The Rebel Heiress and the Knight
Page 15
Eleanor, his wife and Le Renard...
Dear God!
It stood to reason that she must be the traitor he sought. It was Eleanor who had passed on information to The Fox and his outlaws. And it was Eleanor who had worked against him from the very start...
What a fool he had been. If he had paid more attention, mayhap, none of this would be such a bitter shock now, but he had allowed himself to get close to her. He’d liked her, damn it!
He still liked her...
God, but he should shake himself out of such futile emotions. When he thought of all the nights of delicious intimacies they had recently shared...
Cold fury filled his veins at the thought of her absolute treachery.
Hell’s teeth! How could she do this?
It made him sick to the stomach when he thought about that first night of incredible passion... That night after the outlaws and her friend Le Renard had thwarted him and stolen the Crown’s silver. And it was all because of Eleanor’s deceit.
Why? He wanted to scream at her.
‘My castle, my lands and my wealth may now be yours—even my body—but my heart will never be.’
Those ominous words that Eleanor had uttered on their wedding night—the night that had never happened—seemed so full of foreboding now. Had she already given her heart to Le Renard—that man-boy? He didn’t know and didn’t care—or rather didn’t want to care.
He thought of Eleanor as she had lain in his arms, responding to his kisses, coming undone. Had everything they’d shared been an act? Had everything she’d said been a lie? She had been so receptive to his touch and his kisses—but had that been a lie as well?
Lord, his stomach was going to empty itself.
Eleanor had come to him that night, after the outlaws had waited for him and his men and taken the strongbox. She would have known full well that it was the information she had passed on to Le Renard that had brought about the failure. Had that been a tactical use of diversion to befuddle his senses? Had she felt a pang of guilt? It was impossible to say either way.
Did Hugh even know the real Eleanor Tallany?
Damn! He must stop tormenting himself. Even if she hadn’t given her heart to Le Renard, she had still betrayed him, still played him false. He should stride down there to that hut and shake some answers out of Eleanor. Congratulate her for playing him for a fool.
But, no. He swallowed down his disgust. He couldn’t face her. Not now, and not tonight. Besides, the pragmatic side to his character knew that he had to wait and watch. Now that he knew of both his wife and the steward of Tallany’s involvement with the outlaws, he had to wait and see the extent of the disloyalty. For all he knew everyone on these lands—all the Tallany villages and its people—might also be involved.
He could sympathise with the struggles that the people faced. Damn it, he wanted to remedy that. But not like this. Not by breaking the law of the land and consorting with outlaws, for the love of God.
He shook his head and screwed his eyes shut, opening them to fix a cold, hard glare upon the small building where Eleanor was even at that moment, waiting for her friends, and felt his heart blacken towards her.
Damn the woman!
She would never, ever play him false again. Yes, he would confront his beguiling, duplicitous wife—very soon—but he’d have to wait until after they had got back from Winchester. By then he hoped he would have learnt more, since she was to travel south with him. Not that he wanted her to now.
For now, all he wanted was to get drunk—blind drunk. To drown his sorrows in as much ale as he could so he could forget about his problems and forget about his duplicitous wife.
* * *
Eleanor, disguised beneath her mask and tunic, pulled forward her fur-trimmed hood and wondered wryly, as she did every time she saw her men, whether they would follow her as they did if they knew their leader was really Lady Eleanor Tallany.
Oh, they knew that Lady Eleanor supported them, but the fact that she was The Fox... No... Only Gilbert, Brunhilde and Father Thomas knew that.
She remembered that ominous day when she had asked Gilbert Claymore to carefully seek local men who would commit to their cause. The day the King’s mercenaries had ventured into Tallany demanding yet more scutage they hadn’t had to give.
It hadn’t mattered that Tallany’s coffers were empty—the men had taken everything they could anyway, leaving devastation in their wake. Eleanor had known then that something had to be done. Something that would ensure her people would never have to endure such ignominy again.
Le Renard had been conceived to do just that.
It hadn’t been easy. Not at first. The Fox had had to convince the men assembled before him that he was the one to lead them, and they had been sceptical at first. They’d had to be persuaded to follow a masked leader, an outsider—even one who had the backing of Gilbert Claymore, Father Thomas and even Lady Tallany. A lean, slight leader more cunning than they could ever have imagined...
In turn, Eleanor had had Gilbert vet the group of men, to discover everything about them—especially if they’d be trustworthy—and then train them secretly to become the outlaws she needed.
Those outlaws had had to learn to work together, trust in each other and follow Le Renard’s strategic plans blindly and without question. In return, they were helping to restore something Tallany had lost...something they all needed...hope.
Eleanor coughed, clearing her throat and gaining the attention of everyone in the chamber.
‘I have called this meeting to bring everyone together and discuss a few pressing matters.’ She’d lowered the tone of her voice to sound like one that wasn’t hers. ‘But firstly—our friends!’ She raised her mug as the men followed suit and repeated her toast.
‘You should have let me slit the throat of that new Lord of Tallany when I ’ad the chance, Fox. For our friends,’ the big, burly outlaw Anselm ground out, and a few others added their agreement.
