A Warrior's Bride. Margaret Moore
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and let out a bellow of frustration. Sir George leaned over to help him to his feet, then whispered something in Rufus’s ear. They both burst out laughing.
“I’m glad you are such fast friends,” Aileas muttered as she turned on her heel and marched away, determined to find her father, tell him what she had seen, and even more determined to be quite cool and composed when she went riding with Sir George, for only a coward would run away and hide from an opponent.
Yes, Sir George was her enemy, for it was Rufus she wanted, despite Sir George’s winning ways.
Having changed his less-than-pristine tunic for another in a more sombre shade of blue, George sauntered toward the stable, his mood quite pleasant. He had undoubtedly proved his prowess as a swordsman to Aileas that morning. Now she would know that while Rufus might have the advantage of size, he had the advantage of skill and experience.
Not that he need fear any competition from Rufus. Not anymore.
He smiled to himself as he thought of the pile of linen he had found on the stool in his bedchamber. Someone had been in his room, and he could guess who—someone who had apparently investigated his scented soap, a costly indulgence all the way from Constantinople.
Sir Thomas’s cowed pages or any other servant would surely never dare to touch any of a guest’s personal belongings, let alone unwrap one.
Aileas would face no such strictures. Indeed, he could believe she would disobey almost any rule that did not apply directly to her.
Therefore, Aileas had investigated his soap. Perhaps even lifted it gingerly to her shapely nose and smelled it.
He wondered if she liked the scent, then grinned. She had to, if for no other reason than it would be a most pleasant change from the host of unpleasant odors lingering in the hall, the result of too many unwashed bodies.
What else had she touched in his room? What did she think of the bed? Had it crossed her mind that she could share it with him? That together they could sink into its soft depths, while he kissed and. caressed and made love with her?
God’s holy rood, he had better get control of his thoughts, George thought wryly, or he was going to be most uncomfortable in the saddle!
He rounded the corner of the stable and saw Aileas already astride a huge black stallion. He quickened his pace and smiled when she spotted him. “Is that the beast that so callously abandoned you yesterday?” he asked jovially.
“This is Demon,” she acknowledged, her expression inscrutable.
As if in answer to its name or to prove its worthiness, the horse started to prance impatiently.
George was very impressed with the ease with which Aileas maintained control over the animal. “We missed you at the noon meal.”
“I wasn’t hungry.”
“Your father did not join us, either,” he noted.
“No,” she said with a frown. “Apparently he has gone after poachers. He won’t be back until the evening.”
“I pity the man who dares to poach on his lands.”
“So you should,” she answered coolly.
“If you excuse me, I’ll fetch my horse.” Before he could enter the stable, however, a groom came out leading his own stallion, a brown horse nearly a hand smaller than Demon. “This is Apollo,” he said by way of introduction as he swung himself into the saddle. “Shall we?”
“By all means,” Aileas replied, and then she punched her heels into the sides of her horse, which leapt into a gallop.
George stared, dumbfounded, as she rode out of the gate at a breakneck pace, soldiers and servants scattering in her path. Then, with a determined expression, he urged his own horse forward, calling out his apologies to the people as he galloped after her.
Aileas led him a merry chase, first along the main road through the village, sending the villagers running as she had those in the castle, then across the muddy fields, where peasants were sowing the first crops, before galloping along a woodland path that bordered the river.
Despite her horse’s speed and the rough course, she kept glancing over her shoulder, obviously seeing if he was keeping up. He was—barely.
They crossed a large meadow on the side of a hill where several sheep were grazing, until the progress of the two riders interrupted them. The animals bleated in alarm and scattered. A young shepherd, startled out of an afternoon’s slumber, jumped to his feet and stared at them.
Aileas and her horse plunged into a wood at the top of the hill. As George and Apollo entered the sheltered gloom, George told himself this chase was madness. He was risking his horse and his neck following the headstrong Aileas, who obviously knew the terrain well. If she wanted to behave in such an immature way, he decided as he pulled his horse to a halt, let her. As for him, he was getting hot and upset, two states he deplored.
Then he saw Aileas’s horse slow. She slipped from its back and, with a challenging glance, led it into a group of willow trees, beside a stream or creek, no doubt.
He was thirsty, he realized, and a cool drink would do wonders toward restoring his equanimity, so he, too, dismounted and followed her through the trees. There was indeed a babbling brook there, and he saw her horse drinking. Tethering Apollo to one of the willows where he could still reach the brook, George looked around for her.
“You ride well.”
Startled by the voice coming from behind him, he turned to find her leaning against one of the willows, her face slightly hidden by the slender, budding branches, her arms crossed and her expression as disgruntled as her tone had been.
“So do you, but I don’t think the guards, the villagers or the peasants trying to sow their crop would appreciate that fact.”
She scowled as she pushed herself from the tree and came toward him, moving aside the curtain of branches. “I don’t want to marry you,” she announced.
“Really?” he replied with a calmness distinctly at odds with the way he felt.
“No, I don’t,” she said firmly, planting herself defiantly in front of him.
“Well, I certainly cannot accuse you of playing the flirtatious maid with me. Might I inquire why my proposal is to be rejected before I even make it?”
“Isn’t it enough that I don’t want you?”
He fought to subdue his anger at her sarcastic tone. “Your father approves of the match and there are certain facts in my favor,” he remarked, turning away from her and going to the brook. He picked up some pebbles and tossed them into the water as he counted off the reasons why she should want him. “I am wealthy. I am generous. I would treat you well. I am on good terms with several powerful lords. I am not without some personal attributes that I have been told women find appealing.”
“Don’t forget vain and dissolute,” she said with a sternness that would have done credit to her father as she came to stand beside him.
He raised his eyebrows in a gesture of surprise that masked his growing vexation. “These are serious charges, my lady. I suppose you think me vain because I like fine clothes, and dissolute because I prefer to make my surroundings as pleasing to the eye and comfortable to the body as possible. If your family prefers a spartan existence, that is their right, just as it is mine to spend my money how I choose.
“While I see no reason to justify how I spend my money to you if we are not to marry, I will say, in my defense, that I never exceed my income, I always pay whatever taxes my overlord and the king require of me, and I have never been in debt.”
Her gaze faltered for the briefest of moments, then she raised her chin to glare at him again. “I think the way you waste your money is a sin!”
“Think what you will, my lady,” he said, facing the defiant,