Hugh reached for her hand, his lips brushing across it. Zounds! He had thought to make a quick pass of the gesture, but he could feel his lips wanting to linger on the softness. Enough, he commanded himself. He was here on serious business, and he had even more to speak of with Eleanor than the forest poachings. Over the last fortnight, he had been thinking long and hard about matters of great importance, set in motion by what he had heard of William of Litchfield’s plans.
“Milady,” Hugh said. Her eyes were deep green—but he caught only a flash of them before she lowered them. Was she so timid that she feared to even meet his eyes? How could she even begin to solve the poachings and deal with criminals if she had no real backbone? Hugh sighed. Stubborn, she was, but, obviously, her stubbornness could not be confused with strength of character.
Speaking with her after the dinner would oblige him to use all the logic and force at his disposal to compel her to agree to what he had decided he wanted. Now back from the Crusade, it was time for him to beget an heir. Receiving the latest news about William of Litchfield’s projected plans for Mary’s betrothal had galvanized him into taking action. After much thought, he had determined that Mary would be the best choice as his new wife. She was young and untried, her reputation was pristine, and he could control her and mold her—not like Eleanor! He snorted.
Almost as if she could read his thoughts, Eleanor smiled coldly, a smile that left her eyes expressionless. By his sword, perhaps this negotiation would be more difficult than he thought. A brief frown flitted across his face.
Eleanor saw the frown and hid a smile. So, Hugh had noted her coldness. ‘Twas good, then! She had to keep her emotions under control and she would not let this man have the advantage! If he even guessed at the thoughts about him she tried to stifle—his eyes, his hands…Enough!
“Welcome to Strathcombe,” she said in a level voice. “We are honored at your company. Please enjoy the feast,” she finished, and turned to speak to Mary, seated on her left.
Hugh grunted and turned his attention to his trencher and the many dishes the servants held out for him, but not before he glanced at Mary. She was pretty enough, and, also important, she was still young, so with any luck, he could influence her so she would not exhibit her sister’s traits of naiveté and stubbornness. Besides, she was untried and a virgin, and there were no tales following her anywhere. Mary’s reddish locks set off her blue eyes, he noted, but her eyes did not seem to have the depth that Eleanor’s had. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to imagine Mary’s petite face on the pillow beneath him, but all he could see was Eleanor’s instead. He grabbed for his wine goblet.
If William of Litchfield was not seeking to betroth Mary to the Count of Thiercy, he would perhaps have more time to consider another wife, but, a bird in the hand… Hugh sighed. Time was of the essence to arrange his own betrothal to Mary. Logically, Hugh strategized that Eleanor could not refuse his own suit for her sister, for that would enable Mary to stay in England, instead of going to France. Any objections William might have could no doubt easily be dealt with using enough silver to mollify him, and William could find any number of other young, titled women to ensure William’s alliances in France. All that remained would be for Hugh to convince Eleanor that his marrying Mary would be in her and her sister’s best interests, even though she would have little say in the matter, should William choose otherwise.
Would he find Mary’s soft hands as appealing as Eleanor’s, Hugh mused, then frowned. He was not going to be distracted by those kinds of thoughts, though why he felt such for Eleanor was completely beyond his ken. She was absolutely impossible, and her mismanagement of the forest was costing his reputation dearly.
Reports had reached the king of the lawlessness in the forests of Wykeham and Strathcombe, and, frowning, Hugh remembered the messenger sent to him by King Edward a few days before.
“Milord,” the messenger had begun, sweat coursing down his face from the ride. “I have a message from King Edward for your lordship.”
Hugh narrowed his eyes. This could not be good. “Yes?” he asked.
“The king doth wish to know what is amiss in your lordship’s forest and that of your neighboring chase, that of Lady Eleanor of Strathcombe,” the messenger said, haltingly. He rubbed his hands together anxiously, ducking his head briefly, almost as if to ward off a blow. As well he might, Hugh thought, cursing him and his master silently. Surely the messenger had been warned by many that bringing an unwelcome message to Lord Hugh of Wykeham could provoke any manner of outburst.
“You can tell King Edward that he has no cause for concern,” Hugh said, settling back in his chair and straightening his shoulders, looking the messenger straight in the eyes. “My fighting for the crown at the Crusade is done,” Hugh said, as a reminder to King Edward of where he had been the last years, “and my energies are bent on preserving the Law of the Forest in my chase as well as of Strathcombe.” If, Hugh thought, he could ever tame that ninny whose forests bordered his.
After the
