The horse whinnied, a sound that might have been a chuckle of triumph, then stretched out to take the apple as gently as if he plucked petals from a flower. He surveyed Ramsay as he devoured the prize, a knowing gleam in his eyes, then flicked his tail again.
Perhaps this was détente.
Talbot gave a low whistle of appreciation.
Ramsay offered another apple, which was just as graciously accepted. In this moment, it was easy to see why Evangeline loved the horse.
Otto, however, had not had his say. He cleared his throat and continued with vigor. “You planned this day’s assault so perfectly, allowing for every detail, ensuring that no one would be injured, guaranteeing that you would have your moment alone with the lady to warn her. All proceeded perfectly, as is the tendency of your plans, and then you seized this horse!” Otto flung out his hands. “What was in your thoughts, boy? How could you make such a grievous error?”
Naught had been in his thoughts. They had been cast to the winds because Evangeline had refused him, then had kissed him, stirring his soul and making him yearn for what could never be. Ramsay could not confess such a detail to Otto, so he reached into his purse and withdrew the sapphire ring, knowing Talbot would recognize it.
That knight inhaled sharply at the sight of it.
“Because he gave her this,” Ramsay said, which was not half of the truth. He turned the ring so the sapphire caught the light. There could be no mistaking the setting or the gem, and Talbot stepped closer, seemingly snared by the sight of the gem.
“The fiend,” he whispered, reaching a fingertip to touch the stone, as if to verify that it was real. “Surely it cannot mean that he…”
Otto looked between the two younger men with confusion.
“I cannot say, but it is ominous that he holds it,” Ramsay said and returned the ring to his purse. He was well aware that the black stallion watched him retreat. Otto and Talbot followed him in silence, then watched him tend Foudre with efficient gestures. It was a pleasure to groom a cooperative horse, to be sure.
“Why would he surrender that ring to his betrothed?” Talbot asked.
“I cannot guess.”
“This then is why you do not ride south,” Talbot said finally. “The matter is as much about Alienor as this lady.”
“Rufus will do something,” Ramsay said with assurance. “I cannot guess what, but I fear for Lady Evangeline in his abode.”
Talbot nodded sagely. “Then we are glad to linger,” he said, giving Otto a significant glance. “You know Ramsay anticipates all.”
The older man frowned. “I hope whatever you sense, Ramsay, it is less foul than you expect.”
“But we speak of Rufus.”
“Aye, and Alienor,” Talbot agreed, his gaze clinging to Ramsay’s with conviction as both knights crossed themselves in that lady’s memory. “Never mind the week. We stay until you are satisfied, and we all stay, lest you face trouble alone.”
Ramsay offered his hand and Talbot shook it, cementing their agreement, as Otto watched. “I will have this tale,” he said and Ramsay nodded agreement.
“This very night.”
“Did you hear that Hugues found two hares in his snare?” the older man said then, directing their attention to more practical matters. “We shall dine well this night, to be sure.”
If naught else, those were welcome tidings indeed.
Chapter 3
Evangeline should have been relieved. Rufus Percival was certainly a handsome man. He was younger than she might have anticipated, being perhaps thirty summers of age. He was no man in his dotage, to be sure, nor one foul to look upon.
That made her consider that he was of an age with Ramsay. Was that why Ramsay knew of him? How much did Rufus know of Ramsay? And where had they met? It seemed that a nobleman who had been living in Normandy and a renegade in Scotland’s forests would be unlikely to be acquainted—but Ramsay had been so vehement in his dislike.
She drew her thoughts away from Ramsay with reluctance and strove to find favor with her betrothed. Rufus’ blond hair was striking, his eyes a brilliant green, his jaw square and his laugh booming. He was taller than any man she had ever known, a veritable Viking, but possessed the grace and charm of a courtier. His tabard was embroidered with his father’s insignia—the head of a unicorn surrounded by oak leaves—and his garb was all fine. Even the tooling on his leather belt was beyond rich. He was attentive to her and gracious to a fault.
Yet Evangeline despised him on sight.
She strove to battle against her first impression that he was deceptive and unreliable, that his compliments were insincere, that his gaze was a little too assessing, but failed. Indeed, his proximity made her belly churn with uncertainty. His touch sent a chill through her though she strove to keep from flinching. She felt imperiled in his presence and wished she could have ignored her own reaction.
How could Ramsay’s warning be so potent as this?