‘And what would that have achieved? Would it have brought our friends back? Would it have honoured them? No. And it wasn’t Lord Hugh who murdered our friends but Edmund Balvoire—a man with no principles at all.’
Le Renard glared at Anselm from under his mask, silencing the big man, who sank, disgruntled, back into his chair. ‘We have honoured our friends instead by taking this.’ Le Renard slammed his gloved hand on the strongbox on the table.
‘Verra well, Fox, but what about Osbert and Godwin? Is Lady Eleanor going to help release ’em?’
‘You must know that will be risky for her, Anselm, but God willing she will do it soon. And whilst they may be imprisoned, our men are being treated well, I believe. Isn’t that so, Claymore?’
‘It is.’
The burly outlaw rubbed his jaw. ‘Good—let’s ’ope it stays that way. What shall we do with the silver this time, then?’
‘I want a few of you to take it in batches to the church. Father Thomas will distribute it between local villages and people.’ Le Renard nodded at Father Thomas, who smiled and nodded back. ‘Some will be given to the poor by Lady Eleanor.’ Le Renard paused before continuing. ‘But what I want to say is that after tonight we will not be meeting again for some time.’
‘What? Why? This is the time to keep going—hit those bastards where it hurts!’ Anselm cried.
‘No, it is getting too dangerous. We have managed not to get caught so far, but look what happened when we weren’t cautious. Two of our own lost their lives and two more were imprisoned because of our complacency. I don’t want to risk any more loss of life, so I must have everyone’s agreement that we dismantle our group for a short time.’
The outlaws showed their displeasure, grumbling, but Le Renard slammed his mug on the table to get their attention.
‘I take the safety of each and every man here very seriously,’ he barked. ‘And I will n
ot risk anyone until danger is averted. Even now we’re being hunted by the likes of Balvoire, who’d have us strung up high, given half a chance. I cannot risk it.’
Le Renard looked at the assembled group, each man as dependable as the next, and felt immense gratitude to each of them.
‘We have always come together to address the injustice in our land—to help and protect those in need—but we must stop doing what we do...for now.’ The outlaw leader nodded at each one of them from beneath his mask. ‘Are we in agreement, then? What say you, my brave and honourable men?’
Le Renard flexed his arm and waited as each man cried, ‘Aye!’ before placing his hand on top of his until their clasped hands formed a circle of solidarity.
Chapter Thirteen
Eleanor stared at her husband’s stiff back as she rode on her young horse behind him as their cavalcade entered a woodland in glorious verdant shades of green on the edge of a small hamlet.
There was something very wrong with Hugh.
Initially, Eleanor had thought that it was the distraction of heading their travelling party, the responsibility of the venture as well as the many duties he had to attend to day and night but...no. Although he was courteous, and had ensured her comfort and that of her women during their journey, there was no mistaking a change within him.
It was perplexing to find that Hugh’s feelings had seemingly altered towards her after their growing closeness. It had started the night before their departure, when he hadn’t slept in their bed or even in their solar. She hadn’t given it much thought, but after three days and three nights on the road he had still not come to her at night.
It was strange behaviour, but mayhap he thought to observe propriety whilst they were travelling and leave Eleanor to her women.
And there was more than that. On the morning they had left he had put Tallany under the command of one of his most trusted men and effectively retired Gilbert Claymore—which had been shocking, to say the least, as it had been done without discussion with her and in a very heavy-handed manner.
What was wrong with Hugh?
Eleanor had wondered whether her husband had somehow found out about her involvement with the outlaws—or, God forbid, that she was Le Renard—but had dismissed those notions since Hugh had not made any accusations of that kind. Her fear of that had at least abated.
But then it did still beg the question of Hugh’s change of behaviour. Could it be that Hugh was worried about getting too close to her? He had warned her on many occasions that he wasn’t interested in courtly love. Especially as the only other time he’d got close to a woman it had ended badly for him.
Now he had fulfilled his marriage obligation and finally taken her to bed—many times—there was no reason for him to spend more time than necessary with her.
Oh, but she wished he would. Eleanor missed those tantalisingly private moments they’d shared.
What if he had put her to one side to find someone else to warm his pallet at night? It made her ache inside just thinking about that possibility, but then again it was highly unusual for any husband to be enamoured of his wife. And it was not as if their marriage had been of his choosing.
She tilted her head and peered at Hugh, riding out front on his magnificent destrier, and sighed. The only thing to do was to try and find out what was troubling her husband.
She gently kicked her palfrey’s flanks to coax it into catching up with Hugh’s horse at the front of the cavalcade.
‘Good morning, husband. I hope you are faring well?’
‘As well as can be,’ he said, without any of his usual humour, looking straight ahead of him.
‘You did not come to our tent last night, Hugh.’ She caught her bottom lip between her teeth. ‘I thought mayhap... Well, now that we have been travelling for the past few days—’
‘Excuse me, my lady, but is there anything that you need?’
You—only you.
‘I believe we must be getting close to Milnthorpe soon. Do we still have time to stop for a few hours whilst I pay my respects?’
