“Aye,” Agnes said, “but he vexes our mistress sorely. He is everything his own servants report of him; rude, arrogant, and high-handed.”
“You speak true?” the girl replied.
“Indeed, he has threatened to arrest our own Osbert if Lady Eleanor does not find out the criminals responsible for the poachings in the Strathcombe and Wykeham chases,” Agnes answered. ‘Twas hard for her to say Osbert’s name without blushing, but she had managed, she hoped.
“Many of us have been speaking of Lord Hugh and Lady Eleanor,” the girl confessed, looking around at the circle of girls, whose heads nodded in agreement. “We were thinking t’would be a match, indeed!”
Agnes frowned and shook her head. “Nay, say not so. Truly, he is a vexatious man and cruel to boot. Our Lady Eleanor deserves far better.”
“She got no better with Lord Edgar, that swine’s head,” one of the girls said, shaking her head.
Agnes answered, “You speak true. Milady hath a strong and true heart and deserves the same. I know not if she will ever find one as good as she.”
A redheaded girl nodded her head. “She’s not one to dally with others, either.” She shrugged. “For one, I cannot imagine not wanting to have a tumble in the bedclothes every now and then.” Her eyes danced mischievously. “Do not you?”
“Shush,” Agnes replied. She looked around the crowded kitchen, taking in all the conversation, the teasing, the laughter. “We have work to do. Lord Hugh is here and we must all be at the ready.”
“Aye, Lord Hugh,” the redhead repeated. “How I’d love a roll in the clover with him!”
Another added, “Aye, I’d gladly do a dance for him in the hay—with no costume, either!”
All the girls giggled, elbowing each other, nodding in agreement.
In the Great Hall, Gilbert peered about for the other person to whom he had a message to deliver. Scores of servingmen hauled planks back and forth, knights crisscrossed back and forth, quaffing ale, and calling to each other about games of dice or wenching.
There. Gilbert saw Osbert through the throng, engaged in discussion with Nicholas, Master of the Horse, near the doors leading out to the bailey. They were, no doubt, going over the preparations for stabling Lord Hugh’s horses and carts.
He walked quickly to the end of the Great Hall. Nodding to Nicholas, he said, “Osbert, a word with you?”
Nicholas inclined his head and withdrew.
“Aye?” Osbert said. “Is aught amiss? Methinks all is prepared for Lord Hugh.”
Gilbert glanced around them. “’Tis a grievous subject I must discuss,” he said.
Osbert frowned. “Say of what?”
Gilbert took a step closer. “I will not mince words, friend. ’Tis all the talk about of your pining for Lady Eleanor. Your huntsmen, your foresters, the knights, even some of the villagers have heard talk of it.”
Osbert stood stock still. “’Pon my honor, I have done nothing,” he said, his face reddening.
“I do believe you,” Gilbert said, “because you are a man of honor—as is she a woman of impeccable virtue. But, I must needs warn you that Lord Hugh is seeking to distrain you for colluding in the poachings, and he will stop at nothing to discredit you. Thus, should he hear of your swooning over your mistress, he will use that, no doubt, to your fault, and, worse, to her severe discredit.”
Osbert stared at Gilbert. “Nay, say ‘tis not so.”
Gilbert snorted. “Because he is such a suspicious man, Hugh will no doubt think ‘tis because you and Lady Eleanor are lovers that she will not countenance the possibility that you have connived with the poachers. Thus, in so pining for Lady Eleanor, you put not only yourself in jeopardy, but her unbesmirched reputation as well. Is that what you wish for? To create her downfall?”
“Nay!” Osbert said loudly, causing several knights at a distance from them in the Great Hall to stare. “Of course I do not.”
“Then, mark you,” Gilbert said, “kindly speak not of her, nor give her longing glances, for all will be misconstrued to her detriment. Have I said enow?”
“Aye,” Osbert said. He sighed deeply. “I do thank you for your candor, friend.”
Gilbert inclined his head. “Speak no more of it,” he said, and left the Great Hall. What would happen in the next few days, he wondered. Had he done enough to aid Lady Eleanor? She would have to aid herself, but, Gilbert reminded himself, she was more than capable of that. Then he paused. This Hugh, though…could Hugh best her, after all? Who knew what his motives could be?
Chapter Eight
“The pain of love is very changeable; at one moment the lover is at play, the next, he laments his distress; now he weeps; now he sings.”
- Le Roman de la Rose, 13th c.
Once he was in the solar Nicholas the Steward had allotted to him, Hugh washed his face and hands in the bowl the servant held out. His knights were already in the Great Hall, no doubt, awaiting the entrance of Eleanor. He dried his face roughly on the towel. Would that he could rub away his thoughts of Eleanor as easily as he could rub his face dry. ‘Twas not for lack of being with any number of ladies in the last fortnight that he found himself thinking of her. Hugh dismissed the servant with a nod, adjusted his dagger at his hip, and began his descent to the Great Hall.
Once, passing through the rose gardens, the scent of roses assailed him, and he suddenly remembered her scented hair. Why had she made this mark on him? he questioned himself angrily. She was naïve and stubborn—and a trusting ninny, to boot.
The sounds of laughter, loud conversation, and lute-playing greeted him as the knights opened the doors to the Great Hall. Nicholas the Steward announced him, the assembled company rose, bowing and curtseying, and he steeled himself to meet Eleanor.
Eleanor remained seated as everyone rose, and she consciously lifted her chin as Hugh approached. Marry, but
