But then again her challenge had been a race to reach that oak tree first by any means. Ha, by any means indeed!
Without understanding why or how things had developed as they had, he felt guilt and remorse wash over him. Saints above, there was only one thing for it.
He swallowed before speaking. ‘Lady Eleanor, I owe you an apology for what happened back there. I didn’t mean to cause you any distress.’
‘I believe there is really nothing to apologise for, Sir Hugh. Please, let us not dwell on it.’
‘As you wish.’
Oh, but there was. He’d upset and distressed her. And, whilst it was one thing for him to tease and annoy someone, he would never willingly cause hurt. He might now be a celebrated knight, a soldier used to combat, but he would never intentionally hurt another. He took his oath to protect others very seriously.
And that was what confused him. For Eleanor to think, however briefly, that he might ravish her, or even force her against her will, was worrying and extremely shocking.
What kind of a man did she think him to be?
Of course that posed the question of what kind of a man she’d known before. It raised doubts about the very nature of her marriage to Richard Millais, a supposed leader of men. For her to react to him in the way she had...
He shook his head absently.
‘Did he hurt you?’ The words slipped out before he could decide whether it was a good idea to ask Eleanor about her marriage. ‘Richard Millais? Did he hurt you?’
He met her steady gaze as he slowed his horse to a slow trot beside her. She opened her mouth as if to say something, and then shut it.
‘It is perhaps best if we leave the past firmly in the past, Sir Hugh.’
He didn’t want to let it go but what else could he do? He could hardly push her to talk if she had no desire to confide in him.
‘Very well, Eleanor. Instead, allow me to ask where you learnt to ride like that? You are most impressive.’
‘For “just a woman”?’
‘Ah about that... I believe I owe you an apology for that too.’
‘For saying what you believe to be the truth?’
‘No, for purposely provoking you.’ He watched her frown, saw confusion etched in her face. He quickly continued. ‘I want to get to know you, Eleanor. We’re to be married tomorrow and I still know nothing about you.’
She raised a brow. ‘And you thought that would be your best approach?’
‘No! Frankly, it was a mistake.’ He sighed deeply. ‘Although I suppose we are now talking more freely, as a betrothed couple should—not that I have any idea about betrothed couples.’
He could see that her eyes softened as they met his.
‘Have you always been a soldier, Sir Hugh?’ she asked.
‘Since I was a young lad, squiring for Lord Anderville. Then I joined the Earl of Oxford’s mesnie and eventually gained my spurs.’
She tilted her head. ‘And you rose up the ranks until that fateful day you saved the King’s life?’
Hugh shrugged. ‘Whatever you may have heard about me, you must know that pitched battles are messy and unpredictable.’
She raised her brows. ‘You surprise me.’
‘Because of my supposed valour and heroism? I may be a strong, able soldier, Eleanor, but so are countless others. There is much to say about luck with any kind of one-to-one combat.’
She looked surprised. ‘And skill, presumably?’
‘Yes, and skill. But even then it’s not always enough... Many brave souls never come home.’
‘I know.’ She nodded. ‘There were many of our local men who didn’t come back from Bouvines. The battle that sealed England’s troubles.’
He stared at her, impressed that she had such an astute understanding about the current political situation. ‘It certainly fuelled the King’s problems with the Rebel Barons,’ he said.
‘And our Sovereign’s problems affect us all.’ She paused before continuing. ‘Anyway, I thank you for your apology, and in the same spirit I would like to offer mine. My behaviour was unbecoming for a lady.’
‘Ah, but then you do not possess the necessary maidenly manners, don’t forget,’ he said. ‘Really, there’s no need to apologise, Eleanor. I think it remarkable, given the provocation, that you didn’t hit me over the head rather than challenge me to a race on horseback.’
‘Which I won.’
‘Which you cheated at!’
They’d both spoken at the same time. Hugh chuckled softly, shaking his head as Eleanor’s eyes filled with a brief spark of humour. She had spirit, this woman who would soon be his wife.
