Horror-struck, Eleanor put her hands to her burning face. “What have we done?” she asked. Her hands still shook with desire, and she clasped them in front of her to still their trembling.
Hugh’s face darkened for a moment, but then he took a deep breath. What depths had he sensed in Eleanor! Indeed—what depths had been awakened in him? He shook his head as if to clear it.
“We—we have exchanged a kiss, just a kiss, I trow,” Hugh said. He studied her face to see if he could read her mind. What was she thinking? Surely, she realized the power of what had wracked her—and wracked him, as well? She looked stunned and completely at a loss for words; her mouth trembled and her hands shook.
“I—I think we cannot do this,” Eleanor blurted out, wringing her hands. “You are nearly betrothed to my own sister—and I—I have little hope that I can avoid wedding my liege lord, William!”
Hugh frowned and folded his arms, regarding Eleanor as if from a long way off. His blood still pounded in his forehead. Perhaps she was too much the gull, after all. Was she willing to ignore—to forget—what had just happened to them? How could she? Had she truly not felt what he had? Was she playing him for the fool? He tightened his mouth at the realization that he might have been caught unawares by a ninny. More fool, he, then!
“Milady, ‘twas naught but a kiss,” Hugh said, curtly. So, she had made a fool of him, had she not? All his resolve to deny his feelings for her because they were so ill-suited had not been worth a handful of groats and he had been swept away by the moment.
Eleanor blushed a deep pink. Her face looked stricken. “I—I know that’s what ‘twas,” she whispered. “I—I cannot in loyalty bear it.” She caught her lip and looked down at the stone floor.
“In that case, countess,” Hugh said sardonically, raising an eyebrow, “’tis best we rejoin the company, or they shall think something is wrong between us.”
“Aye,” Eleanor said in a strangled voice. She brushed her hair away from her face and tucked a few loose tendrils under her cap. Straightening her shoulders, she turned and walked to the door. She stopped and looked back at Hugh for an instant. Dear God in heaven, what a kiss ‘twas! Another delicious shudder ran through her. Taking a deep breath, she said, “Let us go, then. And speak no more of ‘t.”
Hurriedly, without looking back at Hugh, she walked through the buttery and out the great doors of the castle and down the steps. She had to get control of herself, but how?
A wave of sound met her—laughter, loud conversation, and people calling out to each other. Dozens of peasants and villagers had assembled in the courtyard, the assize being not only the vehicle for justice, but also one of the few venues that everyone could attend as a rude form of entertainment. ‘Twas rather like bear-baiting, Eleanor thought, wrinkling her nose with distaste. The gawkers and hangers-on crowded closer, hoping to catch bits of drama as each criminal or petitioner made his case before William, and William meted out the appropriate punishment. She peered through the crowd, hoping to see Osbert, but he must have been hidden behind others. Did he have the poachers in custody?
She took her seat off to the side of William’s chair, and Hugh and Mary sat beside her. Eleanor hardly dared glance at Hugh, not trusting her own expression. She had to maintain her composure. Still stunned from their encounter in the buttery, she clenched her hands into fists inside the sleeves of her surcoat. Once the assize was over and the poaching settled, she would not have to see Hugh again, unless—unless he did marry her sister.
Eleanor closed her eyes for a moment. Mary and Hugh…Hugh’s strong arms encircling her, Hugh stroking Mary’s hair, tilting her chin up, gazing into her eyes, Hugh’s soft, sensuous mouth bearing down on Mary’s. Would Mary ever feel the shattering feelings for Hugh that Eleanor had just had run through her? Would Mary enjoy the gentle strength of his touch, of his embrace?
How terrible would that be?
Chapter Fourteen
“Should I not be afraid knowing that slanderers and envious traitors are eager to do me harm?”
- Le Roman de la Rose, 13th c.
“And where is Osbert le Fraunceys, chief forester of Strathcombe?” William barked out, after a dozen or so petitioners and small criminals had been dispensed with, either led away by the bailiff or told to pay the required fine.
Eleanor looked over the crowd, but no one hailed Osbert. Where was he? Studiously, she avoided meeting Hugh’s eyes. Would he be thinking of their embrace and how he had pressed his lips to hers? Even now, she could still taste him, she was sure, and almost feel the pressure of his hand at the nape of her neck as he tilted her face up to his. Could he forget how she reached out to hold him, stroking his back, and then pressing the curve of her body closer—how aroused he had been? Her cheeks felt warm, just remembering what had happened between them. How could she have allowed herself to become swept away thus? And with the man who might be marrying her own sister! Feelings spun dizzily through Eleanor’s head, and she tried to focus her attention on the proceedings at hand.
“I, John de Bretton, chief forester of Wykeham, am present,” said John, coming
