The Silent Touch of Shadows (3 page)

‘Forgive me, I didn’t mean to startle you.’ The deep voice was gentle and soothing, but as Sibell squinted up at the man, shielding her eyes from the light with one hand, her breath caught in her throat. A shard of fear stabbed her sharply. She swallowed hard. It seemed to her that she had exchanged one peril for another.

Seated on a giant war horse of shimmering grey was a huge warrior. Golden hair fell to his shoulders, where it brushed the top of his cerulean blue cloak. Strength and power radiated from every taut muscle and the determined set of his jaw indicated that he wasn’t a man to be crossed. Sibell had no doubt he was dangerous; no doubt at all.

As he raised an eyebrow in amused enquiry, however, the feeling of terror subsided. She recalled that he was expecting an answer. His horse champed at the bit and pawed the ground with a massive front hoof, as if he too was tiring of the wait.

‘I-Idenhurst?’ she stammered, embarrassed by her lack of courtesy. ‘I am going there myself and it’s but another few miles along this track.’

‘My thanks.’ The man smiled, showing even white teeth, and adjusted his seat in the saddle. Sibell blinked. He had the most incredible smile and she couldn’t help but stare, though she knew she shouldn’t.

He continued, ‘Since we are travelling the same way, perhaps you’d care to ride with me and save your skirts from the mire? It’s the least I can do for such a beautiful lady.’

Sibell’s eyes widened and she felt the heat of a blush spread across her cheeks. He had paid her a compliment. But
 
… ride with him? Only an arrogant stranger would think to ask a lady such a thing.

‘No, I thank you, sir. I am enjoying my walk. Truly, it’s not far.’ Although her voice sounded far from convincing to her own ears, she resolutely ignored the chafing of her dress against the sore welts across her back. Likewise, she did her best to ignore the sea of mud in which she was standing. The offer of a ride was most tempting, but she couldn’t possibly accept.

She managed an awkward curtsey intended as a dismissal, but when she straightened up, the riders hadn’t moved an inch. The golden-haired one was staring at her with a thoughtful look in his eyes. Perhaps he wasn’t used to having his invitations refused, Sibell thought. Most ladies would likely have jumped at the chance to ride with him, but not her.
I dare not.
She flushed again and looked pointedly at the ground, waiting for their departure.

‘Oh, I see what the problem is,’ she heard him say smoothly. ‘I haven’t introduced myself and of course no respectable lady can ride with a stranger.’ Against her better judgement she looked up as, half-standing up in the saddle, he bowed to her. ‘I’m Sir Roger of Langford and this is my squire, Hugone.’ He indicated the second rider, a gangly youth with straight, dark hair whom Sibell had almost forgotten. The squire had faded into insignificance next to his master, but she now saw he was goggling at her with his mouth open. He blushed at the introduction and bowed low over the neck of his horse.

She inclined her head in his direction before dropping another curtsey to his master. ‘And I am Sibell of Ashleigh, but
 
…’

‘I won’t listen to any refusals, mistress.’ The knight held up his hand to stop her from arguing. ‘My conscience will not allow me to leave a lady by the roadside, alone and unprotected. These are dangerous times,’ he added, unconsciously echoing her earlier thoughts. His tone was haughty now, that of a man used to having his orders obeyed, she guessed.

But conscience? Sibell doubted very much he possessed such a thing and the only person she needed protection from was him. She was about to say so when she noticed a distinct twinkle in his eyes. Could he be laughing at her? She tossed her head and drew herself up to deliver a scathing retort, but he forestalled her once more.

‘As you see, you are suitably chaperoned by Hugone, who wouldn’t dream of allowing a lady to come to any harm.’ The young squire cast a look of confusion at his master, who ignored him and continued. ‘So let us be off, for I have urgent business with Sir Gilbert Presseille at Idenhurst.’ Sibell’s protest was cut short by another devastating smile and she found to her consternation that her mind had
stopped functioning. The intended reprimand died on her
lips.

Sir Roger had thrown down the gauntlet of a challenge. He stretched out his hand peremptorily, daring her with mischievous eyes to refuse once more.

Rebellion suddenly stirred within Sibell and a treacherous voice in her mind asked, ‘Why shouldn’t I ride with him?’ Hadn’t she vowed to fight her father with any means at her disposal these last few days? She must have paced her bedchamber a hundred times at least, cursing him and his edicts. Well, here was her chance to defy him.

Her mind made up, she put her small hand in Sir Roger’s large one without further hesitation. She felt the strength of his fingers as he pulled her up behind him. She was lifted effortlessly, as if she weighed nothing at all, and found herself sitting on the huge rump of his war horse. He nudged the destrier and the animal set off at a slow walk.

‘His name is Snowflake.’ Sir Roger patted the horse with affection as they ambled along the lane. ‘His white mane and tail and gleaming coat made it the only choice of name for him, so what could I do? I had to bow to the inevitable.’ The knight laughed, a rich, glorious sound that sent vibrations of pleasure shooting through Sibell. ‘It’s not really a name to inspire awe in my enemies though, you must agree, but I try to keep it a secret. You’ll not tell, mistress?’

