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Eleanor leaned forward and stared at the steward, watching his reaction as a fox might watch a rabbit. Her sudden movement caught Rudhale’s attention. His eyes slid to Eleanor’s and widened as he obviously realised the conclusion she had arrived at. He shook his head in a gesture of denial. The movement was so small as to be almost imperceptible, but his meaning was clear. He was aware of Anne’s feelings, but did not reciprocate them.
Rudhale smiled politely at Anne, his hands stiffly by his side. ‘I’m sorry, Miss Anne,’ he said formally. ‘I hope you enjoy your ride, but I have so much to do today after arriving back so late yesterday evening.’ His tone was polite, but his face showed none of the vitality it had contained when he had demanded the kiss on the ferry. Eleanor sat back against the window frame, her shoulders dropping slightly with relief. Anne sighed with dissatisfaction.
‘Perhaps your sister will accompany you,’ Rudhale suggested, smiling at Eleanor with a good degree more warmth than he had her sister.
‘She can’t. She’s injured her foot,’ Anne replied. She sighed heavily. ‘Ah well, I shall have to ride alone and hope I encounter a dashing horseman like Eleanor did yesterday!’
Eleanor’s mouth dropped open at her sister’s indiscreet words. Rudhale’s eyes lit up and he looked at her with interest.
‘Those were not my words as well you are aware, Anne,’ Eleanor said sharply. Her stomach curled with embarrassment. The thought that Rudhale might believe she had described him as such was excruciating. ‘I think I shall return to my room. I have some business to attend to.’ She lowered her feet to the floor, wincing slightly. Anne moved to help her, but Rudhale stepped forward.
‘Allow me to assist you, Lady Peyton,’ Rudhale said gallantly. ‘It would be a shame for your sister to delay her ride.’ He held an arm out to her.
Eleanor opened her mouth to refuse him, but changed her mind. The necessity of needing his help won out over her reluctance to be in his company. They walked silently side by side, Rudhale supporting her weight as though she was little more than a child. He slipped his arm around her waist as she leaned heavily against him. His hips brushed against hers and the contours of his broad chest were unmistakable through his tunic. Try as she might, Eleanor could not ignore the way her heartbeat quickened at his touch.
‘I thought you were leaving today,’ she muttered as they left the Great Hall.
‘Other matters prevented me going personally so I sent a messenger. I trust dinner lived up to your expectations last night, Lady Peyton?’ Rudhale asked as they walked slowly along the corridor.
‘Perfectly, Master Rudhale,’ Eleanor said coolly, ‘Though I’ll admit they were low to begin with.’
Rudhale stopped walking. He cocked his head, a small frown furrowing his brow. ‘How so, my lady?’ he asked. ‘You do me an injustice.’
‘An injustice?’ Eleanor folded her arms across her chest and gave a short laugh of disbelief. ‘What indication have you given me that you are anything more than an irresponsible fool?’ she asked scathingly. ‘Your behaviour yesterday was hardly to your credit. Leaving aside the injury you caused me, if my father knew what you had demanded do you think you would continue in his employment for long?’
Rudhale’s gaze became iron hard. ‘Contrary to what my appearance might suggest I am not in the habit of “demanding”. I merely suggested it because when a beautiful woman ended up in my arms it would be foolish not to!’ He crossed his own arms and planted his feet apart, mirroring Eleanor’s stance. ‘And you did not tell Sir Edgar what happened when you had the opportunity,’ he pointed out. ‘Why is that? What stopped you revealing my improper behaviour? It can’t be simply because you thought me dashing, though I owe you thanks for that compliment.’
A knot of irritation blocked Eleanor’s throat, choking her retort. Truly the man was more arrogant than she had believed possible! ‘Believe me, Master Rudhale, I do not find your behaviour “dashing”. That was my sister’s word as I already explained. Nothing could be further from the truth.’
Rudhale was grinning again. Really, did the man find everything in life amusing?
Eleanor smoothed her hair back, conscious that she was losing her composure in front of him.
‘I did not tell my father purely for my own ends. I have spent too long battling to be allowed my independence for some fool to ruin that for me. The fact it benefitted you is purely coincidental. Now you may help me to my room or leave me to manage by myself, but I do not wish to speak of this any further.’
* * *
Lady Peyton began to limp away, leaving Will staring at her slender back. The encounter was not going how he had pictured it when he had first seen her in the Great Hall. He had congratulated himself on succeeding in getting her alone so quickly, but he had not anticipated her being quite so cold. Seeing his chance to lay the groundwork for the wager about to disappear, Will caught her by the arm. She glared at him once again. He held his hands up and fixed her with a disarming smile.
‘I think it is fair to say we did not begin on the best footing, my lady,’ he said, inclining his head towards her ankle. Her face softened at his jest, but she bit her lip, as though she was amused, but did not want to admit such a thing. He stored the information away for future use.
