To Win the Widow's Heart

Chapter one

Chapter One

Eleanor Peyton was never certain what was worse: the dreams where her husband died, or the ones where he was still alive.  The former were always the same: Eleanor would stand and watch as though she was carved from granite, unable to move while Baldwin clawed helplessly at his throat, sliding to the floor of the feasting hall.  The screams of their wedding guests would ring in Eleanor’s ears and she would wake sobbing.

Tonight’s dream was the second type.  Eleanor could almost feel Baldwin’s breath on her face as he drew her close for a kiss, his brown eyes filled with a hunger that he had never exhibited while he had lived.  Though three years had passed since his death, Eleanor woke with her heart racing, aching for something she could not name.  They had never shared this bed but she felt his presence surrounding her like a shroud.

Wiping a sleeve across her damp forehead Eleanor untangled the sheets from around her legs and drew back the bed curtains.  Soft grey light was beginning to find its way through the gaps in the heavy drapes covering the windows.  Slipping a fur-trimmed surcoat over her linen shift, Eleanor hurried across the chilly stone floor to the window seat.  A biting squall was blowing in from the sea, tossing fishing boats around the jetty at the shoreline.  Eleanor settled herself onto the thick cushions, curling her bare feet beneath her and waited for the sun to rise.

She was perfectly placed, therefore, to spot the rider on horseback as he galloped down the road from the nearby village, coming to an abrupt halt at the water’s edge.  He dismounted and paced back and forth, searching for something.

At this time of year the arrival of a message from her father was neither unexpected nor welcome and Eleanor frowned to herself.  Soon the tide would go out, revealing the causeway and the messenger would find his way across the narrow path that separated the islet from the mainland.  The man lowered his hood revealing a shock of hair the exact copper shade of Eleanor’s own.  At the sight her heart leapt and she broke into a smile.

The door opened and Eleanor’s maid entered carrying a basket of wood.

“Jennet, come look,” Eleanor beckoned.  She indicated to the figure huddling in the rain as the sea slowly receded.  “Go tell Goodwife Bradshawe we have a visitor for breakfast, then come back to help me dress.  I need to look my best.  I can’t have my brother reporting back that I’m fading away in my isolation!”

x

An hour later Eleanor stood in the doorway, watching with amusement as her brother made his slow ascent up the steep, barren hill.  He paused at the gate to hand his horse to a waiting stable boy before climbing the winding pathway of old, granite steps, the sleeting rain making his progress slow.  Eleanor dropped a deep curtsey, grinning to herself at the sight of the heir to the barony of Elynbridge red faced and breathing heavily with exertion.

“Good morning, Edmund.  You must have risen early to beat the tide!”

Her brother scowled and pushed his dripping curls from his eyes. “Why couldn’t Baldwin have built a house somewhere flat?” he grumbled.

It was an old joke and Eleanor laughed.  “It’s because you’re a year older now.  You didn’t complain when you were twenty-three.”  She reached up to bat him on the arm.  Edmund caught her hand and drew her in a hug before holding her at arm’s length and examining her carefully.

“You look tired,” he announced, “Mother won’t be pleased.”

Eleanor rolled her eyes.  “I assume I will have a few days grace to make myself look presentable?  I don’t have to return today?”