What woman would want your respect? Eleanor wanted to say, but bit her tongue, instead. Her forehead throbbed with the effort to be courteous, still. After all, he was her guest. She drew a deep breath.
“I am sure you speak true, Lord Hugh,” she said, sweetly. Perhaps a few soft words would confuse him. She smiled to see his eyes narrow as he thought about her answer.
Was she playing the fool, or playing him for the fool? Hugh wondered for a moment, and then dismissed his silent question. She was impossibly naïve, so there was no question.
“Aye,” Hugh said. “So, we have a bargain, then?” He took his wine goblet and quaffed deeply, thumping the goblet back down on the table.
“I don’t think you can call it a bargain when one party dictates to the other exactly what to do,” Eleanor replied, working hard to keep her tone dulcet, “but, aye, we shall meet in a fortnight to discuss further. And I will have some answers, myself,” she asserted. “And you will see how my trust is not misplaced,” she added. How she hoped so! she told herself. She could not let Hugh get the best of her!
Hugh studied her for a moment. “Hmph!” he snorted. “Trust! Done, then. A fortnight.” Trust, indeed! He wanted to laugh out loud again. She would see what trust was all about. Osbert was using her—and he, no doubt, wanted to use her in more ways than one. There was more of a tale there, he was certain.
One could never be too suspicious, Hugh reminded himself, returning to his roast pork on his trencher. He glanced beyond Eleanor to Mary, who sat at her sister’s side, engaged in conversation with a lady in a purple gown. He would inquire of William of Litchfield regarding Mary. William would have a marriage suggestion, whether it be Mary or not, and he would also have other important information on each lady. Never again, Hugh resolved, would he be blinded by misplaced trust and loyalty. Honor et Fides! Indeed! he snorted silently to himself.
Eleanor’s hands shook as she lifted her napkin to her lips, before drinking from her shared goblet. From the corner of her eye, she saw Hugh’s hand reach for a loaf of bread on the table, his strong fingers tearing the bread apart, and an involuntary shiver ran down her back, despite the heat of the hearth behind her. What would it be like to feel those fingers caress her cheek, trace her mouth? She had to stop thinking like this. ‘Twas not seemly—and, in truth, he was her enemy. He stood for all she held distasteful—suspicion, mistrust, and arrogance.
But why could she not stop thinking these strange, new thoughts about him?
After the dinner had finished, the servants began clearing the tables and then stacking the planks against the walls.
At the other end of the Great Hall, Eleanor saw the flautist and the lute player take their places, tuning their instruments, and the ladies and knights in the Great Hall gathered together, ready for dancing, the bright colors of their clothing making a rich mosaic. Small groups formed into loose squares, knights bowing and ladies curtseying. The music began, and the couples held hands, performing the intricate steps.
She could not look over at Hugh, still seated by her side. As his hostess, it was her duty to invite him to the dance, but, oh, she could not bear to do so. Firstly, he had angered her with his condescension and high-handedness, and secondly, well, secondly… Eleanor drew in her breath sharply. She couldn’t bear the thought of touching him again, feeling the warmth and strength in his fingers. But then… didn’t she want to? Didn’t she want to have him twirl her about and then clasp her around her waist, maneuvering her through the steps, his hand at the small of her back? Eleanor shivered. What was wrong with her?
“I must ready myself for the journey back to Wykeham,” Hugh said gruffly, in her ear. Zounds, but he wanted to lead her in the dance, feeling the softness of that little hand in his! He could just see her slender figure bow and bend, responsive to the gentle pressure of his hand on her waist. His hand on her waist… and on the small of her back… But, no, he would not beg her; indeed, Hugh of Wykeham begged no woman. It was her duty to invite him and she was obviously nonplussed about how to behave. She was truly naïve, hopelessly naïve, he repeated to himself.
Why did she feel disappointed at his words? Eleanor asked herself. She had to recover her wits. “Aye, but of course, Lord Hugh,” she answered, giving him a quick glance.
Before she realized what was happening, he’d grasped her hand in his and brushed his warm lips over it, sending it tingling with a rush of heat as no fire from a hearth had ever done.
“I thank you for your hospitality, Lady Eleanor,” he said. He stood up, bowed quickly, and left the Great Hall, his imposing figure dwarfing the ladies and knights involved in the steps of the dance. Eleanor watched him go, rubbing one hand with the other. What had just happened?
Hugh made his way through the dancing throng, his hand clenching and unclenching. Why did this twit affect him so? He needed some kind of a woman, and soon, for he could not entertain the kinds of thoughts he was having about this Eleanor. They did not portend for good. He had serious business to tend to, and he was not going to allow such feelings about such a stubborn and inept young woman to cloud his judgment.
But, oh, that little hand, he thought, as he left the hall.
Chapter Five
“Oh, God, what have I dreamed? What is this? Where did this thought come from? Indeed, I wish it would return
