She exhaled slowly and swallowed down her guilt, knowing full well the reason for his bleak mood.
It had been almost dusk before Hugh and the decoy convoy led by Will had arrived back to the castle keep. Hugh had retired to their solar in a thunderous mood, refusing to see anyone.
And Eleanor didn’t blame him. She felt his pain and wished she could have spared his humiliation, wished it could have been avoided, but there had been no other way. What she and her outlaws had done was just. They had taken back what was rightfully theirs, for Tallany and its people.
But, dear God, Hugh...
Her husband had been prepared to protect the King’s coin at any cost to himself. He truly had honour coursing through his veins, and it showed the extent of his unreserved fealty to his Sovereign. Eleanor understood that for Hugh, as it had been for her own father, to break a solemn oath that had been sworn before God was to breach a sacred vow. Not that this particular King deserved it...
Hugh would have fought to the death if he’d had to. It had been one of the bravest yet most terrifying things she’d ever seen, and Eleanor had had to deploy all her skills to make sure the situation hadn’t got out of hand.
If anything had happened to him it would have devastated her and she would never have forgiven herself. Hugh was a good, honourable man...
But it was more than that—he was more than that.
How had she come to care for Hugh in such a short space of time?
He snapped his gaze to meet hers and offered the ghost of a smile briefly before it faded into a slim, compressed line. She walked over to the hearth, picked up the bucket and topped up his bath with more warm water, wanting to be of some use. She tilted her head, trying to catch his eye, but he stared blankly ahead.
‘It was not your fault, Hugh,’ she murmured after some time. ‘You must believe that.’
‘I thank you for your concern, Eleanor, but I cannot do that,’ he said, looking straight ahead at nothing, clearly lost in his own misery.
She tried again. ‘There was nothing you could have done. The outlaws knew of your plans, as you said yourself.’
She fell to her knees beside the tub as he turned to face her.
‘Yes, but how? How did they know we had the strongbox with the coin? How did they ambush us so easily? They even knew about the decoy cortege, ahead with Will.’ Hugh shook his head slowly. ‘I have failed in this mission. I have never experienced failure before and it doesn’t sit well with me.’
‘Surely the King can’t blame you? Why, you’ve said yourself that the outlaws had targeted him many times before you had even arrived in Tallany.’
‘That may be true, but this happened under my watch, Eleanor. It was my responsibility and I failed.’ He exhaled. ‘One thing is for sure: we have a traitor in our midst. Someone knew of our plan and passed it on to Le Renard and his outlaws.’
‘That can’t be,’ she muttered, trying to mask her anxiety.
‘There is no other explanation as to how the outlaws are continually one step ahead of me.’ He shut his eyes tightly, his brows meeting in the middle.
Eleanor bit the inside of her cheek. The possibility of Hugh discovering the truth about her—that she was the traitor he sought—was real. He was shrewd, intelligent and astute. She had to make sure he never did. It would be an unmitigated disaster. Besides, she couldn’t bear to lose his esteem and his respect for her. And, although she knew what she had done had been for right and good, at this moment she didn’t feel good about it.
She sighed. Watching Hugh, withdrawn and filled with bitter misery, made her want to hold him and make everything better. Again, she felt the weight of responsibility for her actions.
Impulsively, and without being aware of what she was doing, Eleanor reached out and ran her fingers through Hugh’s wet hair, pushing it back. She moved closer and touched the side of his face, tracing his strong, angular jaw. He snapped his eyes open and turned to meet her enigmatic gaze, raising his brows in confusion. She smiled at him—a smile of hope and sanguinity.
Her gaze moved from Hugh’s eyes to his mouth, and slowly she moved in and pressed her lips gently to his—a soft, feather-light kiss. A kiss of peace...a kiss to heal.
She pulled away and regarded him. Bewilderment was etched on his handsome face as she brushed her thumb over his bottom lip. Eleanor dipped her head to cover his lips again with her own.
As if suddenly awoken from the depths of slumber, Hugh moved his lips against hers and his arms came out of the bath to wrap around her shoulders, pulling her closer and closer until she was pressed against the wooden tub.
Without warning, Hugh leant forward and lifted her up and over, into the bath, making her squeal as she fell on top of him with a splash.
Her eyes widened in surprise and she burst out laughing as she lay on top of him, submerged in delicious-smelling bathwater. He joined in, chuckling at having his fully clothed wife sharing his bath, no doubt.
Then they locked eyes and gradually ceased laughing. Hugh pulled back Eleanor’s veil and threw it to the floor, unpinning her bound hair, releasing the velvety dark lengths that tumbled down, their ends doused in the water. He ran his hand through her hair and cupped her face, dripping water.
‘What have we here, Eleanor?’ he mused, curling his lips into that half-smile, revealing a dimple.
It was astounding how quickly Hugh’s mood had changed, and she realised that his temperament was naturally positive. He had an easy confidence that was both attractive and infectious.
Eleanor wasn’t sure
