With a weary sigh, Giselle rose from her bed and went to the narrow window of her bedchamber. The first streaks of dawn colored the eastern sky, which was the gray of slate this morning. The day was going to be as gloomy as she felt, she suspected.
If she had any comfort in all of this marriage business, it was that her uncle didn’t seem to hold her accountable. Indeed, he had been gentleness personified to her, with no word of reproach or curiosity, not even when Sir Myles failed to appear in the hall after their ride.
With another sigh, she began to brush her hair. Today, as always since Sir Myles had gone, she would put a smile on her face and busy herself with the needs of their guests and the preparations for another feast. She would try not to gasp with anticipation every time she heard a horse in the courtyard. She would attempt to ignore her sense of remorse and to persuade herself that she was glad that Sir Myles had apparently found it so easy to leave her and abandon their betrothal.
Why should he not, when he so obviously felt insulted by her reluctance, as he must have felt when he heard of her agreement with her uncle? How that must have shocked him. If she hadn’t been so selfishly concerned with her own desires, she might have handled the situation with better grace, and considerably more delicacy.
Sir Myles Buxton must hate her now.
Mary arrived to help her dress, and soon enough mass was over and the fast broken. By then, a light snow was beginning to fall, and Giselle realized that all the guests would have to remain inside if the snow continued or grew worse. She quickly set about supervising the removal of the tables and ordering preparations for some simple games. She also thought it wise to tell Iestyn to have apples ready for roasting, and to heat some wine, in case a few of the hardier men decided to ride out, after all.
Once tha
t was done, she was forced to think about what she would do for the rest of the morning.
She could sit in the hall with the other noblewomen, sewing and exchanging meaningless pleasantries. Unfortunately, that would mean enduring Elizabeth and Alice’s pitying looks, and the constant sense that they were studiously avoiding any and all mention of Sir Myles, lest they wound her tender feelings.
Staying in the hall would also require her to meet the speculative gazes of the unmarried noblemen and to try to ignore their attempts to capture her attention.
Such a morning would surely tax her thinly worn patience past its limit. Therefore, she decided, she would get her cloak and go for a short walk, despite the snow.
The stones of the courtyard were already covered in a thick white carpet of snow when Giselle went out, and it was beginning to fall faster and thicker. Soon they would be in the midst of a blizzard, she realized, and so she dared not leave the castle, in case she got lost in a storm.
More disgruntled than ever, she began to turn back, pausing when she heard the portcullis rattling upward. Who could be coming at this time of day, and in such inclement weather?
The cloaked figure of a woman had no sooner appeared than the stranger rose from her saddle and emitted a squeal of recognition. “Giselle!”
Giselle gave a shocked gasp, then cried out, “Cecily!” and happily ran to meet her frantically waving friend.
Only to skitter to a stop when she saw who had ridden in behind Cecily. It was Sir Myles Buxton, who entered the courtyard as if he hadn’t departed without a single word of farewell to anyone and been gone these several days.
As a stable boy came running and took hold of the bridle of Cecily’s horse, Giselle tried to decipher Sir Myles’s inscrutable expression, to no avail. Behind him came a mounted troop of ten soldiers wearing the colors of the Louvains, Cecily’s husband’s family, as well as another packhorse, loaded down with so much baggage Giselle wondered how long Cecily meant to stay.
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