‘I have heard the gossip—’ she shot him a little smile ‘—who has not? But there are those who say it is scurrilous and untrue.’
‘I assure you, Eleanor, that the rumour is not unfounded. They cannot keep their eyes off each other.’
‘But Lord Robert is a married man so nothing can come of it. A wife cannot be set aside.’
‘She can if the lady who wants a wife set aside happens to be the Queen of England and supreme governor of the church. As such she has the power to do so, and do not forget that her father did just that in his desire to wed Elizabeth’s mother and later to divorce Anne of Cleves. Unfortunately Elizabeth has inherited a bankrupt and rebellious country from her sister, and considerable debt abroad.
‘Her advisors have warned her that she will only survive it if she marries a strong prince. There are several being talked of and Robert Dudley is definitely not one of them. However, he thinks very highly of himself and is ambitious, certain he can reclaim his destiny at Elizabeth’s side, but his enemies are many. If he does not return to his wife, he will have to watch his back.’
‘I have much in common with Robert Dudley. Both our fathers were beheaded under Queen Mary.’
William’s face turned hard. ‘A tragic situation that you have laid at my door.’
The mood between them had changed. All at once the ugly reality had invaded the false, easy atmosphere of the journey, and Eleanor rounded on the man, knowing him for what he truly was, and before she could help herself, accusingly, she said, ‘Yes, and with good reason.’ Her eyes saw the changing expression on his face—a look that at once seemed to warn her and to shut her out.
‘Good reason indeed,’ he remarked brusquely.
Eleanor lifted her chin. ‘That’s the way it is. I’m in no position to judge.’
Anger ignited in his eyes. ‘No, you’re not.’
With nothing else to say, in one swift motion William kicked his horse forwards.
Becoming lost in her thoughts, Eleanor rode on in silence. Throughout the days she had been with William they had become not exactly friends, because what she knew to be his betrayal of her father had placed too great a divide between them, but they got on well enough. Moreover, she found in him a sensitivity that made him capable of perceiving her need for understanding. He was also the only man who had told her he admired her spirit, instead of condemning her for it.
Why had William disappeared from Catherine’s life so suddenly, she wondered yet again, and where had he been for the past three years? The very fact that he refused to speak of it told her that whatever had befallen him had left scars, as yet unhealed. What treachery could have hardened his heart?
There were so many questions she wanted answers for. What was the cause of the enmity between William and her stepfather? Was Catherine at the root of it, or was it something more sinister than that?
Chapter Four
They were to spend the night at an inn beneath the grim, massive ramparts of Pontefract Castle, an impressive, impregnable structure built by a Norman upon a rock, in an area that was an established centre of the cloth industry.
The next day they would reach York. Darkness was falling and it had been raining for the best part of the day. Welcome lights shone from the inn’s windows and smoke twisted up from its chimneys. Eleanor slid from her horse and ducked her head as a gust of wind buffeted her.
Camaraderie restored between them, half-smiling, William looked at her, knowing how relieved she was that this was to be their last night on the road, but she was staring straight ahead, her face ashen. Following her gaze, he saw two men taking to the road. They hadn’t seen the new arrivals and they looked in a hurry. Both men were shrouded in black cloaks, their hats pulled down and partly shielding their faces from the buffeting wind, but they were familiar to Eleanor.
She became still as she puzzled over the familiarity of the men, looking at the gate through which they had disappeared, then shook her head.
‘Why do you frown?’ William enquired.
‘Those two men who just rode out were familiar to me,’ she replied quietly.
‘Your stepfather’s men?’
‘Yes. It isn’t my imagination.’
‘No,’ William agreed, his expression one of grim concern. ‘It’s not your imagination and nor do I think it’s a coincidence. I knew Atwood would lose no time in dispatching his henchmen after us.’
‘I don’t think they saw us.’
‘Neither do I. They must have passed us somewhere along the way without knowing and think we are ahead of them. Why did they not stay the night at the inn? Why the haste?’ His dark brows were drawn together in a frown. ‘I’m curious to know what they’re up to.’
