Eleanor’s maid Brunhilde came forward with another woman, holding up a large linen cloth, and his wife stepped slowly out of the river, her hands skimming the surface as she walked towards them.
Hugh continued to gaze at the scene before him, as Eleanor dried her body, dragging her fingers through her long, wet hair as her women helped her dress. He found it increasingly hard to breathe, felt blood pooling in his loins.
And it was naturally at that precise moment that she caught his gaze and held it, with a faint smile tugging at her lips. He groaned inwardly at his visceral reaction to his wife. Lord, he wanted her desperately—but then he always did.
No, he must find a way to resist temptation and be indifferent to her. He had to! He had to find a way to break this pathetic desire for Eleanor and continue to stay away from her.
The woman was an enigma, and every time his thoughts returned to her, and the man she had met the night before they’d left Tallany, he could feel the mist of anger rising. His thoughts and his better judgement were muddled and compounded by her betrayal.
Was she the compassionate patron, the dutiful daughter, or the traitor and temptress? Mayhap a bit of all...
He was torn between anger towards her and this longing to be with her. But he was shrewd enough to know that he needed to be careful not to reveal any of his feelings—it was a weakness he could do without. He had to shroud his anger, and even his desire, and think with his head...watch and learn more about the real Eleanor Tallany and find out who else was involved with the outlaws.
Only then would he know what to do. Well, he hoped he would...
He would conquer this hold she seemed to have over him. He would, damn it!
Eleanor had spotted her husband from afar and wondered how long he had stood there watching her bathe. She’d thought to have seen a spark of desire emanating from him, but the thunderous mood in which he had just left meant that she’d been wrong.
She sighed as she put her arms through the armholes of the green woollen kirtle that Brunhilde had cleaned and brushed down. Her maid then combed through her hair with a special oil that she’d prepared herself, using flower petals and herbs, making it glossy and soft. Ah, the delicious scent always made her smile...
But thinking about the past ten days froze the smile on her face. It had been a difficult trial for Eleanor, since she had barely spoken to Hugh beyond platitudes. She barely recognised her husband as the man she’d thought she knew—the man who occupied her thoughts far too much of the time.
But then what did she know about men? Time and time again she had been lulled into a false sense of security and had put her trust in a man, only for him to let her down...badly. She had been taken in much the same way by Richard Millais, although she knew Hugh was nothing like him.
Yet here she was again...alone, confused and forsaken.
She nodded at Brunhilde, who had braided and bound her hair under a gossamer-light veil and put a silver circlet over it.
Whatever was wrong with Hugh, she would find out, and then she would do everything in her power to win him back. And hope to God it was not too late.
Many hours later the Tallany party arrived in Winchester. After the horses were stabled Hugh directed their belongings to be unpacked and settled Eleanor into a small chamber—which he was absolutely not going to share with her. He then made his excuses and swiftly left to find Will at the nearest tavern outside the castle.
He had to be apart from her. Even her evocative floral scent had wrapped around his senses enticingly and made Hugh long for her...desperately. If he spent another moment with her today his resolve would crumble away completely—not that it was far from doing that anyway. He needed to drown his sorrows again and he needed to do that now.
He found Will with a group of his men, already partaking of a few jugs of ale at the boisterous tavern. Hugh caught up with them and motioned to Will with a flick of his head to come to a more private table.
‘What news, Will?’ he asked, sitting on a chair.
‘I have been well informed that King John is in the foulest of tempers.’
‘No change there, then. What’s happened now?’
‘London is in the hands of the Rebel Barons. The city opened its gates to them with no resistance, and naturally the King is jumping up and down in rage without taking any responsibility for the situation.’
Hugh uttered an oath as he took a sip of his ale. ‘Are you certain?’
‘Absolutely—and between us let me say that I have some sympathy with their cause. Many of the Rebel Barons are good men.’
Hugh frowned. ‘Even so, where will this all end? Do they believe that they’ll be able to make John simply turn and concede to their demands? Hell’s teeth, they’ve all sworn their fealty to him.’
Will raised his brows. ‘Ah, but they feel he has left them no choice. And this explains the hurried missive from John demanding our return.’
‘It’s more than that. The Rebels want him to sign this Charter of Liberties...’ Hugh sighed. ‘Which John refuses to do.’
Will watched him from over the rim of his mug. ‘Tell me, Hugh, is this what has been worrying you? Because that would explain a lot.’
‘What is that supposed to mean?’
‘It means,’ Will said, ‘that you have not been yourself ever since we left the north.’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ Hugh frowned.
‘Yes, you do. Care to share?’
‘No.’
Will shook his
