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B EFORE B EATRICE COULD answer Myghal, a soldier carrying a banner, with more men behind him, came around a bend in the road.

Beatrice let out a sigh of relief. That familiar banner belonged to Sir Jowan, whose estate bordered Tregellas.

Her relief diminished somewhat when she realized it wasn’t the jovial Sir Jowan leading the armed party.

It was his fair-haired son, Kiernan, the man she was sure had wanted to marry Constance before Merrick had returned to Tregellas after his fifteen-year absence.

Constance, however, had once told Beatrice that whatever Kiernan wanted, she didn’t want him .

Beatrice had been glad. Kiernan was a nice enough fellow, but he was no Merrick or Ranulf.

For one thing, he was vain. At present he was wearing a heavily embroidered surcoat of rich deep blue and silver. His mail gleamed in the sunlight, as did his spurs and helmet. His horse, a fine black beast, was likewise attired in blue and silver, from its bridle to its britchens.

Kiernan had some right to his vanity, she supposed, for he was a good-looking fellow. However, he wasn’t as handsome as Henry, or as darkly attractive as Merrick, and he certainly didn’t make her heart race like Ranulf.

Having reached them, Kiernan ordered his men to halt.

He sprang down from his prancing gelding, its trappings jingling, and hurried toward her.

“Lady Beatrice, what’s happened?” he asked as he surveyed her muddy garments.

He darted a suspicious glance at Myghal.

“What are you doing on the road with this fellow?”

“This is Myghal, the sheriff of Penterwell,” she answered, quite calm now that her imagination was once again under her control and determined to ensure Kiernan didn’t get the wrong idea. “He’s escorting me back to the castle.”

“You have no other soldiers with you?”

“I need no more,” she said, not at all pleased by Kiernan’s arrogant tone. “I’m quite safe with Myghal.”

Kiernan’s expression as he looked again at Myghal told her he didn’t agree. “Sir Ranulf should take better care of his guests.”

“I did have more guards with me, until Myghal offered to go with me.”

Kiernan reached out to take her scraped right hand, bringing it to his lips. “Even so, Sir Ranulf should take better care of you. I would.”

Sweet Mother of God! She’d always been pleasant to Kiernan, but she’d never encouraged him to think there was anything more between them, and she never would.

“What a kind friend you are,” she replied, trying to extricate her hand from his grasp without grimacing with pain.

He saw her reaction and examined her palm. “You are hurt. We must get you to the castle at once!”

He made it sound as if she was bleeding profusely.

“It’s not that serious,” she protested.

“I insist ,” he declared.

He had no right to insist she do anything. “I shall have to walk. As you can see, I couldn’t possibly hold a horse’s reins, even if one of your men was so kind as to lend me his.”

“I’ll escort the lady,” Myghal said stiffly, and it was obvious he felt slighted by Kiernan—with good cause, too.

“I’m quite content to return with the sheriff,” Beatrice agreed. “Just tell the guards at the gate who you are.”

“I’m not about to let you walk to the castle in such a state and with this fellow,” Kiernan declared, retrieving his horse.

“I’m quite capable of walking,” she said firmly. “It’s my hands that are hurt, not my feet.”

“The sooner your wounds are tended to, the better,” Kiernan replied.

And then, without so much as a by-your-leave, he picked her up and hoisted her, protesting, onto his saddle. In the next moment, he’d mounted behind her.

Myghal drew his sword. “Sir, you’d best let the lady down.”

Kiernan’s men pulled their swords from their scabbards.

“It’s all right,” Beatrice quickly said before Kiernan’s men hurt Myghal. “Sir Kiernan’s going to let me down. Aren’t you, Kiernan?”

It wasn’t so much a request as a demand. She didn’t appreciate being hauled up as if she were a piece of baggage, nor did she appreciate the way he held her tight against him, his arm like a vise around her stomach.

Kiernan’s pursed lips told her that her request was falling on deaf ears and instead of answering her or letting her down, he addressed Myghal. “I assure you, I’m not going to harm her.” His tone grew even more haughty. “Whoever you are, it is not your place to order me .”

With that, Kiernan kicked his horse into a bone-jarring trot. Beatrice twisted to look back over her shoulder at an obviously enraged Myghal, who had to jump out of the way of the clumps of mud and stones tossed up by the hooves of Kiernan’s horse.

Truly angry now, she said, “That was the sheriff, not some a beggar on the road.”

“And you are a lady, not a peasant.”

“Yet you can pick me up like a load of wood? You should have treated Myghal with more respect, as both the man and his office deserve.”

“He should have found a horse for you to ride.”