Eleanor’s heart was filled with dismay and a cold shiver ran down her spine. ‘I am afraid,’ she whispered.
‘Your fears are not without foundation. Anyone as ruthless and determined as Frederick Atwood will wreak his vengeance no matter what he has to do. We must be extra-vigilant from now on.’
‘Do you think we should ride on a bit farther? Wouldn’t you rather put some more miles behind us? We could reach Tad-caster in a few hours.’
‘It will soon be dark. Besides, given the choice of riding in the rain after a couple of Atwood’s ruffians rather than enjoying a hot supper and sitting in comfort before a blazing fire with a lovely young woman,’ he murmured, his eyes twinkling roguishly and a smile curving his lips as he attempted to relieve the tension of the moment, ‘well—a man would have to be out of his mind not to choose the latter.’
Eleanor cocked her head on one side and smiled up at him. ‘Are you flirting with me by any chance, William Marston?’
Throwing back his head, he laughed out loud, his white teeth flashing against his bronze skin. ‘Heaven forbid I should feel romantically inclined to the one who has branded me a traitor, Mistress Collingwood, but,’ he said, his laughter fading and his eyes coming to rest warmly on hers, ‘I could be persuaded.’
Eleanor could barely speak, for at that moment there was nothing she wanted more than to persuade him. The proud set of his head and the way his dark hair curled over his collar, the lift of his brows and the curl of his lips made her heart heavy, for though she had made it plain to herself from the outset that she would avoid any advances he might make towards her like the plague, she had not bargained for the ache that had pestered her night and day since.
As she followed him inside the inn, it suddenly dawned on her that they’d be parting soon, perhaps tomorrow, and the realisation pierced her with unexpected poignancy. However, one thing was clear. Something had been lit between them, something that made her heart sing—and Eleanor did not have a clue what to do about it.
It wasn’t one of the best inns they had stayed at, being dirty and dim, and yet it was lively enough and warm. It had been market day in Pontefract and it was crammed with local traders and farmers, their dirty boots stinking of the farm yard. There was much laughter and drinking and as the three of them, sitting as close to the fire as they could get, ate their meal and drank their ale, for the first time since leaving London Eleanor began to relax.
They were in her beloved Yorkshire and her journey was almost over. The two men her stepfather had sent in pursuit had unnerved her, but she wasn’t unduly worried since she felt safe enough with William and Godfrey. She did not doubt William’s prowess as a fighter, but anyone would have to be a fool to provoke Godfrey, and tomorrow she would be safe at Hollymead in her uncle’s care.
Godfrey had a natural tendency after they had eaten to disappear to wherever it was he had a bed, but that evening, well fortified with ale and flattered by the open attention of the hostess, he was in no hurry to depart. Molly Brown, enormously well endowed in all the right places, was spurred into immediate action the minute he stepped through the door, for in Pontefract, men of Godfrey’s splendid size and presence were as rare as hen’s teeth.
William and Eleanor watched with great amusement as she
served him brandy, and as she served it she leaned so far over that her loosely fastened blouse dipped down to reveal more of a rather splendid pair of mammary appendages than was decent, causing heat to warm Eleanor’s face with embarrassment, for she was certain that if the woman’s blouse gaped any lower her umbilicus would have been visible.
Godfrey couldn’t take his eyes off the fine orbs and he grinned appreciatively. ‘Nice view you have there, sweetheart.’
Molly grinned back and nudged him playfully with her elbow. ‘Nice of you to say so, love.’ Her eyes twinkled. ‘Lonely, are you?’
‘I might be.’
‘Then we’ll have to see what we can do about that, won’t we?’ she said, laughing suggestively. ‘Though if you’re staying we only have two empty rooms, one small, the other a bit bigger.’ Her eyes devoured Godfrey unashamedly. ‘I’ll wager you, big fella, can fit in the small one well enough and these two gentlemen can share the other.’ Only having glanced at Eleanor in passing, she was completely ignorant as to her gender, which only served to intensify Eleanor’s and William’s amusement. They had to struggle to keep themselves from laughing out loud.
