From somewhere behind her she heard someone coughing, clearing his throat. She pulled away, and this time Hugh let her go.
‘Good morning, my lord and lady, and what a fine and fruitful morning it is.’ Sir William’s voice was laced with amusement.
Eleanor turned just as he sketched an elaborate bow.
‘Ah, Will, impeccable timing as always,’ Hugh said sardonically.
‘Indeed. I do try to please.’ He smirked. ‘Now, my lady, am I right that the idea of being a shepherdess is to your taste?’
Eleanor giggled. ‘It is—and please call me Eleanor.’
‘Thank you.’ He raised her hand to his lips. ‘And by the same token it’s Will. Sir William is far too formal, don’t you think?’
‘Very well, that’s enough of that,’ Hugh ground out, crossing his arms over his chest. ‘Be warned, Eleanor, Will is a shameless flirt.’
Will clasped his chest dramatically with one hand. ‘You wound me—and when I come bearing yet more gifts.’ He lifted the other hand, which held two quarterstaffs.
Eleanor’s eyes flicked to Hugh in confusion. Had he told his friend about her desire to learn about using the weaponry the two of them had sparred with yesterday? It was somehow unsettling that he had. Even more so that neither man seemed to be shocked by such a request from a woman.
Hugh seemed to sense her discomfort and leaned in towards her. ‘It’s all right, my lady, your secret is safe with him.’
Both men laughed with the easiness and understanding that only came with a long-standing friendship such as theirs.
She felt a sudden jolt inside as realisation dawned on her. No, none of her secrets was safe with Sir William, nor even with Hugh. She would do well to remember that.
* * *
The cool antechamber, with its high wooden-beamed ceiling and its large ornate furniture pushed to one side, made a perfect substitute for the training ground, since their one and only session with the quarterstaff would take place in private. Combat training not being the normal pursuit of a woman.
‘I’m ready and waiting,’ she said.
Hugh nodded and handed her a quarterstaff. ‘Very well. Now, copy my stance, Eleanor. Put your weight on your legs, slightly apart, and bend your knees. Good, now we can begin...’
He held the long shaft of the quarterstaff across himself and gripped it on either side.
‘Hold it in front of you like this and lean in.’
‘Like this?’
‘Very good—remember your footwork, my lady. Make sure you are light on your feet at all times.’
Hugh started to move stealthily to one side, prompting Eleanor to move too.
‘And so begins our dance around each other.’ The corners of Hugh’s lips curved. ‘Very good.’
‘Well, I can see now why you’re so good at dancing.’ Eleanor shook her head and chuckled as her skirts swished against the floor.
‘Just so, and the dance of combat is no less intense than any other. Now, concentrate—because at any moment I may strike out.’ Hugh lunged forward slowly with his quarterstaff. ‘Like this. Now you need to defend yourself.’
Eleanor thrust up her weapon and made contact against Hugh’s.
Whack.
‘Too excessive. Yield it lightly, Eleanor. But at all times defend, deflect and be ruthlessly dextrous.’
‘Surely not ruthless, my lord?’ Her lips quirked into a smile.
‘Oh, yes, Eleanor. The key to the quarterstaff, unlike other weaponry, is anticipation.’
‘Anticipation?’
‘Indeed. You must be swift, nimble and quick-witted, but at all times remember to anticipate me....’
The slow smile he gave her almost made her drop her weapon and swoon. Lord, what was happening to her?
She gave herself a mental shake and tried to do as Hugh had instructed and concentrate. The truth was that, although the quarterstaff was new to her, she was well trained in the art of combat. Her father, and after his death Gilbert her steward, had secretly taught her what they deemed necessary skills. The fact that Eleanor was a keen student, and instantly took to being ‘ruthlessly dextrous’, as Hugh had put it, meant that she was highly skilled and proficient.
Not that her husband knew any of this, and that was a reminder not to give herself away.
So she played down her natural ability and made herself look a little clumsy.
