by Amanda Quick
Hugh scowled. “What is what?”
“Some troubadour is singing a ballad. Listen. I believe it is about you, my lord.”
The words of a song sung in a lusty masculine voice floated into the black tent.
“The knight called Relentless was fearless ‘tis said.
But I tell you today from Sir Vincent he fled.”
“Aye, ‘tis about me,” Hugh growled. Vincent had found a way to have his revenge, he thought. Such was the price one paid when one got oneself betrothed to a woman such as Alice.
Alice set down the stone and leaped to her feet. “Some drunken troubadour is slandering you, my lord.”
“Which only goes to prove true what I said earlier. What constitutes a pleasant little legend in some parts is naught but a poor jest in others.”
“Sir Hugh once caused bold knights to shudder and quail.
But henceforth let the truth of his cowardly nature prevail.”
“This is outrageous.” Alice stalked toward the tent flap. “I shall not stand for it. You missed that silly joust today because you were occupied with the business of being a true hero.”
Belatedly, Hugh realized that Alice intended to confront the troubadour. “Uh, Alice, wait. Come back here.”
“I shall return in a moment, my lord. First I must correct that troubadour’s idiotic verse.” Alice slipped through the tent flap. It dropped back into place behind her.
“God’s teeth.” Hugh rose from the wooden chest and crossed the tent carpet in two strides.
He reached the flap and yanked it open. He saw Alice in the light of the campfire. She had her skirts clutched in her hands as she went briskly toward the neighboring encampment. Her chin was angled determinedly. His men stared after her in consternation.
The troubadour, heedless of impending trouble, continued with the next verse of his song.
“Mayhap his fair lady will search for another strong knight who can please.
For the Bringer of Storms has gone soft, now ‘tis limp as a midsummer breeze.”
“You, there, sir troubadour,” Alice called loudly. “Cease braying that foolish song at once, do you hear me?”
The troubadour, who had been wandering among the encampments, pausing to sing his new ballad wherever he was invited to do so, broke off abruptly.
It seemed to Hugh that the night became suddenly and unnaturally quiet. His own men were not the only ones gazing at Alice in astonishment. She had the attention of all those gathered about the nearby fires.
The troubadour swept Alice a deep bow as she came to a halt directly in front of him.
“My lady, forgive me,” he murmured with mocking courtesy, “I regret that my song does not please you. ‘Twas composed only this afternoon at the request of a most noble and valiant knight.”
“Vincent of Rivenhall, I assume?”
“Aye.” The troubadour laughed. “‘Twas indeed Sir Vincent who requested a song to celebrate his great victory on the jousting field. Would you deny him a hero’s ballad?”
“Aye, that I would. Especially when he was not the champion today. ‘Twas Sir Hugh who played the true and gallant hero.”
“By refusing to take the field against Sir Vincent?” The troubadour grinned. “Forgive me, but that is an odd notion of a hero, madam.”
“‘Tis obvious that neither you nor Sir Vincent knows the true facts concerning what happened this afternoon.” Alice paused to glower at the circle of listeners she had collected. “Hear me, all of you, and listen well for now I shall tell you what really happened today. Sir Hugh was obliged to miss the joust because he was occupied with a hero’s task.”
A tall man dressed in a red tunic walked into the circle of firelight. The flames revealed his aquiline features.
Hugh groaned as he recognized the newcomer.
“What heroic task took Sir Hugh from the field of honor, my lady?” the tall man asked politely.
Alice whirled to confront him. “I would have you know that Sir Hugh saved me from two vicious thieves this afternoon while Sir Vincent was playing games. The robbers would have murdered me in cold blood, sir.”
“And who are you?” the tall man asked.
“I am Alice, Sir Hugh’s betrothed wife.”
A ripple of interested murmurs greeted that announcement. Alice paid them no heed.
“Are you, indeed.” The tall man examined her in the firelight. “How interesting.”
Alice fixed him with a quelling glare. “Surely you will agree that saving my life was a far more heroic deed than engaging in a bit of nonsensical sport.”
