“Milady?” Hugh called out, trying to collect himself. “May we have the pleasure of keeping you company?”
Eleanor stood up and walked to meet him, Anne at her elbow. Ulric and her knights gathered closer. “Certes,” she said, taking a deep breath and forcing herself to look at him. If she did not, she would seem weak, and she could not appear to be weak, or Hugh would bully her even more about Osbert and the forests and who knew what else, including his betrothal to Mary. But, oh! His eyes! Her pulse beat rapidly and she clasped her hands behind her back to steady them, lest they shake in his sight and he make note of it. Fortunately, he was on horseback and could not give her the usual courteous greeting of kissing her hand. She did not know, after her dream last night, if she could maintain her composure at his touch, no matter how brief or slight it might be.
“You are most kind,” Hugh said, drily. He barked out commands to his men, and much logistics and arranging ensued, tents erected, and horses tethered.
The campfires crackled and flamed, sending heat radiating around the clearing. The sun had dropped below the level of the trees and Eleanor wrapped her cloak about her more tightly. Knights lounged about, and ladies-in-waiting whispered and giggled behind cupped hands. The cooks conferred and began bringing out the platters of salted meat and bread and flagons of wine and ale. Men dove into the meats, quaffing ale from huge goblets, and the ladies nibbled their food daintily, wiping their mouths on embroidered cloths. Murmured conversation and loud laugher filled the glade, while horses nickered and pawed at the forest floor. Torches were lit against the gathering gloom, and the firelight played shadows on the faces of the assembled company.
“What say you?” Hugh asked his men, loudly, downing his ale and slapping the pewter goblet down on a log. “Have we a lute player among us? A musician? Shall we while away the hours till we retire with a song or two?”
Eleanor’s ladies’ eyes all turned to Mary, who ducked her head immediately.
Hugh did not miss the interplay, and he smiled. So, his betrothed-to-be was a musician, he mused. That would add to her attractiveness. Perhaps she would play for him in their bedchamber—now that would be a true delight. As soon as that thought flashed through his mind, his eyes slid over to Eleanor. He took a deep breath. There was little question about which sister he would rather see in his bedchamber at this point—and that had to change, he commanded himself. Enough!
“What say you, Mary of Blystoke?” Hugh asked, gathering himself, his boots crackling the dead leaves underfoot as he approached the little gathering of Eleanor and her women. “Shall you delight us with your talent?”
Eleanor glanced sharply at Mary, to assess her feelings, and she could see by Mary’s downcast head and reddened face, that to ask her to play in front of such an assembly would be torture, indeed. Hugh, arrogant monster that he was, might even somehow force her to play! Eleanor wouldn’t doubt it for a moment, so she had to be effective in what she said next.
Eleanor looked up at Hugh, forcing herself to be composed. “Nay, Sire, you grace us by your request, but my sister is tired from the ride this morning. Perhaps, she might play another day. I am certain you understand.” She smiled to try and take the edge off her refusal. Mary was studying her goblet in her hands and would not look up.
Hugh raised his eyebrows and shrugged. He looked around at the assembled company and then back at Eleanor and Mary. “Holding the reins indeed would tire the fingers, Milady,” he said. “We would not want you to lose your grip on the reins tomorrow because of your fatigue from playing the lute tonight.”
His knights and some of Eleanor’s men laughed, and a few of the ladies tittered, but Eleanor fumed. How rude he was! She wanted to retort something quick and clever, but judged that it would not be meet. Hugh would most definitely take offense at any challenge to him in front of his men, and she certainly didn’t want to provoke him any further. After all, she had still to deal with the assize—and plan what to do with her dear sister. She could not afford to antagonize Hugh any further—but how dearly she wanted to!
The hour grew late and the ladies began making their ways to their tents, the knights bedding down near the fires. Hugh approached Mary and Eleanor, bowed, and held out his hand to Mary. She blushed, gave him hers, and he kissed her hand, looking into her face as he did so. Eleanor found herself clenching her hands into fists so tightly that her nails cut into her palms. Her blood pounded in her forehead and she forced herself to breathe evenly. What was wrong with her?
“Sleep well, Mary of Blystoke,” Hugh said, in his deep voice. His blue eyes crinkled at the corners with his smile. Mary nodded, looked down at the forest floor, and almost whispered, “Thank you, sire.” She dropped her hand into her lap as if it were on fire.
“And you, as well, Lady Eleanor,” Hugh drawled sardonically. Eleanor sat up straight and thrust her hand out for him to give it a courtesy kiss.
“Also you, Lord Hugh,” Eleanor said, lifting her chin. She made the grave mistake of looking up into his face and met the gaze of his blue eyes. Let be! It seemed the air fair crackled with the intensity of his glance, she thought. Did he feel nothing? She willed her hand not to shake in his grasp, and he took it in his large, muscular one. Did he feel her blood pulse through her veins, she wondered.
Such softness! Hugh marveled. How he would
