years fall away from his face and the lingering sadness lift a little. She owed him everything—her resourcefulness, her skills as a horsewoman, her knowledge of medicinal herbs, as well as her undeniable stubbornness. Leaving him to take up her position at Castle Craig had been hard, but she had, in truth, had no choice in the matter. When Lord Geraint took an idea into his head it was not wise to go against him. It was he who, while inspecting a new courser one day at her father’s home, had seen Megan and suggested she would make a good nursemaid for his young sons. Lord Geraint was not only the most powerful noble for many miles, he was Twm’s landlord, and as such held great power over him. Twm had no sons to inherit the tenancy, but it was his wish, and Megan’s, that she be allowed to take it on, with her husband, should she be married by then. It was her dearest hope that she would one day be permitted to return to her true home and breed and train horses as her father had done. But she recognized this could only happen with their landlord’s goodwill, and she was worldly enough to see the precarious position in which her employer’s interest placed her. In the meanwhile, Twm paid his rent promptly and gave his landlord first pick of his best mounts, at a reduced price, naturally. Almost two years had passed since Megan had moved to Castle Craig. She had grown up quickly and had learned that her wits were all that stood between her and Lord Geraint’s baser desires.
As if the thought of the man had summoned him, the sound of approaching horses jolted Megan and her father from their precious moment together. Twm squinted out of the window.
“Riders. It is Lord Geraint.”
They hurried outside. The sunlight seemed harsh now, its glare illuminating Megan, leaving her no place to hide her awkwardness at being found visiting when she should be taking the children home.
Dafydd struggled to hold the horses and ponies as the entourage thundered into the little yard. Lord Geraint had been out hawking, and the mounts in his party were slick with sweat. They made a spectacular sight, a sudden carnival of color, jangling tack, and regal birds. He reined in his destrier a few feet from where Megan stood. He rode one of his favorites, Midnight, a colossal black stallion with arched neck and flowing mane. This was a mount built for speed and endurance, trained for sport and battle. It fidgeted as it stood, restless, ready to be off, listening for the slightest signal from its master. As it tossed its head foam from its mouth flecked Megan’s dress. She made no move to wipe it away but stayed still, waiting for Lord Geraint’s reaction to finding her there. He gazed down at her, a small smile playing on his lips, enjoying her discomfort. Even now, at his sport, he looked every inch the nobleman. His clothes were of the finest leather and wool. The saddle on which he sat so proudly and at ease would have taken a year to make and cost more than Megan’s father would earn in twice that time. The hawk on his gauntlet was one of a number kept for his amusement and trained to kill. He held out his arm and an aide took the bird from him. He shifted in his saddle, leaning back, reins in one hand, relaxed, taking no notice of the nervousness of his horse.
“Megan, I must say I am surprised to find you here. I understood you were taking my sons out riding. But then, you must have gained permission for your visit from Lady Rhiannon, am I right?”
Megan kept her voice level. “No, my Lord. That is, I did not think to ask for permission.”
“Oh. Is that so? Then you thought it of no account where you wandered with my children in your charge.”
“I would not have brought them here had I believed this to be in any way against their best interests, my Lord. We were passing on our return journey.”
“Indeed?” Lord Geraint dropped the reins and swung his leg forward, springing down from Midnight’s back with casual ease.