The image of Scarcliffe that had burned in his imagination for weeks now was of how it would appear in the future.
He had plans for this manor. Great plans.
In a year or two Scarcliffe would begin to sparkle as brightly as a fine jewel. The fields would burst with an abundance of crops. The wool on the sheep would be thick and soft. The cottages would be clean and in good repair. The villagers would be content, prosperous, and well-fed.
But today he was forced to view it through Alice's eyes. He had to admit that one could say the village bore more resemblance to a lump of coal than a polished gem.
Hugh, who normally paid little attention to such minor inconveniences as the weather, was irritated to see that it had recently rained. The ominous, leaden sky did not add to the questionable charms of Scarcliffe. The stone keep itself, which loomed beyond the village, was hidden in a shroud of gray fog.
Hugh cast an uneasy glance at Alice to gauge her reaction to his new lands. She did not notice his wary scrutiny.
She was slender and graceful in the saddle. Her red hair blazed, a bright, cheerful flame set to ward off the encroaching gray mist. She appeared intent on her surroundings, her intelligent features serious and studious as she examined the village.
Her curiosity, as always, was aroused, Hugh realized, but he could not tell what she thought about that which she viewed. He wondered if she was dismayed, disgusted, or disdainful.
Given the bleak picture of Scarcliffe, it was very possible that she was experiencing all three emotions. She was, after all, a lady who was too fastidious to eat in a man's great hall. She ordered her food specially cooked and her clothes seemed to be always fresh and sweet-scented.
She no doubt found the barren fields and dismal little village distasteful.
Hugh was forced to admit that the untidy collection of thatched cottages, most of which were in need of repair, together with their accompanying goat pens and pigsties, did not present an inspiring sight. The afternoon air was heavy. It bore the unmistakably rank odor of the village ditch where the refuse of years lay moldering.
The tumbledown stone wall that surrounded the small convent and the church spoke of long neglect. The recent rain had done nothing to cleanse Scarcliffe. It had merely deepened the mud in the single rutted street.
Hugh clenched his teeth. If Alice was not particularly impressed with this view of the village and nearby fields, she was going to be appalled by the sight of Scarcliffe Keep.
He told himself he would worry about that problem later. In the meantime he had an announcement to make, one he intended should carry across his lands and into the halls of his neighbors. All would know that Hugh the Relentless had returned with proof that he was the rightful lord of Scarcliffe.
He had pushed his company hard, determined to arrive in Scarcliffe on market day. As he had anticipated, virtually everyone who belonged on the manor and its surrounding farms was gathered in the narrow street to witness the triumphant return of their new lord.
This should have been a moment of enormous satisfaction, Hugh thought. He had it all now. He had retrieved the green crystal and he had betrothed himself to a suitable lady. He was ready to settle down as lord of Scarcliffe.
But things were not going as smoothly as he had planned and that made him uneasy. He was said to have a talent for stratagems. Some claimed he had a mage's skill at such. But something had gone badly awry the other night when he had tried to convince Alice to make their betrothal genuine.
He was still stinging from the blow she had unwittingly landed. She acted as though she preferred the convent to sharing a marriage bed with him.
That news did not set well, especially now that he suspected that he would very likely walk through hell if it meant an opportunity to finish what he had begun between her soft thighs.
His body grew taut and hard whenever he recalled the way she had shivered in his arms. As he had spent much of the journey with just such thoughts plaguing him, he had passed the time in an uncomfortable condition.
Leaving Alice alone in the tent the other night and the two nights since had taken more heroic effort than a dozen forays on the jousting field. What annoyed Hugh the most was the realization that in her innocence, she had no appreciation of how much self-mastery he had been forced to wield. In truth, the stunningly volatile nature of his own need made him deeply wary but it did nothing to lessen his desire.
Acknowledging his own ravenous appetite for Alice's sweet, warm body had been one of the most difficult things Hugh had ever done.
He had spent the past three nights staring at the stars while he concocted excuses for his fierce urge to claim her. There were logical reasons for his thundering blood and deep hunger and he had enumerated all of them as though he were doing sums on his abacus.
He had been too long without a woman.
He had always been attracted to the unusual and Alice was nothing if not unique.
The promise of passion in her green eyes was enough to compel any man with the wit to perceive it.
And touching her had been akin to touching the heart of a storm.
Aye, there were reasons enough to explain why he had just finished a hard ride in a state of near arousal.
But unlike his abacus, which always gave him a satisfactory answer, none of the explanations had done much to lighten Hugh's grim mood. If anything, they darkened it.
No matter how he examined the situation he was forced to come to the same conclusion. He wanted Alice with a degree of desire that was dangerous. He would have to exert more care in the future.
He would also have to find a way to convince her to make the betrothal real.
"A lady. He brings a fine lady with him."
"Mayhap a wife."
"I did not think to see him again. Thought he'd get himself killed as the others have all done."
The excited murmur of the gathering crowd interrupted Hugh's reverie. Several people turned to one another to exclaim in amazement, as though they witnessed a great wonder rather than merely the return of their lord.
Prioress Joan and a handful of nuns came to stand at the convent gatehouse. Their eyes went straight to Alice. One of the women leaned forward to whisper in the ear of the tall nun who stood next to Prioress Joan. The tall woman nodded in response. She alone did not appear pleased by the sight of the returning company.
Hugh glanced at her fleetingly and recognized the healer, a woman named Katherine. She was a lady of somber, melancholy mien who appeared to be in her late forties. He had met her the night that Prioress Joan had sent for him to inform him of the loss of the green stone.
Hugh prayed that he would never need her professional services. The notion of being treated by a healer whose expression indicated she expected a poor outcome was not particularly appealing.
He raised a hand to bring his men to a halt. When the clatter of hooves and wagon wheels had stilled, he urged his horse slowly toward the prioress.
Joan waited with a smile that was composed of equal parts of relief and welcome.
Hugh was only a few paces from the convent gate when a scrawny, hulking figure in a brown monk's cowl surged out of the crowd. The hood of the man's robes concealed his face, but Hugh swallowed a silent oath when he recognized Calvert of Oxwick.
Hugh had hoped that the wandering monk would have wandered on to another village by the time he and his company returned.
"My lord, I bid you welcome to Scarcliffe," Calvert intoned in a rasping voice that grated on the ears. "I give thanks to God that you have returned alive."