Since that first night in the woods she had relived again and again those moments with him pressed against her, touching her face, and staring into her eyes. She had told herself she was merely studying the encounter, learning, anticipating the feel of being a wife in relation to a husband. But, in truth, what she had been anticipating were far more specific pleasures: the feel of
Sir Hugh’s
arms around her …
his
lips on hers … the tingle of her skin at
his
touch.
The horror in his expression as he backed away washed over her anew. Where were her wits, her common sense … her instinct for self-preservation? How could she have let herself stumble into such a disastrous attraction? He was her royally appointed overseer, her adversary, the lone threat to her “wife test” scheme. But, even worse, he was the one man in the kingdom who could calmly and with full theological justification pull a lovesick heart from a smitten breast and stomp on it.
What on earth was she going to do?
Looking around, she spotted the round tower at the top of the hill and headed for it. Frantic to escape the turmoil of her emotions, she ran head down, headfirst into a group of men coming down the main path.
“Lady Chloe!” The king himself grabbed her by the shoulders and set her back. “Are you all right?”
“Y-yes, Your Highness.” She dropped into a deep curtsy, and her knees were so weak that she could scarcely rise again. When she looked up, the king was staring intently at her, and she quelled an urge to hide her lips behind a hand. “I was out for a walk and am on my way back to my sisters.”
“Did Sir Hugh find you?” he asked casually. “I believe he had something to discuss with you.” Behind him, Lord Bromley made a noise somewhere between a cough and a choking sound and two other nobly dressed fellows looked abruptly away.
“He did,” she said, blushing in spite of herself.
“Good.” He motioned to the others. “Come, my lords. The tilting matches. Our royal defenders await.”
Chloe couldn’t have known, as they left her and she gathered up her gown and raced first to her chambers and then to the chapel, that she was in fact following in footsteps Sir Hugh had laid down only a short while earlier. He, too, had seemed distracted when he ran into the king’s party. His lips had also been swollen, and his eyes glistened with the same smoky allure.
She couldn’t have known that the king responded to her hasty departure the same way he had to Hugh’s: with a sardonic chuckle. Nor could she have guessed that the priest assigned to hear confessions that day, Father Ignatius, reacted with equal amusement to the sight of her heading for the confessional.
Impure and unworthy thoughts,
she confessed.
“An unfortunate consequence of the human gift for imagining,” Father Ignatius declared philosophically.
Uncontrollable and misdirected desire.
“The inevitable result of the Almighty’s insistence on giving mankind both free will and a bred-in-the-bone mandate to ‘be fruitful and multiply.’ ”
Recklessly lustful and impassioned contact with a man.
“Tsk.
Most unfortunate.” The canny father templed his fingers and produced a secret smile. “Tell me more, my child …”
That night at dinner in the great hall, the men and maids were seated opposite each other. There was precious little conversation at their section of table or elsewhere in the hall. Everyone, even the king, was watching and listening for the slightest clue as to the state of relations between the intended couples. But the most telling detail seemed to be the fact that Sir Hugh was seated well down the table from the group, all but ignoring them.
When Edward called for a report on how the wife test was proceeding, Chloe rose at her seat and answered that it was going as expected. When the king called her forward and demanded details, she volunteered a description of the “cooking test” set for the next day.
“Sir Hugh,” the king called out. “Am I to assume that you have discussed this with Lady Chloe and are in agreement?”
Hugh rose slowly, trying to swallow the gulp of wine he had taken just as his name rang out. He succeeded and obeyed the king’s beckoning hand.
“Yes, Highness.” He moved forward to stand by, but not beside, Chloe of Guibray. So much for his plan to keep at least a county’s worth of distance between them.
“I confess, I am surprised, Sir Hugh, to see you wear your responsibilities as the realm’s ‘wife judge’ so casually.”
He felt his ears heating.
“If it appears that I do so, it is only because I have such confidence in Lady Chloe’s ability as the convent’s ‘wife judge.’ ”
“Confidence may sometimes be misplaced.” The king’s genial expression thinned enough to reveal the determination underneath it.
Edward of England would not be cheated out of his entertainment. He was serving notice that he would not tolerate Hugh distancing himself from the proceedings.
“Your opinion of Lady Chloe’s abilities has risen considerably. Two days ago she was a ‘mere girl’ unfit to pass judgment on England’s noblemen.”
Hugh flushed crimson but held his ground. What had he ever done to deserve such punishment?
“Two days ago I had not learned the secret of the wife test.”
“Aha!” Edward sat forward, his eyes alight. “And this ‘secret’ is?”
“Why, a
secret,
Highness,” he said earnestly, serving notice that he would obey, but not without being allowed some dignity. The king eyed him for a moment, then sat back, yielding that point. Inspiration struck. “Lady Chloe and I have decided that, since the weather looks to be favorable, the cooking test will be held out in the countryside, away from the palace.”
“Feasting outside,” the king declared with such enthusiasm that one might have thought the notion originated with him. “Nothing like being out in the warm air and sunshine to stimulate the appetite.”
There was a taint of wickedness in the laughter that rolled around the hall, and with a wave of hand the king dismissed them.
“Dining out in the countryside?” Chloe said in a fierce whisper as they returned to their seats. “What in heaven’s name made you say such a thing?”
“Haven’t you had enough of Windsor hanging over your shoulders and watching your every word and step?”
She had indeed, she thought, glancing around at the faces turned on her and her sisters in sly conjecture. It would be a great relief to be out of the common eye for a while. She glanced back at him, trying to imagine why he would try to arrange such a thing. Then a cooler, more rational impulse took over. What did it matter why he did it, as long as it helped?
