The great hall of Tallany Castle had not seen such revelry for a generation. Sumptuous tapestries hung from the stone walls and trellis tables were festooned with flowers and lush foliage. Trenchers groaned with pheasant, beef and chicken, cooked in a myriad of spices, with almonds and figs, served with wine from Eleanor’s ancestral lands in Gascony. This was followed by sweetmeats, sugared quince, potted fruit and ginger biscuits decorated with honey and edible spring flowers.
The room was filled with the hum and chatter of wedding feast merriment and the ode of a troubadour broke through the noise.
Eleanor looked across and caught Sir Hugh—now Lord of Tallany, her husband—looking at her just as she was putting the last of a crumbly ginger biscuit in her mouth. She instantly looked away when she noticed his lips curving upwards to form that lop-sided grin of his.
She must stop stealing looks at Hugh—it was not as though she wanted his attention. Yet she could hardly avoid him now that they were married—something she had done ever since they had arrived back from their horse ride yesterday morning.
Eleanor could hardly think of it without feeling mortified. She hadn’t meant to betray her emotions on that ride, but Hugh was evidently good at getting under her skin.
It made her feel uneasy that he had the ability to get past her defences. Husband or not, he was still the King’s man. She must keep him at an arm’s length and not allow him to get too close to her. For one thing, he mustn’t find out about Eleanor’s involvement with the outlaws. It was imperative that she did not jeopardise either her safety or theirs, and the important work they were doing to undermine King John’s rule.
The other thing... Ah, the other thing was the sense of dread she felt about what would follow this wedding feast—the wedding night.
She gave herself a mental shake, pushing those unwanted thoughts out of her head, and then watched, surprised, as a knight with the standard of Lord Edmund Balvoire entered the hall. The man looked around and tapped the sealed missive in his hand before presenting it to Gilbert at the side of the hall.
Now, what did that slimy toad Balvoire want at a time like this?
Eleanor watched with interest as Gilbert brought the missive to Hugh, who caught her eye and nodded briefly.
‘Is all well?’ she asked, as Hugh frowned after reading through the missive. ‘I hope there is no trouble?’
‘No more than usual, Eleanor. It seems that the outlaws and their leader...this Le Renard, or The Fox, or whatever he likes to call himself...were sighted a few days ago on Edmund Balvoire’s land. They stole all the silver levy intended for the Crown.’
‘That’s terrible.’ She hid a knowing smile behind her goblet as she took a sip of wine.
‘It’s more than terrible. Balvoire will petition the King for more aid.’
Hugh’s voice was low and its tone unlike how she’d ever heard him use before.
‘I will find them soon—and Lord help them, especially Le Renard, when I do!’
She gulped down her wine too hastily, making herself cough, and she placed her goblet back on the trestle table.
‘Apologies, my lady,’ he whispered, patting her back. ‘Come, let’s not talk of this and we shall enjoy our wedding feast instead.’
But Eleanor perceived the tension emanating from Hugh and reminded herself that she had to be very careful. Danger was all around her; one false move would prove fatal.
The troubadour’s ode had finished, to a cheer of approval, and immediately the musicians struck up a familiar melodic tune.
Lord Hugh, as he had now become, rose suddenly and bowed, holding out his hand. Eleanor rose too, unsure, and curtseyed before accepting his hand, their feather-light fingertips barely touching. They descended the dais together to begin the wedding dance, with their guests cheering and banging their goblets on the tables.
Hugh and Eleanor came together, held hands above their heads and circled each other, forming the elegant shapes of the dance.
‘You seem distracted,’ she said, and swallowed as a momentary pang of guilt spiked through her. She knew she was the cause of Hugh’s troubles.
‘I’m sorry... I believe I am.’
She bit her bottom lip, ‘And I believe it is customary for a husband to make small pleasantries on such an occasion. Even if it is for the benefit of his guests.’
Eleanor raised a brow, hoping to cajole him back into being his usual self, forgetting that she had barely spoken to him since the horse ride.
Hugh blinked in surprise and a slow smile spread on his face. ‘True—but allow me to say, for your benefit alone, Eleanor, how lovely you look on this...happy occasion.’
They continued to circle each other in the wedding dance, every brush of his fingers, every lingering gaze playing havoc on her senses. It was annoying that he was so attractive—his dark hair curling slightly at the back, his broad shoulders filling a wine-coloured tunic that was edged in silver thread and nipped in at the waist by a leather belt and a long dark surcoat over that.
