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‘Let me go!’ she cried. ‘Let me go!’
Her heart thumped as she fought to escape that iron grip. Then, just as she was certain matters could hardly get any worse, she was hoisted from her saddle and thumped face down—like a sack of wheat—in front of the knight. The wretch had shoved her across his saddle-bow.
The harness clinked and his horse began to move. The knight was abducting her! The blood rushed to her head, she could see the grey’s threshing forelegs, the ground rushing past—the grass, a daisy, a buttercup...
‘Who are you?’ she gasped, jolted by the movement of the horse. Dismayed as she was, she was certain this man was in some way connected with Jutigny. Who was he?
A large hand settled in the small of her back. She felt his fingers curling around her belt, holding her firm. ‘Never fear, I won’t hurt you. You’re safe.’
She knew herself to be outmatched, and a sob escaped her.
‘My lady, you are quite safe. You have my word.’ Amazingly, his voice sounded soothing.
‘Let me down!’
‘I’ll let you down when we are out of sight of the abbey. Be still, my lady.’
Chapter Two (#ulink_0eb01c5f-86fb-5eec-a356-de0bfa1facbb)
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.’
