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After climbing out of the cart awkwardly with his splinted leg, Sir John was introduced to Master Wilden’s assistant, Hugh, the village reeve. Hugh commiserated with Sir John about the bruises on his face. Elizabeth tried to remain in the background, pretending that she had little to say. That was easy enough when Sir John seemed so very interested and asked intelligent questions. She fell behind the group and admired the peacefulness of the village. She’d been here before, of course, but always on the way somewhere else, as if her life had so much more meaning than did the lives of these villagers.

But now she watched a husband and wife working together in the kitchen garden behind their small, two room stone cottage. A child crawled in the dirt row behind them. They had little, but they shared all, including the work. There was a fondness in their shared gazes that spoke of love and loyalty. This man did not consider his wife above him, an object of supreme devotion, as so many of the romantic poems implied. Elizabeth knew that that was how William would have treated her. She still longed for the comfort and familiarity of that. But there was something about the way that this simple farmer looked at his wife…

As the afternoon went by, John found that, when he could forget about his growing attraction to Anne, he enjoyed having her at his side. She was knowledgeable about the village and the manor itself, although at first he had to coax her into speaking. She kept shyly ducking her head and looking at the villagers from beneath her lashes, as if taking her out of the castle made her unsure of herself. And Anne was one woman he would have sworn had confidence in any situation.

Hugh spoke with John about the service owed by each of the villagers, and assured them that no one was causing trouble. They met with the hayward about the hedges that kept the sheep from wandering too far. Even the crops were doing well.

At last, John paused, balancing with the aid of his crutch, and looked up at the manor. “And how is Master Wilden?”

Hugh, pale and blond, ran his forearm across his damp forehead and frowned. “Master Wilden suffered from the fever for many days, yet the healer believes he will recover. But he is old, and it will take him a long time.”

John nodded, relieved that the man would live—and relieved that he himself could continue to do the bailiff’s work for a while longer. “Do you know if he would like to speak with me?”

Hugh shook his head. “He sleeps much of the day yet, milord. The next time ye’re here, perhaps. Would ye care to stay for supper?”

This time Anne showed more emotion—in fact she looked worried.

“It is a kind offer, Hugh,” John said, still watching Anne, “but we want to return before dark. Our cook sent along food for the journey.”

She looked away, although he could have sworn she sighed with relief.

When they were once again riding in the cart, headed back to the castle, several villagers waved at them as they came in from the fields, a day’s labor done. Anne showed more enthusiasm now, waving in return. When she faced forward again, she sighed and closed her eyes.

“That was difficult for you?” he asked.

She shook her head. “I am just uncomfortable as your assistant. They all know who I am.”

“Uncomfortable? I didn’t even ask you to write in an account book, yet. There was little for you to do but listen and learn.”

“Then I fulfilled your expectations,” she said.

She seemed a little too pleased with herself. John let the silence build for half a mile, and then he said, “Ah, there is the small stream I remember. We’ll stop here.”

Her eyes opened in a hurry. “Stop? But we need to return before dark.”

“But we have to eat. Adalia packed the satchel in the back of the cart.”

“I can eat and ride.”

“Well, I cannot. The food will bounce out of my hand. We’ll stop here.”

He guided the cart beneath a small cluster of trees. Once again, getting down from the cart proved a delicate, dangerous act, but when he was safely on the ground, he looked back up at Anne. She was still seated on the bench, and she was frowning at him.

Nine

Elizabeth remained perched on the bench of the cart, looking down on a confused Sir John. It was too secluded here. Trees grew protectively around a small stream, and she could hear its gentle babble.

They were alone. Truly and completely alone, no one within calling distance, no one to stop him should he try⁠—

What? What did she think he would do to her? After all, she’d known him only several days, and this fragile feeling of friendship that had formed between them could be an illusion. Perhaps it was part of a wicked plot.

A plot to seduce a maidservant? Why would he bother, when with his face and good nature, he could have any woman he wanted?

“Anne?” Sir John said, reaching up a hand. “May I help you down?”

He was the one injured, a splint on his leg. She meant to turn and put her foot on the wheel, but he caught her about the waist and lifted her off her feet. Startled, she clutched his shoulders as she was lowered easily to the ground. For a moment they stood thusly, their hands on each other while they stared. She had felt the strength in him, the way the muscles in his shoulders bunched and moved. His hands were large on her waist, making her feel delicate. And for a woman who was considered tall, she didn’t even reach his shoulders.

She took a step away, looking anywhere but in his eyes. “So you brought us a meal?”