During the meal in the Great Hall, Eleanor watched the assembled guests and household retainers as they dined, sharing their goblets of wine and sawing away at the meat on their trenchers. There was never a lack of duck, roast pork, eel in spiced sauces, and other delectables at Strathcombe, and many visitors often graced the castle, Eleanor being renowned as a hostess, despite her relative youth. She studied their faces. Did any of them have any inkling of who might be responsible for the crimes in the forest?
Everyone talked of the poachings, but no one seemed to have heard anything that would lead to any arrests. Eleanor sighed and leaned her chin on her hand. With this Hugh so rudely intruding on her forest business, she now had a new job to do—either to vanquish him or at least to convince him she could deal with her own forest, she thought with a grimace. With any luck, Osbert would have some news, she hoped.
After the meal, Mary went to the gardens to practice more with her lute, and Eleanor sent for Osbert, who was probably at the stables, preparing for the hunt two days hence, Sunday, with the Master of the Horse. Eleanor herself was looking forward to hunting with her little goshawk again and riding to the brook, where the dogs would raise the ducks, and her goshawk would swoop down upon them. Estate matters had kept her too busy lately, and she hadn’t ridden to the hunt for nearly a fortnight. She really missed not being able to hunt. It wasn’t easy, being mistress of the Strathcombe lands—she missed all the carefree hours she had before her marriage. When her father was alive, they had shared a love of hunting, and Eleanor always looked forward to riding her hunter, galloping through the trees with her companions in the chase.
While the servants cleared the tables in the Great Hall, Eleanor remained in her chair, its ornately-carved back to the blazing hearth, waiting for Osbert to arrive. She drummed her fingers on the arms of the chair, as thoughts chased each other through her mind.
Why, indeed, had the poachers managed to avoid capture thus far? She frowned. A tiny doubt surfaced. Was Osbert truly steadfast? Nay, of course he was. He had served her father well, even though he had begun as a young man, and had also served her staunchly these last three years, since she had brought him to Strathcombe. Even Edgar—pompous fool that he was—agreed that Osbert was a man of honor. How could she let what this Hugh had written make her even question her family’s chief forester? Eleanor scolded herself. Now she couldn’t wait to confront this Hugh and have it out!
“Milady?” Osbert’s voice brought her back to the present. She looked up and smiled at him, and he bowed. Osbert was a fine figure of a man, as befit one who rode a horse and managed a vast forest. He had always been solicitous of her, Eleanor remembered, ever since she had been small. Almost like the older brother she had never had, Osbert always encouraged her to ride to the hunt with him and the household knights, knowing that her father had done the same with her.
Osbert cleared his throat. “Did you wish to see me about Sunday’s hunt?” he asked. “I assure you, all is at the ready.” He paused, looking down at the stone floor for a moment, and then looked back up at her. “’Twill be a pleasure to have you ride with us again, Lady Eleanor. It has been some time since you’ve done so.”
Eleanor tilted her head a bit. Was Osbert’s manner a little strange today? Somehow, his tone and even his hopeful expression seemed to suggest more than a passing interest in having her join him. How could this be? She winced, inwardly.
If her chief forester had any romantic feelings toward her, it could only make for a very uncomfortable situation. Certainly, he was of good lineage, since chief foresters were chosen only from fine families, but he was probably fifteen years her senior—and a member of her household, to boot. What could he be thinking? Knights often wore the colors of a favored lady into jousts and tournaments, and all the troubadours’ songs dealt with that form of romantic love, always unrequited, and rarely, she thought, consummated, but the thought of Osbert riding to her colors or making any romantic advances definitely made her nervous. She hoped she was misreading him.
Eleanor collected herself. She would ignore her misgivings and carry on, as she must.
“Nay, Osbert,” she sighed. “It’s not about Sunday’s hunt that I wanted to see you. I only wish it were something so pleasurable.” To her dismay, she saw an eager smile flicker across his face. Was he truly missing her company in the chase? Hastily, she continued. “I have received a letter from Hugh of Wykeham,” she began. Osbert’s face darkened and he folded his arms across his chest. “He is coming here Tuesday to discuss my alleged mismanagement of my lands and forest, and” —Eleanor paused and drew a breath— “and he accuses you of taking bribes from poachers.”
“He is a liar!” Osbert burst out. He slammed his closed fist into his open hand. “That is a slur against my honor—and yours! Hugh of Wykeham has no call to make those accusations!” Osbert strode back and forth in front of Eleanor. “He overreaches himself! He trusts no one!”
“Calm yourself,” Eleanor said, quickly. She glanced around the hall at the servants, busily removing the planks from the tables and stacking them against
