The door flew open, slamming into the cottage with what would have been a crash if it had been made of stronger material. Hugh had been about to dismount, but paused to run a wary eye over the old woman now watching him from the open door.
Eada. She was very old, age bowing her shoulders and gnarling her hands and fingers. Her hair was a long coarse cape of white around a face puckered and wrinkled by the passage of years. Only her cobalt eyes still held any hint of snapping youth. They also held a knowledge that was unnerving.
She can look into your eyes and see your soul, pick out every flaw you possess, along with every grace. She can read your future in the dregs of the wine you drink and read your past in the lines on your face.
Hugh had been told all of this and, still, a jolt went through him as he looked into the eyes of the old witch. He felt a shock run through his entire body, as if she truly were looking right into him. As if she could see all the way down to his presently curling toes. She held Hugh in thrall for a moment with just her eyes, then turned to walk into the hovel. She left the door open - undoubtedly an invitation for him to follow.
Hugh relaxed once she was out of sight, then glanced at the mounted man beside him: Lucan D'Amanieu, his friend and confidant for years. Hugh had rather hoped his companion would soothe the foolish superstitions suddenly rising within him. The old childhood beliefs in witches and haunts were all rattling to life in his suddenly fancy-filled mind, and he'd been counting on Lucan to arch one amused eyebrow and make some derisive comment that would put everything back into perspective. Unfortunately, it appeared his sensible friend was feeling rather fanciful himself today. Rather than soothe him, Lucan appeared nervous, himself.
"Think you she knows?" he asked.
Hugh gave a start at the question. It hadn't occurred to him that she might. He considered the possibility now, his gaze fixed on the hovel. "Nay," he said at last. "How could she?"
"Aye," Lucan agreed with less confidence as they dismounted. "How could she?"
The old woman was fussing over the fire when they entered the shack. It gave the two men an opportunity to survey their surroundings.
In contrast with the filthy and dilapidated state of the outside of the cottage, the inside was clean and quite homey. Flowers sat in a wooden bowl in the center of a rough-hewn table at one end of the room, while a narrow cot was pressed up against the wall opposite. A fire was built into the wall across from the door, and it was here the woman stood stoking the flames. Once satisfied, she moved back to the table and collapsed upon one of the three chairs, then waved Hugh and Lucan to the others.
After a barely noticeable hesitation, Hugh took the seat opposite the woman, placing his back to the door. Lucan took the seat adjacent to her, leaving him a clear view of the door, should anyone enter. They then waited expectantly for the woman to ask their reason for coming. Instead, she took the wine flask from the center of the table and poured two mugs full. Ignoring Lucan, she pushed one to Hugh, then lifted the other to her mouth.
For want of anything better to do, Hugh drank. He was immediately sorry. The wine was bitter, scraping across his tongue. Doing his best not to show his distaste, he set the almost full tankard back on the table's worn surface. Hugh returned his gaze to the witch, still expecting questions regarding his presence, or at least his identity. The crone merely eyed him over the lip of her own mug, waiting. When the silence had grown long and tense, he finally spoke, "I am Hugh Dulonget."
"The fifth earl of Hillcrest."
He gave a start as she finished the introduction for him. "You know of my uncle's - ?"
"Dead. Heart."
"I beg your pardon?" He stared at her nonplused.
"I said he's dead. His heart gave out on him," she repeated impatiently. "Ye'll succeed to his title and holdings."
"Aye. I am his nephew. His only heir."
"The only one, hmm?" Her tone was dry and had him shifting uncomfortably.
"Well... aye," he lied, squirming under her all-knowing gaze. He said, "Nay. Uncle Richard left a bequest for - "
"A bequest?" She seemed to look right through him.
Hugh picked up the wine, drinking from it almost desperately despite its bitter taste. Slamming the tankard down once it was empty, he straightened his shoulders and scowled. "Of course, you shall continue to receive coin for her care."
"Her?"
"The girl. This Willa person my uncle was so concerned with." He did not bother to hide his distaste for the matter.
"Coin for her care, hmm?"