‘Shall we start again?’ he asked. Lady Peyton said nothing, but when he held an arm out again she took it. A small thrill of victory ran through Will. Their progress to Lady Peyton’s chamber was slow, but that gave him all the more time to win her over.
‘I noticed when you came to dinner that you were limping. Is it very painful?’ Will asked, filling his voice with concern. ‘I hope it doesn’t interrupt your activities too greatly, though I’m afraid it will stop you riding for a few days at least.’
Lady Peyton shook her head. ‘It aches, but I have no plans to ride,’ she replied.
‘I hope it is better before the midwinter feast. It would be a shame if you could not dance.’
‘I don’t dance,’ she answered, bowing her head and increasing her speed slightly. In the dimly lit corridor her face was obscured by shadows, but something in her tone caught Will’s attention. A hint of regret nestling amongst the aloofness, he thought.
‘I thought all ladies could dance,’ he said, raising one eyebrow.
The muscle in her arm tightened involuntarily under his. ‘I didn’t say I couldn’t. I choose not to,’ she said curtly before lapsing into silence.
They had reached her bedchamber. Lady Peyton untwined her arm from Will’s and opened the door. A crumpled green-velvet coverlet was visible on the bed and Will’s mind began to wander down paths it shouldn’t. Moving a touch closer, he rested one arm on the door frame and bent his head over Lady Peyton, fixing her with the intense gaze that never failed to leave his targets breathless with desire.
‘Lady Peyton, I owe you an apology,’ he breathed huskily. ‘What I did on the ferry...what I asked of you...I was wrong to do so.’ Her green eyes widened in surprise. This was almost too easy. ‘I have no excuse other than that I was swept away by your beauty.’
Will dropped his eyes to the ground as though ashamed, before raising them to look at her once more through half-closed lids. Instead of the rapt expression he expected, Lady Peyton looked outraged.
‘Swept away?’ she said disdainfully. ‘It’s fortunate indeed your horse did not miss his landing if you are swept away so easily!’
‘I mean no offence,’ Will answered calmly. ‘It is a compliment to you that I was overcome by sentiments stronger than my sense of propriety.’
‘I want no such compliments, Master Rudhale,’ Lady Peyton exclaimed. Two pink spots appeared enticingly on her cheeks. ‘If I must suffer to live under the same roof as you, the greatest compliment you can pay me is to believe me when I say I wish you to stay out of my presence as much as possible.’ She spun on her heel and half-flung herself into the room, slamming the door behind her.
Will stood alone in the corridor, scarcely able to believe what had just happened. He fought back a laugh of glee. Truly she was wonderful.
There had not been a woman yet who had resisted Will’s attempts at seduction—few even tried. Now he was more determined than ever that a woman as captivating as Eleanor Peyton would not be the first!
Chapter Five (#ulink_94e10bab-a1bc-5e07-9e32-eea3e2f3cd59)
Her heart thumping, Eleanor banged the door closed behind her and leaned back heavily as though Rudhale might attempt to barge his way through at any moment. She raised a hand to her neck and was unsurprised to feel her skin hot to the touch, a telltale prickle of a blush creeping across her chest. Her hand was trembling and she clenched her fist tight.
Jennet was emptying Eleanor’s travelling chest with her back to the door. At the sound she jumped, her head twisting round to where her mistress stood.
‘You startled me, my lady. Is something the matter?’ she asked in alarm.
Eleanor smiled faintly at the absurdity of her behaviour and shook her head. The steward might be egotistical and his words far too personal for comfort, but there was no reason to suspect he would commit so violent an indiscretion. Really, she was not herself this morning.
She crossed the room and sank on to the low folding stool in front of her window, rummaging on the ledge among the boxes until she found the green glass bottle containing her favourite scented oil. She dabbed a drop on her temples, inhaling the fresh aroma of lemon balm, and slowly her composure returned.
Jennet came and knelt at her side. ‘My lady, do you remember the man on the ferry—?’ she began. Eleanor cut her words off before she could continue.
‘I know.’ She nodded. She took Jennet’s hands. ‘You must not tell anyone what happened. I have spoken to him and told him I will not discuss the matter again...’
Her voice trailed off as she thought back to the conversation. Never before had she spoken in such a manner to anyone, least of all a man! She reminded herself that until she met the steward there had never been any cause to do so.
Even so, she could not blot out the vision of Rudhale’s eyes penetrating her with such open, honest desire. He had made his attraction perfectly clear and it unsettled Eleanor deeply. Even more troubling was the constriction in her belly whenever she was in his presence, as though a fist was wrapping her stomach around itself and pulling her closer to his reach whether she willed it or not.
