Chapter Seven
The morning air was crisp and cold with a heavy mist. Hugh didn’t care about the bite of the air or the swirls of icy wind that brushed against his tunic. What he did care about was the weight of his sword and the terrain around him as he faced Eldric.
It was madness, being out here at this time of day, in this kind of weather. The mud and frost-crusted earth made for dangerous footwork. But he revelled in the fact that Eldric hadn’t hesitated when he’d suggested it. He owed his friend retribution for last night.
He made a swift raising of his sword as Eldric swung down. The clatter was nothing to the reverberation arcing up his arms and stabbing down his back.
‘Quit!’ Eldric gasped.
Hugh shook his head. Eldric was a taller and broader man and, given the terrain today, Hugh was taking the full brunt of every blow. His shoulders ached as if he carried one hundred shields, the slightest weight had become excruciating.
Eldric was faring no better. His sword visibly pulled on his strength, its tip lowering with each of his breaths. Hugh knew he simply had to outlast him, and quickly.
He swiped his sword low, and Eldric missed the tip by stumbling back. Hugh took advantage by digging in his toes and swiping again.
He’d been a stumbling fool last night. A night at a dinner he never would have accepted if not for the amount of alcohol drowning out all his reason. In the light of day he could excuse himself, tell himself that he’d needed to keep up the facade of searching for the Seal.
But his ego shouldn’t have been anywhere near Alice last night.
On a surge of strength he thrust forward again, and again.
‘Enough!’ Eldric spread his unsteady arms wide and bowed his head to take gasps of breath.
Hugh clutched his sword’s hilt in both hands and dipped the tip into the hard earth, so he could lean on it. Stupid, when he knew how to treat his weapons—knew he’d have to clean and sharpen it again. But if he didn’t his buckling legs would give away how close Eldric had come to defeating him.
He’d won, but didn’t feel like a victor. Hugh’s body quaked, and he could barely breathe, but that restlessness underneath it all was barely quenched.
‘Let’s swim,’ he declared.
‘Are you joking? It’s mostly frozen.’ Eldric pointed to the small lake.
‘And I’m mostly mud, thanks to you who led us to this delightful patch of ground.’
‘I did, didn’t I?’ Eldric smiled as he wiped the hair off his face. ‘Since it was you who suggested such a folly, I thought to give myself as much advantage as possible.’
It had worked, but not enough. Hugh pulled off his tunic, his arm shuddering at the full stretch.
‘Good God, you’re serious. I can barely stand up, and I know you are no better.’
‘The cool water will wake us up.’
Eldric yanked off his boots. ‘Cool? There is ice floating along the edges!’
‘We’ll be quick.’
‘I’m not competing in this, too,’ Eldric said, but he was quicker to the water, his large frame diving under before rising to the surface.
Hugh shouted when the water hit him, but he welcomed the numbing flow against his skin as he swum out to Eldric’s depth.
Despite the cold, both men trod water, letting the mud and the blood swirl away.
‘Don’t care if I win or lose this round—I’m heading back before my ballocks is smaller than berries,’ Eldric said.
Hugh followed, noticing for the first time the markings on Eldric’s right arm.
‘I didn’t take you for the decorating sort,’ Hugh gasped through the water.
Eldric’s stopped mid-stroke, surprise lighting the determined look on his face. ‘Decorating?’
‘On your arm.’
Eldric lunged abruptly ahead again. When he suddenly stood, Hugh, breathing hard, pulled up next to him. Still in the water, still surrounded by ice, he was ready to return to the shore. His friend looked ready to swim to France.
Despite Eldric’s countenance being suddenly blacker than the water they swam in, Hugh prodded. ‘There are three stripes evenly spaced on your left arm. What’s the anger about? Are you embarrassed? You wouldn’t be the first to hold still while someone sliced your arm. If you wanted to look fierce, you should have practised your sword skills.’
‘Do they look like clean knife-cuts?’ Eldric bit out.
They didn’t. But then he didn’t expect Eldric had got purposely tribal cut. ‘So you got drunk, and the man who did it had a few more cups than you.’
‘They’re slices from arrows. I got them in battle. Two battles.’
Hugh sluiced the water off his face. ‘Are you saying those were done by some bowman...on purpose?’
Eldric cursed and surged forward again. Hugh followed. Fast and sure strokes until he reached the shore and heaved himself to the dry hard ground.
Hugh battled his thundering heart and shaking limbs. The restlessness in him was appeased. He didn’t know if it was the exercise or his friend’s tumultuousness.
‘Yes,’ Eldric said, pulling himself up. ‘And by the same archer.’
