He wondered if with winter fast approaching, and the first layer of snow already on the
ground—well, there was time to find a suitable place for young Hugh to win his spurs. From the looks of him he was already a formidable fighter. He patted Eleanor’s hand. “Don’t worry. We’ll find a good place for Hugh. Let’s just get through the next few days with him, shall we?”
CHAPTER 16
It was one thing to imagine a world with no television, radio, or newspapers, thought Richard, and quite another to live in it. He stared out over the gray wintry landscape. It had snowed in the night and now the world was covered with a soft white blanket…a soft white cold blanket. He pulled his cloak closer around his shoulders.
A world without central heat was quite another thing to live in, too. A shout from below caught his attention. He peered straight down into the courtyard. He saw a swirl of fabric. Eleanor and Hugh walked into the center of the courtyard. From the height, he couldn’t hear what they were saying, but it was clear to him that Eleanor was attempting to talk to her brother. It was equally clear that Hugh was resisting all her attempts with an adolescent rudeness that made Richard grit his teeth. He’d tried to stay out of the boy’s way, thinking that he needed some space to get used to being home again.
As he watched, Eleanor reached for her brother’s arm. Hugh shrugged her away, and stormed off in the direction of the stables. Eleanor followed, calling, struggling through the snow in her inadequate shoes. That’s all he needed, Richard thought. Eleanor would catch her death of some fever or flu, and then he’d be left in the thirteenth century, all alone. As he said that to himself, he realized how important she was to him.
Hugh shouted something back, something brusque by his tone. Eleanor paused in the middle of the courtyard, looking after her brother. Richard could only guess the sadness and futility of the expression on her face by the slump of her shoulders. She hesitated a few seconds as Hugh disappeared into the stables. Then she gathered her cloak more tightly about her shoulders and turned back toward the keep.
A few moments later, Hugh rode out of the stables. As Richard watched, he galloped out the gate, and down the rutted road. He hoped the boy had enough sense to avoid laming the horse. He shook his head and decided to go and talk to Eleanor. Perhaps the time had come for him to intervene.
He found her by the hearth, staring into the flames, her hands held out. “Eleanor?”
She didn’t turn around. “Yes, my lord? Is there something you require?”
Her distant tone of voice troubled him. “Not I, my lady. I saw you and Hugh in the courtyard just now. I wondered if there was anything you required?”
She drew a deep breath and gave a short bitter laugh. “I don’t understand it. He’s changed so much. I can’t believe the way he behaves…as if he hates it here. He says he’d rather be back with the Welsh—can you believe it? He says anywhere but here. And when I said we would discuss sending him away—to Normandy perhaps—he shouted at me, and told me to mind my own business. But he is my business. I just don’t understand.” She shook her head sadly.
Richard stepped closer and wrapped an arm around her. “I think the time has come for me to say something to your brother. I haven’t wanted to before now. I’ve seen the way he treats you, Eleanor. And quite frankly, I haven’t liked it.”
She looked up at him. His tone was entirely different, but this was nothing new…Richard was ever harping at Hugh. “What do you intend to say?” She hoped she kept the fear out of her voice.
“I intend to get to the bottom of this.” He paused. It was on the tip of his tongue to say that no one changes in such a short period of time. But he of all people couldn’t say such a thing. “There has to be a reason, a good reason, for Hugh to act the way he has. We just need to discover what it is. And when we find it, we will address it. He may not like the outcome. But anything is better than this. I’m ready to send him away to France without a place in a household.”
“Richard, no, please! He’d starve—be forced to fight as a mercenary—please—”
He shook his head and touched the tip of her nose lightly. He gave her a sad smile. “I’m so sorry, lady.” He shook his head and turned away.
Richard was waiting when Hugh stormed into the hall. He saw Richard in the big chair beside the fire, and stopped. “Where’s my sister?” he demanded.
Richard paused in peeling an apple. He looked the boy up and down. “She’s busy.”
Hugh snorted and made as if to stomp off.
