She opened her eyes wider. “What boy, Sir Richard?”
“You know who I am talking about,” he replied angrily. “The boy who just won the horsemanship contest. He came to Chippenham with your father.”
“Didn’t you hear his name?” she said in feigned surprise. “He is Hugh Corbaille, the son of Ralf Corbaille, he who was Sheriff of Lincoln before he was killed at the Battle of the Standard last year. Hugh has been visiting us.”
Sir Richard showed his stained teeth in a smile that was not pleasant. “I see,” he said. “And where did your father meet this Hugh Corbaille?”
“I believe you will have to ask him that yourself,” she returned pleasantly. “Now, if you will excuse me, Sir Richard, my ladies and I would like to retire.”
He gave her a narrow look out of flat, slate-blue eyes.
“I will see you later,” he promised. “At the feast in the castle.”
She forced a smile, then turned, beckoned to her ladies, and began to thread her way through the remaining crowd, away from the vicinity of Sir Richard, who she was sure had been an emissary from the earl.
Hugh rode Rufus directly to the stabling area that had been allotted to the men of Somerford.
He was trembling.
It was one thing to have heard that he looked like Guy, but to look into a pair of eyes that were a mirror image of his own…
He had seen the naked shock in those eyes when Guy had seen Hugh’s face. It had been the shock of recognition.
Hugh balanced his new saddle on Rufus’s withers and dismounted. His knees felt weak as he landed on the ground.
One of the squires came running. “I saw your ride, Hugh!” He was panting with excitement. “It was wonderful!”
“Thank you,” Hugh said automatically.
“I’ll take care of Rufus for you,” the boy said. “Don’t worry about him. He’ll get a good rubdown and a nice feed. He deserves it.” The squire patted the arched white neck of the stallion. “He is a splendid horse.”
Hugh lifted down his new saddle and stood for a moment as Rufus was led off. He didn’t know what he should do.
The trembling was getting worse.
He didn’t want to return to the pavilion. He didn’t want to deal with congratulations or with the excitement of the knights of Somerford as they celebrated their victories.
He didn’t want to see anyone.
He wished Cristen was here so he could talk to her.
Several men he didn’t know came up to him as he stood there and began to ask him about how he had trained Rufus. He managed to answer somehow, and then he started to walk in the direction of the pavilion where he knew Cristen was lodged. He was still carrying his saddle.
“Hugh!”
It took him a moment to recognize Nigel’s voice. He looked over his shoulder and saw the lord of Somerford hurrying after him. He stopped.
Nigel came up beside him, followed by two very tall men.
“I have some people who wish to meet you,” Nigel said.
They were not far from the ladies’ pavilion and the only people near them at the moment were a few pages who were scurrying around on errands for their mistresses. Most of the company was still clustered around the obstacle course.
The two big men loomed behind Nigel. One was as young as Hugh himself, and this was the man Nigel introduced first. “This is Philip Demain, Hugh. He is a knight of Simon of Evesham’s.”
With a great effort, Hugh pulled himself together. He looked at the young knight.
Philip’s hair was the color of the sun, his eyes the blue of a summer sky. His shoulders were immensely broad and he was at least five inches taller than Hugh.
Hugh nodded at him.
“And this is Father Anselm.” Nigel’s voice was suspiciously gentle. “He was Lord Roger’s chaplain, Hugh. He knew you when you were a child.”
Hugh stared into the thin, dark face of the hooded man. Great, haunted brown eyes looked back at him.
“Hugh,” the man said hoarsely. “My God, Hugh. After all these years, you have come back to us.”
Hugh had no recollection of ever seeing the man before.
Sweat broke out on his forehead.
“I…” He inhaled deeply and tried again. “I’m afraid I do not know you, Father.”
The priest stepped closer to Hugh and laid a hand on his arm. It took an immense effort of willpower to keep from pulling away.
“I have come as an emissary from your mother, the Lady Isabel,” the priest said.
Hugh pulled his arm away and stepped back.
“My mother was Adela Corbaille,” he said sharply.
The priest was shaking his head. “No, my boy. Your mother is Isabel de Leon.”
The young knight spoke for the first time. His voice was very deep. “You look just like her,” he said. “It’s uncanny.”
Suddenly, Hugh was dizzy.
I will not faint, he told himself fiercely. I will not faint.
He blinked and struggled to control his too-rapid breathing.
Then deliverance arrived.
“Here you are, Hugh,” said Cristen. “I have been searching for you.”
He turned to her. She took one look at his face and knew he was in trouble.
“I need Hugh’s help, Father,” she said to Nigel. “Do you mind if I borrow him for a while?”
There was a moment’s silence while Nigel looked at his daughter. Then he said quietly, “Of course not, my dear. I will see you both later.”
Cristen put her hand firmly on Hugh’s arm and began to steer him away from her father and the two tall men.
Without a word, Hugh turned and went with her.
They walked in the direction of the pavilions, Hugh carrying his new saddle under his left arm, Cristen on his other side. The sun was hot and Cristen stopped in the shade cast by the first pavilion, turned and scanned his face.
“Are you all right?” she asked softly.
He shook his head as if dazed. “His eyes…he does look like me, Cristen. He does.”
She nodded. “I know, Hugh.”
“I didn’t really believe it until I saw him.”
He was standing perfectly still, not even seeming to notice the weight of the saddle resting on his hip.
She reached out and touched his shoulder. The dazed look left his face and his eyes focused on her. “I don’t remember,” he said. There was anguish in his voice. “I don’t remember the priest, or this place, or Guy, or anything!”
She replied gently, “Perhaps you never will, Hugh. You have lived with that gap in your life for fourteen years. Perhaps you will have to live with it forever.”
“But don’t you see?” he cried. “If it is true, and I am his son, then I must find out what happened. My father was murdered! I cannot just let that go, Cristen. What kind of a man would I be if I just let that go?”
His words struck her to the heart.
“But what can you do?” She had not expected this reaction, and she tried very hard to keep her voice calm. “His death happened fourteen years ago, Hugh. How can you possibly find out the truth of it after so long a time?”
His nostrils quivered. “I have to try. My father was a crusader and he was murdered in his own chapel. I owe it to him to try to find his killer.”
A shadow fell upon them and, startled, they both jerked their heads around. One of Nigel’s squires was standing there.
“Would you like me to take that saddle from you, Hugh?” the boy asked respectfully. “I will put it with the rest of Rufus’ gear.”
Hugh blinked and for the first time seemed to realize that he was holding the saddle.
“Oh, of course.” He grasped the saddle with both hands and handed it over. “Thank you, William.”
“You were splendid, Hugh,” the boy said with a grin. “Everyone is talking about your ride.”
“Are they?” Hugh’s voice was wry.
He and Cristen stood together in silence and watched as William went off with the saddle. Then Hugh drew a deep breath and seemed to gather himself together.
“Well,” he said, “I suppose I…”
His words trailed off.