Winter air slashed against his bare skin, and Hugh scrambled for his clothes. Eldric seethed with emotions he recognised, but didn’t understand.
‘Not a very good archer. He missed you three times.’
Eldric yanked his clothes from the ground, the fabric spilling over his clenched fist. ‘He did not miss.’
Hopping, almost stumbling on Eldric’s words and their import, Hugh tugged his breeches over his wet legs.
‘He did not miss,’ Eldric repeated, wrapping his braies around his waist, ‘because as he sliced my arm he killed the men who had watched my back. These—’ Eldric pointed to the top two slices ‘—were in the first battle. I hardly paid attention to the first—a mere scratch compared to Thomas’s death. Then the second happened, and it burned across my arm that was already throbbing from the first hit. Already consumed with Thomas’s death, I had to face Michael’s. I looked at my arm, and at my friend with an arrow through his throat, and I called for retreat. We fled, but I looked for that bastard. I burned with retribution even as I feared for every man who ran beside me.’
With hands shaking as he tied his belt, Hugh understood what Eldric wasn’t saying. Fear in battle for yourself and others made you reckless, or hesitate. Men died because of fear.
‘This one—’ Eldric pointed to the wound directly underneath the other two ‘—I earned later. It, too, preceded the killing of a man who was watching my left flank.’
‘By the same archer? How is that possible?’
‘Do you doubt it?’
He would, if not for his friend’s certainty. ‘How could he know it was you?’
‘One of the questions I have been asking myself, and on that day I almost got an answer.’
‘You saw him?’
Eldric nodded. ‘He was at a distance, but I’d noticed men falling with unerring accuracy. Maddened, I searched everywhere. I looked in places he couldn’t possibly be. And then there he was: up in the trees. In the trees!’ Eldric shook his head as if he still couldn’t believe it. ‘I was running for him. Full out. In the battle I dodged and weaved through men. As I did so he aimed and let loose another arrow. This arrow.’
Hugh gaped. He had to. Eldric was not heavy-footed. When he ran, a man would be hard pressed to catch him, let alone cut him accurately. ‘The skill...’
‘The revenge,’ Eldric whispered. ‘That bastard knew who I was as I ran for him, and still he marked me. When it happened I looked behind me. To this day I wonder whether, if I had simply left well enough alone, Philip would still have died.’
‘What happened?’
‘An arrow struck Philip. I had to stop—had to see if I could...’ Eldric shook his head. ‘When I turned around again the archer was gone. I never saw him again.’
‘Personal and business,’ Hugh whispered, now fully understanding.
‘That’s why I’m here. I’ve been tracking him ever since. When I get close he disappears. That’s because he never appears.’
‘You think he’s here?’
‘I can’t imagine him hiding in Swaffham, but he’s near. I know nothing except that he’s small. Almost tiny. But that and his bow skill have been enough information to allow me to track him.’
‘A Scotsman?’
‘I don’t think so. He’s too well versed with the English garrisons. He is either part of them or a spy.’
‘One of our own shooting at you?’
Eldric ran a hand over his face. ‘As you said—personal and business.’
The day had changed. Hugh’s restlessness had come to this. A stalemate of discord.
‘You win,’ Hugh said. ‘I know for certain that I’ve nothing but the bitterest of winter berries between my legs now. I’m for ale and a hot fire.’
The grief in Eldric’s eyes eased. ‘I knew you were getting soft.’
25th November
The afternoon’s insidious wind snaked up Alice’s skirts until even her shivers had shivers. The market didn’t hold the usual cacophony of animal sounds, but different distractions filled the void. Celebratory notes sounded as entertainers delighted children and the smells of warm bread and spiced ale wafted in the crisp damp air.
Alice had never liked the market’s delights. Still, she painstakingly walked through every row of stalls, careful to feign interest in each ware. More careful to ask questions of each vendor.
She’d been doing this since she’d arrived home. Markets and vendors and sellers were a font of information as easily for sale as their loaves and jars. Most were the same vendors, but sometimes there was someone new.
She was getting desperate for new ones. Since she’d begun she’d asked hundreds of questions, but most of the answers didn’t further anything of what she had already gained from her own household.
Lately she’d sensed that the vendors had become less open and friendly to talk with her. With every shrug and non-answer, she felt the bars closing in on her family.
At least now she had a reason to be here.
Twelfth night would come soon, the time to exchange gifts, and though she needed information far more than baubles and frivolity, she also needed to shop. She loved her family’s warmth and generosity, but could never appreciate their need for presents when there were families worse off.