“What are you doing here anyway?” she demanded, quite certain Ranulf hadn’t invited him.

Not only did Ranulf have no time for guests, considering what else he was dealing with, but she was fairly sure, judging by the way Ranulf looked at Kiernan sometimes, that he thought Sir Jowan’s son a rather pampered and spoiled young man—as, indeed, he was.

Kiernan looked down at her, his expression both grim and pompous. “I’ve come to take you back to Tregellas.”

She squirmed in Kiernan’s arms, trying to get a better look at his face. “Did Lord Merrick and Lady Constance ask you to fetch me?”

He flushed and stared into the space between his horse’s ears. “Not precisely.”

So they hadn’t. “Who do you think you are? You have no right to come here and—”

He spurred his horse to a faster pace, making her gasp and clutch the saddle lest she fall.

“What’s come over you?” she asked when she caught her breath. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“I couldn’t sit idly by while your reputation is destroyed. Your visit to Penterwell is the talk of every hall and tavern in Cornwall.”

“So what if it is?” she retorted, her sore hands forgotten as her grip tightened on the saddle. “I have every right to visit Sir Ranulf, as Constance and Merrick obviously believe, too.”

“Your guardians let you come because they love you and feel sorry for you and so they indulge you,” Kiernan answered, managing to sound aggravatingly condescending even on a cantering horse.

She had had all she could stand of Kiernan, whose generous father indulged his every whim. “Halt this horse and let me down!”

He didn’t. Instead, his arm clasped her closer, as if he feared she might jump, which she was tempted to do.

She’d almost rather risk a broken limb than listen to anything more Kiernan had to say.

Unfortunately, she knew from her conversations with the apothecary that any break could become very serious indeed, so she had no choice but to stay where she was.

“Stop this horse and let me down,” she said instead, “or I’ll scream.”

“There’s no need for hysterics.”

Hysterics? He thought this was hysterics? The man had no idea. “Unless you want me to demonstrate just how hysterical I can be, you’ll let me down at once!”

“I won’t let you walk unguarded back to the castle,” Kiernan replied. “Forgive me if I’ve upset you, but you have no choice in this matter.”

“You force me to be blunt. My reputation is not yours to guard, and it never will be. Now let me down or I’ll jump.”

Instead of answering, he urged his horse into a gallop, making it impossible for her to risk a leap from the saddle.

If she could have gotten her hands around Kiernan’s neck, she would have strangled him unconscious to get away.

Unfortunately, she couldn’t do that, so she had to endure the humiliation of arriving at Penterwell in this embarrassing, unnecessary fashion, which would surely be talked about in the barracks and tavern and cottages for at least a fortnight.

The guards at the gate stared in wide-eyed wonder as Kiernan finally reined in his horse. “My lady?” one of them asked, sounding as if he wasn’t at all certain he could believe his eyes.

“Yes. And this is Sir Kiernan of Penderston,” she replied, imbuing Kiernan’s title with as much scorn as she could muster, for Kiernan was obviously not a chivalrous knight. “Please let us pass. The rest of Sir Kiernan’s escort will be arriving later.”

The guards dutifully made way for them, exchanging both quizzical and rather wary looks as they passed.

“Sir Ranulf isn’t going to like this,” the one who’d spoken to Lady Beatrice noted.

“Not at all,” his comrade answered, sagely shaking his head.

B EATRICE, MEANWHILE , stifled a groan when she saw Ranulf leaning against the stable wall, his arms crossed, his expression inscrutable. What must he be thinking? Damn Kiernan and his arrogant presumption!

“Let me go,” she said through clenched teeth as Kiernan brought his prancing horse to a halt, but her captor only held her tighter.

She was never going to forgive him for this— never!

“Well, well, well, what have we here?” Ranulf remarked as he sauntered toward them. “Young Sir Kiernan of Penderston with Lady Beatrice on his horse like a prize of war.”

Beatrice tried to wiggle free of Kiernan’s grasp. “Kiernan met me when I was coming back with Myghal and he insisted I ride back with him. Indeed, he gave me no choice at all. He lifted me up onto his saddle and left Myghal behind on the road.”

When Kiernan replied, he didn’t sound at all irked by her answer. “She was walking on the road like a peasant and without an escort. She’d also fallen and cut her hands.”

Ranulf’s gaze flashed to Beatrice’s hands and worry darkened his brow.

“It’s nothing. I tripped, that’s all. And then Kiernan arrived and—”

“Was kind enough to bring you back,” Ranulf interrupted. “For which I’m grateful, although I applaud your indignation for Myghal’s sake. However, I’m sure he’ll recover. In the meantime, you should thank Sir Kiernan for his kindness.”