They continued to ride back, and soon in the distance Hugh could see the figures of the retainers and Eleanor’s maid, Brunhilde, waiting for them.
‘Sir Hugh.’ Eleanor broke the companionable silence. ‘My marriage to Richard was...nothing less than a disaster.’
‘I did wonder.’
‘Did you?’ she muttered, shaking her head. ‘When I told you that we needed to find a way out of this imposed marriage I meant it.’
‘And I meant it when I told you, my lady, that it’s not possible. Believe me, if there was a way, I would have done everything in my power to bring it about.’
‘But I... I’m not a woman fit for marriage.’
Was that what Millais had told her? That she was not fit to be a wife? Hugh felt himself getting angry on her behalf and thought he would wager that it had been the other way around. It would have been more likely Richard Millais had been unfit to be anywhere near Eleanor Tallany or any other woman, from the little he had seen of the man.
He pulled the reins to bring his horse to a halt, prompting Eleanor to do the same.
‘Eleanor, I understand your reluctance for this marriage but allow me to reassure you.’ He inclined his head. ‘Let us not talk of disastrous pasts but hopeful futures.’
She didn’t say anything, just continued to gaze at him, looking no doubt for sincerity in the words he had uttered. He realised then just how much Eleanor needed to be reassured.
‘Very well, then. So be it, Sir Hugh.’ She shrugged. ‘As you wish.’
The ghost of a smile played on her lips. But it was a real smile, nevertheless, as she repeated the words he had said moments ago.
Yes, indeed, Eleanor Tallany had spirit. He returned her smile, feeling his mood lift for the first time since...well, since learning of his betrothal.
‘Thank you. And I know it would also be the wish of King John.’
Eleanor’s smile vanished. ‘Of course, Sir Hugh. Now, shall we catch up to the others?’
She rode ahead, leaving him wondering about everything that had transpired between them. One thing was for sure: their morning together riding had been unlike any other they had yet shared.
Chapter Three
The great hall of Tallany Castle had not seen such revelry for a generation. Sumptuous tapestries hung from the stone walls and trellis tables were festooned with flowers and lush foliage. Trenchers groaned with pheasant, beef and chicken, cooked in a myriad of spices, with almonds and figs, served with wine from Eleanor’s ancestral lands in Gascony. This was followed by sweetmeats, sugared quince, potted fruit and ginger biscuits decorated with honey and edible spring flowers.
The room was filled with the hum and chatter of wedding feast merriment and the ode of a troubadour broke through the noise.
Eleanor looked across and caught Sir Hugh—now Lord of Tallany, her husband—looking at her just as she was putting the last of a crumbly ginger biscuit in her mouth. She instantly looked away when she noticed his lips curving upwards to form that lop-sided grin of his.
She must stop stealing looks at Hugh—it was not as though she wanted his attention. Yet she could hardly avoid him now that they were married—something she had done ever s
ince they had arrived back from their horse ride yesterday morning.
Eleanor could hardly think of it without feeling mortified. She hadn’t meant to betray her emotions on that ride, but Hugh was evidently good at getting under her skin.
It made her feel uneasy that he had the ability to get past her defences. Husband or not, he was still the King’s man. She must keep him at an arm’s length and not allow him to get too close to her. For one thing, he mustn’t find out about Eleanor’s involvement with the outlaws. It was imperative that she did not jeopardise either her safety or theirs, and the important work they were doing to undermine King John’s rule.
The other thing... Ah, the other thing was the sense of dread she felt about what would follow this wedding feast—the wedding night.
She gave herself a mental shake, pushing those unwanted thoughts out of her head, and then watched, surprised, as a knight with the standard of Lord Edmund Balvoire entered the hall. The man looked around and tapped the sealed missive in his hand before presenting it to Gilbert at the side of the hall.
Now, what did that slimy toad Balvoire want at a time like this?
