Chapter 1 #2
Alexander let them go. He could have ridden after them, of course, but he was more concerned about the woman, who still hadn’t moved. Had she merely fainted from fright, or had she been hit because she refused to submit? Was she still alive? Could he do anything to help her if she was bleeding?
He fell to his knees and saw that she was breathing and appeared uninjured. Her dress, of a beautiful pale blue color, was intact, if muddied by the fight with her attackers. Mercifully, it seemed he had arrived in time to stop the men from doing what they’d intended to do.
Who was she, and what was she doing here alone?
“My lady,” he called softly, lifting her into his arms, “can you hear me?”
Gwenllian woke up in the arms of a man. A man she had never seen before, a man whose glittering black eyes sent her heartbeat into a fierce drum, a man who was the embodiment of all she had ever wanted in a man and knew she could not get.
She could scarcely believe it. This had to be a sign that her decision to go on an adventure had been the right one. The day after receiving Bethan’s letter, she had indeed set off for England and Sheridan Manor, the first stop on her daring journey to Scotland.
And here she was, right in the middle of the adventure she had hoped for.
Because being assaulted by ruffians and then rescued by a dashing knight certainly qualified as a thrilling adventure.
That the man was not wearing armor at the moment did not mean she did not recognize him for what he was.
A daughter of Lord Sheridan could not have mistaken her rescuer for anything else.
A commoner would not express himself as he did.
Poor peasants did not possess horses such as the destrier currently grazing by the trees.
And only a man used to handling weapons would boast a physique honed by hours of swordplay.
No, the man was a knight, Gwenllian did not doubt it for one moment.
That he was not in armor was explained by the fact that this was not a tourney or a battle, thank God.
Besides, what he was wearing was a hundred times better.
His wet shirt allowed her to see, well, not everything, but enough to see that he was uncommonly muscular. Every inch of him was not only perfect but suited to her tastes.
She had always found Englishmen too polished, almost…bland. This one was not polished or bland in the least. He was as fierce as the warriors she was used to, with disheveled hair the color of a raven’s wing and eyes as dark and shiny as jet.
Who on earth was he? Was he even real? Or was she, in fact, dreaming, and about to wake up? Please God, no, let him be real.
“I’m Sir Alexander Rathbone,” he said, as if he’d heard her questions.
Mm. The name was familiar, but she couldn’t place it, which tended to prove this was not a dream. Her mind would never have conjured up a name she knew but could not remember. Where had she heard it?
“I don’t think we’ve met,” he added when she remained silent.
Gwenllian shook her head. They definitely had not. She would not have forgotten a man like him.
“You were attacked by two men intent on hurting you,” the man explained when he saw that she was not answering. What was happening to her? Why was she suddenly incapable of talking? “Your cries alerted me.”
Oh, yes, she had screamed, because the men had been about to do much more than simply hurt her. She swallowed. She had been lucky the knight had arrived, in more ways than one. Gratitude invaded her—and yet, still she couldn’t talk.
“That’s why you’re here.”
In his arms he meant. Where it felt she belonged.
“I was over on the other side of the thicket when I heard the commotion,” he carried on, as if trying to provoke her into speech.
Still, she didn’t say anything. Because what could she say?
That she was stupidly grateful to the men for attacking her if this meant she had met this man?
That she regretted he had not been naked when he’d heard the commotion? That she wanted to taste his lips?
No, of course not.
“Forgive my attire, but I was bathing.”
Ah, this explained the wet shirt. She nodded, thinking that there was no need to justify it. She certainly didn’t mind.
“Are you all right, my lady?” The man now sounded rather worried. “Have you not been too badly frightened? Can you talk?”
Ordinarily, yes, she could talk, all too well. Her family would be amazed to see her reduced to silence by this man’s proximity. They likely thought nothing or no one could accomplish such a feat.
It was when she thought of her family that Gwenllian remembered where she had heard the name Sir Alexander Rathbone before.
He was her brother-in-law Christopher’s friend, the one who lived in Audley Castle on the other side of the hill, not far from Sheridan Manor, her parents’ English residence.
He was the man who had offered Sian’s husband shelter when he had lost his title and fortune nine years ago.
Gwenllian barely repressed a groan of frustration. This was a disaster. If he was Christopher’s friend, then, though they had never met in the flesh, he would have heard about her.
He would have heard that she was Sian’s little sister. He would have heard that once, Christopher had saved her and Seren from drowning in a river. He would no doubt think of her as a child.
That was the last thing she needed.
This was supposed to be an adventure, and he was supposed to be its dashing hero, the man who saw her as the intrepid heroine who could be his match, or the damsel in distress he had to rescue, or the mysterious woman he had always dreamed of meeting, or the scandalous lover he was aching to tumble into bed.
Anything but a child, which would put paid to any desire he felt, or a friend’s sister-in-law, which would place her out of bounds.
There was only one solution. She had to keep her identity a secret until he acted on the desire he could not hide from his eyes and kissed her.
At least she knew she had nothing to fear from him. This friend of Christopher was honorable, she had heard it said enough times.
“And who are you?” he asked, leaning in a fraction.
What to say?
I’m Gwenllian Hunter, your friend’s sister-in-law didn’t sound mysterious enough. I’m the woman who will forever be in your debt was too vague. I’m the future Lady Rathbone was out of the question.
But he was waiting for an answer. The words were out before she could think.
“I…I’m afraid I don’t remember.”