He towered over the entire hall, and those keen, sharp eyes didn’t seem to miss a beat. Even the scar that split his left eyebrow in two gave him a certain powerful edge. Once again she felt nervous about everything—about later—and once again she pushed her thoughts away, lifting her head to face him.
‘I must say that for a big, tall soldier you are surprisingly light on your feet and graceful in your moves.’
‘Would it surprise you even more to know that, despite the impediment of my big, clumsy appearance, I actually enjoy dancing, music and merriment.’
‘It would—just as it might surprise you to know that I do not.’
‘Ah, but your lack of appearance at court and your terrible maidenly manners give that away, don’t you think?’ he murmured, making it impossible for her not to betray a giggle. ‘That’s better. You’ve been so quiet since our ride yesterday. I had wondered how to coax you out of it.’
‘By not repeating that disaster.’
‘Saints above, no! Lesson well learnt. I must say that temper of yours, Eleanor, is certainly something to behold, but it must only be unleashed very sparingly.’
She forced back a desire to laugh. She was indeed surprised to find that Hugh was such an elegant dancer, but more surprised that he could tease her about her quick temper during their ride. He was trying her to put her at ease and it was almost working. But it shouldn’t. It couldn’t!
She must remember that Hugh de Villiers was King John’s man and would always be...just as her first husband Sir Richard had been. He too had been young, virile and handsome. He too had been charming, kind and understanding at the beginning...
She remembered when she’d first met Sir Richard Millais and how she’d almost swooned at his smile and his gallantry. How lucky she’d felt, believing him to be her golden knight, come to save her from loneliness and uncertainty after her father’s death. But it had all been a lie. A huge, terrible lie. She had been so naïve...
Richard had been no heroic knight—more the devil incarnate. He had resented the fact that it was through her that he had gained all his riches and he had made her know it. And he’d had no need of her clever mind, sharp tongue or wilfulness. He’d wanted to break her in and teach her what it meant to behave like a real lady: docile, dutiful and obedient.
Of course, she’d refused to oblige. The more Richard had taunted, belittled and punished her, the more she’d stood her ground and taken whatever he’d proscribed without wavering. He’d wanted her to cry, to plead for mercy from him, but she’d deprived him of that. She’d never betrayed any fear of him, had never shown him any emotion, whatever he’d done to her. No tears—never any tears.
Eleanor flicked her eyes back to Hugh’s watchful gaze, saw wordless questions forming in it. After a short moment he sighed and took her hand again, turning her in time to the beat of the music.
‘I am afraid I have not been honest with you, my lady,’ he murmured softly as he stepped to the side and moved behind her.
‘Oh? How, exactly?’
He was standing close behind her. Very close. Close enough for his breath to tickle the side of her neck.
‘Have pity on me, Eleanor,’ he whispered into her ear.
‘What do you mean, my lord?’
He spread his long fingers around her small waist and lifted her in one swoop, turning her swiftly so she was in his arms. The guests clapped and cheered from all sides, tapping their goblets on the table.
‘You’ll promise that you will be gentle with me, won’t you?’
Ah, that lopsided grin again. ‘Gentle?’ she repeated.
He set her down slowly, so that his handsome face was close to hers. She looked away, confused, hardly able to breathe.
He guided her face back to his, his green eyes melting into hers, and shrugged. ‘Don’t forget I’m a novice husband and will need help and guidance from my new wife.’
He was doing it again—trying to put her at ease, trying to make her feel less anxious. No doubt he believed it would make her a more biddable wife.
Eleanor flushed. ‘Somehow I think you will fare well, my lord.’
‘I hope so, as I have been unlucky so far. But under your excellent tutelage...who knows?’
‘Who, indeed?’
Eleanor knew, though... She knew that she couldn’t trust this man; his silky words and easy smiles were not going to work on her. Why would they?
Hugh de Villiers was trying to appease her, probably because it was their wedding night and he wanted her to be willing when he took her to bed... And if she wasn’t willing? Would he take her anyway, as was his right?
Again, her nerves mounted.
He had promised her hopeful futures that would drown out disastrous pasts, on their ride back yesterday, but she didn’t really believe him. Hugh might be a knight, a modest hero of the Battle of Bouvines, believing in some dusty chivalric code, but he was not her hero.
Heroes didn’t exist. She’d learnt that a long time ago.