But it was easy enough to find the ribbon Elizabeth had mentioned. It was a beautiful weave of blue and green that would be perfect for her sister. Perfect, but not good enough.
It wasn’t the market making her maudlin, it was merely her work on the project she and Mitchell had planned with the spinners. It was merely that morning with William, who had complained and moaned in frustration because he had not been able to do his sums. It was the fact that for the first time she had lost her patience with him.
Her slamming of the abacus on the table had shocked him—and herself—and he’d scrambled off the bench and out of the room. His eyes had held tears of frustration at himself more than hurt, but she felt terrible. She’d always had patience with him before. Always. She would apologise to him as soon as she’d finished her shopping.
Her heart eased a little, but not enough. She had to face the truth.
It wasn’t this morning with William that was weighing on her, nor the fact she was shopping when she’d rather be helping with the spinning project. Nor even the fact that Hugh had returned to Swaffham or that it’d been a fortnight since she’d talked to him.
Her feeling out of sorts had everything to do with the fact it’d been weeks, and she no closer to finding the Seal.
The King had been specific on the size of the Seal, which was quite small, but other than that she had no idea if it was made of metal or wood...if it came with a handle or not. So she had to search everywhere, for anything. She was blind—searching for something she’d never seen.
He had said he wanted the information as soon as she knew it, but how long would the King give for her search? It was winter now, and freezing, which made travelling almost impossible. Would that be a valid excuse for her delay—?
‘Isn’t it a bit early for shopping?’
Alice didn’t need to turn to know it was Hugh. But she did pause to brace herself. Every meeting they had was full of confrontation when she needed matters to be easier.
Glancing over her shoulder, she arched her brow. ‘It’s almost noon—hardly early.’
Whereas she knew the crisp air did nothing for her but make her skin hurt and her nose red, Hugh stood proud, strong, and as unfailingly beautiful to her as always. The harsh winter air had coloured his skin, accentuating his jaw, his nose and brow. The wind had ruffled his short blond hair, loosening the curls she had thought lost. The sun highlighted the depth of the eyelashes that framed his blue eyes.
His cold, unreadable blue eyes.
He stepped until he faced her. ‘True, but in the past when it came to Twelfth Night you always shopped the day before.’
She didn’t want to be reminded of those times when she had begged Hugh to shop in the market with her. She also didn’t want to talk about herself. Not when it seemed Hugh was always underfoot.
‘Is that why you’re here?’ she said. ‘To shop?’
‘Why else would anyone be here?’
Again, he hadn’t answered her question. ‘When it comes to you—’
‘Are you paying for that?’ The vendor’s reedy voice interrupted them.
Alice looked at the ribbon tightly wound in her hand. Sighing, she nodded to Cranley, who followed her today, and he released the coin the vendor asked for. Though it was customary, she didn’t negotiate. She’d already crushed the merchandise. She also didn’t want to play games with Hugh. Not when she had work to be done.
‘We should continue,’ she said to Cranley.
‘Allow me to accompany you?’ Hugh said, as if she wasn’t pointedly ignoring him.
She opened her mouth to disagree, but then realised she’d tried to ignore him on St Martin’s Day and every day since then. He was still here.
Why was he?
She could not shake the feeling that it had to do with her. Or that the King had sent him here because of the Seal.
The Seal... She had distracted Elizabeth from making further enquiries, but despite her best efforts to hide what she was doing, her sister was suspicious.
Hugh inclined his head. ‘Your endeavours with gifts could help me.’
His words were laced with cynicism, displaying more differences from the way she had known him to be. All through his childhood he’d tried to curb his father’s drinking, had worked tirelessly to save what little land they owned. He had come to her rescue when those boys had lowered her into the empty well.
Despite his efforts, his father had died from drink and his land had been sold to her father. From the proceeds he had purchased armour and paid for his travel to Edward’s Court.
Over those years while he’d trained, he had returned for only a few days or weeks to Swaffham. During those times, she had noticed him achieving a warrior’s build and assurance with the sword. Had watched him train with Eldric, who would often return with him. Her childish hero-worship had quickly turned to admiration. And a sort of ache as she’d watched him train as if he still had something to prove.
It was the memory of one of those times...that last time she’d seen him...that made her ache all the more. With embarrassment, with her own shame, with anger...
It had been her own fault. She’d approached him as he was slicing his sword against nothing. But she’d strode too close. She hadn’t been thinking about the sword—only him. It might have meant his sword slicing through her, but his training had required control, precision. He had stopped, the tip skimming her belt.
But he hadn’t controlled his temper when he’d stopped the lethality of the sword and exploded towards her.