Hugh swallowed and felt his discomfort increase. Her steady stare was disconcerting. He could almost believe that she was looking into his soul. If so, he suspected the flaws to be found were many. He doubted if there were many graces to be seen at the moment. After all, he was lying through his teeth.
"Do ye not mean she'll be well cared for once she marries you?"
Hugh went still. He could feel the blood rush into his face with reawakened rage. That same rage had consumed him on first hearing this news from his uncle's solicitor. He'd inherited it all. The earldom, the money, the servants and estates... as well as his uncle's bastard daughter to wed. In effect, he'd been willed a wife. Nothing more than a village bastard, raised by an old crone who had once served in the castle. It was one of the most asinine situations Hugh had ever imagined himself being forced into. He, a lord, the son of a great knight, and now the heir to an earldom, to marry some village brat! Not even a titled lady, but a bastard village brat with no more training than how to milk cows or whatever it was they trained village brats to do. Impossible. Inconceivable. But true. Now, as he had that morning, he felt his body cramp with fury. His hands clenched on the table-top, aching to fit themselves around the crone's throat. That was when he heard the singing. It was a woman's voice, high and clear and as sweet as a tankard of meade on the hottest afternoon.
Everything seemed to slow; his anger, his thoughts, his very heartbeat all stilled in anticipation, even the room around him became motionless. Lucan and the hag sat unmoving. A fly he had absently noticed buzzing around his tankard landed on its lip and remained there as if listening to the voice as it drew nearer.
The door behind him opened, bathing the dim interior of the cottage in afternoon light, then something moved to block that light. The singing abruptly halted.
"Oh! We have guests."
Hugh heard Lucan's gasp. Wondering over it, he turned inexorably toward the source of the lovely voice. He felt his jaw slacken in shock.
An angel. Surely, that was what she was. Only an angel would glow golden, Hugh thought as he stared at the radiant outline of the female form. Then she stepped away from the door. She moved to the old woman's side and he saw that the golden glow had merely been the sunlight reflecting off her hair. And what a glory that was! Full, thick strands of pure gold.
Nay, not pure gold, he decided. Those tresses were brighter than gold and there were strands of red shot through them. Her hair was woven sunlight set afire. It blazed down over her shoulders and trailed past her hips to her knees. Hugh had never before beheld such a vision and was sure he never would again. At first, he was so transfixed by the sight, he noticed neither her face nor figure as she bent to press an affectionate kiss on the cheek of the old hag. Then she straightened. Her limpid gray eyes turned to him and his attention shifted, taking in their pale color and bold expression. His gaze dropped to the smile on her luscious lips and he found himself swallowing.
"You must be my betrothed."
Those words stopped Hugh cold. His admiration of her beauty became instead a grim perusal of the plain and patched gown she wore. The garment hung on her like a sack. She looked like a village girl, a pretty village girl perhaps, but a village girl just the same whereas he was a lord, above being bound to a simple female of such uncertain parentage. Marrying her was out of the question, though she would make a fetching mistress.
"Gold is gold whether buried deep in the mud or adorning a king's crown," the crone said.
Hugh frowned at the comment, annoyed at the suggestion that she'd known what he was thinking. He was even more annoyed at the meaning of her words, since he was positive they didn't apply here.
When he remained silent, the witch tilted her head to the side, considering him. She then reached up to clasp the hand at her shoulder, drawing the girl's attention. "We will need more garlic, child. For the trip."
Nodding, the chit collected a basket and left the cottage without making a sound.
"Ye'll marry her." It was a simple statement of fact.
Hugh turned sharply on the witch, but froze, eyes widening when he saw that she now held his empty mug. She was squinting at the dregs that had been left behind when he'd finished the drink. That knowledge sent a frisson of something akin to fear arcing up his spine. This woman was said to see the future in those dregs. In these uncertain times, Hugh did not think he wished to know what was yet to be. But whether he wished it or not, the woman read on.
"Ye'll marry her for yer people, but she'll quickly come to claim yer heart."
He sneered at this possibility, but the woman paid him little heed as she continued to stare into the tankard. "The future holds much joy, happiness and children aplenty... if ye solve the riddle."
