Look not every man on his own things, but every man also on the things of others.
Philippians 2:4
Eleanor glanced down at her gown and wondered if she had picked the right one. For the first time in her life she actually worried about her appearance. She even called for a maid to help, which wasn’t her usual habit. With support, she chose an over-gown of a pale yellow which used to belong to Uncle Leonard’s sister. According to him, she died even before she had a chance to wear it. Was that a good omen or a bad one? Eleanor did not care as long as Hugh liked the gown. The maid who helped her dress this morn said it was a nice complement to Eleanor’s chestnut hair. Though her hair had been tightly plaited, a few curls could still be seen through the sheer, short cream veil.
Oh, she did wish to be pleasing. Eleanor pinched her cheeks and hoped dark circles hadn’t formed under her eyes from lack of sleep last eve. Who in their right mind could rest after kissing Hugh de Maury? Eleanor gently touched her lips. If she closed her eyes she could still feel his mouth on hers. His kiss was like warm wheat, soft yet secure and satisfying.
Eleanor let out a long sigh. The only thing she regretted was acting like a ninny afterwards, shrieking and closing the door in his face.
At least a hundred times last night she’d pressed an ear against the door, trying to listen to his even breathing or his slight snoring. But she could hear naught, and then she feared he could hear her. ’Twas a very wearisome night, indeed. Somehow today she would broach the subject of the kiss. She would have to find the courage to tell him how she really felt.
When she opened her chamber door, she was surprised to find a guard stood where Hugh had been last night. Of course he wouldn’t be here. No doubt he was out inspecting his crops. Their discussion could wait until this afternoon when they practiced their skills with the bow. She stepped out of the room and slowly descended the stairs. Her mind racing. Nay, it could not wait. She needed to see him now.
Eleanor raced down the remaining steps to the great hall and scanned the room quickly. He was not here. Without pausing, she walked out to the bailey and looked about. Not here either. She headed toward the gate where she spotted Simon.
“Good day, Simon. Is your father about?”
The boy shook his head. “I know not. I have not seen him since yesterday.”
Her gaze drifted past his shoulder, beyond the gate. “Mayhap he is out in the fields.”
“Perhaps,” Simon added, then hastily rushed on. “Are you working on the chapel this morn?”
His eager face made her pause. “Aye, after I talk to your father.”
“Good, then I shall get started now.” He pulled a piece of parchment from his tunic. “I have made a drawing for the altar. What do you think?”
Eleanor looked down at the intricate picture. The lines were measured and in proportion. Simon must have spent hours on this design. “It is beautiful.”
“The carvings depict the crucifixion and resurrection of our Lord, Jesus Christ. If you don’t mind, I would like to do the carvings myself. I have found a perfect block of wood that would make an excellent altar.”
She titled her head. “I did not know you were skilled in woodworking.”
“Aye, my lady. Some say I am as good at making carvings as I am at praying.”
“You truly do wish to become a priest, don’t you?”
Simon folded the drawing and tucked it back in his tunic. “Aye, my lady. But my father does not wish it.”
The longing in his voice tugged at Eleanor’s heart. Why couldn’t Hugh see this was the only path for his son?
“My lady, do you think...” Simon shook his head.
Eleanor reached over and touched his arm. “What is it, Simon? How can I help you?”
The boy shifted his feet back and forth, raising his eyes to the heavens, as if they held the right words. “I-I am wondering if you would speak to my father for me.” Simon must have seen the hesitation in her eyes for he rushed on. “He respects and cares for you. He always listens intently to what you say. I know if you but ask, he may relent.” Simon grabbed her hands. “Oh please, Lady Eleanor, would you talk to him on my behalf?”
The hopeful look in Simon’s eyes melted her heart. From what she had heard, the boy had a rough life—the rejection of his mother and the impossible expectations of his father. But Simon wasn’t bitter. In fact, he was just the opposite: kindhearted, giving, and respectful. In Eleanor’s opinion he was the perfect son—the type she would love to have someday.
“Of course, I will try, but I cannot guarantee he will listen, for I fear he may not hold me in as high regard as you think.”
“Oh, he will. I just know it.” With strong, youthful arms he gave her a hug then made his way over to the chapel site with a spring in his step.
With another long sigh, Eleanor walked through the main gate and debated what she should do. Would Hugh truly listen to her thoughts regarding his son? And which topic should she pursue first? The kiss or the son? The answer came fast. Simon, of course. The boy’s future was so much more important than her own.
She had not taken two steps when she spotted Sir Theodore and Hugh walking toward the keep. “Good day, sirs,” she called.
“My lady.” Sir Theodore gave her the most perplexing formal bow that she felt obliged to drop into a deep curtsy. He then turned a light shade of pink, stammered a bit before excusing himself, racing through the gate.