Molly smiled cheekily at William. ‘Very comfy it is—double bed, soft mattress. You’ll have no complaints.’ Placing her hands on her hips she chuckled, her more than ample body shaking as she winked at Eleanor. ‘Why so coy, laddie? A handsome youth should not be shy with his friends, eh, sir,’ she said, nudging William knowingly and laughing louder when Eleanor flushed scarlet by her casually thrown suggestion. ‘Hot water for washing and the bed warmed will be extra.’
William cocked an eyebrow at Eleanor. ‘That sounds perfectly agreeable to me. We’ll have the extras.’ His eyes passed over Eleanor lightly, contemplating her flushed cheeks. ‘Very cosy,’ he murmured as Molly sauntered away with a wink at Godfrey.
‘Not as cosy as you’d like to think—so get rid of the twinkle in your eyes, Lord Marston.’ Eleanor was quick to put him in his place, but she was not unmoved. His voice and his outrageous suggestion came as a soft caress and sent an eddy of sensations spiralling down through the core of her being, but she was not to be drawn. ‘I’m unaccustomed to sharing my bed with anyone and I am not about to begin now—and you should know better than to think I would.’
William’s laughter gave evidence of his amusement as Eleanor glowered mockingly at him. ‘The male garb you wear is not unbecoming, Eleanor, but it does tend to overshadow what’s beneath with gloom.’
‘Which it will continue to do.’ She smiled sweetly at Godfrey. ‘I’m sorry to disappoint you, Godfrey, but I shall take the small room.’
‘What Eleanor really means, Godfrey, is that you and I shall share the double bed.’
Still grinning, Godfrey shook his shaggy head, his eyes still fastened on the swaying rump of the fair and buxom Molly. ‘You two go up to bed,’ he said, folding his arms across his massive chest. ‘I’ll find my own place to rest.’
‘That suits me fine,’ William murmured, standing up and stretching his long frame.
‘In which case,’ Eleanor said, also getting up and moving round the table to William, ‘I shall have the soft bed and you can sleep in the other room, William.’ She smiled sweetly. ‘I know you won’t mind.’
‘I won’t?’ he replied, leaving Godfrey to become better acquainted with Molly, who was clearly adept in satisfying her customers, being of that gallant breed of women who fornicate for fornication’s own fine and pleasant sake, an art in which she evidently had sufficient practice. William had no doubt that his friend would feast upon her bountiful and vigorously abounding charms until he passed out in glorious bliss.
Escorting Eleanor to the foot of the stairs and envying his friend’s busy, athletic night, he looked down at her. She had removed her jerkin and unfastened the neck of her shirt. It was parted in a V shape, exposing the velvety softness of the flesh of her neck and the upper part of her chest. His stomach clenched as he remembered how she had looked when he had entered her room two days earlier, finding her naked apart from the concealing bed covers. Godfrey wasn’t the only one with an appetite.
He reached out to touch her cheek in a careless, intimate gesture. ‘We could share the soft bed. There’s absolutely nothing to be worried about,’ he ensured, challenging her with a mocking grin. ‘You’ll be quite safe.’
Eleanor laughed with velvety softness, a light sound, her gentle humour infecting and warming William to such a degree that he wanted to snatch her into his arms and kiss her senseless.
‘I know I will because you, my lord, will be next door.’
The expression in his eyes changed for a heartbeat and then lightened again as he chuckled. ‘I needn’t be. I’d rather be in your bed.’
‘That would make it a bit crowded; besides, you’re mad if you think I’d agree to anything so outrageous,’ she protested. She acknowledged that his suggestion was ludicrous, and yet if it was, why did her heart beat so hard in her chest, and why did she not want to move away from him? His looks and his nearness were seductive, but it reassured her to some degree that she’d so far managed to stand against him. ‘I’d be a fool, an utter fool, to get involved with you.’
‘Be a fool,’ he prompted softly.
‘I don’t think so. We both know that would be a mistake.’
‘Why, what is it you fear?’
‘What should I fear?’ she countered, pushing the hair from her face and beginning to climb the narrow stairs without giving him the chance to reply. ‘Goodnight, William,’ she said over her shoulder. ‘Sleep well.’
