Trapped at the Altar (21 page)

Ariadne was too confused about her reaction to Ivor's momentary disappearance to think too clearly. It had been a stupid response to his absence. Perhaps she was coming to rely on him too much? The thought stunned her. She had never been dependent on anyone. It wasn't practical. And yet, since she had moved into Ivor's cottage, slept in his bed, eaten supper with him every night, somehow she had begun to think of them as joined, partnered. And after last night . . .

Why hadn't he mentioned last night? The question hadn't been far from her thoughts all morning. Had it not been as wonderfully satisfying for him as it had been for her? Or had it just been another experience, no different from the many he had had in the whorehouse across the bridge, not worth thinking about the next morning?

But Ivor did not dissemble; it was not in his nature. He had been as much her partner in that lovemaking as she had been his. The dominant partner, certainly, but his pleasure had been as real as hers. There simply hadn't been an opportune moment to refer to it this morning, let alone talk about it, she told herself. There was no point in suffering wounded feminine pride in these circumstances.

Feeling much more like her pragmatic self, Ariadne drew rein at the coach. “How are you bearing up, Tilly?” she called up to the huddled figure.

“It's so big out here, Miss Ari,” Tilly said, seeming to draw even further into her cloak. “There's no one, nothing anywhere. 'Tis all sky and marsh.”

“It is a bit overwhelming,” Ariadne agreed, glad to forget her own earlier confused alarm with the need to reassure Tilly. “If you need to stretch your legs or find some privacy,” she added delicately, “I will come with you just over there.” She gestured with her whip to the convenient bush.

“I don't know, miss. I'm afeard to get down.” Tilly looked around again. “But I own I'll be glad of a privy.”

“Come on, then.” Ari dismounted and reached up her hand. Tilly scrambled down from the box. “We'll be back shortly,” Ari informed Ivor. “I expect everyone will be glad of a short respite.”

Ivor cursed silently, but he couldn't deny the little party what he'd taken for himself, however anxious he was to get across the Levels before nightfall. They'd find shelter of some kind in a farming village in the Polden Hills, where the ground was higher and not flood-prone, but they had to find it before dark. He looked across the plain to the faint dark outline of the hills that bisected the Levels. A good five hours' ride still, and they would have to stop again around noon.

Impatiently, he waited for the scattered members of his party to rejoin the track. Ari was chatting cheerfully with Tilly as they came back, and the girl was looking more cheerful as she scrambled back onto the coach with a helping hand from the coachman. She was still not prepared to discard any of her many layers, despite the mid-morning sun, but she sat upright instead of huddled and looked around her with eyes that were not so wide and frightened.

Ivor was about to dismount to help Ari onto her horse, but if she saw him make the move, she ignored it, mounting without his help. Ivor wondered wryly why he'd even thought to help her. It was not his usual practice. Ari had been climbing on and off horseback without assistance since she'd first learned to ride. But he supposed she was going to have to learn to accept help ordinarily offered a lady in polite society, so it was probably as well to get some practice in before they reached London.

He took his place in the procession ahead of the coach and behind the armed outriders, expecting Ari to come up beside him. Instead, she chose to ride beside the coach, talking cheerfully to Tilly. He supposed it was right that she should be making an effort to distract the girl from her fears, but nevertheless, he missed her company.

As the morning wore on, it became clear that something was occupying her mind. Even when she abandoned the slow-moving coach and moved up beside him, she seemed preoccupied, responding absently to any conversational sally, so that after a while he gave up.

When the sun was at its zenith, he called a halt. “We'll stop here for a half hour to take some refreshment and rest the horses. There's a mere just over there.” He dismounted. “Release the horses from their traces, Willum, and water them.” He glanced at Ariadne, who had dismounted, but she moved past him with that same air of distraction, leading Sphinx to the small pond a few yards distant.

“Is something troubling you, Ari?” he asked directly, as they stood side by side, their horses drinking at the mere,
where tall marsh willows swayed at the edge, throwing the shapes of their elegant wavery strands onto the still surface.

“Why should anything be troubling me?” She stroked Sphinx's bent neck, gazing absently across the pond, noticing that as her eyes grew accustomed to the vast loneliness of the plain, she was less alarmed by the sense of space.

He gave an involuntary chuckle. “Oh, come now, Ari, you sound just like a woman.”

“Why shouldn't I? I am a woman, aren't I?” She was genuinely surprised at his comment.

“Your great appeal, my dear girl, is that you have never put on any of the airs or affectations of your sex,” he informed her crisply. “Prevarication doesn't suit you. I know something's troubling you, so what is it? How can I put it right if I don't know?”

This surprised her, too. Did Ivor really think it was his responsibility to put right whatever was disturbing her? He hadn't felt that sense of responsibility in all the years of their growing together. Did he now think he had to be her protector, her guardian in every respect? It was a novel thought, and Ariadne wasn't at all sure that she liked it. She was responsible for herself and always had been.

“It's not your place to put things right, Ivor, not when they don't really have anything to do with you.”

He frowned. “I can't help feeling that it is my place, Ari. You are my wife. Husbands protect their wives.”

“I'm not your usual kind of wife,” she declared.

He laughed with rich enjoyment. “Indeed, you're not, dear girl. And thank the good Lord for that.”

Ari grinned reluctantly. “I am just feeling a little out of sorts,” she said, before adding deliberately, “And perhaps I'm tired after last night.”

