marvelous fun while it lasted. It was also daft.
He stared at her quizzically. Had Basil guessed? Horrified he might’ve read her thoughts, she tried to sound unruffled. "What do I think about what?"
He moved his hands up as though to enclose hers, were it possible, and a slight tingle passed over her skin as he did.
"Elinor, it's our belief these men or their superior have played you false. We'd be most willing to advise them we're fully aware of their perfidy and put the situation to rights."
The sweetness of the gesture overwhelmed her. She’d love to throw her arms around him and hug him. Here was this splendid, charming man offering to defend and protect her interests. It was so chivalrous and gallant.
"Basil, trust me when I tell you those lengths of metal and board will do just fine. I don't need oak." She tilted her head coquettishly, a smile meant only for him on her lips. "Truly, Guardian will be okay. Please remember, this building doesn’t have to withstand a siege."
He stiffened, his proud features taut, but he made no rebuttal. Elinor was afraid he mistook her explanation as a rebuff of his advice, of his experience.
"Please don't do anything yet. Let's see how it turns out. If it's lacking, you've my blessing to do whatever you think necessary," she said in an effort to mollify him.
Basil agreed with one curt jerk of his chin and started over to Guy as visions of what sort of justice they'd mete out flashed in her mind. He was the liege lord once. The position gave him carte blanche over local lawbreakers to order flogging, branding, even death.
"Ah--Basil, you do know you can't run them through, don't you?"
He stopped, and she waited for him to argue. The moment of debate passed, with a simple "Aye," he moved on.
Guy leaned against the doorjamb, arms folded over his chest. Basil said something she couldn't hear. From the way Guy's mouth quirked, he didn't approve of her answer either. They felt she was out of her element. These fourteenth century men were happy to mete out justice to someone they suspected of playing her false. Sadly, no one among the twentieth century men she knew would've given the problem a second thought, if at all.
By mid-afternoon the crew had finished and left. Basil came into the stable as Elinor put the tack away. She continued storing equipment as he scrutinized the interior. His displeasure evident, she was ready for the negative comment she knew he’d make.
"Would you care to go riding with me, Elinor? I’d be most pleased if you say yes. It is a lovely day."
The invitation, sounded so formal in his old world accent. It resonated on the ear, rich and warm, the way hot fudge on ice cream tastes.
Surprised by the invitation, Elinor blinked, mentally switching gears from the prepared response for the criticism she expected. "Yes," she agreed in a cheery voice not used since her teens. "I'd love to."
She hurried to tack up Guardian, grateful for her diligence keeping his bridle and saddle clean. The immaculate Basil would notice slovenliness. He waited outside by Saladin. Elinor's grip on Guardian's reins tightened as they neared the door. He might freak encountering a ghost horse. She held her breath anticipating the worst from the unpredictable Thoroughbred.
Guardian's ears pricked forward then swiveled to the side several times as he listened. His neck arched and went rigid before he relaxed, dropping his head with a whinny. If he perceived the presence of Saladin he didn't feel threatened by it. Relieved, Elinor relaxed too and mounted.
"Where to milady?"
Elinor gave the woods brief consideration. "How about the castle? I haven't been since I was a child."
Basil wore a linen surcoat with a leopard rampant embroidered on the front over a short hauberk. Golden spurs etched with an elaborate design were strapped to high boots. His polished cuffed gauntlets held Saladin’s reins with innate surety. The picture of courage and grace, he was a history book’s
He stared at her quizzically. Had Basil guessed? Horrified he might’ve read her thoughts, she tried to sound unruffled. "What do I think about what?"
He moved his hands up as though to enclose hers, were it possible, and a slight tingle passed over her skin as he did.
"Elinor, it's our belief these men or their superior have played you false. We'd be most willing to advise them we're fully aware of their perfidy and put the situation to rights."
The sweetness of the gesture overwhelmed her. She’d love to throw her arms around him and hug him. Here was this splendid, charming man offering to defend and protect her interests. It was so chivalrous and gallant.
"Basil, trust me when I tell you those lengths of metal and board will do just fine. I don't need oak." She tilted her head coquettishly, a smile meant only for him on her lips. "Truly, Guardian will be okay. Please remember, this building doesn’t have to withstand a siege."
He stiffened, his proud features taut, but he made no rebuttal. Elinor was afraid he mistook her explanation as a rebuff of his advice, of his experience.
"Please don't do anything yet. Let's see how it turns out. If it's lacking, you've my blessing to do whatever you think necessary," she said in an effort to mollify him.
Basil agreed with one curt jerk of his chin and started over to Guy as visions of what sort of justice they'd mete out flashed in her mind. He was the liege lord once. The position gave him carte blanche over local lawbreakers to order flogging, branding, even death.
"Ah--Basil, you do know you can't run them through, don't you?"
He stopped, and she waited for him to argue. The moment of debate passed, with a simple "Aye," he moved on.
Guy leaned against the doorjamb, arms folded over his chest. Basil said something she couldn't hear. From the way Guy's mouth quirked, he didn't approve of her answer either. They felt she was out of her element. These fourteenth century men were happy to mete out justice to someone they suspected of playing her false. Sadly, no one among the twentieth century men she knew would've given the problem a second thought, if at all.
By mid-afternoon the crew had finished and left. Basil came into the stable as Elinor put the tack away. She continued storing equipment as he scrutinized the interior. His displeasure evident, she was ready for the negative comment she knew he’d make.
"Would you care to go riding with me, Elinor? I’d be most pleased if you say yes. It is a lovely day."
The invitation, sounded so formal in his old world accent. It resonated on the ear, rich and warm, the way hot fudge on ice cream tastes.
Surprised by the invitation, Elinor blinked, mentally switching gears from the prepared response for the criticism she expected. "Yes," she agreed in a cheery voice not used since her teens. "I'd love to."
She hurried to tack up Guardian, grateful for her diligence keeping his bridle and saddle clean. The immaculate Basil would notice slovenliness. He waited outside by Saladin. Elinor's grip on Guardian's reins tightened as they neared the door. He might freak encountering a ghost horse. She held her breath anticipating the worst from the unpredictable Thoroughbred.
Guardian's ears pricked forward then swiveled to the side several times as he listened. His neck arched and went rigid before he relaxed, dropping his head with a whinny. If he perceived the presence of Saladin he didn't feel threatened by it. Relieved, Elinor relaxed too and mounted.
"Where to milady?"
Elinor gave the woods brief consideration. "How about the castle? I haven't been since I was a child."
Basil wore a linen surcoat with a leopard rampant embroidered on the front over a short hauberk. Golden spurs etched with an elaborate design were strapped to high boots. His polished cuffed gauntlets held Saladin’s reins with innate surety. The picture of courage and grace, he was a history book’s
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