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She would not let the two men even suggest that Christopher was the one responsible for hurting her.

Fortunately, earlier that morning, in agreement with Sir Alexander, she had imagined a story that would explain both why she had spent the night at Audley Castle and how she had ended up with bruises around her neck.

Her family wouldn’t like to hear it, but at least that way, she would ensure Christopher’s name was not mentioned and her father did not rush to Throckmorton to murder Lord Ashton.

“Yesterday, I went for a ride, and as I stopped by the river to water Angel, two men jumped on me.”

As she had expected, a chorus of feminine gasps and masculine growls greeted her announcement. “What the?—”

“Mercifully, my shouts alerted Sir Alexander Rathbone, who was riding past. He came to my rescue before anything could happen.” Remembering Lord Ashton’s assault and her fear at the thought she was about to die, she did not find it hard to sound convincing.

“He saved me. But I’m afraid I fainted once he’d sent the ruffians running, and, not knowing who I was or where to take me, he carried me back to his home at Audley Castle.

By the time I came to, it was late and I was too badly shaken to attempt a ride.

I believe he sent a messenger to inform you where I was? ”

“He did,” her mother confirmed, her voice trembling. “We are most grateful to the kind man for his timely intervention.”

Jane seized her hand, looking sick with worry.

Branwen had gone deathly white, and Matthew quickly drew her into his embrace, cradling her rounded stomach as he did.

Guilt sliced through Sian. She should perhaps have tried to find a less shocking explanation for her disappearance, one that did not send her family into such a flurry of anguish.

But with the memory of Christopher’s body against hers, she had been unable to think, and Sir Alexander’s idea had seemed as good as any.

“I’m truly all right,” she said, giving Jane’s hand a squeeze. “I swear.”

“Sir Alexander Rathbone,” her father muttered.

Sian’s heart flipped inside her chest. Damnation, he was trying to remember where he had heard the name before. If he identified him as Christopher’s friend, his suspicions would be renewed.

“Yes, though he is a complete stranger, he was most helpful,” she offered, desperate to steer his mind back to her.

“And he let you ride back home alone despite what had happened the day before?” Her uncle sounded confused—and not best impressed. Of course, a chivalrous knight who’d just rescued a woman from assault would never have let her leave his home without a proper escort. It made no sense.

“He would have come with me—in fact, he was most insistent—but when I found out he was due to visit a sickly cousin in town, I declined his offer. He sent his squire and a groom instead. On my orders, the two men left me once we were in view of the gate.”

Fortunately, as that did sound like something she would do, no one doubted her.

“I will have to ride to Audley tomorrow to thank him for what he did,” Connor said eventually.

“Yes. I’ll go with you,” Esyllt added.

And so the following day Sian had accompanied them and been relieved to see Sir Alexander play his part to perfection.

Her parents had left Audley fully reassured, and Connor had not seemed to remember why the man’s name was familiar.

Of Christopher, there had been no trace.

He could have hidden in some dark corner when he’d seen her ride through the gate with her parents, of course, but it was more likely he’d left the castle altogether.

The way he had galloped away from her the day before seemed to suggest he wanted to put as much distance between them as he could.

It wouldn’t surprise her if he had gone to the south coast and even crossed the sea in his bid to avoid her while she rode back north to her new home—and her husband.

Her chest tightened when she spotted the towers of Clearfield Hall in the distance.

This was it. The rest of her life was to be spent here, as Lady Cantle.

It would have to suffice even if it was not what she wanted.

Aged nine, she had elected to marry Christopher so that she could have children.

And here she was, aged twenty, married to a man she didn’t love who would never give her the babies she craved.

How cruel life could be.

But at least she had her dignity intact.

As hard as it had been at the time, she was grateful to Christopher for allowing her to go to her husband with her head held high and her conscience clear.

She and Lord Cantle did not have a true marriage, and he knew she’d had a lover before their wedding—a man she was still in love with—but she guessed he would be gratified to know she had honored her vows to him if he found out she had spent the night in the same bed as Christopher after her ordeal.

Not that he ever would, fortunately. It would forever be their secret.

The retinue rode into the bailey just before dusk, as the first snowflakes started to fall. Young Peter, the steward’s son, ran up to her as soon as she had dismounted, his face a mask of anguish.

“Oh, my lady! Thank the Lord you’re back! We were about to send a message for you to Sheridan Manor.”

“Were you? Why?” Her heart started to beat wildly as a hundred and one possibilities, each more dreadful than the last, crossed her mind.