“Wait,” Richard said. “I thought you and I might have a talk.”
Hugh paused and momentarily, a look of pure fear flitted across his face. Then he shrugged in a gesture of bravado. “I don’t have anything to talk about with you.”
“But I have something to say to you. Sit down.” Richard used the tone he used to use with his sons when they were at the same age and just as intractable. It was a tone they never disobeyed. It had a similar effect on Hugh.
He gave Richard a sullen scowl, but sank down on a bench, as far away as he could get. Richard peeled his apple.
“What do you want?” Hugh burst out finally.
“I want you to stop treating your sister as if she’s done something wrong. I want you to start treating the people of this keep in the manner they deserve, which is with every courtesy you’d like to receive yourself. And I want you to tell me what’s bothering you.”
“When hell freezes first.” The boy spat the words.
Richard raised his eyebrow but said nothing. “Very well. If you wish to be miserable, so be it. But I don’t expect your behavior toward your sister to continue, do you understand? Nor do I expect to see you be rude to the servants. They work hard to do your bidding—there is no need to order them around as though they are slaves.” Hugh was staring at him with the same expression of disbelief Eleanor had worn when he’d first begun to interact with her. “If I see that you are rude to anyone beneath this roof—anyone at all, from your sister down to the meanest scullery—I shall hand you over to Sir John to be punished. Do you understand?”
Hugh guffawed. “Some threat that is. Why don’t you hand me over to your minion? Sir Geoffrey?”
Richard sat back. “He’s dead.”
“Good.” Hugh got to his feet. “Are you finished?”
In one fast motion, Richard got to his feet. He picked Hugh up by the scruff of the neck, and spoke through gritted teeth. “I don’t know what ails you, boy, but before God, I’ll not have you speak that way of a brave and loyal man. Apologize at once.”
Hugh looked down. “Geoffrey was mean to me.”
“And you’re acting like a spoiled brat who won’t get his way. There’s no sense sulking about it. If you tell me what’s wrong, I might be able to do something about it. But if you choose not to, I don’t expect you to inflict your misery on us all. If you wish to skulk and scowl and act generally like a lout, feel free to do so. But you will give your sister all the courtesy she deserves. Do we understand each other?”
Hugh met Richard’s eyes reluctantly. “Yes, my lord.” He turned on his heel and fled. Richard watched him go, wondering how on earth he would ever deal with Eleanor’s recalcitrant brother. Adolescents of any age—or any century—were not easy to tolerate.
Hugh found Eleanor in her solar. She was sewing. She looked up when he knocked and then peered into the room.
“Hugh?” she said in surprise. “Come in.”
He stood awkwardly just on the other side of the threshold. “I wanted to say I was sorry for the way I’ve been acting lately. I know I’ve been in a bad mood…I’m sorry. It isn’t your fault, and I’ve been wrong to act as if it is.”
“I accept your apology,” she said, wondering what Richard had said to get through to him so effectively. “But can’t you tell me what’s been bothering you? If you tell me, maybe we can do something about it.”
“That’s what he said,” Hugh said, with a jerk of his head. “
That’s exactly what he said.”
“Richard?”
He nodded. “Since when do you call him that?”
Eleanor sighed. “Things are different since you’ve been gone, Hugh. Richard’s different. In some ways…in a lot of ways…he’s not the same man we knew. What did he say to you?”
“He told me to stop being rude to you and the servants. He told me he would try to help me if there was something wrong.”
Eleanor sat back, her needle still in her lap. “And is there something wrong? Did Llewellis and his men…did they hurt you…in any way?” She watched his young face closely.
Hugh shrugged. “Not really. They beat me black and blue any chance they got but mostly they left me alone.”
“But then what’s been bothering you? You’ve been acting nearly as bad as Richard ever did since you came home. If not the Welsh…then what?”
He shook his head. “They were fine to me…not at first, but after a while. They got bored of picking on me…or maybe Llewellis made them stop.”
“Then what is it? I almost think you’d rather go back to them.”
