‘A legend, you say?’
‘Indeed.’ Will grinned as Hugh turned and glared at him. ‘And his talents are not restricted to the tourney or the battlefield, oh, no...’ Will shook his head. ‘His courtly manners are appreciated far and wide.’
‘I’m sure they are, Sir William,’ Eleanor said, trying to suppress the bubble of laughter that was forming at Hugh’s reaction. His eyes were firing daggers at his friend. She decided to join in with the teasing. ‘In fact, I have witnessed the extent of Hugh’s exceptional skill in dancing.’
‘Ah, yes, so nimble and light.’ Will chuckled. ‘And have you heard Hugh’s singing voice, my lady? No?’ he exclaimed, when Eleanor shook her head. ‘But you must. It is a voice that would make a troubadour renounce his talent.’
‘Stop talking all this nonsense, Will!’ Hugh snapped.
‘A modest man, you see, and one with so many hidden talents. One day you must ask him to recount the verses he has scribed, my lady.’
‘Take no notice of him, Eleanor,’ Hugh said, rubbing his shoulder.
‘What was it again, Hugh? Ode to the Heartless Thief? Or was it Ode to the Greenest Leaf? I cannot remember.’
This time Eleanor could not contain her laughter.
‘Haven’t you got somewhere you need to be, Will?’ Hugh growled.
‘Indeed—I must break my fast. And don’t forget what I said, Hugh.’ Will winked at his friend and turned to address Eleanor. ‘I will say, my lady, that Hugh the Legend is not one to make a fuss, even if he is bleeding.’
‘It’s nothing. Just a graze,’ Hugh said dismissively.
Eleanor shook her head. ‘No, it needs cleaning up and I’ll do it myself. Good morning to you, Sir William.’
‘My lady.’ Will bowed over Eleanor’s hand and flashed a grin at Hugh, who scowled back.
Chapter Five
It had been a mistake. A colossal mistake to insist on cleaning Hugh’s wound herself.
Eleanor had become aware of her error the minute he sat opposite her on a bench in their solar, watching her with a guarded intensity that had almost robbed her of her breath.
Now the silence stretched, with only the noise of the crackling fire in the hearth breaking through.
Really, what had she been thinking, offering to clean Hugh’s wound? Someone else could have done it and spared her the embarrassment of being in such close proximity to this man.
This man?
She had to stop thinking of Hugh as no one of consequence when the reality was screaming at her. He was her husband, and even though for now it was in name only, he was her husband. A very large, very looming, very real, half-naked husband.
She gulped and bent her head lower, concentrating on the task at hand rather than contemplating Hugh’s sinewy taut, muscle-bound body.
Ever since their wedding night Eleanor had been anxious, knowing that her new husband would finally make the demands of her that she dreaded but expected. Instead they had continued playing chess, which he had taught her with unreserved patience. And during those moments Eleanor would lose sight of who she was with and enjoy the intricacies of the game, pitching her ability against his.
But it was more than that, and if Eleanor was honest with herself she’d say that she actually enjoyed Hugh’s company as well. He treated her like an equal, respecting her views even if at times they disagreed about an issue. Yet she could not help but feel shy and unsure around him when they weren’t playing.
As Lady Eleanor Tallany, and even when she dissembled as The Fox, she had purpose and confidence—but as a wife she did not.
Annoyed with herself, and the direction of her thoughts, Eleanor thrust her fingers into the pewter bowl of warmed honeyed water on the small trestle table and continued to wipe the wound clean with strips of linen.
Hugh coughed, dragging her attention back to him. ‘Eleanor? I think... I believe it is done.’
‘Mmm?’ she muttered. ‘I beg your pardon?’
She continued to wipe the wound. Rubbing it briskly, back and forth.
‘I believe it’s now sufficiently clean, don’t you?’ His eyes crinkled in amusement.
