“Go to, go to!” the master of the hounds shouted at the dogs, and, barking, they raced for the brook.
The knight handed Eleanor her goshawk, and she unjessed her and took her hood off, ready to let her fly, once the ducks had taken flight. Her falcon blinked against the bright sunlight. Other knights had their falcons at the ready, as well. The dogs dove into the water, splashing and howling.
“Ho!” an unfamiliar voice shouted. The sound of many hooves thudding on the forest floor filled the air, almost drowning out the barking of the hounds.
Eleanor glanced over her shoulder to see a half-dozen knights on horseback ride up, the sun glinting on their chainmail and visors, and the colors of vermilion and gold fluttering on a pennant held high against the blue sky. Leading them was a tall, broad-shouldered man, his handsome visage stern, seated on a white stallion. Even at numerous paces away, Eleanor was riveted by his steel-blue eyes, and she felt an unaccustomed flutter of her heart under her cloak. Who is this? she wondered.
The leader called out again, “Hail! Who goes here?” His horse whinnied and pawed the forest floor, apparently restless at being halted.
At once, a cluster of her knights trotted up to them, swiftly. Ulric, her most faithful knight, whom she had brought with her from Blystoke, hailed the small group. “Who are you and what are you doing in the forest of Strathcombe?”
“I am Hugh of Wykeham, as you can see by my colors,” the man retorted, his brows knit into a frown and gesturing to the pennant carried by one of his knights, “and I have leave to cross this forest at all times.”
Hugh? Eleanor’s mouth felt dry. This man was Hugh, her adversary? She swallowed hard. What was he doing here—now? She could barely turn her gaze away from his stern, chiseled features and intense blue eyes. She took a deep breath to try and calm herself. Why was she so unsettled?
“Aye, that he does,” Osbert called out from the brook, some paces away. “Hail, Lord Hugh,” he added, lifting a gloved hand in greeting.
Hugh nodded curtly and glanced around at the crowd of knights and foresters, and his eyes finally came to rest on Eleanor. Those eyes seemed to lock onto hers, making her feel faint, and her skin felt hot from the intensity of his gaze. She shivered. What was wrong with her? she scolded herself. He would be a formidable opponent in more ways than one, she could see that now.
“I seek Eleanor of Strathcombe,” Hugh announced. He narrowed his eyes and stared at Eleanor. “Is this she?”
Eleanor saw everyone’s faces turn toward her. Her pulse pounded in her forehead and she took another deep breath. As she struggled to collect herself, a thought struck her with the force of a blow at the quintain. Was this part of Hugh’s plan, she wondered, to try and surprise her, catch her with her guard down, and get his way? If so, he was going to be sorely mistaken, she vowed.
She lifted her chin. “I am Eleanor of Strathcombe,” she announced. She nudged Autumn forward toward Hugh and his men, so that she now faced him across a space of a few paces, flanked by her own knights. She sensed, rather than saw, that their hands were on their sword hilts.
Was that a smirk on Hugh’s face? Eleanor was aghast. She straightened her shoulders and edged Autumn closer. She glared at him, but, somehow, his eyes made her feel faint, so she tried to stare at his forehead, instead. Despite her best efforts, however, her gaze was drawn to his intense blue eyes, she felt a small, delicious shudder run down her spine. What feeling was this? Why did he affect her thus?
“Well, Eleanor of Strathcombe,” Hugh said, his eyes locked on hers. “I am here to meet with you about the crimes you and your chief forester, Osbert le Fraunceys, are allowing to take place in our forests.” He shot a look at Osbert, who, in return, Eleanor saw, jutted his chin out defiantly.
Now? Hugh wanted to speak now? This couldn’t be! Thoughts flashed through Eleanor’s mind at lightning speed. She could not give in, in front of her men—or in front of this Hugh. She would be lost! But she couldn’t refuse him point-blank, either, and incense him even more. She searched frantically in her mind for just the right words.
She tightened her grip on the reins and took a breath. “As you can see, sire, we are in the midst of the hunt and surely you understand that I cannot disappoint my company of knights,” Eleanor said, trying to sound as forceful as she could and yet still cordial. “Please ride with your men to Strathcombe. The steward will make you welcome. I will be glad to join you when I am finished with the hunt. Please accept my hospitality.”
With those words, Eleanor looked at Hugh levelly once more, turned the reins on Autumn’s neck, and nudged her into a walk back to the brook.
With any luck, Eleanor told herself, her hands trembling on the reins, no one could tell how shaken she really felt. Hugh’s eyes—never had she seen such blue eyes.
Chapter Three
“They weigh up every word, for the deceptions they have suffered in the past have caused them to dread present treachery.”
- Le Roman de la Rose, 13th c.
Hugh sat dumbfounded, for a moment. What twit of a girl was this? How dare she disregard him, Hugh of Wykeham? Certes, she was polite—and beautiful to boot—but, God’s bones, she had basically refused him! No one else might see it that way, but he most certainly did!
Then, “I’ll meet you at nones in your Great