The tall man’s gaze went past Alice to where Hugh stood a short distance behind her. Hugh smiled faintly as he met eyes that he knew were very nearly the same color as his own.
The tall man turned back to Alice. He swept her a sardonic bow. “My apologies, madam. I am sorry if the troubadour’s song offended you. And I rejoice to know that you survived your encounter with thieves this afternoon.”
“Thank you,” Alice said with icy politeness.
“You are obviously something of an innocent, madam.” The tall man stepped back out of the firelight. “It will be amusing to see how long Hugh the Relentless remains a true hero in your eyes.”
He did not wait for a response.
Alice glared after him and then turned once more to the troubadour. “Find another song to sing.”
“Aye, my lady.” The troubadour’s expression gleamed with laconic amusement as he swept her another bow.
Alice whirled about and strode back toward Hugh’s encampment. She paused when she saw him standing in her path.
“Oh, there you are, my lord. I am pleased to say that I do not believe we shall be troubled again by that ridiculous ballad about Sir Vincent of Rivenhall.”
“Thank you, lady.” Hugh took her arm to lead her back to the tent. “I appreciate your concern for me.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I could not allow that idiot to sing his lies about you, sir. He had no business making a hero out of Sir Vincent of Rivenhall when you were the true hero of the day.”
“Troubadours must make their living in whatever way they can. No doubt Sir Vincent paid well for his ballad.”
“Aye.” Alice’s face lit with sudden enthusiasm. “A thought has just occurred to me, sir. We should pay the troubadour to invent a song about you, my lord.”
“I’d prefer that we did not do that,” Hugh said very distinctly. “I have better things to spend my money on than a ballad featuring myself.”
“Very well, if you insist.” Alice sighed. “I suppose it would be quite expensive.”
“Aye.”
“Nevertheless, it would be a very lovely song, I’ll wager. Well worth the cost.”
“Forget it, Alice.”
She made a face. “Do you know the identity of that tall man who came to stand by the fire?”
“Aye,” Hugh said. “That was Vincent of Rivenhall.”
“Sir Vincent?” Alice came to an abrupt halt. She gazed at Hugh with astonishment. “Do you know, sir, there was something about him that reminded me a little of you.”
“He’s my cousin,” Hugh said. “His uncle, Sir Matthew, was my father.”
“Your cousin.” Alice looked dumbfounded.
“My father was the heir to Rivenhall.” Hugh smiled with the humorless amusement he had long cultivated for this particular topic. “Had Sir Matthew not neglected to marry my mother before he got her with child, I, not Sir Vincent, would have inherited the Rivenhall lands.”
Alice was very conscious of the amused gazes of Hugh’s men. She went briskly back toward the tent, aware that several of those gathered around the fire were concealing wide grins. Even Benedict was watching her with a strange expression, as though he were having difficulty restraining laughter.
“If my ears do not deceive me,” Dunstan remarked in a voice that managed to carry clearly across the fire, “‘twould seem that yon minstrel has found himself a new song to
sing.”
“Hugh the Relentless may put aside his sword
for he is betrothed to a lady who will defend her lord”
“Aye,” someone else said with satisfaction. “‘Tis far more entertaining than the other.”
Laughter filled the air.
Alice grimaced and glanced back over her shoulder. The troubadour whom Vincent had paid to sing the nasty ballad about Hugh was indeed strumming a new tune on his lute. He was wandering back through the encampments, regaling one and all with the song.
“She has brought him a dowry more priceless than lands
Sir Hugh’s honor, it seems, is safe in her hands.”
A cheer of approval went up.
Alice blushed furiously. She was the new subject of the poem. She looked uneasily at Hugh to see if he was embarrassed.
“Wilfred is right,” Hugh said calmly. “The minstrel’s new song is much more entertaining than his last one.”
Benedict, Dunstan, and the others howled with laughter.