She didn’t remember the words he’d used as he cursed. Only remembered his anger—his anger and his incredulousness because he hadn’t known she was spying on him. The mutinous embarrassment in his expression.
But that wasn’t what had caused her to ask the question. That wasn’t what had brought her steps closer to him. No, it was the emotion Hugh had displayed that had made her take those steps, had made her ask him to kiss her. It had been terror. He’d almost killed her and it had terrified him. He’d felt something—for her.
So she had asked him to kiss her. And Hugh, who had always protected her, had looked as if he wished his sword had struck true. Until, upon a shudder, he’d taken that last step, put his leg between hers, one hand cradled her jaw and his eyes locked on her lips.
The warmth of his hand, the living, breathing hardness of his body had contrasted with the cold, unyielding sword he’d still clutched in his hand. And then it had been only Hugh, his head lowering, and her standing on tiptoe to meet him before...
Before Hugh had raised his eyes to hers and stopped. Hugh had stopped. And it hadn’t been anger or worry or terror in his eyes. He had simply...gone from her.
When he’d stepped away she hadn’t needed his words. She’d already heard them in the impassiveness of his gaze. ‘Run to your home, Alice, before you do something you’ll regret.’
To her shame, she had.
He had left days after that confrontation. She had hid on her family’s estate and helped with the residents. And had vowed she’d never run again.
Yet here she was, standing in the town square and trying to avoid Hugh. No more.
Inclining her head, she addressed Cranley. ‘I should be safe if you want to return home now.’ She met Hugh’s steady gaze. ‘Shop with me if you like.’
‘Then it will truly be like old times.’
‘Some things should not be repeated.’ She watched Cranley’s retreating back and hoped she wasn’t making a mistake.
‘If we aren’t to repeat the past,’ Hugh said, interrupting her thoughts, ‘then why allow me to walk with you? You’re not even looking at the merchandise surrounding you.’
She stopped between stalls and the heavily laden bystanders bumped along beside them. ‘Because I have no interest in the merchandise, but I do have an interest in why you are here.’
‘Bertrice insists on cleaning my home. Since I was unable to sit by a roaring fire, I found myself at a loss for anything to do this afternoon. The market provides entertainment.’
Again, he hadn’t divulged an answer.
‘Is it the King again? Is that why you’re here with me now?’
He raised a brow. ‘The King?’
‘That day in the garden you said you’d talk to the King. Was the conversation not to your liking?’
There was a knowing curve to his lips. ‘You remember that day very well.’
So did he—and she was tired of his games. ‘The talk didn’t go well, then?’
Crossing his arms, he widened his stance. She felt the market crowd at her back, and she avoided their enquiring eyes.
‘What makes you so sure?’ he said.
So many questions he asked, and she had too many unanswered. But there was one certainty. He wasn’t who he had once been.
It wasn’t only in the years that had hardened his body and in the brutal way his hair was cut, so close to his head, the light blond almost destroyed. It was also in the harshness of his blue stormy gaze, the cynical tilt to his lips. The knowing way he held himself. He was a man, a warrior. One who had seen the world...and found it unworthy.
‘Because you didn’t stop what was started there and because you’re here,’ she said.
Still the same casual stance, but she sensed an alertness in him.
‘What didn’t I stop?’ he said, his tone still conversational. ‘Your status as his mistress obviously had come to an end. You are here, and he is elsewhere. I assumed the King tired of you as he did the others.’
She ignored his words and listened to their meaning. ‘Yet you still hound me with it, which serves no apparent purpose. Just as your presence here makes no sense. You don’t shop; you don’t ever visit Swaffham. I can only conclude that you’re here because the King sent you.’
He glanced around. ‘And why would the King send me here?’
Alice almost stumbled into answering him. If it was possible he didn’t know she spied, then she would be revealing too much. Even now people might be listening.
‘What would I know of the ways of kings and knights. I’m only a wool merchant’s daughter.’
He released his arms. ‘Why do you think the King sent me here?’
Cold sweat slid down Hugh’s back. He could never remain detached when it came to Alice. All the more a fool him, to think he ever could. And losing his composure in front of Alice in the middle of the town square on market day was hardly the behaviour of an accomplished spy.
On the surface, his mission was simple. All he’d been ordered to do was to keep an eye on the Fenton family and find the traitor who sold sovereign secrets. He assumed the King thought the Fentons had something to do with the Seal, even though he knew they didn’t. He merely kept watch so he could report honestly and give an accounting of what they did. He had learned long ago to keep more truths in his tales than lies.
