Page 18 of A Knight for Gwenllian

As she’d feared, her cousins had been more than reluctant to let her leave with only one escort, but she had not let herself be swayed. Hadn’t she come to England with only one of her father’s guards? By an extraordinary stroke of luck—if one could call it that—the Welshman had injured his foot while she was staying at Audley, rendering him unsuitable to accompany her on such a long journey. Gwenllian had insisted she did not need anyone else besides Alexander, who had already volunteered and was one of Christopher’s most trusted friends. After hearing about Alexander’s daring rescue, her cousin Rhian had argued that he seemed capable enough. If she could come to Sheridan Manor with only one man, she could go to Nead an Diabhail with another, equally reliable one.

Gwenllian had been too grateful for the support to wonder if Rhian suspected the attraction she felt for the dashing knight. One thing was sure. Had her uncle Matthew been here, she would never be here alone with Alexander. So she would make sure to enjoy the unexpected boon.

“Do you speak French as well as Welsh then?” Alexander asked as they rounded a thicket.

“Un petit peu. A little,” she added for his benefit when he cocked his head. “Our mother insisted we learn. But I will admit I’m not as good as she would like because I don’t really like speaking it.”

“Welsh suits you a lot better. It’s…less polished. I’m sorry, I don’t mean to say it is a barbaric language, far from it,” he hastened to add, as if fearing she would take offense.

But she had not. Though over the years she had heard many disparaging comments about the rough language, the coarse food and the uncivilized customs of her supposedly barbaric countrymen, she sensed Alexander was not one of these prejudiced people who considered the Welsh as a folk good only to be conquered. Besides, she knew exactly what he meant about her speaking French, and she agreed. It was too sophisticated a language for her, somehow, it did not allow her to be herself. In much the same way a beautifully embroidered gown that might look good would be too stiff to allow her to ride across fields as freely as she liked.

Such language and such clothes were good for the likes of Lady Isabeau, not her.

“Do you speak another language?” she asked Alexander.

“Apart from the Latin I use in the managing of my estate, no. Even then, I wouldn’t say I speak it. I merely understand the legal documents required to be an efficient administrator.” He sighed. “I’m afraid I’m rather boring.”

“There is nothing boring about you!” Gwenllian interposed. Quite the opposite. He was the most exciting man she had ever met, as dashing as his friend Christopher, as fiercely protective as her other brother-in-law, Griffin, more handsome than the two of them put together, as dark and brooding as they were blond and sunny.

“Oh? Tell me more.”

She reddened, realizing how her vehemence must have sounded. “I don’t think I should, as it might inflate your opinion of yourself.”

Far from being chastened, he shot her a dazzling smile. “Now, if your opinion of me is that good, I might well force you to tell me more.”

Force her? How? And would she really hate to find out? She was not sure, because she had the dizzying impression that he intended to kiss the truth out of her. That thought caused her insides to flutter in anticipation. A kiss from the dark knight would be the best way to start her adventure, would it not? It would be passionate, languorous, decadent.

Sinful.

He threw her a look that seemed to indicate he was thinking the same thing, and he was more than ready to indulge her.

Just then, as if to help them regain their composure, they reached a stream, and the steep slope leading to the water obliged them to concentrate on the managing of their mounts. By the time they had crossed the stream, Gwenllian’s embarrassment was forgotten. All that was left was the pleasure of the ride with her handsome escort.

The first part of her adventure. Where would it take her?

Nodding at one another, Gwenllian and Alexander gave their horses their head.

Chapter Seven

“Isobel? Is that you?”

Gwenllian turned her head at the question aimed at her. She and Alexander had stopped to water the horses and have something to eat and thought themselves alone. Apparently, they had been wrong. A man was staggering toward her, his gaze wandering up and down her frame, as if in prey to a vision. It was clear that he was taking her for this “Isobel,” whoever she may be.

Unsure what to do, she threw a glance at Alexander, who was frowning. It was the first incident they had encountered since they had left Sheridan Manor three days ago.

“What’s this?” he mumbled under his breath. His hand had gone to the hilt of his sword, an automatic gesture she recognized from the men in her family.

“Isobel!” The man had reached them by now.

“I’m sorry, I’m not⁠—”

“Oh, Isobel, you’re back! At last!”

The man fell into her arms, sobbing. Gwenllian was so confused she did not even try to push him away. Alexander, however, was not so easily impressed. He yanked the man out of her embrace and forced him to take a few steps back. It was obvious that, had the man been younger or more menacing, he would have unsheathed his sword by now.

“Easy, there, old man, the lady is not who you think she is. She doesn’t know you.”

“It’s all right,” she soothed. The stranger was still crying and shaking his head, as if he couldn’t believe he was not able to hold her in his arms. His distress was hard to bear.