“An accident. Lord Spelling and Lord Cantle. A j-joust. The l-lance …” Peter was stammering and shaking his head. “His lordship is convinced he will not survive his injury.”

Sian blinked. Had she heard right? Had the man mentioned a joust? Had he just said her husband was dying ?

“Take me to him.” It was clear she would not get much sense out of the poor boy.

As she entered her husband’s bedchamber for the first time since their wedding, Sian immediately saw that Peter might not have exaggerated.

She could tell Lord Cantle had indeed been injured and that the injury was severe.

The left side of his face was heavily bandaged, much like Christopher’s had been after the tourney.

Except this time, it was not a ruse destined to hide his identity. It was all too real.

“My lord,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Ah, my dear,” he said, turning his head to her. He sounded weary, nothing like his usual self. “You’re back.”

“I am.” She nodded his dismissal to Peter and closed the door behind her. Alone with her husband, she sat on the edge of the bed and took his hand in hers, something she had never dared do before. “Now, what is this I hear about a joust?”

About him dying?

“Alas, ’tis true. I fear I will not live to see another Christmas, and my physician agrees, though he has not dared say as much out loud.”

As he spoke, a grimace contorted his face. Her own insides twisted in turn. Was there nothing she could do to alleviate his pain?

Sian swallowed, utterly at a loss. What did one say to a man who knew he was dying?

“It’s my own fault,” he carried on. “After the tourney, I was filled with renewed enthusiasm and felt twenty years younger. A few days after you left, I accepted my cousin’s challenge and agreed to ride against him in a friendly contest. As anyone could have predicted, I was no match for him.

On the first run, his lance shattered against my breastplate.

A shard flew up and embedded itself in my left eye.

Herbert had promised we would take it steady to start with, so, fools that we were, we didn’t wear any helmets. ”

A shard of wood had hit him in the eye? This was horrific. “I-I don’t know what to say,” Sian stammered.

“There is no need to say anything. My children have all been notified and should arrive soon to receive my final blessing.”

Final blessing? She recoiled.

“No! It cannot?—”

“It will. The wound got infected and … Well.” He patted her hand gently, resigned but firm.

“I don’t have much time left, and, in all honesty, I don’t wish for it.

I’m in too much pain.” Another pause, ominous.

Sian tensed up. What was he about to say?

Did she want to know? “Forgive me for my bluntness, but there isn’t much time.

I saw your reaction when Sir Alexander Rathbone appeared in front of us at the joust, and I did not miss his attempt at hiding his features afterward.

Unlike Herbert, I am not as foolish as to ignore that the man lost his last contest willingly.

I imagine he wanted to avoid questions about his presence at Clearfield being asked. ”

Her silence was a confirmation in itself. Lord Cantle gave her hand a squeeze.

Heart in her throat, Sian waited.

“Now I understand why you asked me about him when you saw his name on the list of contenders. He is the man you love, is he not?”

The irony of it would have made her smile at any other moment. Her husband had guessed the dashing knight was the man who’d captured her heart, but he had attributed him a false identity. It seemed that the world was forever destined to think of Christopher as another man.

“He is.” She didn’t want to lie, and she didn’t see the point in explaining the confusion behind the name. It would serve no purpose, and Lord Cantle was in too much pain for lengthy conversations.

“Well, I think you were mistaken to think he had abandoned you. It is clear to me that the man still has feelings for you. He came to the tourney to see you, nothing more, nothing less. Why else would he compete in the joust and then wilfully renounce the prize that should have been his? He is not as indifferent as you thought.”

He was absolutely right. Christopher had not abandoned her; he still had feelings for her and she for him. Still, she could hardly admit to being in love with another man while at her husband’s deathbed.

“You should not worry yourself about?—”

“But I do. As my widow, you will be able to enjoy the happiness you deserve when you are finally reunited with Sir Alexander.” He stared at her with his right eye, the look in it earnest. “I give you my blessing not to mourn me overmuch. Make Sir Alexander see what a gem he’s losing in losing you.

I think he will if he is half the man I think he is.

And then, marry him. He will give you the children I never could. ”

Tears filled Sian’s eyes. Had a more selfless man ever existed? She brought his hand to her mouth and kissed it fervently. “My lord, please do not talk like this. I cannot bear it.”

“But you will, with his help.” He attempted a smile. “Life is short, my dear. Make the most of yours, or you’ll regret it. I have very few regrets, that is why I can leave in peace. I wish the same for you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I want to rest.”