‘This,’ she said through pursed lips, ‘could never have been avoided.’
‘Perhaps not, but it would have saved my men and I having to journey here and interrupt your...busy life.’
‘Are you mocking me?’
Whatever Hugh had been expecting in Eleanor Tallany, it certainly hadn’t been this hostile woman in front of him now.
‘Not in the least, my lady. I’m merely pointing out that had you been gracious enough to submit to King John’s demands, all this unpleasantness might have been avoided. You must know that he is not a man to be defied.’
‘How easy it is for you to say, but this “unpleasantness”, as you call it, could never have been avoided. It serves to determine my future.’
Hugh frowned at her. ‘A future decreed by your King.’
They stared coldly at each other, waiting for the other to back down, as the hall descended into an awkward silence.
‘Well, then,’ she said finally, keeping her frosty gaze locked on his. ‘Perhaps we should find out what this future holds, shall we?’
Hugh watched as Eleanor waved her hand for the missive to be read and the Tallany priest, Father Thomas, stepped forward and bowed to his mistress before cutting open the seal of the parchment scroll.
Hugh ground his teeth together. By God, she was infuriating! And to think he had been stirred by other thoughts that her beautiful face and comely body had aroused just moments ago.
He closed his eyes and exhaled deeply, reminding himself that it wouldn’t be long until he left this godforsaken place. All he had to do was give whatever King John’s message to this woman, catch a group of outlaws and then he could leave and get back to his life as a soldier. The sooner the better.
Father Thomas’s voice filled the great hall as he read the missive, but not for one moment would Eleanor betray her fear to this Hugh de Villiers or to any one of the King’s men. Her trepidation was entwined with a sense of outrage at having her home, her corner of England, invaded by these unwanted interlopers, and her apprehension about King John’s edict was making her heart beat a little faster, but she didn’t look away. Whatever the King had to say, wanted to accuse her of, she could face it. She would do it with her head held high.
Mustering all her courage, she straightened her back and stared boldly at the man who threatened her peace... Sir Hugh de Villiers.
He was bemused and baffled by her, she could tell, and attempting his own brand of indifferent haughtiness to match hers. She glared at him, putting every pent-up feeling of frustration, resentment and anger into it, but he merely smirked at her and dismissively shook his head, as if she were a petulant child.
Seething, she thought she would love nothing more than to march up to him and wipe that look off his face, but that was beneath her. Besides, it would only prove to Hugh de Villiers that he had the right of her character. Not that Eleanor cared what he thought! Really, he was quite insufferable. Although it should come as no surprise. No doubt the King was surrounded by such ambitious sycophants as this man. Just like her loathsome late husband, who had been not only ambitious and greedy but many other unpleasant things she would rather forget.
Eleanor was thankful that at least she was now free from that obligation and no longer had to bow to the demands of a husband. She shuddered at the thought of that! Yes, she must be thankful for the precious freedom she enjoyed—but for how long? She dreaded with what the King wanted with her. If only she were somewhere else...
As if reading her mind, Hugh de Villiers threw her a wry, detached look, probably wishing he were far away too. She wanted to be anywhere but here in her great hall, having to listen to Father Thomas. She’d rather be knee-deep in pig manure, or stitching a dozen linen shirts, or mulching a dozen barrels of apples for cider, or...
An audible collective gasp echoed in the hall and snapped her to attention. She tried to recall the few snatched words she’d heard moments ago. Had she heard correctly or could it be her imagination?
What had Father Thomas just said?
‘Lady Eleanor Tallany...as decreed by King John...marriage...’
By God, she hoped she had imagined it. But she knew instinctively that she hadn’t.
Marriage? Marriage? But to whom?
Heart pounding, Eleanor glanced around the room. Her eyes landed on Sir Hugh de Villiers, who looked ashen.
No, no, no! Please, not him. There had to be a mistake! ‘Pardon me, Father, what did you say?’ she whispered as she turned to face her kindly priest.
A shadow of concern shrouded his eyes. ‘Our Lord and Sovereign King John has decreed a betrothal between you, my lady, and...’ Father Thomas gulped. ‘And Sir Hugh de Villiers. The bringer of this joyous message.’
Her breath caught in her throat as her eyes darted back to Hugh de Villiers, horrified. A ringing noise in her ears drowned out all other sound in the room. She could feel sweat on her brows; her palms clammy. Dear Lord, this could not be happening! Not again.
She closed her eyes, trying to find an inner strength, her inner calm. Faintly she could hear someone calling her through the dull roar in her head.
‘Lady Eleanor?’
It was Father Thomas’s soothing voice from far away.
‘My lady?’
She opened her eyes and searched his old lined face for support and assistance.
‘Do you understand what this means, Lady Eleanor?’
She dug her fingers into her palms, embracing the sharp pain. She took a deep breath, rolled her shoulders and straightened her spine.
‘I do!’ she ground out in a clear voice, and the hall erupted into cheers—except, it seemed, from her husband-to-be.
Hugh de Villiers strode towards her; his jaw clenched tight, and knelt in front of her, bowing his
