Page 54 of Ella’s Desire

Bronson, however, cast a long, lingering look at her that made her breath lock in her chest. “Think on what I said.”

Ella nodded, agreeing only to think on it. For how could she ever truly agree to go to court? How could such a life ever be happy?

The day was good for hunting. The sky overhead was clear, the sun bright enough to warm them all despite a chilly wind. It was far different from the courtly hunts Bronson was used to: less people, less wine, less gossip.

He drew in a deep breath of crisp air and had to admit there was a certain appeal to the wildness of the land, the freedom of not being perpetually surrounded by people. In a sense, he could understand Ella’s hesitation.

Bear trotted alongside Bronson’s horse, his remaining hunting dog as Wolf was back at Werrick with a belly swollen with pups to be born in a sennight or so, and Hardy was at Leila and Lark’s sides. While Bronson ought to be upset at having lost his fastest hunting dog, Hardy was far happier with the girls than he’d ever been chasing game about.

“Ella seems taken with you.” Lord Werrick scanned the nearby forest for any signs of movement.

Bronson lowered his head in acknowledgment. “But she had not anticipated going to court.”

The earl gave a hum of understanding. “There are many rules at court, and my Ella has never been one for rules. It’s my fault, I’m afraid.”

They urged their horses on through the forest, but all around them remained still.

“Ella did not take it well when Lady Werrick died, God rest her soul.” The earl released his reins with one hand to cross himself. “It was not a kind death, as those from childbirth seldom are. After Leila was born, Ella seemed to…” the earl glanced up at the sky as though searching for the right word before shrugging. “She seemed to fall into herself. As if she intended to replace the world around her with the one that she made up in her head. But it seemed to make her less distraught to do so and I did not stop her.”

A conversation with Ella rose in Bronson’s mind, how she had mentioned her mother dying after delivering a babe. She’d never answered his question when he’d asked if the babe lived. He now understood that babe to be Leila. Suddenly the difference of the girl’s appearance made more sense, as did her need for a companion who was not one of her sisters.

Movement rustled one of the bushes, but Lord Werrick did not bother looking in that direction. “I confess I was too consumed in my own grief to raise Ella as a girl ought to be raised. And now she is the lady you know today. One who balks at rules, does as she likes, and runs wild.” A gleam of affection showed in his eyes. “There is not another girl like my Ella.”

“Do you think I can convince her to join me at court?” Bronson watched the bushes and reached a hand out to Rafe to grab his bow and arrow.

“Aye, she’ll go, but you’ll need to make it her idea to do so.” Werrick’s gaze slid in the direction of Bronson’s attention.

Bronson took the bow and arrow, nocked an arrow and drew the bow back. He gave a little hiss at Bear, who tore off into the foliage to make the inhabitant flee out into the open. A small brown bird darted into the air. Nothing worth bothering to shoot.

Bronson lowered his weapon. “Might you offer a suggestion on how to make her want to go?”

“My daughter has an impetuous heart. Tell her of the aspects of court you think she will enjoy and don’t make her change who she is.” The earl sat forward in his saddle and peered into a copse of nearby trees.

Bronson remained quiet, for Ella could not remain who she was at court. There were no trees to climb, no quiet, warm rooms to slip away into for reading. Her fair hair, which she loved to wear unbound, would need to be braided and coiled about her head, secured with gilded nets and gauzy veils.

“There’s another thing about Ella you should bear in mind.” Werrick motioned for his servant to hand him his own bow and arrow. “She’s different from other lasses. You know that already, I presume.”

Bronson nodded, his gaze fixed on the trees.

“Love her for who she is.” Werrick clicked his tongue and one of his dogs ran forward.

A beast barreled from its hiding place, coarse black hair, yellowed tusks and snorting with rage. A boar.

Bronson’s body fired with energy and together they raced forward. The hunt was on.

19

Market days were always crowded in the village. Vendors called out as Ella strode past with Brigid, William and the guard behind them. Ella had not liked market days as a child. After the attack, she found them overwhelming.

There had been too many people she did not know and did not trust, and far too much noise. So, while her sisters had gone to market for honey pastries and woven ribbons, she had stayed in the quiet solar, curled up in the window seat with a book.

Now that Marin and Anice were gone, the task of going to market day periodically had fallen upon Ella. Admittedly, she was not particularly good at it. Not like her elder sisters were.

“How are the market days in London?” Ella asked Brigid. “Surely they must be quite large.”

“Aye.” Brigid looked over a bin of parsnips with an assessing gaze. “London is so large that there are several market squares within the city.”

Several market squares? Ella had not gone to shops while at court. At least not that she remembered.