‘My lady?’ Jennet prompted.
Eleanor realised with a start that she had been staring at the wall, seeing nothing for who knew how long. She shook her head and smiled at Jennet.
‘I could not have made myself any clearer. If Master Rudhale has anything of the gentleman about him, that should be the end of it,’ she finished.
Drawing a deep breath she picked up a book and began to read. Becoming engrossed in the subject, she soon forgot about Rudhale. When a knock at the door brought her mind back to the present, it never even occurred to her to worry whom it might be.
Jennet rushed to the door and the wise-woman from Tawstott Town followed her into the room. Eleanor beamed at the thickset, wispy-haired woman dressed in black. Joan Becket had brought all of Lady Fitzallan’s children into the world. A close friend of Lady Fitzallan, she still maintained an interest in the lives of the three who had survived.
Crossing the room, she curtsied to Eleanor and kissed her hand. ‘Eleanor, good to see you again. Someone told me you’ve got yourself injured.’ Mistress Becket smiled.
Eleanor’s hand instinctively moved to her ankle. Mistress Becket’s eyes followed her action and she nodded.
‘Well, let me have a look and I’ll see what I can do.’
Eleanor lifted her foot on to a stool and unrolled her stocking. Anne must have told their mother, of course. The girl was incapable of keeping anything a secret. Eleanor frowned to herself. No doubt she would be called to explain what had happened before long.
The examination was quick and a mild sprain the verdict. Mistress Becket smeared a foul-smelling poultice of crushed comfrey and nettle leaves over Eleanor’s ankle. She bound it tightly with thin straps of flannel and stood back with a smile.
‘Walk lightly for the next few days. Borrow a stick from your father and you won’t have to spend your days hiding away in here.’
Eleanor reached for the purse that lay on her table, but Mistress Becket held up her hands.
‘The payment has already been settled,’ she told Eleanor as she wiped the remaining mixture on a cloth and packed it into her basket.
‘Did Mother pay you?’ Eleanor asked, surprised.
The old woman’s eyes twinkled. ‘Not her,’ she said with a grin.
‘Who, then?’ Eleanor asked curiously. Mistress Becket’s fees were not cheap and Anne was unlikely to have the funds or inclination to pay. Becket smiled as she reached the door.
‘Why, by the person who asked me to attend you, of course,’ she said with another grin. ‘Master Rudhale.’
Eleanor leaned back in her chair, her mind in a whirl. She ordered Jennet to find her a crutch as the wise-woman had recommended. She could barely contain herself while she waited. The words on the page jumbled themselves in disordered sentences. She tried to calm herself with embroidery, but found the threads knotting under her touch. Twice she stabbed her finger and she finally flung the cloth on to the bed and settled for staring out of the window at the clouding sky until the maid returned.
* * *
Eleanor found the steward in the rear courtyard supervising deliveries of grain. He had his back to Eleanor and at first was unaware of her presence. She had intended to confront him immediately, but instead held back, curious to see him at work. She watched as he gave orders to the two servants. He spoke in a quiet voice and from the expressions on the faces of the other men he commanded their respect. He stood with his wax tablet in hand, tallying up the sacks as they were hefted from the delivery carts and carried into the granary.
The sky had been darkening steadily and large drops of rain began to fall. Rudhale slipped his note tablet into the leather satchel that crossed his chest and, joining the two servants, hefted a sack across his shoulder. He lifted the burden without apparent effort and an unexpected shiver ran along through the length of Eleanor’s body as she recalled him lifting her equally as easily on the ferry.
Despite the bitter coldness of the day, he was wearing no cloak over his wool doublet and the contours of his torso were evident beneath the slim-fitting garment. An unwilling smile formed on Eleanor’s lips as she watched. Rudhale turned towards the granary and noticed Eleanor for the first time. The steward’s expression had been one of concentration, but as he saw Eleanor his eyes widened and his face relaxed into a grin. She forced the smile from her face, unwilling for him to see it. Still carrying his sack, he strode to Eleanor.
‘I did not expect to see you here, my lady,’ he said in surprise. ‘Is there anything I can help you with?’
‘I need to speak to you,’ Eleanor said firmly.
Rudhale glanced at the sky. ‘As you can see I am rather occupied and you are at risk of getting a soaking for the second day running. Might I suggest you return to the house and I will find you once I am done?’
Eleanor folded her arms and looked at him defiantly. ‘No, I want to speak to you now. Leave the men to work without you.’
To Eleanor’s surprise Rudhale shook his head. ‘No, I’m sorry, Lady Peyton, but this is too important. I cannot afford to have a month’s worth of grain drenched, even for you.’
