Love's Will Read Online Free

up in his grievances that he had forgotten she was more than a chance-come-by and welcome listener. “I’m sorry, I forgot. Is your ankle very bad?”
    “Better for not walking on it. If you could set me down now…”
    “Oh no, I’ll see you inside, help you. Is there someone at home to care for you?” Earnestly he said, “You should soak your foot in cold water, then bandage it up.” Leaning down, he unhooked the gate and kicked it open. The horse seemed to remember it had been here before, and approved, for it walked contentedly into the farmyard behind the house.
    “My stepmother’s probably at home. The maids will be.”
    “I’ll help you in,” he insisted. She began to demur, but when he dismounted and lifted her down and she put weight on her damaged foot, she gasped and he saw her turn pale. Quickly he put his arm around her. Then, with a better idea, he simply lifted her up in his arms and carried her into the house.
    Anne’s home was a large, handsome house, built on a slope running down to a brook. To one side was an orchard, to the other a spreading kitchen garden. The kitchen into which William carried Anne was broad and low-ceilinged, spotless, and full of good cooking smells. Two maidservants, three children and a little, round, fair-haired woman all turned to stare at Anne in a strange man’s arms.
    “Mother,” she said hastily, “I turned my ankle – nothing too bad – and very luckily William Shakspere found me on the way and gave me a ride home. William, you remember my stepmother, Mrs Hathaway.”
    “Of course. Good afternoon, madam.”
    “Good day to you.” Mrs Hathaway dried her hands on her apron, looking William over. “It’s very kind of you, Master William.”
    “Not at all. Mistress Anne should soak her ankle in cold water. Could I fetch water from the well?”
    “Tom will do it,” said Anne. The stout boy, about ten, didn’t move. “Please, Thomas.”
    When he still didn’t move William said easily, “It would be too heavy for him. Let me fetch it. Can I set you down somewhere?”
    “It’s not too heavy for me!”
    “Well, if you’re sure.”
    “Clever,” Anne whispered as the child shot out the door. Aloud she added, “Mother, I shan’t be in your way; William, if you don’t mind taking me to the hall. You remember where it is?”
    “Of course.” And he carried her through the connecting door. He remembered this house quite well, but there had been changes since his last visit; a new fireplace, a ceiling put into the hall for rooms to be made above. Here too everything was very clean and tidy. There were excellent pewter and brass pieces on the mantel and sideboard, handsome furniture, three painted hangings. The air smelt of lavender, beeswax polish and the flowers that stood in an earthenware jug. The table, covered with a crimson cloth, had eight chairs arranged around it and two more armed chairs stood by the hearth. William deposited Anne in one of these and knelt to undo her boot.
    “You needn’t.”
    “Sorry.” Awkwardly he stood up.
    “No, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to sound offended. It’s just that I’m not used to people helping me.”
    “Then let me.”
    He knelt down again as she leaned forward. Their heads cracked painfully together.
    “Sorry!”
    “No, my fault.” Feeling stupid, he whisked the boot undone.
    One of the little girls from the kitchen came in, very carefully clutching a tray on which stood two pewter tankards. “Please, sir, Mother says you’re to have a cup of ale for your kindness to Anne.”
    “Thanks.” He grabbed the tankards before they could spill.
    “One’s for Anne. And Mother says you must stay to supper.”
    “How very kind of her. But I am afraid I cannot.” He handed Anne her drink.
    “Oh.”
    “Another time, perhaps?” Anne said, then blushed.
    “I’d like that. Er – excellent ale.”
    “Anne brewed it,” said the little girl. “She’s good at that.”
    “She is indeed. What’s