Eleanor watched with interest as Gilbert brought the missive to Hugh, who caught her eye and nodded briefly.
‘Is all well?’ she asked, as Hugh frowned after reading through the missive. ‘I hope there is no trouble?’
‘No more than usual, Eleanor. It seems that the outlaws and their leader...this Le Renard, or The Fox, or whatever he likes to call himself...were sighted a few days ago on Edmund Balvoire’s land. They stole all the silver levy intended for the Crown.’
‘That’s terrible.’ She hid a knowing smile behind her goblet as she took a sip of wine.
‘It’s more than terrible. Balvoire will petition the King for more aid.’
Hugh’s voice was low and its tone unlike how she’d ever heard him use before.
‘I will find them soon—and Lord help them, especially Le Renard, when I do!’
She gulped down her wine too hastily, making herself cough, and she placed her goblet back on the trestle table.
‘Apologies, my lady,’ he whispered, patting her back. ‘Come, let’s not talk of this and we shall enjoy our wedding feast instead.’
But Eleanor perceived the tension emanating from Hugh and reminded herself that she had to be very careful. Danger was all around her; one false move would prove fatal.
The troubadour’s ode had finished, to a cheer of approval, and immediately the musicians struck up a familiar melodic tune.
Lord Hugh, as he had now become, rose suddenly and bowed, holding out his hand. Eleanor rose too, unsure, and curtseyed before accepting his hand, their feather-light fingertips barely touching. They descended the dais together to begin the wedding dance, with their guests cheering and banging their goblets on the tables.
Hugh and Eleanor came together, held hands above their heads and circled each other, forming the elegant shapes of the dance.
‘You seem distracted,’ she said, and swallowed as a momentary pang of guilt spiked through her. She knew she was the cause of Hugh’s troubles.
‘I’m sorry... I believe I am.’
She bit her bottom lip, ‘And I believe it is customary for a husband to make small pleasantries on such an occasion. Even if it is for the benefit of his guests.’
Eleanor raised a brow, hoping to cajole him back into being his usual self, forgetting that she had barely spoken to him since the horse ride.
Hugh blinked in surprise and a slow smile spread on his face. ‘True—but allow me to say, for your benefit alone, Eleanor, how lovely you look on this...happy occasion.’
They continued to circle each other in the wedding dance, every brush of his fingers, every lingering gaze playing havoc on her senses. It was annoying that he was so attractive—his dark hair curling slightly at the back, his broad shoulders filling a wine-coloured tunic that was edged in silver thread and nipped in at the waist by a leather belt and a long dark surcoat over that.
He towered over the entire hall, and those keen, sharp eyes didn’t seem to miss a beat. Even the scar that split his left eyebrow in two gave him a certain powerful edge. Once again she felt nervous about everything—about later—and once again she pushed her thoughts away, lifting her head to face him.
‘I must say that for a big, tall soldier you are surprisingly light on your feet and graceful in your moves.’
‘Would it surprise you even more to know that, despite the impediment of my big, clumsy appearance, I actually enjoy dancing, music and merriment.’
‘It would—just as it might surprise you to know that I do not.’
‘Ah, but your lack of appearance at court and your terrible maidenly manners give that away, don’t you think?’ he murmured, making it impossible for her not to betray a giggle. ‘That’s better. You’ve been so quiet since our ride yesterday. I had wondered how to coax you out of it.’
‘By not repeating that disaster.’
‘Saints above, no! Lesson well learnt. I must say that temper of yours, Eleanor, is certainly something to behold, but it must only be unleashed very sparingly.’
She forced back a desire to laugh. She was indeed surprised to find that Hugh was such an elegant dancer, but more surprised that he could tease her about her quick temper during their ride. He was trying her to put her at ease and it was almost working. But it shouldn’t. It couldn’t!
She must remember that Hugh de Villiers was King John’s man and would always be...just as her first husband Sir Richard had been. He too had been young, virile and handsome. He too had been charming, kind and understanding at the beginning...
