His Lady Fair

“No,” he finally replied.

The young woman’s eyes widened as her brows lowered. “Sir,” she said, pushing up onto her knees. “My lord…”

“You will accompany me to Kirkham,” he said, “where someone will tend to your injured ankle.”

“But I—”

“I insist,” he said, with a tight smile that did not reach his frosty eyes. “After all, ’twas my fault you were thrown from your horse. ’Tis only fair that I offer you the hospitality of my home.”

Nicholas stood and assisted her to her feet, even as he noted the surprise in her eyes. She had not realized that he was the lord of Kirkham. Supporting her weak side, he helped her step up to a jutting rock, then lifted her onto her horse.

“No saddle?” he asked as he mounted his own gray roan.

Ria shook her head as she considered making a run for it. Unfortunately, though, she was lost and needed guidance if she was ever to find Rockbury. She’d been riding for two days…two very long days without food or shelter. Two days of wondering when Geoffrey Morley would catch up with her.

She was not certain she wanted to tell Lord Kirkham who she was, or where she was headed….

“Come with me,” he said, his voice warm and inviting. “The hour grows late and Castle Kirkham is just ahead. I’ll see that you get that ankle bound and have a hot meal before you continue on your journey.”

Ria had learned that it was better to say too little rather than too much, so she kept silent as they rode. She certainly had no objection to helping herself to a meal at Kirkham, and perhaps along the way she could discover Rockbury’s location from one of Kirkham’s servants.

She straightened her posture and assumed a haughty air so that Kirkham would not think her such an innocent miss, easily flattered and seduced. Far better to pose as a woman of sophistication so that this handsome and worldly nobleman would not attempt to take further advantage of her.

Nicholas made no pretense of watching the road. He let his eyes wander over the maid who rode alongside him, fascinated as much by the questions she presented as her comely form. Her speech was usually as refined as that of any noblewoman, yet she met his eyes with a challenge and the kind of defiance not often seen in young women of his class. Her clothing was torn and ill-fitting, though it was made of as fine a material as he’d ever seen. Her sun-kissed hair was magnificent, and her features delicate and alluring. But her hands were reddened and chafed.

She was not an expert equestrian, but she chose to ride without a saddle. The horse she rode posed questions, too. Her mare was far from being prime horse-flesh, but Nicholas knew of no villein who could afford even the poorest horse.

Had she stolen this hapless mare?

“I am Nicholas Hawken,” he said. “Marquis of Kirkham.”

The young woman kept her eyes on the road ahead. Nicholas watched her profile, unable to take his gaze from her throat as she swallowed before speaking. “How do you do, my lord?” she said.

Nicholas smiled. She did not intend to give her name.

“’Tis my estate upon which you trespass.”

“I do most heartily beg your pardon, my lord,” she said lightly. “’Twas not my intention to infringe upon private property.”

“Of course not,” he said, watching, fascinated, as she secured the ugly woolen shawl over the neck of her gown. It was a crime to cover such smooth and enticing skin with that coarse brown wool. “You have yet to speak your name, my lady fair.”

Again she rode on quietly, taking in the scenery around her. Nicholas knew she was procrastinating, and wondered why she hesitated to give her name. Was she running from her family? Wanted by a sheriff somewhere, perhaps?

“My name is…Maria. Of S-Staffordshire.”

“Ahh…” Now he was getting somewhere, though the manner in which she spoke the name led him to suspect she’d made it up. “No surname?”

“N-nay, my lord,” she replied, as if it were commonplace for a young maid of quality to be traveling about the countryside unescorted, riding bareback on an old nag, wearing ruined clothes and having no name other than “Maria of Staffordshire.”

He would send inquiries to the nearby estates when he had her settled at Kirkham.

Chapter Four

Lord Kirkham had noticed the rough skin of her hands, so Ria tried to keep them hidden as Kirkham’s secretary bound her ankle in the privacy of a well-appointed chamber near the chapel. ’Twas a comfortable room with long mullioned windows facing out over a quaint courtyard full of statuary and early greenery.