‘Very well...now I want to show you the stance you must adopt when you attack. Imagine we’re adversaries.’
Eleanor heard Hugh inhale deeply as he placed his quarterstaff on the floor and walked behind her, facing her back.
‘Surely not?’ she said, disconcerted that he was so close behind her.
Hugh levelled the quarterstaff Eleanor was holding, lifting it higher. ‘That’s it—keep your weapon at this angle,’ he said, covering her hands with his. ‘Keep your head forward, tilt your chin a little higher. A bit more. Good, now widen your legs, keeping your balance on your back leg.’
He removed his hands, only to place them either side of Eleanor’s waist, making her gulp.
‘You need to take a big step forward, pushing through from here,’ he said, squeezing her waist gently. ‘And, no, I am not your enemy, Eleanor...but imagine that I am,’ he whispered, his lips close to her ear, tickling the column of her neck.
She felt the absence of the warmth of his hands around her waist as he detached them and ambled back to face her, picking up his weapon.
‘It would be more than my life’s worth to cross swords with you, or in this case a quarterstaff, but let’s pretend, shall we?’
He smiled that lop-sided smile that did strange things to her.
‘Yes, let’s,’ she said, returning his smile.
Hugh adjusted her hold on the quarterstaff and tilted her chin up. ‘Keep thrusting forward with your weapon to attack.’
‘Like this?’
‘Good. Now, do that again whilst I show you the defensive stance you need to adopt.’
Eleanor tried not to notice the graceful movements of her husband, or his rippling muscles as he deflected each challenging swipe she made with her weapon.
He stopped abruptly, holding out his hand. ‘Now we will switch around and I shall attack whilst you block me.’
Hugh lunged forward, striking with his weapon slowly to allow Eleanor to intercept his attack—which she did ineptly.
‘Not bad, my lady,’ he said, despite her deliberately bad attempt. Not that Hugh knew any better.
‘I’m doing as you instructed.’ She shrugged. ‘I’m anticipating you.’
‘Are you, now?’ he said softly. ‘As much as you anticipate me, Eleanor, you never fail to surprise me.’
Her heart quickened—and not because of the exercise. ‘Is...is that a good thing?’
‘Aye, very good.’ The timbre of his voice was so low that she felt it rumble through her.
‘Take a step closer,’ he panted. ‘So that we’re eye to eye and both our weapons are engaged.’
Eleanor did as he bade and watched him, mesmerised.
‘Good. And now...now we must... We need to...’ Hugh’s voice trailed away.
She was so close that she could see the flecks of gold and amber in his verdant green eyes. They held a raw emotion that transcended anything she had ever seen before. He stilled, and suddenly the very air in the chamber seem to have been sucked out.
Hugh said something under his breath as he gripped her quarterstaff and gently tugged it until she let go. He tossed both weapons to one side. The tension that crackled between them was now a different sort of anticipation. His fingers tentatively reached for her head and unbound her hair, taking out the pins and watching as it tumbled down in waves around her shoulders.
Dear God, he wanted her—and, shockingly, it no longer scared her. When and how ha
d that happened? Even more shockingly, she wanted him too. It bewildered and confused her, but nevertheless it was true.
Her eyes flicked to his lips, smooth and sensual. She exhaled quick hot breaths. Oh, Lord, she really was going to swoon. Hugh’s gaze locked onto hers as his fingers curled around her waist, gently pulling her closer until they were almost touching, and she trembled.
Anticipation, indeed!
Without any warning Hugh swooped down and kissed her, open-mouthed. His tongue slid across her lips and plunged in, savouring her hungrily as a soft moan escaped her lips. His other hand slipped into her hair and moved round to the back of her head, anchoring her to him.
Eleanor clung to Hugh and tried to match him with the same fervour, exploring and tasting him as he pressed his body against hers, hard and warm, enveloping her. More and more they fell deeper into the kiss, which now softened into heady exploration. Longing giving way to questioning possibilities.