“Sir Vincent may have been successful in the joust this afternoon,” one of the men declared, “but he was roundly defeated tonight.”
Alice was profoundly grateful for the shadows that concealed the red banners in her cheeks. She fixed one of the squires with a determined look. “Will you please bring some wine to my tent?”
“Aye, m’lady.” The man stifled his laughter and leaped to his feet. He started toward the supply wagon, which stood nearby in the gloom.
“You may fetch a cup of wine for me while you’re about it, Thomas,” Hugh called. “Bring it to my tent.”
“Aye, m’lord.”
Hugh’s grin flashed briefly in the firelight as he lifted the tent flap. “‘Tis not often I have the opportunity to toast one of Sir Vincent’s defeats.”
“Really, sir, you go too far.” Alice hurried through the opening into the comparative privacy of the tent. “I did not defeat Sir Vincent. I merely corrected his misconceptions concerning today’s events.”
“Nay, madam.” Hugh let the flap fall closed. “Make no mistake. ‘Twas a defeat. A very decisive one. And the troubadour’s new song will ensure that a great many people hear of it. I vow, ‘tis almost as satisfying as a victory against him in the joust would have been.”
She pivoted to confront him. “That is a very poor jest, sir.”
Hugh shrugged. “Mayhap I overstate the case a trifle. Unhorsing my cousin in the joust would have been somewhat more gratifying, I’ll grant you. But not by much.” His chilled smile came and went. “Not by much.”
“M’lord?” Thomas raised the tent flap. “I have the wine for you and my lady.” He offered a tray containing two cups and a flagon.
“Excellent.” Hugh swept the tray from Thomas’s hand. “That will be all for now. Leave us so that I may honor my noble defender in a suitable manner.”
“Aye, m’lord.” With a last, speculative glance at Alice, Thomas bowed his way out of the tent.
Alice scowled as Hugh filled the cups with wine. “I do wish you would cease amusing yourself with this unpleasant incident, my lord.”
“Ah, but you do not know how uniquely entertaining it is.” Hugh handed one cup to her and then saluted her with his own.
“Is it so important for you to see Sir Vincent humiliated?”
“A taste of Vincent’s humiliation now and again is all that I am allowed by my liege lord.”
“I do not comprehend your meaning, sir.”
“Erasmus of Thornewood has forbidden Vincent and me to take up arms against each other except in a jousting match. He claims ‘twould be a wasteful indulgence that he cannot afford.”
“Erasmus of Thornewood sounds a very intelligent man.”
“He is that,” Hugh admitted. “But his notion of sound economy leaves me hungry. You served me a well-seasoned dish tonight, madam. You must allow me to enjoy it to the fullest. However, your excellent cookery is not what I find so vastly entertaining.”
Alice was becoming impatient with his sardonic answers. “What is it that amuses you so, my lord?”
Hugh smiled at her over the wine cup. His amber eyes gleamed like those of a hawk that had recently stuffed itself on a plump pigeon. “I do believe that tonight marks the first time in my entire life when someone else has come to my defense. I thank you, madam.”
The wine cup trembled in Alice’s fingers. “‘Twas the least I could do. You saved my life this afternoon, sir.”
“I would say that our partnership is working rather well, wouldn’t you?” Hugh asked with suspicious blandness.
The look in his eyes threatened to destroy Alice’s composure. This was ridiculous, she thought. She had been through too much today. That was the problem.
Desperate, she racked her brain for a way to change the subject. She said the first thing that came into her head. “I had heard that you were born a bastard.”
A lethal stillness came over Hugh. The wicked amusement died in his eyes. “Aye. ‘Tis the truth. Does it trouble you to find yourself betrothed to a bastard, madam?”
Alice wished she had kept her mouth closed. What a stupid thing to say. Where were her wits? To say nothing of her manners. “Nay, my lord. I was merely about to remark that I know very little of your family history. You are something of a mystery to me.” She paused. “By choice, I suspect.”