It was that blasted kiss! That astonishing, disturbing and yet melting kiss that Eleanor was so confused about. But she had more important things to think about, for the love of God—like how she could distribute food to the people who needed it and give back the silver stolen by the outlaws from Lord Edmund Balvoire to his poor beleaguered people.
She swallowed. ‘Yes, so it is. I try to complete a task well.’
‘That is a comfort to know. Thank you.’
A smile tugged at the corners of Hugh’s lips, making her think once again of that kiss.
Oh, for goodness’ sake!
Her reaction on their wedding night had been instinctive and visceral, even though she’d known that their kiss would lead them to fall into what might be considered normal and binding for a marriage contract. But Eleanor just hadn’t been able to go through with it, and she was not stupid enough to believe the situation could endure indefinitely. Eventually something would have to break through the impasse.
If she was honest with herself, Eleanor was no longer as wary of Hugh, even though she had barely slept after his surprise offer on their wedding night. He had kept to his word and stayed firmly outside the bed curtain, but she could hardly pretend that curiosity wasn’t getting the better of her. She seemed to be aware of him whenever he was near...or far.
His low voice interrupted her conflicted thoughts. ‘I’m glad we have this opportunity to talk, actually, Eleanor, as I’ve been puzzling over something you said last night.’
She frowned. ‘Oh, what is that?’
‘I cannot help but feel that, despite Tallany being a prosperous estate, the village and its people do not seem to actually reap the benefits. Is there a reason for this?’
Eleanor lifted her head and met Hugh’s inquisitive gaze. The fact that her new husband was interested in Tallany, and its vast area of land, was to be expected—especially as he was its new lord—but that he should also seem concerned about its people was something so incredible that she was momentarily speechless.
She drew in a deep breath. ‘I believe that could be a consequence of the losses in France and the aftermath of Bouvines.’
‘I see—or rather I do now,’ he muttered, shaking his head. ‘I have been away from England for so long that I had not realised that our recent failures on campaign had affected people as drastically as they have.’
Eleanor raised her brows and wondered whether Hugh really did see. Did he realise that the situation had been further exacerbated by the King’s heavy tax scutage? Evidently not.
‘Surely you knew something of what was happening back home?’ she said.
‘Only what was happening at court.’ He grimaced. ‘When you’re away, all you think about is how to get through each situation, each crisis, each battle. You never stop to realise that the outcome, whether good or bad, success or failure; affects us all.’ He sighed. ‘I suppose that is one explanation as to why the country is plagued with so much lawlessness.’
‘Indeed.’
The plight of ordinary people was the very thing that had made The Fox and the outlaws such a necessity in Tallany. Yet Hugh’s incessant pursuit of them, and in particular Le Renard, was now making it incredibly difficult and dangerous to carry on as before. So Eleanor had reluctantly suspended their activities temporarily, fearing for their safety and her own if they were found out.
‘I suppose you could say that when people are desperate they’re forced to use any means to survive,’ she couldn’t stop herself from saying.
‘Yes, that’s natural—commendable, even—as long as it’s within the confines of the law, Eleanor, otherwise we descend into a breakdown of order altogether.’
She wanted to sa
y more, wanted to argue her point, but she kept her mouth shut. She dared not expose herself and give rise to suspicion.
He threw her a sideways glance. ‘Having said that, I do, however, want you to show me how we can help Tallany’s people as best we can.’
She stared at him before nodding slowly. ‘Very well, my lord. I would be happy to.’
Eleanor did her best to stay detached and distant, but she could feel her resolve slipping. The truth was she couldn’t help but like Hugh, however hard she tried not to. It was all so unsettling—and, frankly, she had other things to be unsettled about. Such as making sure her husband never found out about her involvement with the outlaws as Le Renard. Or the work they did to help Tallany.
She turned to fetch a cloth to dry his skin, wanting to change the topic of conversation. ‘You’re lucky that I don’t need to stitch this up,’ she said wryly. ‘My stitch-work leaves a lot to be desired.’