Slowly Hugh pulled away from her lips and pressed hot kisses on her cheeks, down the column of her neck. Then he moved back to her lips.
‘Eleanor...’ he whispered softly against her hair. ‘What have you done to me?’ He nipped the tender spot just behind her ear.
What had she done to him?
What was he doing to her?
Had a kiss ever felt like this? This inexplicable wonder?
‘I want you. God knows I do.’ He gazed searchingly in her eyes. ‘But I understand if you’re still not... I mean if you need more time.’ He sighed heavily, pulling Eleanor into his arms and stroking the length of her hair.
Oh, Lord, she knew what that meant... But could she? Was she ready?
‘Think on it. I will come to you only if you want me to. But...’ He swallowed. ‘I cannot kiss you or sleep next to you in bed without wanting more.’ He pressed his forehead against hers. ‘I am only but a man, Eleanor, and a weak-willed man, it seems.’
No, he wasn’t. Hugh had honour and kindness coursing through his veins and he was nothing like Richard. It stood to reason that sleeping with him would be different. Besides, he was her husband, and Eleanor knew that they had to cement their union and consummate their marriage eventually.
In any case, curiosity was getting the better of her, wasn’t it? No, it was more than that. She liked him, and could no longer deny her attraction and desire for him.
She lifted her head and met his quizzical gaze. She smiled. ‘Yes, you’re right.’
He sighed. ‘Exactly. I’ll find somewhere else to sleep without causing any suspicion and—’
‘No... No, Hugh, that’s not what I meant.’ She flushed, not knowing how to put it into words. ‘I... I don’t want you to sleep anywhere else.’
Hugh pulled back, studying her for a moment. ‘Well, now... Does that...? Does that mean what I think it does?’ He arched a brow. ‘I never did believe that you were repulsed by my kiss.’
‘Are you bragging, my lord?’
‘Absolutely.’ He chuckled. ‘I hope this happy event is going to come sooner rather than later, but never fear: I’ll wait until you cannot resist me any more.’
She giggled, feeling lighter than she had in a long time. But when had she ever felt like this? Hugh was unlike anyone she had met before. He valued her and made her feel special. He didn’t deride her or ridicule her for being different, nor did he take pleasure in hurting her... And yet, a little voice warned her, she could get hurt. In more ways than one.
No, she mustn’t allow her feelings to get the better of her. She had told him that her heart would never be his. It was the only way to protect herself. Eleanor would do her duty, but no more than that. Hugh was King John’s man and he would never forsake his fealty to his liege.
They both jumped as they heard an urgent knocking on the door of the antechamber.
‘My lord, your presence is needed immediately,’ a muffled male voice said from the other side of the door.
For one of Hugh’s men to come so deep into their private solar could only mean one thing—it was something important.
‘What is it?’ Hugh responded.
‘The outlaws have been sighted in the woods outside the demesne!’ the voice cried.
‘This is turning out to be a good day.’ He smiled at Eleanor, then called out to his man. ‘Saddle my horse. I will be there presently.’
Chapter Seven
The next few hours were spent in a state of anxious confusion. As dusk settled Eleanor was racking her brain, trying to understand how this calamitous situation could have come about. She was always meticulous in her plans—always. Leaving no detail to chance and never taking unnecessary risks.
But this was different. She had issued no orders to her outlaws.
Had they acted on their own initiative? In which case, why? Had they grown weary? Restless? Since her marriage it had been too dangerous for Le Renard to lead her men in person, so had they taken things into their own hands?
Not that they knew her to be The Fox. No, only three people knew of her secret: her maid Brunhilde, her steward Gilbert Claymore, and of course Father Thomas. The outlaws knew that Lady Eleanor aided and abetted them, but not that she was Le Renard. That would be far too risky.
She twisted the corner of her veil tightly in her hand, her knuckles white. She had to ensure the safety of the outlaws at whatever cost, and had instructed Gilbert to warn them that Hugh and his men were coming after them. It was imperative that they’d got the message, but she had yet to discover whether the mission had been successful or not.
