“I see.”
Sarah searched his face for any sign of suspicion, but he just watched her with a pleasant smile. “I should really seek my bed, Lord Rutledge. We are not accustomed to keeping late hours here at Leasworth.”
This time Anthony made no move to dissuade her. He stood and gave a courtly nod of his head. “Then don’t let me keep you, mistress, for I intend to request your services on the morrow.”
“My services?” Sarah asked uncertainly, rising to stand beside him.
“As a guide,” Anthony explained smoothly. “Your uncle has spoken so glowingly of your riding talents, I would like to see them for myself, and at the same time can use your knowledge of the neighborhood to help me in my mission.”
The entire conversation had left Sarah uncomfortable. At first she had been nervous about the baron’s disturbing effect on her personally, and now she began again to fear his presence as a representative of the king. She should never had made up that story about Jack, she told herself angrily. This man was too sharp to treat as a fool. She must tread carefully.
“As I said before, Uncle Thomas views my skill with the eyes of a doting relative. However, I would be happy to serve as your guide tomorrow.”
“Fine. Shall we say midmorning?”
Sarah nodded her assent, then turned to leave the room. Anthony watched the graceful line of her back as she walked toward the door. “Mistress Fairfax,” he called softly as her hand reached for the latch.
She stopped and looked back over her shoulder.
“If Master Partridge does not tell you how beautiful you are—tell you emphatically and often—then he doesn’t deserve you.”
Sarah again felt the heat from the fire all the way across the room. “Good night, your lordship,” she said quickly, and slipped out into the dark hall.
* * *
“I don’t think I fancy ‘Partridge.’ You could have come up with a grander-sounding name.” Jack lay sprawled across the foot of Sarah’s bed. He grinned at her over the top of the apple he was devouring. It was the fourth he’d consumed in the few minutes she had taken to tell of the previous evening’s conversation with the baron. Sarah tried not to think about what nocturnal activities might have caused her brother’s inordinate appetite this morning, but she couldn’t help a motherly scold.
“What time did you get home last night, anyway, little brother?”
The grin broadened. “You told me to stay away, remember?”
“It’s not a joke, Jack. Somehow I sense that this man is dangerous.” She pushed herself farther up in bed and hugged a pillow protectively against her middle. If nothing else, Anthony Rutledge was definitely a danger to her peace of mind. It had been hours before she had slept last night, and it hadn’t helped that she had heard no sounds of Jack’s return to his room next to hers. When she had finally slept, she’d had one of her disturbing dreams. They always started out the same...on that horrible day four years ago, the day of her father’s execution. She and Jack had been in the front of the crowd that day—lost, pitiful figures who were about to witness the end of the secure world they had known. But in her dreams she was no longer helpless. She was up on the platform with her father, fighting with his captors, dressed in solid black with a black silk mask covering her face. One by one she fought off the king’s men until finally there was only one left...and he stood over her father with a huge sword, more fearsome than any she had ever seen. From there the dreams would change. Sometimes her father changed into an eagle and flew away free into a bright blue sky. Sometimes that horrible sword would descend and then all she would see was red, great bright blotches that filled her vision and her head.
Last night the dreams had changed. Suddenly she’d been watching Jack in the meadow beyond Wiggleston. He’d been entwined hotly with Norah Thatcher, and then the figure changed again and it was not Jack anymore, but the baron. Even this morning she had vague memories... The baron’s dark hair falling forward as he bent his head toward milk white breasts. And they had not been Norah’s breasts...
“Sarah!” Jack’s voice was insistent. “What’s the matter with you? You’re pale as a ghost.”
She gave herself a little shake and swung her legs over to jump down from the bed. “Nothing’s the matter. I just didn’t sleep very well last night with a king’s man in the house and my brother out prowling the village like an overheated tomcat.”
Jack winced at the sharpness of her tone. “Who can understand you, Sarah? You’re the one who told me to stay away, and now you’re angry because I did as you asked.”
She sighed. “You’re right. I’m sorry, little brother. It’s just that the man makes me uncomfortable. All that nonsense about my supposed beauty...”
Jack’s smile was tender. “But, Sarah, you can’t fault the man for having eyes in his head. You are beautiful.”
Sarah pulled her voluminous night robes close around her and looked over at her brother. There was definitely a difference about him, a new awareness of her as a woman and himself as a man. He would never have said such a thing even a few weeks ago. It made her uncomfortable, but she found the change intriguing. “Thank you,” she said softly.
Jack dropped his eyes. “I guess Father and I were never much good at telling you so.”
“It doesn’t matter.” Sarah shook her head with embarrassment.
“Yes,” Jack said firmly. “It does matter. I have the most beautiful sister in all the country and I’ve never even told her so. I ought to be horsewhipped...or at least forced to listen to one of Parson Hollander’s sermons.”
Sarah giggled. As usual, Jack could defuse the most awkward moment with his good humor. She was tired and more than a little confused by the feelings of the past day and night, but overriding everything else, she felt a tremendous surge of love for her brother. Without him, her life would be barren indeed.
She walked around the end of the bed and leaned over to drop a kiss on his blond head. “Anyway, you do see that it’s more important than ever that you keep out of sight. You’ll have to stay in the village until the baron is gone. And I want you to talk to Parson Hollander and tell him to spread the word among the villagers. If he asks them to keep your presence secret, I know they’ll cooperate.”
“What about the servants here?”
“I’m going to speak with Uncle Thomas.”
“Get Bess to help you.” Bess was the head cook, absolute ruler of the Leasworth kitchens, and the only woman besides Sarah that Jack had ever listened to.
“She’ll do anything we ask if it’s to help you,” Sarah said with a smile. “So, it’s settled. Now be off with you.”
“And you promise not to be angry with me for spending the night away?”
“You could stay at Parson Hollander’s.”
Jack’s grimace made him look like a little boy again, and forced Sarah to laugh. “Oh, all right,” she said. “Stay wherever you please, just don’t come back around here until I send word that it’s safe.”
“But what about you? I don’t like the idea of you being with that man unprotected.”
“Don’t worry about me,” she said airily. “I’ll be fine. Now get along out of here before the baron shows up for our riding appointment.”
“You’re sure?”
“Of course. Absolutely sure. I’m not the least bit worried about being able to handle Lord Anthony Rutledge.” She turned away biting her lip. As far as she could remember, it was the first time she’d ever told her brother a lie.