Now, however, Alice acted as if there was something more. As if the King had talked to her about stately matters and lies and schemes. In truth, there had been the opportunity when she’d spent time in the King’s chambers, but he had dismissed that notion. He’d never met a woman spy.
And she hadn’t denied she was the King’s mistress. She hadn’t denied it.
Despite his having no right, he felt jealousy burn through him. Even now he could not quell the frustration and need. Especially not this morning, with the bright sunlight revealing all the colours hidden in her hair and the depth of grey in her eyes.
All his life he had compared other women to her, and now a king had had her. Under the heat of another man’s caresses did her cheeks flush red as beautifully as they did now? Did her curling hair fan across the bed linens as wildly as it blew in the winter wind?
How many nights, days, years had he tortured himself with thoughts of the way her lips would part, the way her breath would taste before his lips claimed hers? How many nights, alone, had he wrapped himself and given in to imagining the softness of her skin, the give of her generous hips. Even now he craved to know the way she would meet him. Finally to know, from the very way she held herself, how she would change as she rode him.
Alice...a king’s mistress tossed away as all the others had been since Eleanor. But every hair on the back of his neck warned him. Alice, King’s mistress or not, wasn’t safe. Her actions today were not merely those of a lady shopping. Her questions to him were not simple enquiries.
‘What did the King want of you that day?’ he asked. ‘Why do you have interest in my being here?’
Abruptly, she strolled on, her eyes observing the wares in the market stalls. ‘It’s been a long time since you were here. Surely others have asked you the same?’
He kept pace with her, kept his voice low, but his heart hammered in his chest and his mind raced at the possibilities. Maybe he had thought wrong that day at the Tower.
‘You refused him, didn’t you? Despite his being the King.’
‘What would I refuse?’
He went to grab her, but she turned too swiftly for that. They had stepped away from the thickest crowd of shoppers and it was time to lay this conversation to rest.
Alice’s heart thumped in her chest and her breath caught. This walk had been a mistake. She hadn’t uncovered anything about Hugh, but she had revealed too much regarding herself.
Now they stood in the quieter part of the market, away from the stalls around the fountain. Now it seemed as if Hugh would not let her run.
Not when he stepped closer, his posture mimicking that time six years ago when she had recklessly asked for his kiss. Why could she not forget that day? Why was she plagued with memories of this man she could never have?
‘Don’t. No more. Whatever is between us—’ he began.
‘Whatever’s between us...?’ she asked.
He looked away, shook his head. ‘There’s nothing that can be done about that. Not now. Not ever. But this—’ He waved his hand. ‘Your shopping early for Twelfth Night. Your asking questions of the vendors. If there’s something more going on, I need to know.’
Alice could not think beyond his words. His eyes roiled with emotions she could almost catch. Regret. Embarrassment at words he hadn’t meant to say. Words that were an acknowledgement of his feelings for her.
Equally alarming—he knew she’d questioned the vendors. It was as if she had been picked up and placed somewhere else in the world. She couldn’t make sense of it.
She didn’t have time to make sense of it now. She thought she’d been careful, believed she could lie and no one would notice. Hugh had noticed.
‘How long have you been following me?’
‘Answer me,’ he said.
She had given a vow to the King. ‘There’s nothing going on.’
Anger. Menace. Whatever confusion or roiling emotion there had been in his eyes after his revealing words was gone. Now he looked every stitch a knight—and one who would cut her down.
‘Is it true, then? You slept with the King?’ He lowered his voice, deadly soft. ‘Or is it false and you’re protecting something...someone? Tell me. Is it you or the King?’
What did she care for the King? She wouldn’t risk her family. ‘Wasn’t it made clear to you that day in the garden? I was in the King’s private chambers. Why else would a woman be in his chambers?’
He shook his head, as if warning himself against thoughts or words, before he bit out, ‘No matter what you are doing for him, he won’t take you back to his bed. He never does.’
Humiliation scored through her, but she didn’t hold back her taunt. ‘Maybe it’s another’s bed I’m wanting.’
‘Enough! There’s more going on here.’
She agreed—and she could be as angry about it as him. Again he leaned over her, as he had all those years ago. This time, he accused her of being a whore. She had enough of his confrontations. Instead of standing on tiptoes, she ground her heels into the earth, ready to tell him to step away, but there were more words.
‘Tell me this,’ Hugh continued, ‘when you were there in the King’s bed, while you were under him, what did he command you to do?’
Her first instinct was to slap him. Her second was to deny.
Instead she gave a mere twitch of her lips as she replied, ‘When I’m in the King’s bed it’s I who command him.’