Page 10 of The Recluse and the Runaway

She shook her head. “I don’t believe so, Sir Rupert. No one can.” How she wished she could explain her predicament, but she couldn’t bear to see his kindliness change to scorn—as it surely would.

They walked on in silence and soon emerged from the wood. There before them stood the tidy, thatched cottages of the village. They seemed in excellent repair. How like Sir Rupert to take care of his tenants’ homes before his own!

No doubt his villagers were worthy people, whom one would never suspect of breaking a law.

She stopped short. “I don’t think… This isn’t wise… I’d better not go to the inn with you.” She turned to flee, but suddenly Fairy was right behind her, almost tripping her, giving another of her sharp, admonitory yaps.

“The dog disagrees,” Sir Rupert said with a faint smile.

“If I go with you to the inn, the innkeeper will remember me, and if someone comes looking for me, he will tell them.”

“Not if I introduce you as a childhood friend of my sister, come to help with the Christmas festivities, and in particular to make the lamb’s wool from your special recipe.”

“That will never do. A lady cannot stay in a gentleman’s house without a chaperone,” Nell protested.

“Since you are sharing Mrs. O’s bedchamber, as she will make entirely clear if required, that won’t be a problem.”

She nodded dubiously. This was all very confusing. On the one hand, in desperation she would have accepted becoming his mistress; on the other hand, she dreaded the consequences of gossip and scandal. Which was absurd, for if she were found, she faced far, far worse.

She shuddered at the thought. “Truly, I shouldn’t go to the inn. I’m sure whatever ale Mr. Hicks has will be perfectly fine. You have used it in the past, and surely you won’t go elsewhere—think of his chagrin if you did!”

“Ever thoughtful,” he said, guiding her gently down the village street, and somehow, she couldn’t resist. “Will the name McGinty be recognized by your pursuers?”

“I don’t think so,” she said. “She—they—” She was not going to blurt anything, drat it.

She didn’t need to. She had just admitted, without realizing it, that McGinty was not her surname.

“How about your first name? What is it, by the way? Helen? Eleanor? Not that I intend to mention it; in fact, we’d better not, but I’d like to know.”

“Eleanor,” she murmured.

“Ah, named after a queen—Eleanor of Aquitaine.” He smiled and nodded to a maid sweeping a doorstep.

“Actually, I was named after her,” Nell said, astonished. “She is an ancestor of—of sorts.”

“And I was named after a prince,” he said. “Rupert of the Rhine—also my ancestor, by way of a child born on the wrong side of the blanket.”

She giggled. “Mine, too.” She paused. “Heavens, we both have royal blood. Although my step—” She bit her tongue just in time.

He looked a question, but merely smiled and didn’t pursue it. He was too busy steering her toward the inn. The sign swinging above the door depicted a lady draped in green, with a belt and crown of ivy, carrying a lantern, and followed by a tiny dog.

“Look!” Nell said. “That dog looks just like our Fairy!”

“Fairy?”

“Yes, the dog you rescued last night. That’s what I call her, for she is tiny and full of fun and spirit.” She looked around, but Fairy was nowhere to be seen.

“She’s a bit of a nuisance, if you ask me,” Sir Rupert said. “Always getting in the way with that peremptory little bark of hers.”

“I rather like that. When I hesitate, she pushes me to go forward. To do what I must.” To no longer be afraid. It only worked for a little while—the fear kept coming back—but the moments without it were heaven.

“Come to think of it,” Sir Rupert said, “she does the same for me.”

~ ~ ~

Rupert would have rescued Nell from the stile without prompting from the dog—that is, if he had noticed her at all. He’d been weary, riding half asleep, and she’d been utterly silent, partly hidden by branches arching over the stile, and had made no attempt to attract his attention. The dog had done that.

Just as the same determined little creature had drawn attention to itself a mile or so earlier, and of course he’d scooped her up and cuddled her in his coat.