ELIA ROSE AND dressed in the dark. She’d said her goodbyes to Seraphina last night and would not awaken her friend. Her hands searched for the satchel that contained a change of clothing, her comb, and a bar of soap. Finding it, she brought it to her chest and slipped from the bedchamber.
Ferand de Montfort leaned against the wall, one foot propped upon the trunk she’d dragged into the hallway the previous evening. Even in the dim light, his handsome profile caused her heart to skip a beat. Of all the men she’d met at court, he was strong and confident. Elia hoped she knew what she was doing, putting her trust into a man she barely knew.
And one she wanted to kiss again. Soon.
“Come,” he said, tucking her hand into the crook of his arm.
He led her through the silent halls and outside. They passed a man carrying two pails of milk and waded through a group of chickens, which scattered across the yard. Reaching the stables, Elia saw a young boy awaited them.
He stepped forward. “I have a stable lad saddling Midnight, my lord.”
“Good.” Ferand handed over a small coin purse and the boy took it, surprise crossing his face.
“It’s about time you had one of your own.”
The boy beamed. “Thank you, my lord.”
“Use what’s in it for a few hot meals on the road for you and William and to buy bread to supplement what you shoot.”
Ferand turned to her. “Lady Elia, this is Gilbert, my page. He will see that your belongings stay safe.”
The boy gave her a shy smile and bowed. “My lady.”
“’Tis nice to meet you, Gilbert.”
“Fetch Midnight.” Handing her satchel over, the page was gone in a flash, eager to please his lord.
Ferand took her hand and slid his fingers along hers. Sensing something, Elia looked down and spied a slender band resting on her ring finger.
“What . . . what is this?” she sputtered. His face looked more serious than she’d ever seen before.
“Lady Elia de Wolfe should have a guard of ten accompanying her home to Northumberland. Since ’twill only be the two of us, I must protect you as I know how. Your identity alone puts us in danger. Capturing a lone de Wolfe would be a great prize to any band of Scots that we might cross paths with and who knows what other dangers we might face on this journey?
“Being a single woman and a de Wolfe makes you a valuable prize. The ring takes away both. From now till we pass through the gates of your family’s home, you are my wedded wife—Lady Elia de Montfort.”
Looking at the ring on her finger, Elia longed for it to remain. This handsome man proved thoughtful and generous. He would make a good husband. Pushing aside the warring feelings within her, she reminded herself that she was impatient to return to her family. She was a de Wolfe. She belonged in the north. With her family.
Yet, she already feared her heart belonged to Ferand de Montfort.
“Here’s Midnight,” said Gilbert, returning with a horse black as night, a satchel hanging from both his sides.
Ferand ruffled the boy’s hair and mounted then offered her his hand. She took it and he easily hoisted her up, settling her in front of him.
“Are you comfortable?” he asked, his voice low, his breath tickling her ear.
Elia nodded, her emotions too close to the surface. She didn’t trust her voice to speak because the words that came out might betray the strong feelings stirring within her.
“Have a safe journey, my lord,” called Gilbert.
“The same to you,” Ferand replied and nudged his horse.
They trotted through the palace grounds, where life had begun to stir, and out into the streets of London. They reached the city’s gates, now opening for the day, and rode through. As Ferand urged Midnight into a gallop, his arm tightened around her waist and she leaned against the wall of muscle, wondering what their travels might bring.
***
AFTER A LONG first day on the road, they stopped at an inn for the night, first taking Midnight to its stables and allowing Ferand to curry and feed the horse. Ferand had said the road from London to York was well traveled, with villages every four to six leagues along the way. Because of that, they would probably spend two of every three nights of their journey at an inn. The others they might ask for shelter at a cottage or monastery, while a couple of nights might be spent camping in the woods. Ferand told the innkeeper they were newly wed as he paid for a chamber and asked that a hot meal be brought to them there.
“I don’t mind eating in the common room,” she told him as he took her elbow and guided her up the stairs as they followed the innkeeper.
His look silenced her. She didn’t speak until the owner left and Ferand set their satchels down on the narrow bed.
He grasped her shoulders. “If given the choice, we will always eat in our chamber, Elia. Not only does it afford you privacy, but it keeps men from gaping at you.”
“Men were gaping?” she asked, wanting to laugh off his observation, but she saw he was serious.
“Every man’s eyes were on you,” he guaranteed. “You are a most desirable woman. Trouble brews easily whenever a beauty such as yourself comes round. Adding drink to the mix can create a lethal combination. Rational men suddenly lose their heads. I don’t want to kill anyone unless I have to. ’Tis easier to pretend we are new to marriage and want to spend our time alone in love play. That will help us avoid most problems that might arise.”
Elia was aware of his warm fingers curled about her shoulders. She moistened her lips. “I understand,” she said softly.
His hazel eyes had gone a deep green. “I hope you do. Last time you traveled this route, circumstances were different. You were young and had family and numerous soldiers accompanying you. With just the two of us, we must take precautions.”
Ferand dropped his hands and went to his satchel. Opening it, he pulled out a blade and handed it to her. Elia took it, unsure what he wanted from her.
“Have you ever used a baselard before?”
“Aye. Long ago. My grandfather taught me some about fighting with one and how to use it to skin an animal or scale a fish. I haven’t held one in years.”
“I want you to keep this in your boot from now on. After we finish our meal, we’ll have a lesson to refresh your memory on how to use it.”
A knock at the door sounded and Ferand admitted a stout woman bearing a tray of food. They ate their fill of a hearty stew and bread and cheese before he had Elia take out the baselard. Ferand walked her through various ways to use it on a man in case a dangerous situation arose. He had her repeat defensive moves several times, first slowly, and then speeding up her actions until she felt confident.
“You move well with a blade. As graceful as when you dance.”
Elia’s sensed her cheeks heating as much from his compliment as the way he considered her. It had been difficult being in his arms the entire day on horseback without acting upon the feelings stirring within her. She reminded herself that Ferand was merely an escort and that she didn’t want to involve herself with him. Keeping a tight rein on her emotions would prove difficult over the fortnight it would take to reach Northumberland but she didn’t have a choice.
He stepped away, pouring ale into a cup and downing it.
“We should sleep.”
She glanced to the small bed and wondered how they would both fit in it, much less how she would be able to lie next to him without touching him.
Ferand sat on the floor, leaning his back against the locked door and stretching his long legs in front of him.
“Are you sleeping there?” she asked.
“Aye. The lock is flimsy. ’Tis not unheard of for guests at an inn to be robbed during the night. Same as on the road, which is why we’ll stay alert. Don’t worry, Elia. You are in my hands, which means you are in good care.”
He crossed his arms and closed his eyes.
Elia slipped off her boots and kirtle. She would sleep in her smock.
And dream of Ferand de Montfort’s hands being on her.