Hugh drummed his fingers on the trestle table, wondering how long he’d have to watch the fool juggle and tell customary lewd jokes about the wedding bed. Eleanor had left the hall moments ago, with her maid Brunhilde at hand to help ready her for the bedding ceremony, blushing as she did.
Hugh sighed. As much as he was eagerly anticipating this part of the evening, he couldn’t help feeling a sense of trepidation.
On the one hand, he wanted to bed Eleanor. The desire he felt for her every time he saw her, spoke to her or—God help him—touched her, as he had during their dance, was making him feel like a callow youth. When she had walked into the chapel earlier he’d had difficulty taking his eyes off her.
Eleanor had looked stunning in a green velvet gown, with her hair tightly bound under a gold circlet and a delicate veil. He’d had a ridiculous notion to touch and brush away the wisps of dark chestnut hair that had escaped, but had restrained himself.
And when they had been dancing, the warmth of her scent...flowers and spicy soap...had wrapped around his senses and he’d had the strongest urge to kiss her, but again he’d restrained himself. When he’d lifted her into his arms he had been overcome by a need to explore her body, yet naturally he had not.
Damn!
It was not just her captivating beauty that he was attracted to, but her quick intelligence as well. She was strong, resilient, and from all accounts extremely capable. She certainly challenged and intrigued him.
Yet, for all that he knew she hid a vulnerability that made him feel the need to protect her, even though he barely knew her. Eleanor had been hurt in her previous marriage—that much was evident from the haunted look in her eyes. All of which would make this night far more difficult.
Hugh needed to reassure her that she had nothing to fear in him. He wanted Eleanor’s trust, even though trust was something he found not just difficult but impossible—especially with a woman.
After all, the woman he had loved body and soul all those years ago, Alais Courville—the woman he had hoped to spend the rest of his life with—had played him false so completely that all his hopes for their future had been burnt to dust. Her betrayal had been so breathtaking and so devastating that it had left him with a bitterness that could never be erased. Never again would he allow anyone to get close enough to trample on his heart as Alais had done.
Though of course that had nothing to do with Hugh wanting to bed Eleanor. But once he had done so he would take a step back and leave her to her own devices. It wasn’t as though she wanted any real intimacies, and he certainly didn’t want to get too close to her.
He would be the kind of husband Eleanor would welcome—respectful, yet distant, courteous, yet remote. He didn’t want anything more. Then he could get back to business, serving King John by capturing Le Renard and his outlaws.
Even the missive that had arrived earlier from Lord Balvoire, with its serious implications, had not really penetrated his mind. His thoughts were solely on his new wife and this night. Yet how to proceed?
He tossed back the ale in his goblet, swiped his mouth with his hand and jumped to his feet. He must proceed slowly and with care...
Hugh knocked on the wooden door of his new chamber and ambled in just as Brunhilde was drawing the heavy curtain around the bed, leaving only a small opening visible, Eleanor evidently behind it. He stood against the stone wall with his arms crossed over his chest and nodded at Father Thomas as he swung a censer, blessing every corner of the room and wishing the married couple joy, fertility and much happiness.
The guests who had staggered behind Hugh to the solar were outside in the antechamber, craning to catch a glimpse, but Father Thomas and Brunhilde ushered them away, closing the door.
Hugh and Eleanor were finally alone, and this was their wedding night.
Hugh drew the curtain around the bed slowly and found Eleanor sitting upright in the large feather bed, wrapped in a deep blue coverlet. She looked up at him and stole his breath.
If he had thought her lovely before, it was nothing compared to how she looked now. He had never seen her luscious long hair unbound, framing her face. He watched, entranced, as her lips parted and she bit her bottom lip nervously. Her brown eyes held flecks of gold and amber in this light, but also a veil of anxiety and barely disguised fear.
Hugh had two choices here. He could get into bed and make Eleanor his in every way imaginable, as was his right, blotting out all vestiges of the man who had been there before. Or... Or he could do something for her.
He could wait.
He knew what he wanted to do. Lord above, he knew what he should do—if only to legitimise the marriage—but then, this proud, terrified woman was like no other. He sensed that her past experiences, whatever they were, could not have been good, and if he wasn’t careful they would determine their future...badly.
Hugh gave himself a mental shake and smiled. ‘I hope it has not been too exhausting a day for you, Eleanor?’
‘I am well, as you can see,’ she said in a flat tone. ‘Are you well, my lord?’
‘Mmm? Yes, of course.’
No, he damn well wasn’t. He dragged his shaky fingers through his hair and swallowed hard.
