Trapped at the Altar

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.





FOURTEEN





They 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.