"What riddle?" Lucan asked breathlessly and Hugh sneered at his being taking in by this trickery. When the woman merely raised dark eyes to stare at the other knight, he shifted and asked, "Well then, what if he does not solve the riddle?"
"Death awaits."
Hugh saw the conviction in her eyes and swallowed nervously. Then she sat back and waved an impatient hand. "Begone. I am weary and your presence annoys me."
The two men were more than happy to comply. They removed themselves from the dim cottage, and stepped out into the sunlight with relief.
"Well?" Lucan queried as they returned to their mounts.
Grim-faced, Hugh waited until he was back atop his mount to ask, "Well what?"
"Do you return on the morrow for her or no?"
"He'll return."
Head snapping around, Hugh glared at the old woman for eavesdropping, then angrily tugged on his reins, drawing his horse around before spurring him into a canter that left Lucan scrambling to mount and catch up to him.
Hugh had to slow down once he hit the trees; there was no true path to or from this cottage, which had made finding it an adventure. His decreased speed allowed Lucan to catch up to him. The moment he did, he again asked whether Hugh would marry the girl, Hugh scowled at the question. His visit with Lord Wynekyn and the solicitor had been short. Once he had heard the bit about his being expected to marry some by-blow named Willa, he had worked himself into a fine temper. After bellowing and stomping about a bit, he had headed for Hillcrest. Hugh had no desire to marry the girl. But he wasn't sure how he could get himself out of it. The way the solicitor had phrased it, he had to marry her in order to gain his inheritance. "I do not wish it, but fear I may have no choice if I want Hillcrest."
"Surely you cannot be denied Hillcrest," Lucan argued. " 'Tis yours by law of primogeniture. You are next in line. Whether you marry the girl or not, Hillcrest cannot be refused you."
Hugh perked up at this comment. "Aye. You are right."
"Aye. So what will you do with her?" Lucan asked and Hugh's posture deflated, along with his mood. "I do not know."
They were both silent, then Hugh said slowly, "I suppose I really have to see to her future. She is a relative after all."
"Aye," Lucan murmured. Then, when Hugh did not continue, he suggested tentatively, "Perhaps you could arrange a marriage for her. See her settled."
Hugh pondered that briefly, then gave a slow nod. "Aye. That might be just the thing. She may even have a fondness for someone of her own class."
"Aye. She may."
Relaxing a little, Hugh set his mind to accomplishing the task. He would have to work around the old woman, that was obvious. If the hag got wind of his idea, she would most likely put an end to it right quick and make trouble for him. He supposed that wouldn't be his responsibility. After all, the only thing he could do was try to see to the girl's future well-being. If the old woman wouldn't accept anything from him but marriage... well, she was going to be disappointed. It was just a shame if she made things harder on the girl than need be.
The melodious voice - high, clear, and angelic - came to him again moments later. Cocking his head, he turned it by degrees until he could tell from which direction the song came, and then he headed his horse toward it. Hugh came upon a clearing to find the sound sweet in the air, but no sign of the girl from whose lips it came.
Perplexed, he scanned the area more carefully. He spied her half-hidden in a crush of weeds. Rather than search out the garlic the old lady had sent her after, the girl lay in a tangle of weeds and flowers. She made dandelion chains as she sang. Hugh urged his horse forward, almost sorry when her song died mid-word and she sat up abruptly.
"She sent you for garlic. Is this how you obey your guardian?" Hugh asked. When she merely stared up at him in blank confusion, he shifted impatiently. "Answer me!"
"She has no need of garlic, my lord. I collected that yesterday."
"Mayhap she needed more. Why else did she ask you to fetch it?"
"She merely wished to speak to you alone."'
Hugh accepted that news in silence. His gaze moved around the clearing and he began to frown. " 'Tis not wise to wander about alone. You could be set upon. Then what would you do?"
"Wolfy and Fen would keep me safe."
His eyebrows rose, but he did not question her.
She tilted her head in a listening attitude before collecting her empty basket and getting to her feet. "I must return. She will want me now that you have left."