She remembered when she’d first met Sir Richard Millais and how she’d almost swooned at his smile and his gallantry. How lucky she’d felt, believing him to be her golden knight, come to save her from loneliness and uncertainty after her father’s death. But it had all been a lie. A huge, terrible lie. She had been so naïve...
Richard had been no heroic knight—more the devil incarnate. He had resented the fact that it was through her that he had gained all his riches and he had made her know it. And he’d had no need of her clever mind, sharp tongue or wilfulness. He’d wanted to break her in and teach her what it meant to behave like a real lady: docile, dutiful and obedient.
Of course, she’d refused to oblige. The more Richard had taunted, belittled and punished her, the more she’d stood her ground and taken whatever he’d proscribed without wavering. He’d wanted her to cry, to plead for mercy from him, but she’d deprived him of that. She’d never betrayed any fear of him, had never shown him any emotion, whatever he’d done to her. No tears—never any tears.
Eleanor flicked her eyes back to Hugh’s watchful gaze, saw wordless questions forming in it. After a short moment he sighed and took her hand again, turning her in time to the beat of the music.
‘I am afraid I have not been honest with you, my lady,’ he murmured softly as he stepped to the side and moved behind her.
‘Oh? How, exactly?’
He was standing close behind her. Very close. Close enough for his breath to tickle the side of her neck.
‘Have pity on me, Eleanor,’ he whispered into her ear.
‘What do you mean, my lord?’
He spread his long fingers around her small waist and lifted her in one swoop, turning her swiftly so she was in his arms. The guests clapped and cheered from all sides, tapping their goblets on the table.
‘You’ll promise that you will be gentle with me, won’t you?’
Ah, that lopsided grin again. ‘Gentle?’ she repeated.
He set her down slowly, so that his handsome face was close to hers. She looked away, confused, hardly able to breathe.
He guided her face back to his, his green eyes melting into hers, and shrugged. ‘Don’t forget I’m a novice husband and will
need help and guidance from my new wife.’
He was doing it again—trying to put her at ease, trying to make her feel less anxious. No doubt he believed it would make her a more biddable wife.
Eleanor flushed. ‘Somehow I think you will fare well, my lord.’
‘I hope so, as I have been unlucky so far. But under your excellent tutelage...who knows?’
‘Who, indeed?’
Eleanor knew, though... She knew that she couldn’t trust this man; his silky words and easy smiles were not going to work on her. Why would they?
Hugh de Villiers was trying to appease her, probably because it was their wedding night and he wanted her to be willing when he took her to bed... And if she wasn’t willing? Would he take her anyway, as was his right?
Again, her nerves mounted.
He had promised her hopeful futures that would drown out disastrous pasts, on their ride back yesterday, but she didn’t really believe him. Hugh might be a knight, a modest hero of the Battle of Bouvines, believing in some dusty chivalric code, but he was not her hero.
Heroes didn’t exist. She’d learnt that a long time ago.
* * *
Hugh drummed his fingers on the trestle table, wondering how long he’d have to watch the fool juggle and tell customary lewd jokes about the wedding bed. Eleanor had left the hall moments ago, with her maid Brunhilde at hand to help ready her for the bedding ceremony, blushing as she did.
Hugh sighed. As much as he was eagerly anticipating this part of the evening, he couldn’t help feeling a sense of trepidation.
On the one hand, he wanted to bed Eleanor. The desire he felt for her every time he saw her, spoke to her or—God help him—touched her, as he had during their dance, was making him feel like a callow youth. When she had walked into the chapel earlier he’d had difficulty taking his eyes off her.
Eleanor had looked stunning in a green velvet gown, with her hair tightly bound under a gold circlet and a delicate veil. He’d had a ridiculous notion to touch and brush away the wisps of dark chestnut hair that had escaped, but had restrained himself.
The Rebel Heiress and the Knight Page 4