“I would.”
Eleanor cocked her head, uncertain she’d heard her brother correctly. “Why?”
“There’s a girl. Her name’s Angharad. She’s the most beautiful girl I’ve ever met, and she’s brave and funny and so many things. And I don’t think I’ll ever meet her again.”
“Who is she?”
“She’s the prince’s sister. His youngest sister.”
“Oh.” Eleanor gazed at her brother in sympathy. “I see.”
He looked at her, misery clear on his face. “Do you?”
“Of course I do.”
“Then you understand why I can’t bear the thought of leaving her? Knowing that there is nothing I can ever de—”
Eleanor held up her hand. “Hugh. I wish you had told me this earlier. The situation may not be as hopeless as you might think. She is the youngest sister, you say?” When he nodded, Eleanor continued. “I will speak to Richard.”
“That monster?” Hugh snorted. “Since when would he do anything to help me?”
Eleanor sighed softly. It was going to be difficult to convince Hugh how much Richard had changed. “He has been charged by the Marshal to make peace with the Welsh. A marriage with Llewellis’s youngest sister would not be unheard of.”
Hugh’s face twisted in a bitter scowl. “Not unheard of if I had land. But I have nothing, Eleanor—nothing at all, and you know it. Llewellis would never entertain even the idea of a marriage to a landless nobody.”
Eleanor pursed her lips and squared her shoulders. As much as she felt sorry for her brother, his self-pity was becoming exasperating. “Then we must see that that changes, Hugh. You must position yourself in a noble house—a place where you can win your spurs and make something of yourself. And in the meantime, I’m sure if Richard opens negotiations—the girl is how old?”
“Fifteen—sixteen—my age, I suppose.”
Eleanor frowned. “’Twould be better if she were a bit younger, but still…” She got to her feet. “I shall speak to Richard.”
As she walked past Hugh, he caught her arm. “You really do seem to trust him, don’t you?”
“Yes,” she said. “He’s changed. You’ll see.”
When Eleanor entered the bedroom, she found Richard stretched out on the bed, his eyes closed. “My lord?” she asked, uncertainly. Outside snow swirled against the window, and the room was dark, despite the burning fire. “Are you well?”
He opened his eyes and yawned. “I’m tired. That’s all. I spoke to Hugh. I told him to apologize to you.”
“Ah,” Eleanor stood beside the bed. “He did.”
“Good.” He held out his hand, and with only a moment’s hesitation she took it. “I didn’t like seeing him treat you that way.”
She smiled uncertainly. It was not so very long ago when you treated me that way, she thought. But she said nothing, and he went on. “I’ve been thinking.”
“Oh?” She wondered how to broach the subject of Hugh’s love interest.
“About Giscard Fitzwilliam. If he in truth did send men to attack us on the road, and it seems likely from all the evidence that he did, something must be done about him. When the spring comes, if not before.”
“And what do you think you should do?”
He pressed a kiss into the palm of her hand. “I’m not sure. Peace is preferable to war, but sometimes war is necessary. It seems unfortunate that we must be at war with a close neighbor, especially if we can maintain our peace with the Welsh.” He turned his head and frowned at the fire, gazing off into some unseen place. “But between the Welsh and this Fitzwilliam…” His voice trailed off.
“Richard,” she began, hesitantly. It still felt new to address him so freely, but he didn’t seem to mind at all. “There may be a way to ensure a lasting peace with Llewellis.”
“Oh?” It was his turn to look at her with surprise. “And what, my clever lady, might that be?”
He pulled her onto the bed beside him, wrapping his arms around her. She allowed herself to relax against him as a loud gust of wind rattled the glass in the window. “Hugh told me why he’s been so upset. He fell in love while he was with the Welsh—Llewellis has a sister about Hugh’s age. And the two of them, well…” She looked down and knew she blushed.
Richard chuckled, a pleasant little sound so different from the nasty one he used to make. “Ah. Now so much makes sense. But Hugh’s only—fifteen? Too young to marry.”