‘Are you sure, my lord?’
‘Yes—and call me Hugh. I cannot get used to anyone “my lording” me—especially you.’
He sighed, trying to drag his gaze away, then sat at the edge of the bed and swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry, as he watched her. He caught a tendril of her loose, unbound hair and wrapped a silky lock around his fingers.
‘You seem more nervous than I... Hugh.’
‘I am.’ He smiled. ‘Tell me, what do you want to do?’
‘Do?’ Her eyes widened in confusion. ‘What do you mean?’
He shrugged. ‘This is our private time together, Eleanor, and what we do is no one’s business but our own.’
She frowned, meeting his eyes. ‘This is our wedding night. It wouldn’t be legally binding if we didn’t...’
‘True... But no one need know. We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.’
He watched as Eleanor’s jaw visibly dropped and she pushed forward, meeting his gaze.
After a moment she shook her head, looking away. ‘No... I thank you for your consideration but, no. I’d rather get this over and done with, if you don’t mind.’
‘Very well.’ He cautioned himself to proceed slowly. ‘But remember you promised you’d be gentle with me, Eleanor.’
She rolled her eyes as he slid his hand to cup her face, tilting it and tracing her soft pink lips with his thumb. He bent his head to hers, his lips so near that there was only warm, wet air between them. He let the moment stretch agonisingly, allowing Eleanor to pull away if she wanted to. Hugh’s mouth curved into the ghost of a smile as she moved closer, before he pressed it to hers and kissed her softly.
He noticed from the corner of his eye that her hands reaching out from beneath the covers were still gloved.
‘You wear those even in bed?’ he whispered against her lips.
‘What?’ She looked up, dazed. ‘Oh, yes. These allow the applied balm to...to make my hands soft.’
‘Fit for a lady.’
‘I suppose...’ she murmured, and she pressed her lips to his, surprising him.
She was like sunbeam and silk, his prickly, haughty wife, and she was very tentatively kissing him back.
Hugh felt her gasp as his tongue gently coaxed the seal of her lips apart. Every part of him, every sinew of his body, was aware of her—the feel of her, the delicious taste of her. Spurred on by her response, he deepened the kiss. It seemed the lady was enjoying this as much he was. And he clamoured for more.
An unexpected yearning grew in the pit of Eleanor’s stomach and moved deep into her core as Hugh’s mouth covered hers, kissing her in a way she could never have imagined.
This was madness!
She felt the touch of his fingers along her collarbone before his lips left hers to kiss the column of her neck. He lifted his head, desire blazing in his eyes. A wordless question. It was a question Eleanor could not answer even as her wayward body craved more.
Hugh dipped his head and claimed her lips again, his hands cupping her jaw gently. Saints above, what was happening to her? Eleanor felt as though she was losing herself, gradually and slowly losing sight of everything around her.
Yes, indeed, madness!
She longed for more...longed to explore this sensual pleasure she had never known existed. Her previous experiences had centred on cruelty and dominance. This was nothing like that, but even so a voice from deep inside her was warning her about the loss of control...how things could spiral quickly into the unknown.
This was happening far too quickly and it had to cease.
Eleanor opened her eyes and slammed the palms of her hands onto Hugh’s chest, untangling herself and scrambling to the other side of the bed before he had a chance to grasp what had happened. She sat with her back to him, listening to his breathing from behind her.
Dear God, what had she done?
She screwed her eyes shut and groaned inwardly. Yes, she had felt her body betray a thrill of excitement, and in her muddled head she knew that she had actually enjoyed kissing Hugh—unbelievable as that was—but Eleanor couldn’t do it. It repelled her, frightened her... And yet would it...with Hugh?
She shook her head. No, she didn’t want to know. And what could she do anyway? Her body was not hers. Hugh had every right to make his demands and force her to submit, even though he had suggested they might wait.
Her back stiffened and her fists clenched as she waited for his inevitable outburst of anger.
It didn’t come.
Instead, Eleanor heard him sigh deeply, get up and walk around to the ornately decorated coffer. She glimpsed Hugh from under her lashes as he tapped a tattoo on the surface with his fingers before grabbing two silver goblets and pouring ale from the silver jug into each. He was there in front of her in two big strides, pressing a goblet into her hands.
‘Thank you...’ she muttered. ‘I... I prepared the wedding ale myself, with added spices and honey,’ she said, looking at her feet as she turned the goblet in her hand.