He walked to the granary, his shoulders set under the weight of his burden. Eleanor watched him go, his dedication to the task unexpected. She took a step back towards the house, then wavered. The rain was coming down faster now. She had no wish to get wet, but no man would order her around in that fashion. She stood her ground, leaning on the stick for support and wishing she had brought a cloak.
Rudhale returned from the building empty handed after a few moments and found her still standing there. With a stern look he dipped his hand into his satchel and handed the wax tablet to her.
‘Stay if you must, but if you insist on waiting at least be of assistance to me.’ He nodded his head towards the granary. ‘Stand in the entrance and tally the sacks.’ He walked on without waiting for her response and heaved another sack from the cart on to his shoulder.
Eleanor wavered, her pride rebelling at the way he ordered her, but if she returned to the house she did not know when they might meet again so she made her way to the granary and stood inside the entrance of the stone building. She did as Rudhale asked, adding her own precise marks next to the neat lines of his tallies. Her sense of organisation took over and she happily instructed the servants and steward how best to proceed. The cart was soon emptied and the sacks stacked neatly on the stone shelves in the granary.
After a few words of thanks, Rudhale sent the cart driver and servants on their way. He walked back to Eleanor and stood beside her, brushing his hands briskly down the length of his arms and torso to brush the worst of the rain off. Eleanor found herself following the movement closely. She raised her eyes to meet his. Droplets of water glistened in his beard and hair. He cocked his head to one side and ran a hand through his hair, watching Eleanor closely. She held the tablet out and he took it. His fingers touching lightly against her hand for the briefest moment and Eleanor shivered.
‘Thank you for your help,’ Rudhale said. ‘You have saved me a degree of trouble. I am in your debt.’ He walked into the granary and shifted a sack further on to the shelf.
His words reminded Eleanor why she had come and she followed him inside. The storeroom was shadowy, the only light from the open door and the small holes around each wall. The air was sweet with the scent of grain and she took a deep breath.
‘It is I who am in your debt,’ Eleanor said. ‘I have come to settle it now.’ Her hand moved to the pouch on her girdle. ‘How much did Mistress Becket charge you?’
Rudhale raised an eyebrow at her words. ‘You owe me nothing,’ he said. ‘I summoned her to attend you. I will pay for it.’
‘I didn’t ask you to do that.’ Eleanor put her hands on her hips and glared at him. ‘What right do you have to act on my behalf in such a way?’
Rudhale moved closer to her. ‘I did it because I could see you were in pain and did not believe you would take care of it yourself. I’m right, aren’t I?’
Eleanor’s mouth dropped open. She closed it quickly and took a step back, surprised at the gentleness in his voice. ‘Even so, that is no business of yours.’
‘The responsibility for the injury was mine,’ Rudhale said firmly. ‘The decision to ask Mistress Becket was mine. The cost will be mine also.’
Eleanor dug her hand into her pouch and produced a groat. She held it out to Rudhale. He folded his arms and set his jaw, eyeing Eleanor defiantly.
‘Take it, for goodness’ sake,’ she exclaimed, her temper rising. ‘I don’t want your money. I can afford to take care of my own affairs.’
‘Your father pays me well. I am not as poor as you suppose,’ Rudhale said scornfully.
‘That isn’t what I meant!’ Eleanor grimaced as she realised how her words must have sounded. She lowered her voice and said, ‘I refuse to be under obligation to any man.’
At her tone Rudhale’s expression changed. He looked at her quizzically. ‘There is no dishonour in doing so,’ he said, his voice earnest. He looked away as though deep in thought, and when his blue eyes slid back to Eleanor’s they gleamed. Eleanor’s throat tightened.
‘If you wish to repay me, you could do so in another manner,’ Rudhale suggested. ‘As your ankle will be healed soon, you can dance with me on the night of the midwinter feast.’
A long-buried sense of yearning struggled inside Eleanor. The now-familiar sense of indignation she felt in his presence fought back. The indignation won. She squeezed the coin tightly into her hand.
‘I told you before, I never dance. I certainly won’t with you.’
‘Why not?’ Rudhale moved closer again and this time Eleanor did not move away. Rudhale lowered his voice. ‘Are you ashamed to be seen with a servant, or is it my face that prevents you?’
‘Neither!’ Eleanor cried indignantly. ‘Do you imagine me so proud?’
‘What are you afraid will happen if you do?’ Rudhale breathed.
Eleanor swallowed. ‘I am afraid of nothing,’ she said boldly. She ignored the voice that whispered how much of a falsehood her denial was and looked him squarely in the face. She held the coin in front of her once more. When the steward ignored it, Eleanor placed it on the shelf beside the grain sacks.
‘Since my marriage ended I have looked after myself. I do not intend to cease now. Take the money or leave it. It’s all the same to me.’ She walked out of the granary and back to the house, using all her willpower not to turn to check if Rudhale had picked up the coin.
* * *