He glanced over his shoulder at her, his blue eyes twinkling. At such close quarters she noticed that his otherwise regular features were marred by a long scar running from the tip of the left eyebrow down towards his firm jaw line. An old wound, neatly healed, the puckered welt wasn’t ugly or frightening. Sibell wasn’t in any way repelled by it. In fact, strangely enough, she found it attractive, although she had no idea why that should be so.

She shook her head, unable to speak. He was trying to put her at ease, but she was too aware of him as a man to relax in his company. Of necessity she had to hold on to his lean waist in order to keep her seat, but she tried to keep her touch as light as possible. Even so, there was a strange tingling in her fingers every time she felt him move with the horse. She could have sworn she heard a smile in his voice when he said, ‘Hold on tight, Mistress Sibell. We wouldn’t want you falling off.’ Could he read her mind?

The morning was cold, despite the best efforts of the sun, and the warmth from Sir Roger’s steed was very welcome indeed. Sibell wasn’t convinced that riding with him was good for her peace of mind, but she had to admit it was definitely preferable to plodding along muddy tracks on foot.
As long as no one sees me.
Her father wouldn’t approve of her so much as talking to this man, let alone riding with him. Sibell shivered with remembered pain and concentrated on her surroundings.

A pox on her father, she thought defiantly.

A searing pain in her back woke Melissa abruptly in the middle of the night, dragging her out of a dream, which faded away even though she struggled to hold on to it. With a sigh, she turned over and tried to go to sleep again, but her back was very sore and she couldn’t get comfortable. She wondered what was wrong with it and grimaced as she tried to stretch.

Slowly, she became aware of a pungent smell in the room – horse or farmyard if she wasn’t mistaken. It would be impossible to imagine such a strong odour, so it had to be real.
Perhaps there’s a farm nearby? That might explain it.
It was a far cry from the noxious exhaust fumes outside her London flat, and strangely enough she found it less repellent. For some reason, it made her feel at home.

Still hurting, she sat up and felt her back to determine the cause of the pain, but it was subsiding rapidly now. Within seconds it had disappeared completely. Puzzled, she fumbled for the light to have a proper look, then remembered she was sharing the room with Jolie. She would have to look in the morning. Irritated, she lay down again.

The timbers of the old house creaked and she heard the wind whistling down the chimney in the tiny fireplace. The sounds didn’t disturb her. On the contrary, they gave her a feeling of security. She burrowed deep under the cover once more. If she closed her eyes, perhaps she could imagine how it must have been to live here hundreds of years ago, when there was no electricity or central heating. Only open fireplaces, horses and bold knights roaming the countryside. Bold knights
 
…?

‘Isn’t this much better than walking?’ Sir Roger asked cheerfully after they had been riding for a while. ‘We’ll be at Idenhurst in no time.’

Sibell didn’t know how to reply. It seemed to her he was going incredibly slowly and she wanted the journey over with in case they were seen. On the other hand, she enjoyed his banter and it made a nice change to be treated as though she was of consequence for once. Lately, she’d been ignored so often it felt as if she didn’t exist.

She heard the sound of horse’s hooves in the distance and turned swiftly to scan the surrounding area.

‘You don’t fear robbers, do you, mistress?’ He kept glancing over his shoulder at her.

‘What? Oh, no.’ Sibell sighed.
Robbers – if only it was that simple.

A tress of hair had escaped her headdress and impatiently she tried to push it back underneath the linen, then froze as she heard Sir Roger’s sharp intake of breath. She saw him stare, mesmerised, at the red colour of her hair. Embarrassed, she turned away. He was probably as appalled by its fiery hue as she was, she thought, but he recovered quickly and looked away.

‘I can assure you I’m well able to defend you against all but an army of men.’ He patted the lethal-looking sword dangling at his waist and Sibell glanced at the weapon. She didn’t think it an idle boast. Most men would likely think twice before challenging someone like him. With another inward sigh, she decided to tell him the truth. No doubt he’d hear all about her anyway if he stayed in these parts.

‘No, it’s not outlaws I fear, Sir Roger, but my father,’ she admitted.

‘Ah.’ Sir Roger nodded slowly, comprehension dawning in his eyes. ‘Is there perhaps another route we could take where the chances of meeting anyone would lessen?’

‘Why, yes.’ She was grateful for his quick understanding and gave him directions and they soon turned off the track into a small forest instead. ‘It’s only slightly further this way. You don’t mind?’

‘Not at all, it’s a fine morning for a ride after all.’ He grinned at her. ‘And with such lovely company, how could I complain?’

Sibell felt her cheeks turn rosy yet again. It had been a long time since anyone had teased her in this manner and she wasn’t used to the attentions of men such as he. The horse’s gait was soothing, however, and eventually she relaxed in his company and even managed to smile back as Sir Roger continued with his banter.

‘There, I knew it,’ he exclaimed, casting a triumphant look over his shoulder. ‘You do indeed have dimples. A face as perfect as yours had to have them, it was a foregone conclusion.’

‘What nonsense.’ A giggle escaped her before she could stop it. ‘I can see you’re practised in the art of flirtation, sir, but I shall ignore you. No doubt you speak that way to every female you encounter.’

He pretended to look mortally offended and she had to laugh at his expression. ‘You wound me to the quick, mistress,’ he protested. ‘I swear, everyone else will seem sadly wilted after your vibrant beauty.’