“Hugh,” she said. “I understand that you must go to Chippenham, but please promise me that you will be careful.”
“I promise,” he said huskily.
“If anything should happen to you, I might find myself married to Henry Fairfax after all.”
His arms tightened around her. “Never.”
She pulled back a little and looked up into his face. Her skin was as perfect as a baby’s, he thought, it was so closely textured and pure.
He bent his head and kissed her.
Her head tipped back and her hair streamed like a silken mantle down over his wrists. Her lips opened under the pressure of his and the kiss became deeply erotic.
When he finally tore himself away from her, he was breathing hard and a pulse was beating rapidly in his throat. “I wish we were already married,” he said fiercely.
She felt his need, and all her instinct was to give him what he desired. “Do we have to wait until we’re married?”
His mouth compressed into a hard, straight line. “Yes,” he said. “We do.”
She didn’t answer.
He touched her cheek. “No matter what happens, I can bear it as long as I have you.”
“You’ll always have me,” she said.
He smiled. “Aye,” he said. “I know.”
17
It was a mild, golden October day when Hugh and Nigel set off the following morning for Chippenham. The trees in the forest were brilliant with changing colors and the road they followed was for the most part good and broad, narrowing only in a few short stretches as they passed through a valley. Hugh and Nigel did not wear mail themselves, but they were escorted by six of Nigel’s knights, who carried the blue-and-white flag of Somerford and were dressed in full armor.
It was midafternoon when the great walls of Chippenham came into sight. Hugh looked once again at the scarlet flag with its device of the golden boar and felt something in his chest tighten. His face was expressionless, however, as they rode up to the gatehouse and were admitted into the bailey.
They surrendered their horses in the inner courtyard to two of Guy’s grooms and were escorted by one of the knights on guard up the stairs to the Great Hall.
There they found Lord Guy. He and his knights and a group of ladies had just come in from a pleasant few hours of hunting in the forest, and they were drinking wine and laughing and talking loudly in front of the fire.
The laughter and the talk died down as Hugh and Nigel crossed the floor.
Guy moved to meet them.
For a long silent moment, Hugh stared into a face that, except for the startling eyes, did not remotely resemble his. Guy’s cheekbones were broad and flat, not high and sculpted, his jaw was longer than Hugh’s, his lips fuller.
At the moment, his eyes were cold and dangerous-looking, even though a genial smile played around his lips.
“So,” he said. “Hugh Corbaille who says he is my long-lost nephew.”
“I think you know that I am,” Hugh said softly.
Guy shrugged. “It doesn’t matter one way or the other. There is nothing here for you at Chippenham. King Stephen himself has confirmed me in my title as earl.”
“So I have heard,” said Hugh.
Guy’s eyes moved to Nigel and then back again to Hugh. “Why have you come here, then?”
“I am a man who has lost his past, my lord,” Hugh said in the same soft tone he had used before. “I need to recapture it in order to make myself whole. I ask only that I might spend some time here in this castle where I grew up, that I be allowed to talk to some of the people who lived here when I was a child.”
“It will do you no good,” Guy said grimly.
“Perhaps not, but I need to try.”
The earl shrugged. “Then do so. There is nothing here I wish to hide from you, Hugh Corbaille.”
“Thank you, my lord.”
Once more the cold gray eyes flicked toward Nigel. “And welcome to you also, Nigel Haslin.”
Guy’s voice was edged with steel.
Nigel bowed. “My lord.”
Guy gestured toward the group around the fire. “Come and meet your hostess, my cousin, the Lady Eleanor.”
Hugh walked beside his uncle toward the people who were staring at him, some surreptitiously, some openly. Guy was no taller than he, but was far more massively built. From the swell of his belly, it was clear that the earl enjoyed his food, but his neck was muscled, his shoulders broad and powerful, and he looked like a man to be reckoned with.
The golden-haired woman who had been beside Guy during the tournament came forward.
“My dear,” Guy said, “allow me to introduce Hugh Corbaille, who will be visiting us for a while. And I believe you already know my vassal, the lord of Somerford.”
The woman, who looked to be in her middle twenties, smiled at Hugh. Her eyes were round and blue, her nose was short and upturned, and she had a dimple in her left cheek.
Her teeth were not good. Hugh thought of Cristen’s pink mouth and perfect white teeth, and smiled politely at the lady Eleanor.
“Will you join us for some wine?” she asked courteously. “You must be thirsty after your journey.”
“Thank you, my lady,” Hugh said, and moved to join the group in front of the fire.
The first person he saw was the chestnut-haired knight who had evinced such hostility toward him upon their previous en-counters.
Hugh walked right over to him and said, “I am Hugh Corbaille.”
There could be no doubt about the emotion that was looking at him out of the knight’s pale green eyes. It was hatred, pure and simple.
The chestnut head nodded abruptly. “Aubrey d’Abrille,” he said.
“Have we met before?” Hugh inquired softly.
“I do not think so.” The knight’s voice was quiet also, although his eyes were savage.
“You appear to know me, though,” Hugh said.
“I do not know a Hugh Corbaille,” the man replied.
The two pairs of light eyes locked together.
Hugh was in no doubt that he had an enemy in this man, although he still didn’t know why.
“Sir Hugh?” said a sweet, feminine voice.
He broke eye contact with Aubrey d’Abrille and turned to the girl who had come up beside him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the chestnut-haired knight break away from the group and stride away across the floor.
They remained around the fire for another hour and then the lady Eleanor conducted Hugh and Nigel to a small bedroom, which they were to share, and left them to change their clothes for supper. William, the squire Nigel had brought to see to their needs, moved quietly around the room, putting things away while Hugh and Nigel talked by the unshuttered window.
“Who is this Lady Eleanor?” Hugh asked.
Nigel snorted. “If she’s his cousin, it’s a distant connection. He installed her at Chippenham two years ago, after his wife died.”
Pensively, Hugh scanned the scene outside the window. It afforded a good view of Chippenham’s extensive kitchen garden.
“All of the knights we just met were too young to have been here in my father’s time,” he remarked.
“There are some older knights in the household, though,” Nigel said. “We will probably see them at supper.”
Hugh nodded and turned his back on the window.
“Do you have any memory of which bedroom used to be yours?” Nigel asked.
Hugh shook his head. His face was looking strained.
Nigel lifted his hand to pat him on the back, then dropped it again as he remembered how much Hugh disliked to be touched.
He turned instead to William. “Get us some water, lad, so that we may wash.”
William straightened up from the wooden chest where he was arranging their clothes. “Aye, my lord,” he said.
When Hugh and Nigel had washed and put on fresh tunics and hose and house shoes, they descended once more to the Great Hall, which was being readied for supper.
This must be what it used to look like when I was a child, Hugh thought as he stared at the room in front of him, struggling to summon up a memory. The trestle tables had all been set up and the servants were putting out the saltcellars, steel knives and silver spoons.