"Wait." Leaning down, Hugh caught her arm, then released her as if stung when she turned back in question. Shaking his head at his own reaction to her, he held his hand out. "I will take you back."
Willa did not hesitate, but promptly placed her fingers in his. For one moment, Hugh wondered at her placing her trust in him so easily. Then he reasoned that as far as she knew, he was her betrothed. Of course, she would trust him. The issue resolved in his mind, he lifted her up and settled her on the saddle before him, then adjusted his hold on the reins. Hugh turned the horse in a slow circle back the way he had come, aware that Lucan was following a discreet distance behind on his own mount.
"Who are Wilf and Fin?" he asked.
"Wolfy and Fen," she corrected, then added, "friends." The girl wiggled about a bit on the saddle in search of a more comfortable seat.
Hugh gritted his teeth against his body's natural reaction as she rubbed against him, but continued determinedly with his questions. "Would you ever consider marrying either of them?"
That brought her head swinging around, her lovely golden tresses brushing across his face. Much to his chagrin, a burble of laughter burst from her lips. "Nay! My lord, that would be quite impossible."
Her sincere amusement at the idea brought a scowl to Hugh's face as she turned to face front. Unfortunately, though she turned away, her hair remained plastered across his face, caught in the stubble on his cheeks. He jerked his head backward to dislodge the soft tendrils, then considered his next question. While he was still curious about the Wolfy and Fen she had mentioned, Hugh was more concerned about resolving this situation in such a way that he would not have to marry her, yet would not have to feel guilty either.
"Is there anyone who holds a special place in your affections?" he asked at last.
"Of course."
Hugh went still, his hands tightening on the reins as hope rose at those easily confessed words. He hadn't expected to be so lucky. But if she held a tendre for someone, all he need do was to arrange for her to marry the fellow. He would then settle some money on the couple and his troubles would be over.
"Eada is like a mother to me," she said, bursting his bubble. "She is a wonderful woman. Very special."
Hugh rolled his eyes at that, finding it hard to see anything special or wonderful about the hag. But, in any case, the girl obviously hadn't understood his question. It seemed he would have to be more specific. He should have expected that, of course. She was an uneducated peasant, no doubt simple-minded.
Willa shifted about on the saddle before him, then gave her head a shake that sent several strands of golden hair up to catch again on his unshaven cheeks. Scrubbing one hand down his face as if removing cobwebs caught there, Hugh thought with some irritation that he should have taken the time to bathe and shave before seeking out the hag's cottage. He hadn't been in the mood for such niceties at the time, however. After learning the particulars of his inheritance, he had made the two-day ride to Hillcrest with Lucan as company. He had stopped at Hillcrest just long enough to look around, ask a few questions, and get directions on where to find this Willa who had been left to him. It was then that he had heard about the hag, Eada. His uncle's men and servants had been eager to warn him of her witchy ways, but less happy to part with news of the girl the creature was said to guard. From what he had seen, the descriptions of the crone had been right on the mark, he thought, recalling her spooky air.
Shaking the memory of her out of his head, he turned his attention to the matter at hand. "I fear you misunderstood me when I asked if there was anyone who held a special place in your affections," he told her. "What I meant was, is there any particular man for whom you have feelings?"
The question had her swiveling to peer at him and Hugh found himself once more with a face full of the soft golden strands. Those strands clung lovingly, forcing him to again remove them. They were driving him mad. It wasn't just the tickling sensation they caused, but the scent, as well. Her hair smelled like sunshine and lemons. Hugh had never before felt any attraction to the scent of lemons and sunshine, but coming from her head, the combination seemed delicious. Almost as delicious as the feel of her backside rubbing against his groin with every step his mount took. Why had he offered to give her a ride back to the cottage, he wondered with disgust. He had thought it a good opportunity to speak with her away from the hag, but he was finding her nearness terribly distracting at a time when he needed his wits about him.
"I am sorry, my lord. I misunderstood." She turned further to give him a contrite glance. The girl was, apparently, wholly unaware of the fact that the movement pressed her breasts against his chest and arm, and her butt firmly against his now growing manhood.
Hugh let his breath out in resignation. He had been semi-hard since he had first settled her on the saddle. Now he could have been a flag-bearer.