The secretary, Henric Tournay, was a young man scarcely older than Ria, she thought, with pale hair and even paler skin. His deep brown eyes were set starkly into the light backdrop of his complexion. All his features, in combination, gave him the appearance of being startled, at all times.

His hands were as white and clammy as the underbelly of a fish, and his touch repelled her. Still, he was trying to help, so she kept her unease to herself.

“’Tis bruised nearly to the toes, my lady,” Tournay said as he wrapped Ria’s foot and ankle. “You must stay off it for a few days.”

“But that is impossible,” Ria said. She glanced out the window and saw that it was nearly dusk. Daylight would be gone within the hour. “I must be on my way. On the morrow at the latest.”

Tournay raised his nearly nonexistent brows and shrugged. “’Tis for you to decide, my lady. But Lord Kirkham—”

A burst of laughter in Kirkham’s distant hall interrupted the man. Other male voices joined in, along with spurts of music. Instruments began to play, and voices joined in song, then all dissolved into discord and gave way to raucous laughter, only to be repeated again.

Ria bit her lower lip. How would she get out of Castle Kirkham without encountering the lord’s guests? She was completely out of her element here.

She halted her dismal thoughts and decided she must take control of the situation. If she were to pass as a lady—nay, if she truly were the Burton daughter—she would have to act accordingly, and not be cowed by every chance encounter. She had spent years mimicking Cecilia, and knew she could make her speech and her bearing seem every bit as regal as her noble cousin’s. Ria had plenty of experience in grooming, having played lady’s maid to both her cousin and her aunt on many occasions.

It should pose no problem for her to appear as a noblewoman.

Yet why did the thought of carrying out her deception with Lord Kirkham make her tremble?

A light tap at the door had the secretary on his feet in an instant. He opened to a burly knight, who stepped in and glanced shyly at Ria.

“Lord Kirkham sent me to carry the lady to her chamber,” he said.

“Very good, Sir Gyles,” Tournay said. “I’ll light your way.”

Relief settled in Ria’s heart. They must not be going through the hall, where Kirkham’s party was gathered, or they would not need extra light. Silently, Sir Gyles gathered her into his arms and carried her through the door, then down a dark passageway until he reached a narrow, circular stone staircase. Here he climbed, following Tournay, until he reached the top, and again turned down a dark passage.

Tournay walked ahead, and finally reached a heavy oaken door, which he pushed open. In the chamber beyond, Gyles gently set Ria down on a chair next to the fireplace, while Tournay set the candelabra on a table.

Ria could not help but wonder where her host was, not that she was anxious to see him again. Merely curious.

“A tray will be sent to you presently, my lady,” the secretary said as Sir Gyles turned to leave. “Lord Kirkham said to tell you that whatever clothing you find in these chests is at your disposal,” he added, gesturing to two large wooden chests on the floor near the washstand. “No one uses them now, and Lord Kirkham noticed you had no…er, that your baggage was lost and he thought…Well, help yourself.”

When the men were gone, Ria lowered her feet to the floor. She attempted to stand, only gradually adding weight to the injured ankle. Pain shot through the joint, all the way to her knee, making her dizzy and nauseated. Quickly, she sat back down.

This would never do, she thought. She had to leave Kirkham soon. There had to be a way to deal with this infernal ankle.

Standing again, she hopped on one foot to the other wooden chair, near the hearth, and took hold of it like a crutch. That was all she needed. A staff, or a crutch, to help her move about until the joint healed. There was no reason why she couldn’t ride to Rockbury, and once there, everything would be settled while she limped on her bad ankle.

Hobbling around her chamber with the aid of the chair, Ria went to the basin of water that had been set out for her, and started to wash. She felt grimy after her flight from Morley, and the warmth and shelter of the room was a relief.

But she was only a guest here. Once she reached Rockbury and claimed her legacy from her mother, Ria would have her own home—a place where she really and truly belonged.