At that, he smiled, a long, slow, and utterly sensual smile. He caught her plaits in one hand, bunching them at the nape of her neck so that her face lifted towards him, and he bent and kissed her mouth, a hard, swift kiss of possession. “That is a reason for being out of sorts, my sweet, that I find eminently acceptable,” he murmured as he lifted his mouth from hers, releasing his hold on her plaits. “Later I will do what I can to help you recover your usual good humor. But for now, let us go and eat before there's no food left.” He gave her braids a playful tug and slung an arm around her shoulders, urging her back to their companions.

T
hey rode mostly in silence for the rest of the day. Ivor was watchful, his eyes everywhere, scanning the countryside. They presented an inviting target for brigands and highwaymen, although such groups were less likely to be roaming the open spaces of the Levels. Once they reached the Polden Hills, there would be more possibilities of ambush. There were lawless folk everywhere, and the counties of the West Country were fiercely independent. Smuggling was rife along the extensive coastline, piracy and wrecking common pursuits, and bands of highwaymen lurked in the dark shadows of the hills and across the moors of Devon and Cornwall.

But they reached the lower slopes of the Polden Hills without seeing another soul on the track. “Now we look for a hostelry of some kind.” Ivor glanced with some anxiety up at the long shadows thrown by the hills. The horses were tiring now, and the team pulling the heavy
coach was breathing heavily as they hauled their burden up the sloping track.

“There should be a farming village close to the base of the hills,” Ari suggested. “They farm the Levels in summer, and it would make sense to be relatively close to their fields.”

Ivor nodded, wishing he knew more about this landscape. They were out of Daunt territory now, and he had never ventured farther afield than Taunton, which they had left far behind them. He called to the outriders a short way ahead of them, “One of you ride on and see where the next village is.”

One of the two raised a hand in acknowledgment and galloped up the narrowing track. “Why don't we go ahead?” Ari asked. “Our horses are faster.”

“We don't want to find ourselves attacked without support,” Ivor responded shortly. “With the men we have, we can hold off an ambush, but I don't give us much chance with just the two of us . . . however handy you are with that knife,” he added with a half smile. He turned to look at her. “Are you tired?”

“A little,” she admitted. “But more hungry than anything else. A chicken pasty at noon doesn't last very long.”

“Well, I wouldn't hold out too much hope for a decent supper around here,” he advised. “There's not enough traffic on this track to encourage lavish hospitality in any hostelry, assuming we find one.”

“And if we don't?”

“We'll get permission to bed down in a barn. We've
provisions enough for the horses and for ourselves. Hard rations, certainly, but it will have to do.”

Ariadne grimaced. It wasn't an inviting prospect. They pressed on, the path growing steeper as they entered the hills. “Oh, he's coming back,” she said suddenly, pointing with her whip at the horseman coming down the track towards them. “What did you find, Jake?”

“An inn of a kind, under the sign of the Fallow Deer,” he said as he reached them. “About a mile up. They've a loft for you and Miss Ari, Sir Ivor, and a good barn for the rest of us. They'll sell us hay for the horses, straw to bed down in. Plenty of ale and scrumpy, from their own orchards, and they'll sell us eggs and bread, and if we want to kill a couple of chickens, they're happy enough for us to make a fire in the forge.”

“Could be worse,” Ivor muttered.

“It's an adventure,” Ari said. “Don't sound so gloomy.”

He laughed. “Then let's go adventuring, my dear.” He turned in his saddle, calling back to the coachman. “About a mile farther, and we'll stop for the night. We'll go on ahead and see you at the sign of the Fallow Deer. Stay with the coach, Jake. Miss Ari and I will go on ahead.”

Ari gave a little whoop of pleasure, nudged her weary horse into a canter, and pulled away from the procession.

“Ari, wait for me.” Ivor's voice was sharp as he came up to her. “You are
never
to ride ahead of me. Do you understand?”

She frowned at him. “It's only a mile.”

“That's as may be, but this is a rule you must always obey. Is that clear?”

She wasn't accustomed to being spoken to in such a tone. Until the world had changed after her grandfather's death, it had been generally assumed that she was her own mistress and able to look after herself. That was certainly the attitude the old Earl had taken, and Ivor had never presumed to question her actions. But there was something in the deep blue eyes that told her she would be wise to accept the injunction. Besides, they were away from familiar territory where she was well-known, so maybe he had a point. She swallowed her moment of irritation and responded with mock humility. “Very well, sir. Anything you say, sir.”

He wondered whether to press his point further in the face of her lighthearted response and then decided to leave well enough alone. If she left him behind again, it would be a different matter. But for all her easygoing mischief, Ariadne was no fool. She knew the dangers of this journey as well as anyone.

The inn was little more than a slate-roofed cottage set a little way back from the track. A low stone wall separated it from the path, and the patch of ground before the front door was just scraggly grass and bare earth. The sign of the Fallow Deer swung rather forlornly and somewhat crookedly above the front door. A few outbuildings were clustered close by, and beyond them, a few fields, now shorn of the wheat harvest, showed only turned brown earth. The inn stood on the outskirts of a small hamlet, a mere scattering of cottages with small vegetable plots. Chickens wandered the track among the cottages, scratching in the earth, and one or two dogs roamed at will.

The sun was now very low in the sky, and the shadows were creeping across the ground. A brisk wind had got up, and there was the promise of rain in the heavy gray overhang of cloud. Ivor dismounted and went to the door, which opened just as he reached it. An angular man, a corncob pipe in his mouth, surveyed the riders with an air neither welcoming nor otherwise.

“You the lot wantin' a bed for the night?”

“Beds and supper,” Ivor stated, drawing a leather purse from inside his coat. He was not about to waste time with the landlord. “I understand you can provide both.”