‘Yes, if you wish it.’
‘I do,’ she said. ‘It has been a long time since I was there last.’
‘Good, that’s settled. Now, if there’s nothing else, I have other things I must attend to.’
‘Hugh, wait. My ladies and I will need to clean off the dirt of the last few days’ travel before we offer our prayers.’
‘I’m sure you will—and I’m sure we can stop by a stream somewhere.’
‘Thank you.’ Eleanor inclined her head.
‘Now we must press on. So, if you’ll excuse me, I have an important matter that I must discuss with Sir William,’ he said curtly, setting his horse and speeding ahead.
She tried to keep up with her husband. ‘Shall I accompany you?’ she asked.
‘I really don’t think that’s necessary.’
She frowned. ‘Very well...but when shall I see you?’
Hugh turned his head and fixed her with a hard stare. ‘Really, Eleanor, we’re not bound together at every moment.’
Stunned by her husband’s uncharacteristic rudeness, Eleanor was momentarily taken back. ‘I didn’t say we were.’
‘Go to your women, my lady. I haven’t got time for this.’
‘Well, my lord, when you do find the time, be sure to tell me. It would be of interest to me to know why my husband is behaving like a boorish ass.’
Eleanor was finding it difficult to keep her temper under control, but that stemmed from confusion. She just couldn’t understand the change in him.
‘I would reflect on your own behaviour if I were you,’ he said.
She gasped. ‘What...what in heaven’s name does that mean?’
‘Nothing.’ He sighed. ‘It means nothing. Apologies, Eleanor, but I didn’t sleep well last night and as a result I am more irritable than usual.’
‘I understand. Is there anything I can do?’ She raised her brows. ‘Anything that I can help with?’
She’d hoped the look she gave him was one that would tempt him to visit her later that night.
‘No,’ he replied, before riding out ahead.
Eleanor dropped back to ride beside her ladies whilst she thought on what had just passed between them. Oh, yes, there was definitely something wrong with Hugh and she would do everything she could to find out the reason for his bizarre behaviour. None of it made any sense, but she would be on guard and watchful until she understood everything—even if it ended up hurting her.
Eleanor and her women washed and dressed in clean and sober clothes before arriving in the pretty yet remote hamlet of Milnthorpe. At the church of St Michael she knelt at the altar and received a blessing from the priest, making the sign of the cross before resuming her prayers, conscious of her husband beside her. She was glad of Hugh’s presence, since it somehow made it a little easier being in this solemn place.
The sickly-sweet smell of incense enveloped her senses, making her stomach turn on itself. She hated coming here. It brought back the desperate unhappiness and loneliness she had endured after her family had perished, one after the other.
Sometimes she still felt as she had back then—guilty about being the only one to survive. Not that living had been any easier. Her life had been filled with its fair share of difficulty and hardship. The only glimmer of light had been her recent marriage to Hugh, and that seemed to be fading before it had truly begun to shine.
She stood up abruptly, in an attempt to end those morose thoughts, but swayed, losing her footing and finding a pair of strong masculine hands around her shoulders, steadying her.
‘You look pale, Eleanor, are you well?’
‘Perfectly,’ she said, taking in a huge breath. ‘Thank you again for allowing me to pay my respects. Coming here always reminds me of how much I have lost.’
‘Naturally... I understand.’
Eleanor rubbed her forehead and turned her face away from him.
‘Come, you could do with some fresh air.’
Hugh gently guided her by the arm out of the chapel and away from prying eyes, leading her down a cobbled path until they reached a small stone wall overlooking green pasture, with sheep grazing in the field.
Sheep, for the love of God!
It made her think of that day when Hugh had gifted her with her own flock, given with such unbelievable kindness the like of which she had never known. Well, not since her family had been alive.
It had been such a happy few hours or so. She had forgotten about all her problems and enjoyed her husband’s company, his humour, not to mention his glorious kisses. Ah, those languid, melting kisses that had left her wanting so much more...
If only she had known then that they would be so fleeting...that he would soon reject her.
Eleanor’s eyes darted from the sheep dotted around the field to the young spring lambs nestled beside them and filled with tears. She let out a shaky breath as an ache enveloped her chest.
She wiped her eyes angrily with the back of her hand and looked away. She hated feeling like this—and even worse revealing her weakness in front of another, least of all Hugh. It made her feel vulnerable—something she could never be. She must be strong-willed and resolute; she had learned it was the only way to live. In any case, mayhap she was wrong about Hugh and there was a perfectly reasonable explanation for his behaviour.
‘Here, Eleanor, you could do with a drink.’ Hugh held out his flagon, offering it to her. ‘It’s cool water from the stream.’
She took it hesitantly and nodded her wordless thanks, taking a few sips.
‘It’s not easy to lose someone you care about,’ she said, fixing him with a pointed stare.
‘No, it’s not.’
There wasn’t much else to say, and Eleanor didn’t feel the need for conversation, allowing the awkward silence to stretch. She realised that she wanted to be alone for a moment, to compose herself and clear her head.