Eleanor shrugged. “But not too young to be affianced. Though that’s not the problem. It might be that Llewellis would be willing to arrange a marriage for his youngest sister, but she’s likely to have little dowry, and Hugh himself has nothing.”
“What of the other manor?”
Eleanor stared at Richard. “You’d give it to Hugh? Break up the demesne?”
Richard frowned. Inwardly he cursed. He might have said something unheard of. There was too much about feudal land law he didn’t know. “I—I’m only thinking aloud, lady. It would seem that there is a solution here, if only we can find it. I would not take anything away from you—from us—but if it brings us peace, and peace to our children, then it might be worth it.”
Eleanor blushed.
He smiled at her, brushing a wisp of hair off her face.
“There are no children—not yet.”
He shrugged. “But we’ve time, my dear.” He caressed her face, and she smiled at the endearment. “A winter’s worth of time. At least.” He gathered her mouth to his, and then there were no words worth saying.
CHAPTER 17
“So now what?” Guillaume turned lazily on his stomach on the great bearskin and yawned. “Once again de Lambert escaped the trap you thought so cleverly set.”
“Bah!” Giscard spat into the fire. “That was luck, nothing more.”
“It seems like a mighty mort of luck indeed, considering that twice now, you’ve sent armed men after him. I suppose this means you’ll give it all up?”
“Give what up?” Giscard reached across the table and speared another hunk of meat from the platter with his knife. He took a bite and grease ran down his chin to stain the front of his tunic.
“This obsession?” Guillaume yawned again. “By God, you’ve got a miserable keep here, Giscard. Why not come back to France with me? Aquitaine is so much more pleasant, especially this time of year. Of course, almost anywhere is more pleasant this time of year.”
“Oh, for God’s sake, hold your tongue, Guillaume. If you prefer Aquitaine, go back there. I’ll stay here and fight for what’s mine.”
“For what you’d like to have for yours, you mean.” Guillaume got to his feet. “Why don’t you give it up, Giscard? De Lambert’s made peace with the Welsh—he’s in the Marshal’s good graces. You’ve no excuse to wrest the lands from him legally, and if you persist in these attacks, you’re likely to have no men of y
our own left. How many did you lose in this latest? Twenty?”
“Ten.”
“If you want more lands, go kiss the King’s backside. You’ve always been good at doing that.”
Giscard finished chewing. He swallowed and looked at his brother. “I’m considering throwing this knife at you.”
Guillaume got to this feet, laughing. “Do that, brother. If you wish to face the wrath of the King of France.” He shook his head. “Perhaps there are worthier ways to increase your holdings—service to your king, and all that. John has need of good men around him, doesn’t he?”
Giscard scowled. “And you know as well as I that John guards his favors selfishly, and dispenses them with an ungenerous hand. It’s only luck that gave you our father’s French holdings, and me the English ones. You’d be in the very same position as I if things had been different.”
Guillaume waved a dismissing hand. “Oh, come, you don’t believe that. Find yourself an heiress, a marriageable heiress, and wed her. Your obsession with de Lambert will be your ruin. He has his lands, you have yours. You’ve tried twice now to kill him. Either set aside your differences, or find some way to discredit him to the king. You’ve wasted enough time on this as it is.”
Giscard stared at his brother. “Brother, you’re a genius. Discredit de Lambert to the king…hmm.” He chewed thoughtfully on an oatcake. “But how?”
Guillaume shrugged. “That’s your problem. But didn’t I overhear your men saying how he was shouting nonsense during the battle? Perhaps you can make him out to be mad.”
“Hmm.” Giscard swallowed and reached for his goblet of wine. “Mad.” He raised his glass to his brother, and smiled. “An interesting idea and one filled with possibilities. Who knows, brother? If something comes of this, I might finally forgive you for having been born first.”
“Well, Angharad?” Llewellis gestured with the parchment scroll he held in his hand. “Would you be willing to wed the young Norman?”
[1997] Once and Future Love Page 14