‘It’s delicious,’ Hugh said as he took a large gulp.
Tension crackled between them as the silence stretched.
‘Eleanor, look at me, please.’ He gently lifted her chin with his fingers. ‘I apologise for my...eagerness.’
She pulled away from his hold and took a sip from her goblet. ‘There is nothing to apologise for.’
‘It seems there is—and it also seems that I’m making quite a habit of it.’
She shrugged, hoping her expression was one of indifference, but her head was in a haze of confusion. It was both unexpected and puzzling that Hugh should apologise for her woeful lack of wifely duty. Yet here he was, apologising to her again after doing so yesterday. Could she remember any man—knight or nobleman, least of all her husband—ever apologising about anything, ever? And yet Hugh de Villiers didn’t think it beneath him to do just that.
‘Eagerness on one’s wedding night is natural, Hugh. My reaction is not.’ She sucked air through her teeth and continued. ‘But you should know that...that intimacy disgusts me.’
There—she’d said it and now he knew. Perhaps he would find other women to warm his bed whilst she looked the other way.
He raised an eyebrow but said nothing, willing her to say more.
So she did. ‘It’s...it’s not your affliction, but mine. I told you yesterday that I’m not fit to be a wife. I’m unnatural, Hugh.’
‘I take it that is what Millais said to you?’ he said. ‘Well, I want you to know that he was wrong. Very wrong.’
‘Even so I... I’m damaged. I carry terrible scars.’
Eleanor left those words hanging between them, feeling so uncomfortable talking about the past that it made her squirm.
Hugh looked at her with compassion, without a trace of pity, as if he understood how deep those scars ran.
‘I appreciate your honesty, Eleanor but I am not Richard Millais. You must understand that you should never have experienced what you did with him. And if anyone was unnatural it was Millais, not you.’ He lowered himself slowly to one knee, placed his goblet on the floor and took her hand in his. ‘Listen to me, I have never forced an unwilling woman into my bed, Eleanor and I’m not about to start now. I want you to give yourself freely to our union. And until then, if I have to wait...well, then I will wait.’
‘And if I don’t?’
‘It’s a risk I’m willing to take.’ He shrugged. ‘My hope is that you might come to realise that the intimacies you find so disgusting may actually be the opposite.’
Eleanor shook her head in disbelief but said nothing.
‘We need time...time to get to know one another.’ Hugh smiled before continuing. ‘So from now on I will sleep on a pallet that I will ask my squire to smuggle in from somewhere. I will make him swear an oath of secrecy. No one need know.’ He stood up and stretched out his arms.
‘You believe I will come to your bed willingly when I can never give you my heart?’ She shook her head. ‘My castle, my lands and my wealth may now be yours—even my body—but my heart will never be.’
She watched as Hugh froze, his eyes narrowed and his lips pressed into a thin line. This was exactly the sort of outspoken behaviour that had incensed Eleanor’s first husband, leading to the punishments he’d inflicted on her.
‘I don’t believe I have ever asked for your heart, and nor shall I be offering mine in return.’ He took a deep breath before softening his voice. ‘You are a shrewd, intelligent woman, and we both know that our alliance has been brought about against our wishes by King John. But it has happened and we must make the best of it.’ He paused before continuing. ‘So allow me to court you. Properly this time.’
She gaped at him in disbelief, not quite trusting anything he said. Hugh de Villiers seemed kind, and understanding, and apparently nothing like her late husband—but he was still a man used to getting his own way.
Could she trust that he would not force her when she didn’t come to him willingly? Until she knew him better there was no way of knowing. She was not so naïve as to swallow all his rational words now, when they might become irrational later, once he’d realised she would not change her mind about coming to the marital bed. What then?
Eventually she nodded cautiously. ‘Very well, my lord.’
‘Good.’ He took a sip from his goblet. ‘And I think I have just the thing for us to do—unless you’d prefer to go to sleep?’
Sleep?
Did Hugh de Villiers really believe that she could sleep easily knowing he was sharing the room with her? Even on a separate pallet, with the bed curtain shut tightly, he would still be there...sleeping in the same chamber...near her.
She gulped. ‘No, I’m not ready for sleep yet.’
‘Good. Well, in that case, we shall do something else.’
She blinked several times. ‘Do something else?’ she repeated, confused.
He smirked as he strode to the coffer and pulled out a medium-sized rectangular object covered in woollen cloth. ‘Apart from my horse, my sword and gaining my spurs, this is my most prized possession.’
