Free Rhuddlan by Nancy Gebel

to
change her gown, and Gwalaes brushed out her hair and re-braided it
before hiding it under her linen wimple. She couldn’t have said why
she was taking such care with her appearance; Hugh had certainly
never commented, favorably or otherwise, on it.
    A man-at-arms gave her a short, respectful
bow and pushed open the door for her and Gwalaes, and she entered
her husband’s outer chamber with a little hesitancy. She was
nervous; the summons was unusual. She supposed she was a little
frightened of Hugh. They hadn’t been married very long and she
still knew next to nothing about him, and anything she did know she
had learned from Sir Miles and not from Hugh himself. He was much
older than she, more worldly and so formidable with his unsmiling
countenance. She wondered suddenly if he and Robert had had a
falling out and he had called for her because he was going to
inform her that she was being sent back to her father. Back to
Oakby. She cursed Robert under her breath; he was constantly
interfering in her life. How would she be able to stand the
humiliation of being returned to Sir Thomas?
    The antechamber was windowless. At the two
far corners were doors; one led to Hugh’s bedchamber, which she had
never seen. The antechamber was small and the flames from six fat
beeswax candles stuck onto two iron tripods against the whitewashed
walls were enough to sufficiently illuminate it. Hugh, standing
near a high-backed chair, looked up as the two girls came in. He
had bathed and exchanged his riding apparel for more comfortable
robes, Eleanor noted, but his face was far from relaxed. His eyes
betrayed no emotion and his mouth bore the marks of tension.
    She dropped mechanically into a curtsey but
before she could rise, heard him snap, “Roger, escort the countess’
servant back to her room. I want to speak to my wife alone.”
    Eleanor straightened up and glanced around,
startled. Haworth was leaning against the wall half-hidden by the
open door. The feeling of apprehension grew stronger, fueled by
Hugh’s cold tone and Haworth’s body language. She knew the knight
was Hugh’s right-hand man, but she was shocked by his casual
arrogance of slouching against the wall in the presence of his
master. So was Gwalaes. They stared wide-eyed at each other. And
Hugh’s command…Gwalaes accompanied her everywhere but Eleanor was
too awed by her husband to appeal to him now.
    She watched Gwalaes leave with Haworth. The
guard on the other side of the door pulled it closed with a
thud.
    “Sit down, Eleanor,” Hugh said
impatiently.
    There was an uncushioned bench seat along the
right wall and she sat on it obediently. Her hands twisted around
each other in her lap and she dared not look up.
    She heard the sound of wine being sloshed
into a cup followed by a hasty gulp. The noises were so unnatural
to her normally fastidious husband that if she hadn’t seen Haworth
leave, she would have thought they were coming from him. She raised
her eyes slightly. Hugh was staring into the candle flame on one of
the tripods and absently swirling the remainder of his wine around
in the cup. He felt her glance and straightened up.
    His voice was tense. “I’m afraid I have bad
news for you about your brother. There was an accident. We—Roger,
Robert, a few others and I—were hunting near Avranches and
unfortunately, your brother…Well, as I say, it was an accident. An
unlucky shot. He died instantly.”
    At first Eleanor couldn’t understand what
Hugh was trying to say, but then her mind seized on the word
‘died’. Robert was dead! She was shocked; it was almost too
perfect, as if she had wished for something impossible and actually
gotten it. She wondered briefly if Hugh could see the sudden jolt
of guilt which rushed through her. And out. She didn’t realize she
was staring blindly at him as the wheels turned in her head. She
could only benefit from this misfortune.
    “Would you like a cup of wine?” Hugh asked
carefully, even gently,