The Silent Touch of Shadows by Christina Courtenay Page B

though. Her aura of fragility stirred his inherent chivalry to uncharted heights and made him want to protect her against the entire world. And when she tilted her head to one side and sent him a look full of trust and dawning hope, he knew he was lost. He couldn’t leave her.
    Perhaps not ever.
    On his return to Idenhurst, he forgot about Sibell for a while, however, when Hugone sought him out and drew him to one side.
    ‘Sir, I have some news. A servant of Sir Gilbert’s by the name of Walter came riding into the yard earlier, looking as though he’d been on a long journey. I decided to follow him and shortly after his arrival he met with his master in the stables.’
    ‘And why the secrecy?’ Roger’s interest was piqued. He suspected his host was a supporter of the Duke of York, but if so, he’d kept quiet about it. Officially, he was loyal to the   King.
    ‘Well, they spoke about you.’ Hugone looked slightly uncomfortable and Roger frowned at him.
    ‘Me? What did they say?’
    ‘It sounded to me as though the man Walter had been sent off to find out more about you, check your background, as it were.’
    Roger nodded. ‘Didn’t trust my story, eh? Can’t really blame him, I suppose. And what was the verdict?’
    ‘I heard Walter say that everything you’d told Sir Gilbert appeared to be true and he’d had no bad reports of you, only good.’ Hugone bit his lip. ‘Although   …’
    ‘Spit it out. What else did he say?’
    ‘He’d been told of your possible involvement with the Duke, sir. Nothing definite, but there were rumours, apparently.’
    ‘Hmm, no one can prove anything, but we’d do best to be on our guard. Not that I think Sir Gilbert will hold it against me, quite the opposite, but until we can talk of such things freely   …’ He fixed Hugone with a stern gaze, but knew it wasn’t really necessary. The youth was completely trustworthy.
    ‘Not a word, sir.’
    ‘Excellent. Thank you for your vigilance, and remind me to pay you extra this month.’

Chapter Nine
    ‘A snowstorm in March? Now I’ve seen everything.’ Dorothy threw up her hands in disgust and let the heavy velvet curtain fall back into place.
    Melissa, the room’s only other occupant, sneezed violently in reply and burrowed further into the huge winged armchair next to the fireplace.
    ‘Can I get you anything, dear?’ Dorothy asked.
    ‘No.’ Melissa blew her nose and added, ‘I mean, no thank you. Sorry to be so grumpy, but I don’t feel too good.’ Her head was aching like the very devil and she thought her sinuses might be in imminent danger of exploding.
    ‘Hmph. You’re a worse patient than my Charlie and that’s saying something.’
    Melissa couldn’t disagree with that statement since she’d never met the late lamented Mr Cummings, so she merely sniffed and reiterated her apology.
    Dorothy headed for the door. ‘Some hot soup is what you need. If anyone wants me I’ll be in the kitchen.’
    ‘Uh-hmm. Thanks.’
    The oak-beamed sitting room at Ashleigh Manor was a warm haven, cocooning Melissa from the violent snowstorm raging outside. The log fire in the enormous inglenook kept the room at just the right temperature, and had the added advantage of making the dark oak furniture gleam warmly in the reflection of its bright light. Large Persian rugs in shades of russet and red added insulation and a welcome splash of colour.
    Melissa sighed. ‘I hate being ill,’ she muttered, and leaned back to let the softness of the chair envelop her. Dorothy was right, she was a very bad patient. Russ, who was lying in front of the fire, raised his head and gave her a sympathetic look.
    The old timbers of the house creaked from time to time and the occasional gust of wind whistled down the chimney, but nothing else moved. Melissa could hear humming and the distant clatter of cooking utensils from the kitchen, but the noise seemed far away. A sense of unreality stole over her, and she was lulled into