Eleanor laughed. “You don’t have to worry,” she said. “Agnes and our servants pick over all our gowns for lice, as you well know.”
Mary smiled and rubbed her arm, back and forth. “True, but thinking of bedding someone with old hairy legs and yellow teeth makes me itch so that it does make me wonder how closely Agnes has been watching for the little mites.”
The sisters giggled together. Then Mary sobered. “What did Osbert say of the poaching just now?” she asked. “Has he found the criminals?”
“A peasant reported coming upon poachers in the forest and he overheard them speaking of a conspiracy to damage reputations…” Eleanor said slowly, turning the embroidery hoop in her hands. “They were jesting that they were doubling their coins by doing so.”
“Damage reputations?” Mary repeated, quizzically. “Why? How would that benefit anyone?”
Eleanor mused for a moment, threading an embroidery needle carefully with a vivid emerald strand of silk. “It could benefit a powerful lord if he thought he could ask the king to take the forest land for himself because it was being mismanaged by either Hugh or me—or both. The forests all belong to the King of England, you well know. We hold sway over the chases only at his pleasure. Thus, when the Law of the Forest is being broken, it’s the same as if an offense is being made against the King himself. That’s why he might consider giving the forest to another powerful lord—one who could keep poachers out.”
“Oh!” Mary exclaimed. “Do you think that’s possible?”
“I do,” Eleanor said. “I’ve been thinking that only a very powerful noble could command the kind of skillful thievery that has been happening. That’s why, maybe, it’s been so difficult to find the poachers. Usually, there is a peasant or two with a loose tongue who will talk, especially when in his cups, as you know, but seemingly not so now. The poachers are being protected by someone with bulging coffers—and who has no problem about making death threats, or worse, against those who might talk too much, no doubt.”
Mary’s eyes widened. “It sounds dangerous,” she said. “Are we safe, do you think? Would—would someone want to murder you for the forest?” She gripped the lute tightly.
“No, I don’t think so,” Eleanor said. She pushed the needle through the cloth and took a tiny, neat stitch. “If I were to be murdered, there would be a hue and cry and an investigation. It would be too risky for whoever it was who wants my forest. It would be easier to take my forest away by doing it this way—by making my judgment look bad and my management poor.”
“But, if someone were a powerful lord, he would already have many of his own forests, wouldn’t he?” Mary asked. “Why would he want more?”
Eleanor smiled and patted Mary’s shoulder. “Ah, dear sister, you are not yet wise in the ways of the world. There seems to be no end to men’s thirst for land and power. The more forests one has, the more wealth one can earn for licenses and from chief foresters. The more wealth, the more power and influence one can have with the king himself.” Eleanor shrugged. “Our father wasn’t so taken with the intricacies of life at court and its power, so we never saw that side of men. It was more important to him to earn the loyalty of those he respected. Honor et Fides.”
“I know you speak truly, sister,” Mary sighed. “But, then, what are you going to do?”
“I have told Osbert that he has to discover more about the poaching, and quickly,” Eleanor said. She would not share with Mary what else she had told Osbert, about their relationship. “Hugh returns to ‘discuss’ the matter with me in ten days’ time, so it’s really important that Osbert find something soon.” Eleanor made a face. “I am not looking forward to dealing with Hugh and his anger.”
Nor did she look forward to dealing with the strange feelings she was sure she would feel when she met with him. Indeed, thoughts of him assaulted her from time to time, and she was completely taken unawares at odd moments during the day. Once, when she spied someone across the bailey who seemed to look like Hugh from a distance, her heart began to race unashamedly, and she had begun to approach him, but when the man had turned around, looking quizzically at her, and it was not Hugh, she had felt her neck color, thankful she had not uttered his name.
Just last week, she heard a laugh around the corner of the buttery that reminded her of him, and she had clenched her hands into fists, forcing herself to be still. Of course, it wasn’t Hugh. Fortunately, she had had no further dreams of him kissing her—or did she really mean “fortunately”? she wondered, blushing guiltily.
She was utterly confused—how could she have these feelings about someone who treated her with such condescension, someone whose own nature ran completely counter to all that she held dear? She commanded herself to think no more of him, but her resolve kept crumbling, to her chagrin and despair.
The next days passed in a blur, butchering of animals, salting of meats, gathering in the late harvest, solving a problem at the mill between peasants and the miller, and the reports from Osbert, which were of no help whatsoever. Eleanor dreaded Hugh’s forthcoming visit more and more as the day approached. She had no choice but to face him as bravely as she could and keep him at bay—away from Osbert and away from Strathcombe. Strathcombe was hers to manage, not his!
With great fanfare and hubbub, Hugh arrived with his retinue of knights and servants at midday. Eleanor looked out her window, her mouth dry. Was she fearful of what he might say to her and what might happen regarding the forest poaching, she wondered.
Or was she fearful
