A Warrior's Bride. Margaret Moore

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СКАЧАТЬ she recognized me, too?”

      “She must have, by the pennants.”

      “Yes, yes, of course,” George murmured. And if she did, he thought, what did she think of me?

      Although he did not believe he had acquitted himself poorly in their recent conversation, he had planned that this reunion of sorts be conducted with the utmost courtesy and formality—not an impromptu conversation through a hedge.

      What other young woman of his acquaintance could swear like the most battle-hardened foot soldier? What other marriageable noblewoman would be riding about the countryside alone, her hair as wild as a bird’s nest? Who else would pretend to be a peasant when meeting the man who was quite possibly going to be her future husband?

      “But, my lord—if you will forgive my saying so—why should you marry her? You can have your choice of several eligible young ladies of good family and fortune.”

      “My father thought an alliance with Sir Thomas and his sons a good idea, since they are a fractious bunch. If we are not allied, who knows what they might decide to do, once freed of their father’s restraining hand?” Indeed, he recalled Aileas’s brothers as a brood of rambunctious, combative louts seemingly bent on breaking one another’s bones.

      Sir Richard shifted uncomfortably in his saddle. “Surely they would never attack you!”

      “I doubt it, but since no particular young lady has captured my fancy, why not pay Sir Thomas a visit? There seems little harm in it.”

      “Or any great good, either,” Richard noted bluntly. He caught George’s eye and spoke with more deference. “Forgive me for asking this, my lord, but since your father is deceased, why...” He faltered and stopped.

      “Now that my father is dead, why should I honor his wishes after having avoided the marital state and ignored his suggestion for nearly fifteen years?” George asked for him.

      “Well, my lord, yes.”

      “Perhaps to fulfill his dying wish,” George replied truthfully. Then, because he disliked any conversation that threatened to become maudlin or sentimental, he grinned. “Nothing has been confirmed or signed. This is merely a neighborly sojourn.”

      “If I were not your steward, but a friend, I would urge you to use caution in the matter of this proposed marriage,” Richard said quietly.

      “You are my friend as well as my steward,” George replied sincerely. “And believe me, Richard, I shall be as cautious as I can.”

      “I am glad to hear it.”

      “The mist is clearing,” George noted. “We should be at the fork for the London road soon. You think you can conclude the matter of the taxes with dispatch?”

      “I believe so, my lord.”

      “Good. Otherwise, I shall be forced to take my estate’s business matters into my own hands, which will be most tedious.” He gave his steward a grin, and the man smiled in response.

      As they continued on their way in companionable silence, George thought of his recent encounter with the woman his father had wanted to be his wife. He knew little about Aileas, but he should have expected the unexpected. She had never been like other girls he had known.

      Maybe she had been too embarrassed by her appearance to admit who she was.

      Somehow, though, he doubted it, to judge by that secretive, mischievous grin. Besides, he had never seen Aileas embarrassed, not even that memorable day when he chased her for throwing apples at him and her skirt had gotten caught on a low branch. She had ripped her skirt to get away, revealing her long, bare legs.

      Were her legs still that long and slim? Was she still as fleet of foot as a deer?

      If she was, she was probably already home by now, announcing his arrival.

      George ran a hand through his rather too long hair. If Aileas wasn’t embarrassed by an unkempt appearance, he was. He had no desire to look anything remotely like a pauper when he reached Dugall Castle and once again faced Sir Thomas. For this reason—and only this reason, he told himself—he wore his finest scarlet tunic, his cloak trimmed with ermine, and had selected his best soldiers as his guard.

      They reached a fork in the road with a white cross marking the way to London. Once again George signaled the column to halt. “Well, Richard, here we must bid you adieu.”

      “Yes, my lord,” the steward acknowledged.

      “Godspeed.”

      “God go with you, my lord,” Sir Richard said, and he smiled warmly. “Since you are so kind as to call me friend, let me give you some friendly advice. Make no hasty decisions regarding a marriage.”

      George chuckled ruefully. “I have managed thus far without being chained in wedlock,” he said. “Trust me, then, when I tell you it will take more than my father’s wish to compel me to make such a momentous decision.”

      Sir Richard nodded and, with an escort of ten men, turned down the road for London, while Sir George de Gramercie headed for the large, imposing edifice rising out of the mist,

      

      Aileas skittered down the embankment and splashed her way across the ford. She scrambled up the other side and then dashed through the wood, along the path leading to the village outside her father’s castle. The grass was wet and slippery, so she could not run quite as quickly as she would have liked. Still, taking this route, she would easily be home before Sir George had even reached the mill.

      As she lightly leapt a fallen tree branch, she remembered the other well-dressed fellow’s face when she’d stuck her head through the hedge, and laughed out loud. How surprised he had looked!

      Hurrying on, she easily brushed aside the wet branches of oak and chestnut and beech, pausing in her swift progress only once to tuck her skirt, which she had hiked up the moment she had left the hedgerow, into the thick leather belt around her waist again. Then she was off, paying no heed to the mud coating her boots or the state of her clothes as she thought about her encounter with the man her father thought she should marry.

      George de Gramercie had not looked surprised when she stuck her head out of that hedgerow. Amused, perhaps, but not surprised. She had recognized him at once, of course, with his waving fair hair, bemused blue eyes and charming smile, although he was, in some ways, quite different from the youth she remembered.

      His face had grown thinner, more angled and less rounded. His body, too, was decidedly more muscular. Nevertheless, if she had not seen him, she would have known him by his voice, which was now more deeply masculine, yet still melodious, and always so very polite.

      Indeed, in manner, he didn’t appear to have changed very much. He had always been courteous, even to peasants, and so neatly attired that the few times he had come to Dugall Castle with his father, she had been so tempted to spoil his clothes that once she had thrown rotten apples at him until he had finally chased her out of the orchard.

      How angry he had been—so angry that she had actually been afraid of him and had torn her dress rather than face his wrath when he caught her.

      But he never had, and the next time she had seen him, СКАЧАТЬ