‘Tell me, Hugh.’
He sighed. ‘What would you like to know?’
‘Anything, really—such as where you grew up, whether you have siblings or whether you’re an only child... That sort of thing.’
Hugh turned his head and watched the moonlight dancing across her face. ‘So many questions to answer in the middle of the night.’ He smiled, bemused. ‘Very well. I am from the small hamlet of Watamestede, near St Albans. I am the south to your north, Eleanor, and I’m a third son, with two older brothers and three younger sisters. Only three of us survived into adulthood.’
Eleanor rested her chin on his chest. ‘I’m sorry. It’s never easy losing one’s family. Is that why you left to find your fortune?’
‘Yes...’ He sighed again. ‘But that was not the only reason.’
‘Oh? What else made you leave your home?’
‘I was a poor younger son, but I was ambitious to prove myself. To make something of myself,’ he said. ‘And I had a reason to as I believed myself in love.’
‘Oh, I see.’ She wriggled uncomfortably.
‘No, I don’t think you do, Eleanor.’ Hugh shook his head as he laced his fingers through hers. ‘It took a long time for me to get where I needed to be, but after years and years of hard work I eventually became a knight. Though finally I was a success, I was only a hearth knight—landless and, in the eyes of Alais Courville, still not good enough.’
‘I’m sorry.’ She raised her brows. ‘What happened?’
‘I went home and found that the woman who had promised herself to me—who had apparently given her heart to me—had married my eldest brother. No doubt to become the mistress of the manor,’ he said bitterly. ‘After that, I never went back.’
‘You haven’t seen your family since then?’
‘No,’ he whispered. ‘Anyway, it was better for my brother that I didn’t go back...and better for Alais.’
‘But what about you? It was your home.’
‘It was better for me too, sweetheart. To sever those ties and establish myself as a soldier. And I don’t have a home. Not any more.’
‘She didn’t deserve you.’ Eleanor squeezed his hand. ‘And, Hugh? You do know... Your home is here in Tallany.’
Hugh felt a tightness in his chest, and was gripped with a sudden sense of yearning. He had never shared this with anyone before—not even Will, who knew some of his past—and it felt somehow good to unburden himself to his wife.
‘Thank you,’ he said, feeling a little self-conscious. ‘Come, enough of this morbid conversation, wife. Let us get some much-needed sleep.’ He kissed her forehead.
‘Hugh?’ She reached out, her fingers grazing the sharp angles of his jaw. ‘I’m sorry she hurt you.’
He swallowed as he nodded his thanks. ‘I realised two things after that whole sorry episode, Eleanor. And as a result I will never repeat such a mistake. I realised that I would never put my faith in courtly love. There is no such thing, I’m afraid.’
She drew back a little, watching him in the dark. ‘You don’t believe there is? Well, at least you don’t make a pretence of that.’
‘No, sadly I don’t. Love is an emotion that’s oppressive, inequitable, and makes people act without reason or sense. It only serves to bring out the worst in people.’
‘I see,’ she murmured.
‘I’m sorry—I shouldn’t have said any of that. It was unfair of me. But you and I agreed a while back that affections of the heart were never going to affect us.’
‘Yes, I know we did.’ She exhaled. ‘May I ask what your other realisation was?’
‘I hope you don’t think less of me for this, Eleanor, but I’ve realised that there are some things in life that I can never forgive or forget. I know it is a failing.’ He frowned. ‘But, for me, the betrayal of trust is the worst sin of all. Once my trust has gone, it has gone for ever.’
No, he dared not hope for anything resembling love. It was not for a practical, pragmatic man like him. He would do well to remember that. He’d risked his heart once, and it had turned out very badly. He would not risk it again.
He pulled Eleanor closer and kissed her hair. ‘Goodnight, wife. Until the morrow.’
Chapter Ten
The next few days brought a flurry of activity to Tallany Castle as preparations were made for the long journey down south to Winchester Castle, the ancestral home and favourite castle of King John. Even his young son Prince Henry had been born there.
Summons had been received, demanding Hugh, Will and their men to his makeshift court there, the Sovereign needing much support from his allies against the Rebel Barons’ new demands on him—especially the auspicious Great Charter of Liberties, or Magna Carta, that they insisted he sign and naturally the King refused to do.
On having had the missive read, Hugh sensed the anger John must be feeling. And his protracted rage at not only having his rule questioned but having to bend to the will of the Rebel Barons, meaning he was unlikely to concede. John was not the easiest of men, and a situation like this was bound to blow up to unparalleled proportions and be an unmitigated disaster. The whole country would end up tearing itself to bits.
And Hugh had no choice in the matter and was honour-bound to travel down at the King’s request.
His days were spent organising his men, the supplies and wagons needed for the journey, as well as scouting the demesne lands and local forests with Will for Le Renard and his outlaws—but to no avail. They had once again disappeared as if into thin air. And the imprisoned men hadn’t helped much either,
