They cantered uphill and emerged into a clearing—a change from dense woodland to an expanse of rolling fields.
He inclined his head, bowing slightly, without any need to say more.
‘I see. How very insightful of you. I bow to your superior knowledge, but I would ask you not to be too hasty in your assumptions about me or anything else.’
He sensed that it would only be a matter of time—a very short time—before his goading would make Eleanor snap, give in to her anger, and hopefully reveal her true self.
‘I don’t see why. I’m here to save Tallany, after all, and right all the wrong.’
‘I must say I don’t know how we coped without you!’ she muttered, pinning her gaze to the landscape around her.
‘And now you don’t have to. As I said, you won’t have to worry any more.’
‘What a relief.’
‘It is, isn’t it?’ He grinned.
‘Naturally, since my pretty little head can’t cope with much.’
‘Just so, my lady.’
‘And now that you are here to save us from perdition, what exactly would you have me do once we’re married?’
Hugh raised his brow at her in amusement.
‘Never mind.’ She turned her head away.
Hugh noticed her hands, covered as always with crochet gloves, clasping the reins tightly. This was better. Much, much better. Her spurious mask was finally slipping. Just a little more and she would be back to being herself.
Eleanor exhaled slowly and looked away, trying not to show that Sir Hugh’s boorish rudeness was affecting her. But it was impossible! She was finding it hard to contain her anger and annoyance any more, along with her feeling of helplessness at this imposed situation. Her head was swimming with all the changes that would be forced upon her once more.
Hugh de Villiers seemed to be enjoying this. Enjoying mocking her—which was confusing. He had been a model of the courteous, gallant knight this past week, starting with that surprisingly gentle kiss, which had taken her off guard. It might have been merely on the back of her hand—her gloved hand, at that—but she had felt it all the way down to her toes.
Not that she cared a jot about that or any of his placating words. Not again. Eleanor knew how with, the snap of her fingers, a man could change his temper in an instant.
This past week had been incredibly trying and difficult. Not only had Eleanor needed to conceal her dangerous involvement with the outlaws, but she had been reconciling herself to the prospect that soon, once again, she would be someone’s wife.
Coming to terms with her impending marriage also meant that Eleanor had had to suppress and disguise her true character, fearful of what her betrothed would do if he found that instead of being meek and deferential, she was sharp-tongued, headstrong and with a mind of her own. Richard had told her many times she was a termagant that every husband would come to despise, heiress or not.
Bitterness, anger and fear coursed through her. She resented this. These feelings that she had thought to have buried long ago. And she resented being made to marry once again against her wishes—to marry another handsome young knight who thought far too much of himself.
‘Would you see it beneath yourself to take a challenge, Sir Hugh?’ she asked. ‘This would be in the hope that you might change your mind regarding the limited constraints of being “only a woman”.’ She held her head high, not daring to look at him.
‘You are not in shackles, Eleanor.’ He flashed the lazy, lopsided smile that made him even more absurdly attractive.
‘Is that so?’ She inhaled sharply, trying to hang on to her temper.
‘What is this challenge you wish to propose?’
Eleanor knew that she shouldn’t allow herself to rise to whatever scheme this man was devising, but it wasn’t easy. She should, instead, turn the conversation back to gaining any useful information Hugh de Villiers had about her outlaw friends, which would serve them better. Not that that topic of conversation was any safer. Still, she could steer it in the way she wanted whilst not risking losing her temper.
She turned her gaze to the gently rolling hills before her. Beautiful, she thought wistfully. She had grown up here and knew every blade of grass and branch of tree. These were her lands, her ancestral lands, but they would soon belong to him. As would she...
‘Well, my lady?’
‘A race to the third oak tree over there—you can see it in the distance.’
‘I do see. But...a race? On horseback? With you?’ He smiled slowly, raising a brow.
She continued to stare out into the distance with what she hoped was a steely gaze and did not even bother to look at him. With the answer he’d given he’d made her even angrier, if that was possible, and now he chuckled in response. He was laughing at her again.
‘Perhaps you are scared to be bettered by someone like me?’ she said. ‘Well?’
‘You’re not serious, my lady?’
‘Deadly so.’
‘Hardly a fair contest, Eleanor... Come, let’s forget all this.’
He spoke so gently that it vexed her all the more.
‘Do you accept or not?’ She scowled, finding it hard to remain composed.
‘Very well, if you insist. But let it be noted that I did warn you. I hope you will not be too disappointed when I win.’
‘We will see, Sir Hugh. We will see. Quickest to the oak I mentioned, by any means.’
‘Then call it, my lady.’
He brought his destrier round beside her palfrey, towering over it, and grinned at Eleanor, taking her hand in his and pressing it lightly.
She snatched it back. ‘Now!’
Eleanor pushed forward, galloping away to get a fast start before realising that he had held back, allowing her to get ahead.
His laughter roared behind her as she sped out in front. Of all the confounding, patronising and infuriating males! She continued to speed ahead before seeing him in the periphery of her vision as he cantered effortlessly
