Chapter 2 #2
Gwenllian pinched her lips to stop herself from laughing.
The unlikely scene had made her see another side of the handsome protector, an endearing one.
That he had come to her aid had not been extraordinary.
Rescuing innocent women from assault was nothing less than what was expected of a knight.
But he was now agreeing to go into a muddy pond to fish out a pup belonging to a villager he didn’t know.
She knew many men of less importance than him, who would have told the girl to manage the rescue on her own and gone on their way. He had not, and it pleased her.
“It will be all right,” she soothed, while Sir Alexander, forgoing all pretense of dignity, decided to slide on his backside all the way down to the pond. She agreed with him that, given how steep the slope was, it was probably the easiest and safest way to reach the pup.
She wondered how he was going to make the climb back up, though. The ground was very slippery, which had prevented Margery from attempting the rescue herself and the pup from reaching his mistress.
The girl looked at her through narrowed eyes. “Aren’t you one of the Welsh ladies living in Sheridan Manor? I recognize you. My da is the priest’s brother, and we came once to tell you that he’d broken his leg.”
Yes, Gwenllian remembered the incident, even if she had barely glimpsed Margery, who had stayed huddled close to her father.
It had occurred the previous year, during her last visit to England.
She clenched her jaw. This was just her luck.
Just when she intended to hide her identity, someone had recognized her.
“I am Lady Gwenllian, you are right, but this must remain a secret between you and me. ’Tis most important,” she told the girl, who nodded gravely. Heavens knew what she was imagining, but it seemed enough to convince her she should keep silent, which was all that mattered.
Fortunately, at that moment, Sir Alexander reached the dog, which provided a welcome distraction. Patch, to her relief, seemed too glad to be out of the water to think of biting his rescuer. Instead, he started to lick him wherever he could reach.
“All right, you mongrel, I’ve got you,” she heard the knight mutter.
“He’s not a mongrel,” Margery called out. “He will be the finest sheepdog you will ever find when he grows up, or so says my da.”
Gwenllian repressed another laugh at the scolding and watched as Sir Alexander started the perilous ascent one handed.
He slipped a few times, which was inevitable, but it was not long before he reached them, a wet and shivering puppy clinging to him.
The little girl let out a cry of delight and took the animal, pressing him into her chest.
“Oh, Patch, you naughty boy, look at you all dirty and cold!” With a smile, she turned him around and held out one of his paws in the air. “Say thank you to the kind lord and the Lady G—”
“I didn’t do anything,” Gwenllian interposed before her name could be uttered. Margery had promised to keep it a secret, but she was only young and had understandably been distracted by her joy at being reunited with her pup.
Sir Alexander, however, had not missed the lapse. He took a step forward. “Wait. Do you know the lady?” He threw her a glance signifying this could be their chance to find out who she was, then looked back to Margery.
Gwenllian widened her eyes, doing her best to remind the girl of her promise not to reveal her identity.
But was it too late? She had made it sound as if she knew her name, had even said the first letter.
How could she backtrack now? There was no other choice but to wait.
Doing anything else would be suspicious.
“Aye, she is Lady Gertrude, is she not, one of Sir Patrick’s nieces? Or is she Lady Elizabeth, her cousin? It’s difficult to tell, him having so many.”
The clever little thing. She had to be talking of the Sir Patrick, who had offered Bethan and her retinue hospitality while she and Cameron had traveled to Scotland the previous year.
The man’s extensive family consisted almost entirely of women.
Margery had apparently heard of it and was using it to cover her blunder.
Gwenllian gave her a grateful little smile.
This had been remarkably quick thinking on her part.
Sir Alexander made a non-committal nod. It was clear he did not believe she was either Lady Gertrude or Elizabeth but did not want to admit he didn’t know her identity. “Well then, run away. And make sure Patch learns to listen to you in the future.”
“I will. Thank you, my lord.”
While the little girl bounded in the direction of the village, he shook his head, looking at his clothes. “Aren’t I glad I had a bath earlier?” he mumbled under his breath.
This time Gwenllian could not help a giggle. Covered in mud, he did look as if he had been fighting enemies. Which, of course, he had. For her. The laughter died in her throat.
“I don’t think I have thanked you for saving me from those men,” she whispered.
“You didn’t,” he confirmed in a growl. “But I don’t need any thanks. It’s not as if I could have just walked away, is it?”
No, perhaps not. Still.
“They didn’t hurt you?” he added.
“They didn’t even touch me, I don’t think.”
From what she could deduce, her savior had arrived just after she’d fallen into a swoon.
And by then, the men had not done more than describe in crude details what they intended to do to her, which was the reason why she had passed out.
Thinking back on it now made her nauseous. She wavered and felt herself go pale.
Sir Alexander’s arm was around her waist before she could falter.
“Don’t go fainting a second time, Buttercup,” he said gruffly. “It’s over now. As long as I’m here, no one will be touching you.”
She took a moment to steady herself, nestled against his strong chest. “Thank you.”
He nodded, before leading her back to the horse. “Let’s go. But I’m afraid you’ll get muddied as well, riding in front of me. If you prefer, I can—”
“No. Ride with me, please. My gown doesn’t matter. It’s already muddied anyway.”
Right now, she needed the comfort of his arms, and she was not going to let anything as trivial as mud stand in her way.