Captured by the Warrior by MERIEL FULLER Page A

would it?’ she replied woodenly. ‘Don’t you realise this is all your fault?’ An owl hooted, eerie and chilling through the oak woods that surrounded the garden. The rushing sound of the river broke through the trees, continuous, insistent.
    ‘No doubt you have wrought some intricately ill-informed explanation.’ Bastien cupped her elbow gently and began to lead her back to the castle, his manner deferential, formal. He had to maintain this emotional distance from her; it was easier that way.
    She ignored his sarcastic comment. ‘If you had let me go in the forest, then none of this would have happened. My father would not be a prisoner, I wouldn’t have to spy upon my friends…’ She wrenched her elbow away from him. ‘Tell the Duke you can’t do this, that you’re busy!’
    ‘I only wish I was!’ Bastien stopped for a moment. His breath puffed out, short bursts of mist in the chill night air. ‘Believe me, escorting a wilful young lady back to the King’s court isn’t my idea of a good time. But the Duke knows full well that I was intending to spend the winter on my estate sorting my affairs out.’
    ‘See, you are busy. Someone else needs to go in your stead.’
    ‘What, so you can give some poor unfortunate soldier the slip?’ he chortled, the iron mask of his reserve melting away. ‘I’ve only known you a handful of days, Alice, but even in that short time, I can read your mind.’
    I can read your mind. The intimate words, husky and low, punched into her brain. Her hands flew up, covering her cheeks, as if trying to place a barrier between his large, imposing presence and herself. She didn’t want this, didn’t want him here, next to her, insinuating himself wholeheartedly into her life. The thought of him accompanying her back to Abberley filled her with horror. And then there was Edmund…
    ‘And how am I supposed to explain your presence?’ she asked desperately, her hands falling away from herface. ‘Everyone will be most surprised that I have lost a father and gained a Yorkist thug in exchange. Edmund would certainly have something to say about that.’
    ‘Edmund…?’ He let the question drift over the evening air.
    ‘None of your business!’ Alice clamped her lips together, wishing she had never mentioned the name.
    ‘Ah, the young beau,’ he deduced quickly, alert to the tiny tilt of her head, the softening of her voice. ‘The man you intend to marry.’
    ‘The man I will marry,’ she corrected him. ‘Which will make it all the more difficult to explain you!’ She jabbed a finger into the middle of his chest; underneath the soft pad, his skin refused to yield: a powerful cage of muscle and rib, bound together by his innate strength. Alice dropped her fingers hastily.
    ‘I am the man who saved you from the evil clutches of the Duke of York and brought you home. It would be the least you could do to provide me with bed and board for a few days after such a daring rescue…’
    ‘Nay, nay…’ Alice backed away ‘…please tell me you jest.’ The very thought of him staying at Abberley, of having to be nice to him!
    ‘No jest, my lady, but the Duke’s plan in every detail.’
    ‘It won’t work, you’re completely mad, he’s completely mad!’
    ‘It’s a good thing I’m thick-skinned,’ he muttered. The wide span of his hands curved around her shoulders, the warmth from his skin flowing through the thin silk covering of her gown. ‘Listen, it’s not for ever, just until I have the information that the Duke needs. Then you need never see me again and can spend all your time with your pretty beau.’
    The words rankled. ‘He’s not like that,’ she responded irritably, feeling the box hedge push its prickly leaves through the material of her skirts and into the back of her calves. She felt uncomfortable hearing Edmund described as her ‘beau’, for up to this moment he had been a friend, and nothing more. Why, it was only a couple of days ago that she had