‘Is that so?’ He quirked one brow. ‘By your own admission, Eleanor, you have no court manners, you cannot dance, and now it seems you’re poorly skilled at that bastion of female proficiency: stitching.’
‘Well,’ she said, smoothing the wrinkles out of her kirtle, ‘it’s true, nevertheless.’
‘I wonder whether you are a little too disparaging of your own talents,’ he said, stretching out his arm.
‘I promise you I am not.’ She turned and picked up a small bowl filled with thick translucent paste. ‘May I apply Brunhilde’s salve? It smells like something a cat might drag into the kitchens, but it has amazing healing properties. Your wound may not be big, but I wouldn’t want it to fester.’
Hugh’s lips curved, revealing his dimple. ‘Go ahead. And nicely diverted, my lady, but I can tell you that I am not persuaded by you in the least.’
Oh, dear, if only he wouldn’t smile at her like that.
‘I am very honoured that you wish to champion my woeful lack of maidenly talents, but I promise you I’m a hopeless case,’ she said with a sigh as she rubbed the salve into his wound, feeling the smooth skin of his arm beneath her fingers. The sensation of touching him made her aware once again of his closeness.
‘Then tell me, what are you good at?’
What was she good at? Not much—only the ability to survive.
As Lady Eleanor she organised the castle and worked efficiently as its chatelaine, but she also mobilised her people at times of crisis. And as Le Renard she fought for her people to have back the basic necessities that were constantly being stripped from them. She had been both master and mistress of Tallany but not any more.
She flicked her eyes upwards and met the gaze of its new master. A master just as capable as she. And Eleanor couldn’t help but begrudgingly respect Hugh, despite his being King John’s man.
What was she good at? Nothing of value for someone like Hugh.
She wished at times that she was able to reveal herself to him. She wished she could show him her dextrous, quick skills as an archer and watch his awed response when she succeeded in hitting her mark with precision again and again. But that was not something he could admire in her. No one except a select few knew of those skills. And even if Hugh were to find out, she was sure it would fill him with nothing but contempt and disgust for her.
She got up to move. ‘Wait a moment whilst I fetch some fresh strips of cloth to bind it.’
Hugh’s hand snaked out and caught her wrist. ‘You didn’t answer my question, Eleanor.’
Heat scorched her skin where his fingers touched her. ‘I would have to say that I am not good at much,’ she said.
‘I rather doubt that,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘You’re good at caring for Tallany and its people.’
‘Possibly.’
‘Oh, absolutely. I saw you giving out parcels in the village earlier. I’d wager you were handing out provisions, foods and other such stuff.’
Eleanor tilted her head and regarded him. ‘We look after each other here in Tallany. Without that we have nothing.’
‘True.’ He nodded at his wound. ‘Just as you’re looking after me now, I suppose?’
‘I suppose...’ She shrugged, not meeting his eyes as his thumb traced a line from her wrist to her fingers, stroking each one. Each roughened and callused one...
Oh, God! In her haste to tend his wound she had removed her gloves.
‘May I ask why it’s been necessary to hide your hands, Eleanor?’
She tried to pull away, but he held her hand firmly in his. ‘They’re rough, ugly, and not befitting the Lady of Tallany.’
He frowned. ‘I disagree. They’re hard-working, caring hands—perfectly befitting the Lady of Tallany.’
Eleanor opened her mouth to say something, but couldn’t think of anything. Instead she felt breathless as an undefinable frisson passed through her.
Hugh’s gaze met hers as he continued to gently stroke her hand, then fell briefly to her lips. She felt herself moving closer to him. But just as she was almost in his arms a sudden knock at the door jolted them apart. A servant walked in, bowed, then retrieved the bowl of dirty water and put a fresh one on the small trestle table.
Eleanor exhaled slowly. ‘I think, my lord, that we’re finished here,’ she said, turning sharply on her heel.
This simply would not do. She could not afford to lose sight of her situation and of where her husband’s fealty lay. The stakes were far too high and far too dangerous—which meant that she must not allow herself to get drawn in by Hugh or get too close to him.