Eleanor stared out of the arched window, leaning against the cold stone wall, and sighed, thinking of the dangers the outlaws—her friends—would be facing.
They were a group of ordinary men, immersed in extraordinary deeds. Local men from all walks of life who had sworn their fealty and allegiance to her when she had helped them survive the hunger and misery that had swept the north. Good, true men. And when they came together in secret to form their band of brotherhood they served Eleanor to eradicate tyranny.
With a little help from their elusive leader, Le Renard, of course.
Her decision to defy the King and his demands for yet more scutage had not been an easy one, and nor had it been taken lightly. Yet, it had been either that or face despair and destitution. Eleanor had had to do something, even though it would be incredibly dangerous.
So, with Gilbert’s aid, she had formulated a plan. An outrageous plan that had brought like-minded people together for a common cause and to work under a secret leader, Le Renard. A leader whom Lady Eleanor, Gilbert and Father Thomas had vouchsafed to the assembled group of outlaws who had been initially sceptical of an outsider.
The outlaws believed in purging their land of the greed and corruption that had taken root under King John’s reign. And they did it by using subterfuge, cunning and guise, making them nameless traitors in the eyes of the law. And being one of them meant that Eleanor’s position was precarious, at best.
Yet the need to be Le Renard was as essential to her as the very air she breathed. It was from the ashes of her abusive first marriage that The Fox had risen, giving her purpose, helping her survive. It had meant that Eleanor could bury the shame that she carried and turn it into something good—something that enabled her to fight back. Fight for something she not only believed in but was prepared to die for... Justice.
As a woman she could do nothing, but as Le Renard she could do plenty—and in time she would do much, much more. However, since her marriage, the walls of Tallany Castle had felt as if they were closing in and she’d had to be more careful than ever before. One wrong step and it would all crumble around her.
Eleanor scrambled out of the solar as she recognised the shadowy figure of Gilbert Claymore from her chamber window, riding back into the inner bailey in haste. She grabbed a flame torch and climbed down the dark spiral stairwell, meeting he
r old steward as he hurried towards her.
‘My lady.’ Gilbert bowed swiftly. ‘You shouldn’t be here at this time.’
‘Never mind that—what news?’
‘We reached the hideout and informed the group of your warning.’
‘Thank God!’ She exhaled in relief.
‘Your lord husband, though...he is a masterful horseman. Faster than any man I have ever seen. He caught up with them as they were getting away and gave chase.’
Having seen him ride effortlessly quickly during their race, she could vouchsafe Hugh’s prowess on horseback. This was worrying—very worrying indeed.
‘And what of the group? Are they all...? Are they still at risk?’
‘I cannot tell, my lady. I had to ride back quickly, for fear of being exposed, but I believe your husband, his friend Sir William and others are returning now.’
‘Then I must take my leave of you. I thank you, Gilbert, as always.’
‘I live to serve you, my lady.’ He inclined his head. ‘Let’s hope I got there in time and that our friends are safe.’
She scurried back up the spiral stairwell, depositing the torch back into its ornate sconce, and then walked into the inner bailey, which was a hive of activity even at this late hour.
Had it only been earlier this day that Hugh had gifted her a flock of sheep, taught her the art of combat and then kissed her with an all-consuming passion that she could still feel now? How had it descended into this...this mayhem?
A jolt of realisation hit her. Despite the fact that she now liked, admired and was hopelessly attracted to her husband, they did not share the same beliefs. If a line were drawn in the sand, they would always be on different sides.
Eleanor watched Hugh and the others as they rode in through the gatehouse and into the inner bailey, dismounting their horses. She smoothed down her veil, which was chafing at the neck.
‘I’m glad to see you return, my lord. Were you...’ she swallowed ‘...successful?’
Hugh bowed and briefly raised her hand to his lips. He looked dishevelled, with mud spattered along his jerkin, braies and boots.
The Rebel Heiress and the Knight Page 9
