Page 10 of A Knight for Gwenllian

“That makes no sense.”

“Doesn’t it?”

“No,” he said bluntly.

“Perhaps not,” she admitted. “But I thought that if you knew who I was, you would know I was your friend Christopher’s little sister.”

“And? Why would that be a problem?”

Because I want you to see me as a woman you could seduce, not a silly little girl.

“Because… I don’t know why,” she finished feebly. “I just didn’t want it.”

“I suppose you were overwhelmed after the assault. It makes sense.”

It did, but she knew that was not the reason.

Silence fell into the room. Then, to her shock, Alexander gave a deep bow. “Well, Lady Gwenllian, it is lovely to meet you at last.”

She smiled, relieved that he was not mad at her deception, even more relieved that he didn’t seem to have changed his opinion of her. “I preferred it when you called me Buttercup.”

“I didn’t. It didn’t suit you in the least. I realized it last night.”

He said that almost fiercely, as if he were angry at himself. Her insides quivered. What did he mean by that? She wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

“I’m sorry. Well, you can call me Gwenllian now.”

“I can try at least,” he said with a side smile.

Her smile broadened. She knew her name, with its very Welsh pronunciation, was difficult to attempt for English people. “You can try.”

“Shall we eat while we get properly acquainted?” he suggested, gesturing to the trestle table in the corner. Just like the previous evening, it had been laden with food, ready for his return.

“Yes,” she said, grateful the news of her deception had been so well-received. It would seem that Sir Alexander Rathbone was a generous, forgiving soul, as well as a sinfully handsome man.

They sat in the same place as the previous evening. An enormous meat pie was taking pride of place in the middle of the table, surrounded by a colorful array of pickled onions, turnips and beets. On one side of the impressive dish, they found chunks of cheese and slices of bread, on the other, various small bowls filled with dried apple, raisins and sweet biscuits. It was obvious that this feast had been prepared on Alexander’s orders. The problem was, there was enough food for six. It made her smile. Generous indeed.

“What are you doing here, then, Gwenllian? I thought you lived mainly in Wales, like the rest of the family.”

She was delighted at his attempt at her name, which he had said almost perfectly. “I’m on my way to Scotland, like I told you yesterday.”

“Any reason in particular? Such a trip is quite an undertaking.”

“Yes. Actually.”

He arched a brow, amused. “Would you care to share it?”

“I would,” she answered in the same tone. After hiding her identity, she was determined not to keep anything from him. He’d asked, so he would be told all about her plan, whether he liked it or not. Talking about it out loud and seeing another person’s reaction would help her feel it was really happening. “You see, I am destined to end my life in Wales, in the place where I was born, unmarried,” she started, “so I thought I would explore the world while I was young, live a little.”

He frowned. “What do you mean by ‘destined’ to remain in Wales? And how can you know for sure you’ll be unmarried? Are you about to join the holy orders?”

Holy orders? Gwenllian shivered at the thought of living in a convent. That would be a hundred times worse than living with Rhys. She might never get married, but at Castell Esgyrn at least she would be free to experience passion in a man’s arms and be with her family.

“No. Heaven forbid. I have no intention of becoming a nun.” She picked a raisin and twirled it between her thumb and forefinger. “And, in truth, I don’t mind staying for the rest of my life in Wales, as I love my country.”

“So?” Alexander picked a raisin and mimicked her gesture.

“So, old Myfanwy, told me I would live my life surrounded by bones and I⁠—”