Lady Rowena's Ruin. Carol Townend

over her like a hawk and, as soon as she had left her childhood behind, she’d spent half her time in a convent.

      The nuns must have been instructed to teach her the skills necessary to become some great lord’s wife. Eric’s mouth twisted. They didn’t seem to have followed their instructions very well, all they seemed to have instilled in her was a desire to become one of them. And a dislike of her father and a wariness of men in general. Still, at least she had agreed to go with him to Monfort.

      Eric looked at the small, shaking fingers deftly braiding all that golden glory into the tightest, most repressive braid he had seen. She must feel the world was falling apart around her. He should say something that would put her at her ease. ‘Until I spoke with your father I had other plans for today.’

      She gave him a brief glance. ‘Oh?’

      Eric picked up his cloak and shook it out. Crossing to Captain, he fastened the cloak to the back of his saddle and checked the girth. ‘I intended riding to Bar-sur-Aube, to buy horses.’

      She came to stand at his elbow and the rest of what Eric had been going to say flew out of his head. She really was a tiny thing and her father was a bully for trying to force her into marriage. His chest ached. ‘My lady, I swear I will do my utmost to help you.’

      ‘Thank you, Sir Eric.’

      He swallowed. ‘You will ride before me?’

      She glanced at her own horse. ‘May I not ride Lily?’

      ‘I am sorry, my lady, not at the moment.’

      ‘You think I will gallop back to the convent?’

      The grin was out before he could stop it. ‘Something like that. Alard will look after Lily.’

      Biting her lip, she nodded. Eric took the reins and mounted. Alard came forward to help her up and then she was sitting before him and they were riding towards Monfort. Eric kept one hand on the reins and the other on her waist. She sat before him, stiff-backed. Trying, no doubt, to keep space between them. Eric took a deep breath. It wasn’t going to be the easiest of rides.

      By the time they reached the main highway, Lady Rowena’s body had slipped back against his. Eric’s nostrils twitched. When he bent his head to hers, he could smell flowers, she smelt like a summer meadow. He kept his hand firm about that tiny waist. She shifted forward. Captain walked on and gradually she slipped back against him. No sooner had her body touched his than she shifted forward.

      Eric ground his teeth together. ‘My lady, it will make for an easier ride for both of us if you would relax. I am not going to hurt you.’

      She muttered an apology—her voice was strained—and allowed Eric to pull her more firmly against him.

      ‘Thank you, my lady. It will be safer this way.’

      For the rest of the ride she remained quiescent, but Eric could feel the tension in her. She had said that she trusted him. Why then was she holding her back ramrod straight? She would surely ache when they reached his manor. He held his tongue, likely she would resent further comment.

      At least she had agreed to come with him. He could keep her safe until he persuaded Count Faramus to think better of his plans for her. Her reaction when he had mentioned Sir Breon had been telling—she loathed and feared the man. That was some justification for the penance of having to take her back to Monfort. A penance that might go on for some time if her father proved intransigent.

      Eric wished Lady Rowena wasn’t quite so pretty; he wished her waist wasn’t so tiny and that she didn’t smell of flowers; he wished that she wouldn’t keep squirming against him. It made him think thoughts that would shock this prim, would-be nun so much she’d never speak to him again. It made him want to take up her father on his suggestion and ask her to marry him, in truth. Not that she would accept him, of course. It just made him wish. She would be his wife and he would have the pleasure of teaching her that men weren’t all monsters. He would enjoy discovering the delights of the marriage bed with Rowena de Sainte-Colombe as his partner. His blood heated at the thought.

      Did Count Faramus realise what a temptation he had set before him?

      Of course he did, the man was as wily as a fox, as his daughter had already pointed out. Except...the count was clearly of the opinion that the real prize was the lands that went with his daughter rather than his daughter herself.

      A mule was headed for the market, laden with bales of cloth. As they trotted past it, a jay screeched somewhere in the woodland to their left. Eric focused his gaze on a large oak and tried not to think about what it would be like to really marry Lady Rowena.

      He would think instead about what it would be like to be Count of Sainte-Colombe. It was an honour he had never looked for. Eric still felt stunned when he thought back on yesterday’s interview in the solar of Jutigny Castle. Clearly, the count was desperate. Desperate and determined. Eric hadn’t said as much to Lady Rowena, she was obviously worried enough already, she didn’t need to be told that Eric suspected Lord Faramus might take some while to come to his senses. Lord, the count had suggested that he should seduce his daughter into marriage. He must really hate Sir Armand.

      Lady Rowena didn’t need to be told that Lord Faramus had asked him to ruin her. What kind of a father would do that? Eric shook his head. A ruthless one. Which brought his thoughts round to Sir Armand again. When they got to Monfort, Eric would make enquiries. What kind of a man was Sir Armand that he should drive Lord Faramus to have his daughter snatched from the nunnery she had chosen to make her home?

      Dipping his head a fraction, Eric inhaled. Summer flowers. His hand shifted on her waist.

      Mon Dieu, just thinking about marrying her made his blood heat.

      Poor, innocent Lady Rowena. She is going to take her vows. She is going to take her vows and I must not think of her in that way.

Chapter Three

      Sparrows darted in and out of hedgerows dotted with bramble flowers. Monfort was a couple of hours’ ride from Provins. It wasn’t until they had passed the halfway mark and turned into the side road that cut through the fields that Eric noticed the horsemen some distance behind them. There were three of them. Eric couldn’t be certain, but he rather thought they’d been there since they’d left the convent. Twisting in the saddle, he focused his attention on them. This road didn’t go anywhere save for Monfort Manor and the village of the same name that had grown up around it. What business could those riders have coming this way?

      Cursing under his breath—Lord Faramus had promised that he would not interfere—Eric glanced at the squire riding at his side. ‘Alard?’

      ‘Sir?’

      Eric jerked his head in the direction of the party behind them. ‘Did you notice those horsemen?’

      ‘Aye, sir.’

      ‘How long have they been there?’

      ‘They’ve been with us pretty much the whole way. I thought you’d seen them.’

      Eric sighed, he should have noticed them as soon as they’d turned off the main highway—the scent of summer flowers must be fuddling his wits. He swore under his breath. Lord Faramus was going to meddle, he was sure of it. He was equally sure that his interfering would make matters worse. As things stood Lady Rowena barely trusted him.

      Lady Rowena turned her head and looked at him. ‘There’s a problem, sir?’

      ‘Behind us.’ Eric gestured at the other riders. ‘Your father seems to be keeping an eye on us.’

      She leaned out, grasping his arm to steady herself, and her blue gaze focused on the three riders. She had the longest eyelashes Eric had ever seen. Her mouth—it was the colour of ripe cherries and just as tempting—firmed. ‘Father can’t help himself. He is so very controlling.’ Her grip on his arm tightened. ‘Eric, you won’t let them take me?’