She watched, intrigued, as Hugh placed the object on the bed in front of her.
‘Have you ever heard of chessmen?’
She frowned, shaking her head. ‘You want to play games? At this time?’ This wedding night was getting stranger and more unexpected at every turn.
‘Ah, but chess is far more than just a game, Eleanor,’ he said, pulling the cover off a beautifully crafted black and red two-toned board. From another woollen sack he pulled out intricate mini-statues and placed them carefully on the board. ‘It is about strategy, skill and outwitting your opponent. King Richard was a patron of chess, as were his father and grandfather before him.’
‘I didn’t know that.’
‘It’s true, nevertheless. And the Earl of Oxford encouraged all of us to engage in the game, believing that it was one of many skills a good knight should acquire.’
She met his eyes and smiled despite herself. Now this was a challenge she would certainly welcome to test her mettle.
She brushed her hand across the smooth chequered board. ‘It’s beautiful. Where did you get it from?’
‘More like who did I win it from!’ He winked. ‘And, before you ask, it was from an over-confident Poitevin knight who claimed to be the best player in Christendom, and he had won it from a Moor in Granada. Naturally I had to repudiate that claim.’
‘Naturally...’ She bit back a sudden urge to laugh at the absurdity of this evening.
‘Are you ready for a challenge, my lady?’
‘Certainly—how do you play?’
He sat on the bed opposite her, on the other side of the board, and crossed his legs. ‘Now, pay attention, Eleanor. These are lowly pawns and they can move one square forward and capture one square diagonally and only ever other pawns. Never anything else.’
She smiled. ‘Very lowly indeed.’
‘But very useful, which is why they’re often referred to as the infantry. And they can be successfully promoted.’
‘To King?’
‘No piece can do that, my lady. There is only one King.’
‘Indeed...’
He placed a further four pieces on each side of the board. ‘These here are two rooks, two chevaliers—or knights—and two bishops. And naturally only one King and Queen apiece.’
Eleanor listened intently as Hugh explained the way in which each piece could move forward.
‘And the aim of the game?’ she asked.
He chuckled. ‘The final aim is, of course, to trap the King and check him—a checkmate. I believe it comes from the Persian phrase shah-mat. Meaning the King is ambushed.’
She looked at him with disbelief. ‘How do you know all this?’
‘Well, if one wants to become a master at something it is imperative to gain as much knowledge and understanding as possible, don’t you think?’
‘Yes... But are you? A master?’
‘You’ll just have to find out, my lady.’ He winked. ‘All I will say is that even King John has not found a way to pass me, and he has been playing since boyhood.’
Hugh played chessmen with the King!
‘Is that so? Well, we’ll have to see about that.’
‘Fighting talk.’ He nodded approvingly. ‘I like that. But I warn you... This can be a very slow game and it can take days for an outcome.’
‘Surely we have the time?’
‘We do.’ The corners of his lips curved. ‘And while I think of ways to outwit you at night, by day I can focus my mind on the thankless job of finding the outlaws and The Fox, on top of getting better acquainted with Tallany. Your move, Eleanor.’
‘I can move the pawn just one square?’ she asked. He nodded. ‘How can you be sure of capturing the outlaws?’
‘Much as in chess, I will need my skill to outmanoeuvre them. Eventually they’ll make a mistake—even a small one. And when they do, I’ll be ready. Once I capture Le Renard and his outlaws everything, I believe, will fall into place.’
She swallowed. ‘I see...’
‘Don’t worry. I’ll find them. Trust me, Eleanor.’
Trust him? Of all the things to say.
There was so much to think about, so much to ponder on, that it made her head spin. Her new husband seemed intent on getting to know her, but she wouldn’t allow it. She couldn’t! It would be far too dangerous.
‘I can see already that this may prove to be a long challenge, Eleanor. I hope you’re ready for it?’ he teased.
Yes, she’d play this game—but that didn’t mean he would get any closer to her. Hugh would now be doubling his efforts to capture her outlaw friends, which meant she had to be very vigilant.
What would he do when he realised that the outlaws he sought were the same outlaws that she secretly aided? A shiver went down her spine. There was no way of knowing how he would react. Especially if he discovered that not only did Eleanor help the outlaws but that she was also one of them!
She was, in fact... Le Renard. The Fox he was searching for.
She exhaled slowly. ‘Yes, I’ll be ready.’
One thing was for certain: he must never, ever find out.