All the information he could learn about William and any plots or plans he might have would be critical. William was obviously plotting against him for some reason—Mary? His lands? Hugh narrowed his eyes. Whatever it was, he would find out from Eleanor. She was so trusting she would no doubt tell him everything, the little fool.
The meal over, Eleanor signaled that the company should move to the bailey, where chairs had been brought from the Great Hall for William, Eleanor, Hugh, and Mary and placed at one end of the courtyard.
“A word with you, Milady,” Hugh said, in a low voice, as everyone got up to leave the tables.
Eleanor started. Her heart began to race and she commanded herself to be still. “Aye?” she replied. What was this about?
“Is there somewhere we can speak in private?” Hugh asked, trying not to be moved by her green eyes and heart-shaped mouth.
Eleanor nodded, not trusting herself to speak, motioned to Hugh, and he followed her to the buttery at one end of the Great Hall, where servants bustled to and fro, clearing the tables.
After greeting the servants, Eleanor caught Hugh’s eye and nodded toward a small door in the wall. She opened the door and Hugh followed her into a small room, stacked with casks of wine. Eleanor closed the door firmly behind them. The heady scent of the fermenting wine accosted her and she felt dizzy. Was it Hugh’s presence, or the wine, she wondered. Now she had no choice but to look into his eyes.
Hugh folded his arms and looked at Eleanor. She backed away involuntarily and stood with her back against a row of wine casks. Her forehead throbbed in time with her pulse. What was he going to say? His mouth was firm and his clear blue eyes seemed to look right through her into her very soul. Dear God in heaven, how could she get through this?
Hugh cleared his throat. In such close quarters, Eleanor’s beauty had him absolutely transfixed, and he did not know if he could even speak. They had never been truly alone together, and now he felt his heart beat faster, as if he were charging down the track at a joust, toward an opposing knight, lance raised and at the ready. This was no joust, he scolded himself. This was merely a conversation with his neighbor, about a point of honor. Why could he not collect himself? Forcing himself to look sternly at Eleanor, he took a breath and began.
“I have heard that our ‘friend’ William has accused me of engineering the poaching,” Hugh said. Why not move directly to the point?
“Oh!” Eleanor gasped. “Yes, he did—but—how have you heard this?” Then she shook her head and smiled ruefully. “You could not have overheard William speaking to me at Litchfield, so it must be my faithful maidservant and lady-in-waiting. I fear sometimes they are as eager to bear tales as they are faithful to me.” She sighed. “I cannot think why they would tell you, though.”
A half-smile appeared on Hugh’s stern visage. “They thought only to enhance and grace your reputation by telling me how you defended me and that you do hold me in some esteem, despite the fact you dismissed me peremptorily when you greeted me before the meal, something like a mere flea!”
Eleanor felt her cheeks color and thoughts flashed through her mind at lightning speed. Hugh now thought she held him in some esteem? Could that be good? Or ill? She studied his expression. Did he give any inkling that he thought she was attracted to him—besides holding him in some esteem, as her ladies had told him?
“I—I truly do not know you well, Lord Hugh,” Eleanor stammered, “but I do know William and he would say aught to catch the nearest way for himself. I also cannot think you would be in such extraordinary anger over some poaching you had caused yourself.”
Caught by surprise at her acumen, Hugh threw his head back and laughed. “Such extraordinary anger, indeed!” he guffawed. He shook his head in mock admonishment. “Say you, young countess, that I am extraordinarily angry?” His laughter echoed through the small room.
Out of sheer embarrassment, Eleanor wanted to drop through the stone floor into the cellar below. “Hugh—you are always—I, I mean—I—I did not mean to—” she stammered, casting about for words. God’s mercy, Eleanor moaned silently. She had insulted him without meaning to—and then he mocked her!
Such anguish on her face, Hugh thought. She truly meant well, after all. Without thinking, he reached out his hand to put it on her shoulder, to calm her fears and reassure her. The instant he touched her, a jolt ran through him. He felt her body stiffen as though in response, and her face tilted up toward his, her eyes wide open with—what was that emotion? He could not read it in the green depth of her eyes, but he felt as if he would drown in them, nay, wanted to drown in them.
Eleanor caught her breath. Hugh’s hand on her shoulder was warm and strong, and she longed, now, to have his other hand reach for her and to pull her close. His eyes were gazing intently into hers, and she felt a small shudder run through her. “I—I—” she gamely began again.
“I—what?” Hugh asked, gently. Suddenly, he could hold back no longer. He pulled her close and wrapped his other arm around her, cradling the small of her back. He smelled the rose-water scent of her hair and wanted to bury himself in it. “’I want you to hold me’?” he asked. “Was that what you wanted to say? Is that what you want?” With one finger, he lifted her chin up, and without a moment’s hesitation, his lips met hers, moving over their softness, savoring their sweetness.
Eleanor leaned her head back and gave herself over to the ineffably blissful feeling of
