Elisabeth Hobbes - A Wager for the Widow

She saw the horseman lunge towards her, felt his fingers close about her wrist. She gave a sharp cry as her shoulder jolted painfully and her feet slid on the deck. Cold spray splashed over her face as her head fell back, her free fingers brushing the surface of the water.

‘Take hold of me quickly. I can’t stay like this for ever,’ the rider ordered, tightening his grip on her wrist.

Eleanor raised her head to find herself staring up into a pair of blue eyes half-hidden in the depths of the voluminous hood. The rider was leaning along the length of his horse’s neck, body twisted towards Eleanor at what seemed an impossible angle. She fumbled her free hand to clutch on to his arm and he hauled her back to her feet. As she stood upright a spear of pain shot through Eleanor’s ankle. She gave an involuntary gasp and her knees buckled.

With the same speed as his initial rescue, the rider threw his leg across the saddle and dismounted with a thud. His arms found their way round Eleanor’s waist, catching her tight and clasping her to him before she slipped to the ground.

‘I’ve got you. Don’t wriggle!’

The man’s hood fell back and Eleanor saw him clearly for the first time. He was younger than his voice had suggested. A long scar ran from the outside corner of his eye and across his cheek, disappearing beneath a shaggy growth of beard at his jaw. A second ran parallel from below his eye to his top lip. His corn-coloured hair fell in loose tangles to his shoulder. Close up his eyes were startlingly blue.

Footsteps thundered on the deck as Eleanor’s coachman appeared. It struck Eleanor suddenly that the man was still holding her close, much closer than was necessary, in fact. She became conscious of the rise and fall of his chest, moving rhythmically against her own. Her heart was thumping so heavily she was sure he would be able to feel it through her clothing. As to why it was beating so rapidly she refused to think about.

‘You can let go of me now,’ she muttered.

The horseman’s eyes crinkled. ‘I could,’ he said, ‘though I just saved your life. There must be some benefits to rescuing a beautiful maiden in distress and holding her until she stops shaking is one of them. I suppose a kiss of gratitude is out of the question?’

‘You didn’t save my life. I can swim,’ Eleanor cried indignantly. It was true she was trembling, but now it was from anger. ‘I am most certainly not kissing you!’

The man’s forehead crinkled in disbelief. ‘Even though I saved you from a cold bath?’

Eleanor’s cheeks flamed. ‘It was your fault in the first instance, you reckless fool. You could have capsized us all. Your horse might have missed completely.’

The horseman laughed. ‘Nonsense, it was perfectly safe. Tobias could have cleared twice that distance. If you had stood still none of this would have happened. You panicked.’

With an irritated snort Eleanor pushed herself from the man’s grip, contriving to elbow him sharply in the stomach as she did so. She heard a satisfying grunt as she turned her back. She headed to the carriage, but her ankle gave a sharp stab of pain. She stopped, balling her fists in irritation. The horseman leaned round beside her. ‘Allow me,’ he said and before Eleanor could object he had lifted her into his arms and strode the three paces to the carriage. With one hand on the door handle he cocked his head. ‘Still no kiss? Ah, well, it’s a cruel day!’

‘There are no circumstances under which I would kiss you!’ Eleanor said haughtily, sweeping her gaze up and down him.

His face darkened and Eleanor took the opportunity to wriggle from his arms. Biting her lip to distract herself from the throbbing in her ankle, she swung the door open herself and climbed inside, slamming it loudly behind her.

Surreptitiously she peered through the gap in the curtains while Jennet fussed around exclaiming with horror at Eleanor’s brush with death. The horseman was facing the river, deep in conversation with Eleanor’s driver.

‘Who do you think he could be?’ Jennet asked curiously.

The heat rose to Eleanor’s face at the memory of the man’s arms about her waist. Baldwin had never held her so tightly or so close.

‘I have no idea,’ she replied icily. ‘Nor do I care. How dare he blame me for what happened and to hold me in such a manner! If my father was here he would have the wretch horsewhipped for daring to lay a finger on me!’

She flung herself back against the seat and shut the curtains firmly, not opening them until the ferry had come to a halt and she heard the clatter of hooves as the rider left the craft.

At least he had the sense not to jump off as well , she thought, breathing a sigh of relief that she would not have to encounter the stranger again.

* * *

The stars were out by the time they reached the long road that lead to Tawstott Mote, Sir Edgar’s manor that lay beyond the market town bearing the same name. Eleanor could not suppress a smile. Every year she resisted returning, yet there was something in the sight of lamps glowing in the windows of the long, stone building that brought a lump to her throat whenever she saw them. As they crossed over the moat and into the courtyard she leaned forward, anxious to catch a first glimpse of the heavy oak door standing invitingly open.

Her mother was waiting in the Outer Hall. Lady Fitzallan gave sharp orders for a bath to be prepared and would hear no protestations from Eleanor.

‘Your father is in his library at the moment. His business should be finished with by the time you’re presentable,’ she told her daughter as she ushered her up the broad staircase.

* * *

Half an hour later, clean and warm, Eleanor knocked softly on the north-wing door to Sir Edgar’s library and walked in.

Two men were sitting together at either side of the fire. Sir Edgar’s face broke into a wide beam at the sight of his daughter. Eleanor’s eyes passed from her father to the face of his guest and her skin prickled with a sudden chill. His gaudy cloak had vanished and his hair was combed smooth, but even so Eleanor would have recognised the horseman anywhere.

Chapter Two

‘Ah, Eleanor, it’s good to see you again, my dear,’ Sir Edgar Fitzallan cried. The Baron of Tawstott strode across the room and kissed Eleanor warmly on both cheeks. Eleanor dropped into a formal curtsy before embracing her father tightly. All resentment at being summoned home melted away as he enveloped her in a hug.

The rider had jumped to his feet upon Eleanor’s arrival, his eyes widening the slightest fraction as he looked at her. Could he be as surprised as she herself was at coming face-to-face again? He swept a low, elegant bow as Eleanor stared at him over her father’s shoulder. His head was down now, hiding his face from view, but she could all too clearly remember the way his eyes had glinted when he’d held her in his arms.

With difficulty Eleanor tore her eyes away from the stranger, her mind whirling as she tried to fathom why he was in her father’s house. He had mentioned having business to conduct before he jumped his horse on to the ferry, but at the time it had not occurred to Eleanor to wonder where he was travelling. If he had dealings with the baron, she hoped it would be concluded quickly and he would be gone before long.

‘Forgive me for intruding, Father,’ she said quickly. ‘I did not realise you had a guest. I will leave you in peace and come back after he has left.’

Eleanor made to leave the room, but Sir Edgar tugged her back.

‘There’s someone I want you to meet,’ Sir Edgar said. He tucked her arm under his and led her unwillingly towards the fire. Eleanor took a deep breath. She would greet him politely and leave. It would be done with in a matter of minutes.