He clenched his fists. ‘This way, Eleanor.’
He signalled for them to climb the stairs to John’s private quarters. The sooner matters were dealt with here in Winchester the sooner he could take his wife back north to Tallany. He would confront her privately, dispassionately, without last night’s emotions, and demand that Eleanor reveal where Le Renard and the other outlaws were hiding.
And once he’d caught and brought them to justice he would leave Tallany. Request as many missions as the King would grant so that he would be apart from her. Only then could Hugh hope to break the spell that Eleanor held over him.
Chapter Eighteen
King John’s private solar was sumptuously adorned, if hastily decorated, and intricate tapestries depicting past glories of the Angevins covered the stone walls. His standard bearers made it glaringly obvious to all who dared to question it the validity of England’s anointed King and Sovereign.
Hugh walked in with Eleanor by his side, appearing to be serenely composed. The only tell-tale sign of nerves that he sensed was the slight trembling of her fingers, hidden in the crook of his arm.
Hugh held himself straight, squared his shoulders and evened out his breath, putting a ready, deferential smile on his lips.
King John’s beady eyes watched speculatively as both of them walked near the richly decorated dais at the back of the room where he sat. He did not look particularly well; his face was pale, with sunken cheeks, and there were dark rings under his hooded eyes. His manner emanated irritation with everything and everyone around him as he sat tapping his fingers against the gilded edge of his chair.
Damn, he was in one of his irascible moods!
The chamber felt sombre, just it had when the court had gathered in the hall yesterday evening—as if all life and exuberance had been sucked out of it. And apart from a few retainers and some of John’s personal guards—mercenaries paid to do his bidding—there were very few people present.
Hugh noticed Will in the corner, looking uncharacteristically grave, and hovering close to King John was Lord Edmund Balvoire, muttering into his Sovereign’s ear.
How that overbearing ass had managed to wheedle his way to John’s side Hugh did not know, but Will certainly had the right of Balvoire. He might be an ass, but he was an ambitious and dangerous one.
John must be feeling both vulnerable and outraged at his current situation with the Rebel Barons and the pressure they were putting him under. Especially with their insistence that he signed this Great Charter of theirs. But for the King to be listening to the mutterings of men like Balvoire, who had their own agenda, was not a good omen.
Hugh realised too late that this was not a place to have brought Eleanor. She was the only woman present, and his protectiveness of her did not abate as they reached the dais. Eleanor plunged into a deep, graceful curtsey and he bowed implacably to the King.
‘Ah, Hugh, so glad you have come...especially with your good lady here. And so glad to see that matters between you have been resolved.’ He smirked. ‘New marriages can have their little problems now and then.’ John picked at his fingernails and flicked them to the ground.
Hugh gave Eleanor’s fingers a little squeeze of encouragement as she flushed next to him. ‘Sire, may I introduce my wife, Lady Eleanor of Tallany?’
King John stood abruptly and walked from the dais to meet them, his eyes fixed on his wife.
‘Rise, my dear. Your King is very desirous to meet you finally.’ He pulled Eleanor up by the hand, his smile curling into a sneer as his eyes raked her up and down. ‘Ah, you see, Hugh, how generous I am? For I give you this beauty and receive, alas, nothing. You return here without my silver. Not a very good exchange...’ He tilted his head from side to side, inspecting her as though she were a prized destrier.
Hugh clenched his fists at his sides, swallowing down his outrage at John’s words and the brazen way in which he was leering at Eleanor. A sense of foreboding took hold of him. What the hell was going on?
‘No, sire,’ Hugh muttered, not knowing what else to say. He flicked his eyes to Balvoire, who was smirking, seemingly enjoying this exchange.
King John wet his lips as he continued to look at Eleanor. ‘And what of these outlaws who have run roughshod over you?’
‘We...’ he said, looking at Eleanor. ‘We are close to capturing all of them and bringing them to justice.’
‘The only justice I’m interested in, Hugh, is the capture of these outlaws and in particular The Fox, this Le Renard, or whatever he likes to call himself... I want their heads on spikes. By any means—do you hear?’ he said in a low voice, looking around the room. ‘Lord Balvoire, here, has some ingenious notions about how to achieve this, so mind you listen to him and work together.’
The King sighed, glancing at his fingernails again.
‘I should say that by and by I may concede to these land disputes brought to me by Lord Balvoire on your borders, Hugh... But then again I may not. We must seem fair in all our dealings, must we not?’
This was precisely the sort of behaviour from King John that would enrage the Barons—seeking to find what would serve him best, never fully promising anything and pitching one noble against another. Hugh had never thought to be at the receiving end of it, though.
‘Sire,’ he said through gritted teeth, understanding the veiled warning. He was to be tested with Balvoire at his side, watching his every move, it seemed.
The King spun on his heel. ‘Get the outlaws, Hugh,’ he said with a grimace. ‘Tell him, my Lord Balvoire, of your ingenious plan.’
‘Yes, sire. The element of surprise.’
‘Just so...’ The King meandered towards a coffer set against the