“Good heavens, what is wrong with him?” she asked, turning to Hugh.
“You, Eleanor. You have gotten to him.” The grim look on Hugh’s face and matter-of-fact tone in his voice, made Eleanor think she had something to do with Sir Theodore’s behavior.
“He seemed quite fine when I spoke to him last eve. Perhaps it was spending the night in the cold rain doing guard duty.”
“’Twas not chill of last night. We took a walk, remember? The eve turned pleasant.” Hugh tightly folded his arms across his chest as if this whole conversation was a waste of time.
“Mayhap it is nothing.” She shrugged.
“Oh, it is something. Something we need to discuss,” he said, his tone low with a hint of agitation.
What could she have done to upset Sir Theodore and irritate Hugh? “I hold Sir Theodore in high regard. I would never purposely hurt or harm him.”
“That is good to hear.” Hugh gazed off into the countryside. “Come walk with me.”
His long strides made it difficult for her to keep up, but she kept pace as best as she could. They walked in silence, past the archery field and the bean crops, toward a copse of trees on the edge of the forest. His somber mood had her thinking perhaps Sir Theodore had a death in the family or wanted to leave Thornwood Keep permanently.
When they stopped he just stared at her, taking in every measure. She clasped her hands tightly together, fearing she might give in to a nervous fidget. “Do you have something to say, Hugh? If not I have—”
“Aye, I do. Sir Theodore desires to become one of your suitors,” he blurted out.
His cheek twitched and she chuckled, sitting on a near boulder. “Oh, you jest.” Her heart began to race against her ribcage. Had he dragged her out here to be alone? So they could kiss again? Her lips tingled at the thought.
“I do not jest,” he said evenly. “He seems to have been taken in by your charms.”
A laugh of disbelief escaped her again. “What charms? This is not very amusing.”
His gaze never wavered from hers. “He had quite a list—kind, resourceful, self-sacrificing, caring, and fair to look upon.”
“Fair to look upon?” She rolled her eyes. “He did not say that.”
Hugh raised his chin. “Nay, not in those words, but that is what he meant.”
This was madness. She glanced at Hugh several times, expecting him to break out in laughter any moment, professing he lied. But he did not. Instead, he stood there with a stony, cold look upon his face.
She rose and began to pace. “What did you tell him?”
“I said I would ask if you were interested in his pursuit.”
She stopped in front of Hugh, but his eyes or his manner gave nothing away. If he cared for her at all, why did he not tell Sir Theodore his affection was in vain?
Unless that kiss last night meant nothing. After all, she had been the one to initiate the kiss. Perhaps he had even encouraged Sir Theodore to pursue such a claim. Her heart ached. Of course. The love and desire were on her part, not on Hugh’s. She had let her childish fantasies run away with her again.
“Do you think I should encourage him?” Please say nay.
He cleared his throat and looked past her, his interest on a fluttering yellow butterfly weaving between the stone and the trees. “He is a good man. Forthright, hardworking and loyal.” He snapped his gaze to her. “I think he would make an admirable husband. He would be good to you, Eleanor.”
Her name spoken softly on his tongue tore apart her heart just as harshly as his words had. She fought hard to hold back her tears. “What of Sir Reginald? He will not be pleased.”
“We shall think of something. I would never consent to a marriage between the two of you. Theo is a much better man.”
Only a lone crow’s caw could be heard as the silence dragged between them.
He would not speak; she had her answer.
“Then you may tell Sir Theodore that his intentions are most certainly welcomed.”
Hugh bowed his head and she could not see the effects, if any, her words had on him. “Very well. I shall do so, posthaste. Shall we return to the keep and tell him together?”
She shook her head and looked at the ground. “I think I shall stay and say my morning prayers here in God’s creation. I will come shortly.”
He nodded and started to walk away, and then turned back. “What is it you wished to discuss with me?”
Her lips quivered and she rapidly blinked her eyes. The kiss.
Nay. Simon. She had an obligation, but she could not discuss this now without breaking down into tears. She looked up. “We can speak of it later.”
He hesitated a moment.
Why would he not leave? She bit her lips to keep the tears from appearing in her eyes.
Finally, he cleared his throat. “Very good, Eleanor.” Again he gave a formal bow and turned away.
Her name on his lips. “Sir Hugh.” she called. He turned back and she straightened her stance. “I think it is best we use a more formal address with one another. We do not want people to get the wrong impression.”
He stood stone silent, examining her face for what seemed like an eternity. The tiny yellow butterfly landed softly on his shoulder, without his acknowledgement. Hugh gave a curt nod. “As you wish, Lady Eleanor.”
With that he gave her his back and strode away, the butterfly taking to the air.