Going in search of her room, Eleanor wondered what would have happened if she had agreed to his request. Heat poured through her. With the memory of his gaze touching her face as though it were a caress, she had wanted him to hold her, to kiss her, to tell her that he was glad she had travelled with them and that he would regret their parting on the morrow—and if there were to be no parting, how long, she wondered, would she be able to fight off the deep magnetic attraction she was beginning to feel for him? How long would she want to?
But come what may, she must. The last few years had made her distrustful and taught her to be on her guard against men’s wiles, and she must never forget that this man was the architect of all her wretchedness.
When at last they neared Hollymead, a cold sheet of rain burst down from a sky the colour of mud, instantly soaking them. William would have had them seek shelter until it had passed, but Eleanor was too impatient to reach her home to delay now.
An ache for the past came to her as she looked across the familiar rainswept landscape, seeing the Roman wall and bastions enclosing the city of York like a ribbon of white in the distance and the majestic twin towers of the Gothic minister—and despite the rain it seemed to her a wondrous fair sight. Her heart swelled with joy in her breast. York was the queen of cities to her mind and already she could hear the peal of church bells, which, she remembered, seemed to ring all the time—bells calling the hour and others summoning folk to meetings, and on All Souls Night they rang throughout the night.
Eager to reach Hollymead, Eleanor urged her horse to a faster pace, wiping the water from her face, knowing it would come within her sights at any minute—but it didn’t. Panic coursed through her veins. Where was it? Had the trees grown so tall that its towers and chimneys were hidden from view? Had she really been gone that long?
The three of them fell silent as they peered ahead. William did not like the tension he felt in the air. It vibrated through the drenched landscape, through his body.
Eleanor did not turn and see William’s face, but she felt his uneasiness, and her own discomfort grew. For half a mile they rode along the rough road, passing a huddle of cottages and a farmstead where a flock of hens scratted and a few pigs rooted around in the mud.
And then they came to what had once been Hollymead, that gracious, noble house where Eleanor had been born and had spent the happiest years of her life. The heavy gates stood wide open. Whe
re were the gatehouse keeper and the stable boys? Where were the servants and Uncle John? Where was everybody? a voice screamed inside her head.
No one spoke as they rode into what had been the outer court, the building that reared in front of them with its broken leaded windows a blackened, tragic ruin. Not all of it had burned, only the older part built of wood, the stone of the newer section having withstood the flames.
Removing her hat and feeling the rain on her face, Eleanor looked about her dazedly, aware that several people were wandering about as if in a daze, but unable to focus her eyes on them. The fire had been recent, for smoke in places still curled up to the sky, yet the uncanny silence held. They dismounted and walked slowly forward to enter what remained of the great hall.
‘My God,’ William said in hushed tones. ‘What has happened here?’
Eleanor halted on the threshold, thinking for an unbelievable moment that they must have lost their way and come to the wrong house, that they had somehow stumbled into a situation that had nothing to do with them and that this horrific sight was someone else’s nightmare. Something deep and insistent mounted within her heart and cried out against it. The cry was building inside her, searching for a way to escape, so very painful to her, but the cry remained inside as her eyes took in the truly awful scene.
‘Oh, no,’ she moaned. ‘Dear Lord, oh, Lord.’ Her eyes wandered over the burned-out ruin, which bore no resemblance to the Hollymead she had known.
It was dark and smelled of scorched wood. The central hearth where the dogs used to lie was blackened, as was what was left of the trestles and benches and floorboards. Moving farther inside, Eleanor turned her head around to take it all in, remembering it as it had been in the days of her childhood—her mother and father at the long table, the smell of roasted meat and firelight and servants running hither and thither.
With a sob she slowly crumpled down to her knees. Nature cloaked her shock in mercy for she was unable to move, all thought having left her. She was very still, her heart dragging in pain. Her cloak was sodden, her hair hanging in soaked skeins down her back to her waist and clinging to her wet cheeks; it was a while before she realised that it was not the rain, but her own bitter tears.
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