Three hours later, Hugh’s retinue of knights and servants left Strathcombe, with a great rattling of carts and pounding of horses’ hooves, and Eleanor breathed a sigh of relief. Verily, she did not know if she was truly glad or bereft to see him go. What a complicated tangle of terrible problems he had left her with.
Arm-in-arm with Mary, Eleanor paced the gravel-lined paths in one of the rose gardens, trying to admire the late blooms of the lush pink and yellow roses. Their footsteps crunched on the small stones as they walked, their ladies-in-waiting following them, talking quietly among themselves.
“You seem preoccupied, dear sister,” Mary said, looking at Eleanor, a small frown creasing her forehead.
Eleanor sighed. “You read me well, Mary,” she admitted. “Our dear neighbor, Lord Hugh, has tossed me a bowl that I cannot yet field.” She shook her head. “It seems he wishes to marry you,” Eleanor said with a sigh.
Aghast, Mary unlinked her arm from Eleanor’s and turned to face her. “What? This cannot be!” she cried. “He is so rude and condescending!” Mary bit her lip for a moment. “I do not know which I would fear most—the Count of Thiercy, or the arrogant Lord Hugh!”
Eleanor put her arm around Mary’s shoulder. “We will have to think on it,” she said, giving Mary a squeeze. “As Hugh points out, we must make a decision soon, or we will make William of Litchfield very angry. Hugh thinks that William wouldn’t mind if you did not go to France, so long as he gets enough silver and a substitute—er—another bride to cement his alliance.”
Mary’s eyes filled with tears. “Oh, sister dear, why must we be subjected to this? I cannot leave you—or England! But,” Mary shuddered, “but I cannot even think of wedding such a monster as Hugh!”
Nor could she, Eleanor thought. Or—could she? From whence came those feelings that she was trying to quash? Would she truly be able to find true happiness with a man—pleasure that she had only heard of, but never felt? And if so, why with Hugh, whose superciliousness to her was like a burr under a saddle? She was plagued with too many questions—and no answers.
“We will speak of this further.” Eleanor sighed. “At the moment, my head does hurt with all it must deal with,” she said ruefully.
“I am sorry, Eleanor,” Mary said, softly. She gave her sister a hug. “I am sorry I am causing you such anguish.” Retrieving a handkerchief from her sleeve, she wiped her eyes.
“Nay, not you, Mary!” Eleanor protested. “Although it’s our lot in life to be mere women—at least we can navigate our courses carefully, using what weapons we have.”
Mary turned a puzzled face to Eleanor. “Weapons?” she asked.
Eleanor laughed. “Not weapons as you think of them, like dirks and lances, Mary,” she said, smiling. “Our weapons must be those of loyalty to each other and trust of those who have earned it by their steadfastness. As our family motto reads and as our dear father trained us, trust and loyalty will allow us to triumph over those who would wish us ill.”
“But how can these help us now?” Mary wailed. “How?”
“Do not worry,” Eleanor said, patting Mary’s arm. “We will be loyal to each other and that loyalty will carry us through all we shall encounter.”
Mary sighed. “I suppose so,” she answered. “But I still have a hard time believing that it will happen. How can loyalty and trust vanquish Lord Hugh or William or find the poachers?”
“We will find a way,” Eleanor promised. “Our dear father counted on them his whole life long, as shall we.”
“I will do my best, dear sister,” Mary answered. “I will follow your lead.”
Eleanor smiled. “I know you will,” she said, and continued to walk, Mary at her side.
Nor did she know exactly how loyalty and trust would work, Eleanor admitted silently, but she would hold fast to those words and hope and pray that she could find a way out of this maze of problems. The passing of time could help, she mused.
Surely in a month’s time, couldn’t Osbert find who was in the conspiracy to damage her and Hugh’s reputations by the poaching? And, couldn’t William of Litchfield find a more promising bride for the Count of Thiercy? Hugh—well, Hugh might rethink his proposal to wed Mary, especially if Eleanor became even more of a thorn in his side than she already was? Eleanor hid a smile. She could aggravate him even more than she already did, and maybe he would want to be rid of both sisters. Above all, she would stay loyal to Mary and try to fulfill the promise she made to her father on his deathbed that she would care for Mary and let no harm befall her, whether that harm be from the lame Count of Thiercy or from the arrogant Lord Hugh.
“Milady! Milady!” A voice called from behind them, out of breath, and Eleanor and Mary turned to see from whence it came.
The ladies-in-waiting, clucking and exclaiming, had moved aside on the path, their gowns