When he was out of sight, Eleanor crumbled to the ground, tears rushing down her cheeks. She knew her request was cruel and petty, but she could not stand hearing her given name flow off his lips so intimately. If he kept doing so, she feared she would fall at his feet and beg him to love her.
The tiny butterfly lit on her hand, steadying its wings. “We can’t have that,” Eleanor said. “Nay. We can’t have that.”
Instead she folded her hands and began to pray. “Heavenly Father, I beg of you to take my love for Hugh away. I know it is a selfish prayer, but I can’t care for another until my love for Hugh dies. I ask this in your Son’s name. Amen.”
But she wasn’t ready to leave, so she began to pray again and again.
The morn had waned into the afternoon before Eleanor returned to the keep. The nicker of horses, the clang of swords, the bleating of sheep, and the happy voices bespoke of a keep full of energy, whereas her steps dragged like death. Calls were given out, but she did not answer. She just concentrated on putting one foot in front of another and did not even stop when Isobel skipped up to her side.
“Where were you?” the little girl asked.
“I was praying.” Eleanor dabbed at her eyes, hoping they weren’t too puffy.
“But you pray with me. Never alone.”
Eleanor gave a blue laugh and bent down to give the girl a tight hug. “I pray with you and with anyone who asks. I also pray alone.”
Isobel wrinkled her nose. “That’s a lot of praying.”
“Indeed.” Oh, how she would miss this child when she left.
Grabbing Eleanor’s hand, Isobel dragged her toward the chapel site. There, Sir Theodore and James were working on hammering planks onto the back of the chapel. Simon meticulously worked on the altar.
Hugh was nowhere in sight.
“Look who I found,” Isobel said, skipping up to Sir Theodore.
Seeing Eleanor, he blushed immediately and again dropped into a formal bow. “Lady Eleanor.”
Again she felt obliged to curtsy.
James stopped his pounding and gazed at both of them as if their brains had been stuffed with goose feathers. However, the lad was smart enough not to say a word.
This was going to be a long life, indeed, if every time they met there would be bows and curtsies, even if the exercise may be beneficial.
“Sir Theodore, did Lord Thornwood speak to you?” she asked.
He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. “He did, my lady.”
“Then I think we can suspend with the formalities.”
“Very well, my-”
“Eleanor. Please call me Eleanor.”
A look of pure pain emanated from his features, and James’ eyes grew thrice their size. Simon rose to his feet and slowly wiped his whittling tool on his tunic.
Isobel snorted. “Can I still call you Lady Elle?”
“Of course you can.” Eleanor tousled the girl’s hair, turning quickly away, fearing the tears would return.
From across the bailey, another pair of eyes watched her intently. Reginald de Orsey sat high on his mount, his beady gaze burrowed down into her soul, searching for her darkest secrets. A shiver ran down her back. Impossible. He couldn’t know who held her heart.
“The dragon,” Isobel shouted. With short steps, the child started toward him.
Eleanor reached out and grabbed Isobel by the shoulder. “Where do you think you are going?”
“I want to see when he turns into a dragon.”
The coat of arms. They really needed to talk about this. “I think you should stay here. He doesn’t like children and a symbol does not mean he will turn into a dragon.”
A pout settled on Isobel’s lips. “He might, he acts like a dragon. He doesn’t like anybody.”
True. All the more reason Isobel should stay away from him. Just when Eleanor planned to send the child off to find Cook, Simon came to her side.
“You spoke to my father, didn’t you?” A frown wrinkled the boy’s face. “He came to talk to Sir Theodore then left. He’s mad, isn’t he?”
Her heart fell. She should have pushed through her own pain and thought of Simon’s needs. “Nay. We-we did not have a chance to—”
Shouts rang out; a cry of a child filled the air.
“Isobel!” Adam came running across the bailey and grabbed his daughter around the waist, saving her from the stomping hooves of Sir Reginald’s horse.
“Keep that rat away from me,” Lord de Orsey spat. “My mount could have thrown me.” His gaze shifted to Eleanor. “When you see Lord Thornwood, tell him I wish to speak with him.” With that, Sir Reginald took off, a cloud of dust followed in his wake.
“There, there now, Isobel. Everything is all right.” Adam tried to console his crying daughter.
The work of the keep ground to a halt at the child’s screams.
Eleanor raced to Adam’s side. “Is she all right?”
Pausing from hugging and kissing his daughter, Adam turned a wary eye on Eleanor. “She could have been trampled to death. You said you would watch her. No more. I’ll keep an eye on me own daughter.”
Eleanor’s heart sank. She had broken her promise to him. She had failed Simon, too. She used to be trusted, now she could help no one. Eleanor fixed her gaze on Sir Theodore. The sooner she left this keep the better, for she was no longer wanted or needed by anyone.