“I have discovered that the less people know of the truth, the more they are inclined to believe in legends. What is more, they usually prefer the legend to the truth.” Hugh sipped his wine with a contemplative air. “Sometimes that is useful. Sometimes, as is the case with that damnable green stone, it is a nuisance.”
Alice gripped her wine cup very tightly. “I am a student of natural philosophy, sir. As such, I seek honest answers. I prefer to know the truth that lies beneath the legend.”
“Do you?”
She fortified herself with a tiny sip of the wine. “Tonight I have learned a few more facts about you, but I still feel that there is much that I do not know.”
“You have an inquisitive nature. Such a temperament can be dangerous.”
“In a woman?” she asked tartly.
“In either man or woman. The world is a simpler and no doubt safer place for those who do not ask too many questions.”
“That may be true.” Alice grimaced. “Unfortunately, curiosity is my besetting sin.”
“Aye, so it would seem.” Hugh watched her for a long moment. He appeared to debate some issue with himself. Then he walked to a wooden chest and sat down upon it. He cradled his wine cup in both hands and studied the contents as though it were an alchemist’s brew. “What do you wish to know?”
Alice was startled. She had not expected him to volunteer any information. Slowly she sank down onto the folding stool. “You will answer my questions?”
“Some. Not all. Ask your questions and I will decide which ones I choose to answer.”
She took a deep breath. “Neither you nor Sir Vincent is responsible for the circumstances of your birth. Tis your ill fortune that you were born a bastard and therefore did not inherit the Rivenhall lands.”
Hugh shrugged. “Aye.”
“But I do not see how you can blame your cousin for that turn of events. And you do not strike me as the sort of man who would bear a grudge against the innocent. So how does it come about that you and Sir Vincent are sworn enemies?”
Hugh was silent for a time. When he eventually spoke his voice was devoid of any nuance of feeling or emotion. It was as though he merely related someone else’s history, not his own.
“‘Tis simple enough. Vincent’s people hated mine with an undying passion. My family returned the favor. Our parents and the rest of their generation are all dead and gone, so it is left to my cousin and me to carry on the feud.”
“But why?”
Hugh turned the cup in his big hands. “‘Tis a long tale.”
“I should very much like to hear it, my lord.”
“Very well. I
shall tell you the main part of it. I owe you that much under the circumstances.” Hugh paused again as though gathering thoughts from some deep, hidden place.
Alice did not move. It seemed to her that a strange spell settled on the interior of the tent. The candle burned low and the embers on the brazier dimmed. Outside, the sounds of laughter and song grew faint, as though they emanated from a vast distance.
Shadows coalesced within the tent. They seemed to swirl around Hugh.
“My father was named Sir Matthew of Rivenhall,” he said. “They tell me that he was a respected knight. His liege lord made him a gift of several fine manors.”
“Pray, continue, sir,” Alice prompted gently.
“A marriage was arranged for him by his family. The lady was an heiress. It was considered a fine match and Sir Matthew was, by all accounts, much pleased. But that did not stop him from lusting after the young daughter of one of his neighbors. Her father held the fief of Scarcliffe. My grandfather tried to protect his only child but Sir Matthew convinced her to meet him in secret.”
“The woman was your mother?”
“Aye. Her name was Margaret.” Hugh turned the cup between his hands. “Matthew of Rivenhall seduced her. Got her with child. And then he went off to give service to his liege lord. I was born while he was in Normandy.”
“What happened?”
“The usual.” Hugh moved one hand in a negligent gesture. “My grandfather was furious. He went to Rivenhall and demanded that Matthew be forced to marry my mother when he returned from Normandy.”
“He wished them to break Sir Matthew’s betrothal?”
“Aye. Sir Matthew’s family made it plain that they had no intention of allowing their heir to throw himself away on a young woman who could offer only one small, rather poor manor as a dowry.”
“What of Sir Matthew’s betrothed? How did she feel?”
“Her family wanted the marriage to take place as much as Sir Matthew’s did. As I said, it was considered an excellent match.”