And far more important than any of that...
She must stop thinking about that kiss!
* * *
Hugh was wound so tightly he could barely concentrate, let alone focus on a simple task such as eating his meal, even though his stomach was empty.
He glanced around the busy hall as people tucked in to the delicious trenchers of food—strips of pheasant with dark quince and spring lamb cooked in a nutmeg-spiced sauce—and wondered where his appetite had gone.
He poured himself another mug of ale and threw it back, swiping at his mouth before pouring another. He had no idea about that or anything else, so addled were his senses by the woman sitting next to him. The woman he should be wooing but found himself avoiding this evening.
Hell!
What was the matter with him? He couldn’t stop thinking that just when she had been almost in his arms she’d jumped away, faster than a frightened doe. And it had been nothing to do with any interruption. The desire he’d felt had intensified even after so many hours and he couldn’t stop thinking about it. Annoyingly, Eleanor seemed to invade his thoughts far too much of the time for his peace of mind.
‘What is wrong with you this evening?’ Will hissed, on the other side of him.
‘Nothing.’ Hugh scowled over his mug without looking up.
‘There I was, under the firm belief that I was to witness the finer points of courtship, but clearly I was wrong.’
‘God’s breath, just leave it alone.’
Will ignored him and pressed on. ‘Most people would agree it strange—odd, even—that a man should begin to court a woman after he has wed her, but then you were never one to follow convention too strictly, were you?’
‘Lower your voice, for the love of God. Someone may hear.’ Hugh indicated Eleanor’s direction with a slight tilt of his head.
‘I am intrigued to know what that may be worth.’
‘Your head remaining attached to your body.’
Will grinned. ‘Fair enough,’ he said, tossing back his ale. ‘But for pity’s sake get on with it. You are supposed to be wooing your lady.’
‘I am doing so.’
‘Beg pardon—my mistake,’ Will said sardonically. ‘Really, Hugh, you have been silent all evening. Talk to her, make her laugh—do something.’
‘What am I? A perfor
ming jester?’
‘That would preferable than this brooding, my lord.’
With that said, Will turned his back on his friend and started a conversation with a few men sitting adjacent to him.
If only it were that easy. He had been talking to Eleanor, and he was getting to know her, but every time he thought they were becoming close she would pull back and remember that she wanted nothing to do with him.
Earlier, he had been surprised to discover it was actual hard work that had resulted in those callused fingers which she tried to hide and not because she was some sort of pampered heiress. The more he got to know her, the more his interest and attraction for her grew. He certainly admired her—but, damn it, he desired her too...and that was beginning to cause all manner of discomfort within him.
‘Hugh? Does your arm still pain you?’ Eleanor asked, placing her hand briefly on his shoulder to get his attention.
‘No, it’s fine,’ he said gruffly, staring at the mug in his hand.
‘Are you sure?’
‘Perfectly.’
‘Is there something I can do for you?’
He almost choked on the ale he was drinking.
Something she could do?
Lord above, but he could think of many things she could do and that he would love to do to her...
No, no, no. That would not do! He had to stop these thoughts.
Even her voice tonight held a certain sensual, husky tone that was probably a figment of his imagination. His curious mind wondered still on the cries of breathless pleasure that he might evoke if he could only kiss her and...
‘Did you...did you just growl at me, my lord?’
Hugh turned his head and finally met Eleanor’s eyes, fixing a half-smile on his face that felt strained even to him. His gaze lingered on her mouth as she caught her plump bottom lip between her teeth. She was holding a few strips of meat dripping in their tender juices between her fingers.
‘I’m hungry, that’s all.’
Impulsively, evidently without thinking, Eleanor fed him the morsel she had been holding and wiped a little of the sauce from the side of his lip. Her fingers grazed his teeth, so close that he could have nipped them if he had wanted to.
The Rebel Heiress and the Knight Page 7