Fortifying herself to see Hugh in the assembled company for the bread and ale at breakfast, she walked into the clearing where makeshift tables had been set up. She pretended to be looking up at the sun through the trees, all the while looking for Hugh.
The cooks served the trenchers and the air filled with talk and laughter, the low tones of the knights a counterpoint to the high voices of the ladies. Where was Hugh? Eleanor wondered. Had he found some willing servant wench to bed in his tent? Her heart sank. Why did she feel thus, she lectured herself sternly.
“Ah, the lovely Lady Mary and the Lady Eleanor,” Hugh’s voice sounded from behind her. Eleanor jumped, and she hoped Hugh hadn’t noticed. She turned around to see his chiseled face and blue eyes that seemed to penetrate to the very depth of her soul.
There she was, Hugh thought, even more beautiful than he dreamed of her last night, curling his body around her warm form, sheltering her from all assailants and problems, nuzzling her neck and softly stroking her hair. God’s bones! He couldn’t be thinking like this about stubborn, recalcitrant Eleanor, when her sister, his proposed betrothed, was sitting right next to her, her eyes wide and fearful.
“Good morrow to you, Lord Hugh,” Eleanor said, recovering. She would ordinarily ask how someone had slept, but she could not, would not, say anything that even hinted about how she felt about him. Sleeping with Hugh, she thought, how could she even entertain such a thought? He’d asked for Mary’s hand in marriage, and she had no call to be thinking anything of the kind.
“And good morrow as well to you, Lady Mary and Lady Eleanor,” Hugh replied, being careful to say Mary’s name first. He had to keep control of himself, and this situation, this closeness to Eleanor was not propitious. Have firm resolve, be resolute, he commanded himself. He could not allow himself to be beguiled by a ninny who couldn’t control her own forests. “We shall soon be at Litchfield,” Hugh said, looking at Mary and ignoring Eleanor. “I trust your ride shall be comfortable. My servants and knights are at your disposal, Milady.” He inclined his head and made his way to where his knights sat in a group, devouring their bread and drinking their flagons of ale.
Mary’s face colored, and Eleanor’s jaw dropped. At Mary’s disposal? Was she being totally ignored and dismissed, as of no importance? How arrogant Hugh was! She didn’t know if she should be furious or relieved that he was not paying attention to her. What feelings roiled inside her because of this man! She bit down on a crust of bread, hard. Enough! She had had enough of Hugh of Wykeham.
That afternoon, the combined parties from Strathcombe and Wykeham rode up to the imposing castle of Litchfield, with trumpets sounding from the battlements high above. William of Litchfield, on horseback and flanked by dozens of his knights, waited in front of the barbican to honor his guests. Hugh, as the acknowledged leader of the group by title, rode his white stallion across the lowered drawbridge with a clattering of hooves echoing hollowly on the wooden planks, followed by his men and then by Eleanor and her company, while the Litchfield servants and staff gaped at them from the crenellated walls and from the tiny openings in the towers.
Because Eleanor was tired and cold, she was almost glad to see the Litchfield towers rising up before them, flags flying, if only because it meant that she could rest and warm herself by a blazing hearth. She had ridden all morning filled with a combination of anger at Hugh and anxiety, not only because of what she would have to face once she arrived at Litchfield, but also because she sensed that Hugh and the knights were watching the forests and glades carefully for brigands and bandits. Were the poachers watching them from secret hiding places in the trees, she wondered. If they were willing to risk their lives for bags of silver, what other heinous crimes might they be willing to commit?
In another week, the assize would take place, and with any good fortune, Osbert would have more information, and he would not have to be arrested. She was not looking forward to having to question John de Bretton in front of the entire assize and villagers either. Most especially, she did not want to question him in front of his lord Hugh. But she would do what she needed to do to protect her interests and her loyal servants. Was there any way out of this maze of dilemmas?
To Eleanor’s dismay, she saw William of Litchfield finish greeting Hugh and then peer through the crowd, apparently looking for someone. Was it she whom he was searching for? Eleanor closed her eyes for a moment. How she wished she could hide—or become transported many leagues away—or become invisible! But, it was not to be, and William spied her, a lecherous grin spreading across his face, exposing his yellow teeth between his fleshy lips. Eleanor shuddered, and it was not from the cold.
“My, but he is an ugly man,” Mary whispered to her, leaning over in her saddle.
“Ugly in more ways than one,” Eleanor agreed, trying not to imagine what William looked like unclothed. Please God, she would never have to find out! She forced herself to smile at William and reluctantly urged Autumn forward.
“My dear Lady Eleanor,” William said, loudly, as she approached. His greasy hair hung lankly about his pockmarked face. Did he ever, ever wash? Eleanor wondered. Not even once a month? His neck looked dirty, and she didn’t want to think about what his hands and nails would look like. Those hands might