She gripped the edge of the bench, forcing herself to set her own reeling emotions aside and think of what was best for her sisters. In the end, what did it matter that she wanted him desperately and that he couldn’t bear even the thought of wanting her? They might have drastically different desires, beliefs, and destinies, but just now they had a common duty to complete the wife test. In her sisters’ interest, she would have to lock away her troublesome desire for him. She would have to do that anyway in five more days, when she approached the altar with her royally appointed husband.
She looked down the table to where her sisters were stealing looks at their husbands-to-be, anticipating the future and imaging each of the four noblemen standing beside them as vows were read.
Four
noblemen. Not five. Where was her future in all of this?
Secondary, she realized with a leaden feeling settling in her stomach. And she might as well begin to make peace with her lot. After all, she was the one who had chosen it.
Getting away from the crowds and constant scrutiny at Windsor was a laudable aim but, in point of fact, much easier said than done.
The kitchens were in a flurry and the cooks apoplectic the next morning, preparing the maids’ dishes in a transportable form while going on with the task of feeding a small army of nobles, ladies, knights, clerics, retainers, and servants. Outside, the stables grew crowded with residents and visitors who decided at the last moment to go riding … including Lord Bromley, a pair of ambassadors from Italy, several minor nobles, and the Lord Bishop of London.
Hugh and Graham had selected a spot near a stream at the edge of a wood, a place where they had often paused while returning from a hunt. Hugh had to tell the cooks first thing that morning to allow them to prepare, and word of their destination had time to spread. By the time the cart bearing the food arrived at the designated place, there were a number of people on horseback milling around, churning the sod and leaving horse piles all over the area. The kitchen steward had a difficult time clearing a space for the equipment they had brought and marshaling his helpers to set up the table, lay the linen, and light the braziers.
When the nuptial party arrived on horseback, at midday, the once placid retreat looked like the first day of a long-awaited hot fair. All that were missing were jugglers and bull-baiting dogs. The maids looked to Chloe in dismay; Chloe looked at Hugh in annoyance; and Hugh looked to Heaven for understanding as he let fly a fiery one-word summary of the situation.
Irritably he took charge and ordered the husbands-to-be to help him clear a space around the tables and order everyone not in the bridal delegation to move back. The onlookers retreated. Then Lord Bromley and his party arrived and rode right through that established perimeter, and everyone else took advantage of it to invade them again.
“My Lord Treasurer.” Hugh intercepted Bromley as the portly lord dismounted. “To what do we owe the honor of this visit?”
“Curiosity, Sir Hugh, curiosity. I am a great lover of food and was informed that you will be having some most excellent fare. I was hoping to sample a bit of it and perhaps coax the recipes from your charges.”
Hugh dragged a hand down his face, searching for a diplomatic response.
“Perhaps, milord, you should wait until these dishes are tested by others.”
“Oh?” Bromley chuckled and looked at Chloe, who stood nearby with her arms crossed and scowl prominent.
“You think there may be danger lurking in those crocks and cassoulets?”
Hugh was left standing in the middle of a milling crowd holding the treasurer’s horse as the rest of Bromley’s party dismounted.
The glen was suddenly inundated with idle nobles, knights, and ladies poking around in the outdoor kitchen and demanding to know what was on the menu. And if that weren’t enough confusion … a number of monstrously large hounds appeared out of nowhere and began racing through the gathering, barking and yelping. Everyone talked over the din at first, then had to shout as the noise increased.
“Where did these damnable hounds come from?” Hugh caught sight of Chloe and Margarete being set upon by dogs who had deemed them potentially edible. He waded through the crowd to rescue them.
“Off, dammit! Get off—get out of here!” He shoved the animals from Chloe and steadied her on her feet.
“Coming out here was your idea,” she declared irritably, resettling her cap and brushing paw prints from her gown. “For heaven’s sake,
do
something.”
The hounds had headed for the cooks and were climbing all over the cart, sniffing and pawing at the hampers to get at the food inside. Hugh set Graham and the others to keeping the beasts from wrecking the food, then turned to the crowd, planted his fists at his waist, and roared:
“Who brought these cursed hounds with them?”
“I did!” came a voice from a distance. “They’re mine!”
The glen quieted as the bridal delegation and onlookers alike craned their necks to see who was so bold—or reckless—as to claim responsibility. The crowd parted to make way for an older man leading a horse. At first glance he appeared to be a nobleman or well-fixed knight. As he drew closer, they could see wisps of graying hair straggling out from under a drooping felt hat and legs that were slightly bowed inside a pair of ill-fitting hose. His long velvet tunic had probably been quite elegant … before it was covered by dog hair and dribbles from dinners past.
“Ketchum?” It was Lord Bromley who recognized him.
“Yes. Who is that?” The fellow squinted toward the Lord Treasurer. “Bromley? Is that you?”
“It is indeed.” Bromley held a out a hand in greeting. “How good to see you! Come, let me introduce you to the Duke of Avalon’s daughters.” He seized Chloe by the hand and pulled her toward the old fellow. “Horace, Earl of Ketchum, may I present to you Lady Chloe … one of the tempting young beauties who may soon be your bride.”
The color drained from Chloe’s face as she extended her hand, and the old fellow took it in a pair of bony claws and gave her a yellow, gap-toothed smile. Her reaction was repeated as the other maids were presented and the old fellow shoved his face into theirs and squinted through the introductions.
The minute they were done, he gave a loud whistle and dogs came running from all over the field to jump on him and lick his face enthusiastically. One of the noble onlookers quipped that the old boy would likely never get that kind of enthusiasm from a wife. The raucous laughter that followed caused Chloe’s cheeks to burn with embarrassment for the old fellow … who grinned as if he either hadn’t heard or hadn’t understood, and began to fish inside his tunic for bits of dried meat to reward his hounds.