where you tread.” He turned his horse on the narrow path. “Come, let us go in search of dinner.”
Portia wanted to respond that she had neither the interest in nor intention of furthering their acquaintance, but she opted for an indifferent shrug instead. “At least let me have my dagger back.”
“Oh, certainly.” He presented it to her politely, hilt first, watching with interest as she tucked it back into her boot. “You threw it like an expert assassin.”
“As it happens, I’ve never tried to kill anyone before, but I know how to, should the need arise.” She turned her horse beside his. “Where are you taking me?”
“A farmhouse up the road.”
“And you’ll force them to give succor to an outlaw,” she said acidly, and then immediately cursed her unruly tongue.
However, to her relief, Rufus merely chuckled. “No, no,on the contrary. The Boltons will be delighted to see me. I hope you have a good appetite, because Annie’s likely to get offended if her plates aren’t cleaned.”
Portia glanced back again over her shoulder. She couldn’t see what she could do to aid the sergeant and his men, even if she knew where they were.
“Shall we canter?” Rufus suggested. “You’re looking very pinched and cold.”
“I always look cold. It’s because I’m thin,” she returned with a snap. “Like a scarecrow, really.” She nudged her mount into a canter, keeping pace with the chestnut’s easy lope until they drew rein outside a stone cottage set back from the road behind a low fieldstone wall. Smoke curled from the twin chimneys, and the windows were shuttered against the cold.
Rufus leaned down to open the gate and moved his horse to one side so she could precede him into the small front garden, where cabbage stalks poked up from the snow-covered ground. The door flew open and a small boy exploded into the garden.
“It’s Lord Rufus,” he yelled excitedly. “Grandmama, it’s Lord Rufus.”
“Lord bless ye, lad.” A plump woman appeared behind him in the doorway. “There’s no need to shout it from the rooftops.” She came out of the cottage, drawing a shawl over her head. “It’s been overlong, m’lord, since ye’ve paid us a visit.”
“Aye, I know it, Annie.” Rufus swung down from his horse and embraced the woman, who seemed to disappear into his cloak for a minute. “And if you’ll not forgive me, I’ll not sleep easy for a se’enight.”
“Oh, get on wi’ ye!” She laughed and slapped playfully at his arm. “Who’s the lass?”
“That I don’t know as yet.” Rufus turned back to Portia, still sitting her horse. “But I expect to discover very shortly.” Before she realized what he was about, he had reached up and lifted her out of the saddle, his hands firm at her waist. “You’ll not be holding secrets, will you, lass?”
He held her off the ground and there was an unmistakable challenge behind the laughter in his voice. Portia’s hacklesrose in instant response as she glared down into the bright blue gaze.
He chuckled softly and lifted her a little higher. His large hands easily spanned her waist, and Portia suddenly felt acutely vulnerable, like a doll made of twigs. “Put me down,” she demanded, resisting the almost uncontrollable urge to kick and struggle.
To her relief he did so immediately, saying over his shoulder, “We’re both right famished, Annie. Freddy, bait the horses and rub ’em down, lad.”
“Aye, m’lord.” The boy’s gaze was adoring as Rufus ruffled his shock of spiky dark hair.
“’Ow’s those lads of your’n, m’lord?” Annie inquired, hustling them into the cottage.
“Squabbling,” Rufus said with one of his deep laughs, unclasping his cloak and hanging it on a nail beside the door. He held out a hand for Portia’s in a gesture as matter-of-fact as it was commanding.
Rufus took the cloak from her, then held it for a minute before hanging it up, running his eyes over her in an unabashed appraisal
Portia wanted to respond that she had neither the interest in nor intention of furthering their acquaintance, but she opted for an indifferent shrug instead. “At least let me have my dagger back.”
“Oh, certainly.” He presented it to her politely, hilt first, watching with interest as she tucked it back into her boot. “You threw it like an expert assassin.”
“As it happens, I’ve never tried to kill anyone before, but I know how to, should the need arise.” She turned her horse beside his. “Where are you taking me?”
“A farmhouse up the road.”
“And you’ll force them to give succor to an outlaw,” she said acidly, and then immediately cursed her unruly tongue.
However, to her relief, Rufus merely chuckled. “No, no,on the contrary. The Boltons will be delighted to see me. I hope you have a good appetite, because Annie’s likely to get offended if her plates aren’t cleaned.”
Portia glanced back again over her shoulder. She couldn’t see what she could do to aid the sergeant and his men, even if she knew where they were.
“Shall we canter?” Rufus suggested. “You’re looking very pinched and cold.”
“I always look cold. It’s because I’m thin,” she returned with a snap. “Like a scarecrow, really.” She nudged her mount into a canter, keeping pace with the chestnut’s easy lope until they drew rein outside a stone cottage set back from the road behind a low fieldstone wall. Smoke curled from the twin chimneys, and the windows were shuttered against the cold.
Rufus leaned down to open the gate and moved his horse to one side so she could precede him into the small front garden, where cabbage stalks poked up from the snow-covered ground. The door flew open and a small boy exploded into the garden.
“It’s Lord Rufus,” he yelled excitedly. “Grandmama, it’s Lord Rufus.”
“Lord bless ye, lad.” A plump woman appeared behind him in the doorway. “There’s no need to shout it from the rooftops.” She came out of the cottage, drawing a shawl over her head. “It’s been overlong, m’lord, since ye’ve paid us a visit.”
“Aye, I know it, Annie.” Rufus swung down from his horse and embraced the woman, who seemed to disappear into his cloak for a minute. “And if you’ll not forgive me, I’ll not sleep easy for a se’enight.”
“Oh, get on wi’ ye!” She laughed and slapped playfully at his arm. “Who’s the lass?”
“That I don’t know as yet.” Rufus turned back to Portia, still sitting her horse. “But I expect to discover very shortly.” Before she realized what he was about, he had reached up and lifted her out of the saddle, his hands firm at her waist. “You’ll not be holding secrets, will you, lass?”
He held her off the ground and there was an unmistakable challenge behind the laughter in his voice. Portia’s hacklesrose in instant response as she glared down into the bright blue gaze.
He chuckled softly and lifted her a little higher. His large hands easily spanned her waist, and Portia suddenly felt acutely vulnerable, like a doll made of twigs. “Put me down,” she demanded, resisting the almost uncontrollable urge to kick and struggle.
To her relief he did so immediately, saying over his shoulder, “We’re both right famished, Annie. Freddy, bait the horses and rub ’em down, lad.”
“Aye, m’lord.” The boy’s gaze was adoring as Rufus ruffled his shock of spiky dark hair.
“’Ow’s those lads of your’n, m’lord?” Annie inquired, hustling them into the cottage.
“Squabbling,” Rufus said with one of his deep laughs, unclasping his cloak and hanging it on a nail beside the door. He held out a hand for Portia’s in a gesture as matter-of-fact as it was commanding.
Rufus took the cloak from her, then held it for a minute before hanging it up, running his eyes over her in an unabashed appraisal
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