"Aye. Well," he said gruffly, wondering if she could feel what she was doing to him. "So... is there any particular man you have feelings for?"
Much to his relief, she shifted to face front again, easing his discomfort somewhat. Unfortunately, her answer wasn't quite as pleasing.
"Of course, my lord. You."
"Me?" Hugh's upper body went as stiff as his lower. "Surely you jest, girl? You have just met me. How could you claim an affection for me?"
"How could I not?" From the face she turned to him, he guessed that she was surprised by the very question. He puzzled over her answer even as he shifted behind her, vainly trying to put a little space between them. He wished with all his heart that she would simply sit still.
"You are to be my husband," she reasoned as if it were the simplest of concepts and one he should comprehend without need of explanation. " 'Tis my duty to love you. Papa explained this when he informed me of our betrothal when I was fifteen."
Hugh pulled his thoughts from his much-abused lower regions and gaped at her. "When you were fifteen?"
"Aye." She nodded. "Papa told me when he made his will. He felt 'twas best to inform me that he had made some plans in that regard, and to tell me a bit about you so that I would get used to the idea and understand my duty."
"I see," Hugh said shortly. "And I suppose 'twas not important for me to know of these plans? What if I had married in the meantime?"
Much to his relief, she shrugged and turned forward again. "I presume he would have arranged for me to marry someone else."
Hugh snorted. His uncle would have found it difficult to convince any other nobleman to marry the girl. No doubt his uncle had hoped Hugh would be so grateful to inherit Hillcrest and its estates that he would marry her out of gratitude. The old man had presumed too much.
Hugh, like most men of his station, had been pledged to a lady of equal standing while still in his infancy. It was just his bad luck that his own betrothed had died ere reaching marriageable age, else he would have been wed long ago. It was equally unfortunate that while she had died too young to have married him, she had also died after bad fortune had struck and his father had squandered what little wealth his family had possessed in his search for more. Those circumstances had made it difficult to arrange a second betrothal. Fate had changed matters, however. Hugh was now wealthier than he had ever hoped to be. He could not wait to be pursued by all those women who had let him know that his "circumstances" left him good for little more than stud service. Hugh would enjoy returning the insults they had thoughtlessly dished out over the years. He would turn them down, one and all, explaining that they were not virginal enough, as he was in a position to know firsthand.
The woman before him shifted again and Hugh sighed softly. She was a beautiful little bundle. Her smell was intoxicating, and the way she kept squirming against him was giving him ideas he just shouldn't have when he did not plan on marrying her. Hugh almost wished she were a lady. He would have married her then. He would have draped her in silks and jewels to accent her glowing beauty, then paraded her at court to flaunt her before all those lords and ladies who had sneered at him over the years. He allowed this fantasy to fill his mind: Escorting her to the table to dine with the king before all of court, presenting her to him, dancing with her, sharing his wine goblet with her, hand-feeding her luscious bits of succulent food. Then he would escort her back to their room where he would strip off all the jewelry and silk, lay her on the bed and proceed to nibble and lick his way from her delicate toes to her -
"Are all saddles this lumpy, my lord?" The question drew Hugh from his daydream to the realization that she was shifting again in an effort to find some comfort. "There appears to be some great hard thing poking me just here."
He felt something brush his thigh and glanced down. She was reaching between them, trying to find what was poking her. Hugh snatched at her hand with alarm and held it firmly.
"Er... saddles are not made for two," he said in a voice that came out entirely too husky. Realizing that they were nearing the clearing where the cottage was nestled and that he had yet to finish this conversation to his satisfaction, Hugh drew his horse to a halt.
"What are you doing?" Willa asked him with surprise when he dismounted.
"As you find the saddle uncomfortable, I thought we might walk the last little distance," he prevaricated. A glance over his shoulder showed that Lucan had paused a good distance back. He was waiting patiently.
"Oh." Smiling uncertainly, Willa allowed him to help her to the ground.
Hugh dallied about the job of tying his mount to a tree as he tried to think how to proceed with this discussion. He had never been much of a conversationalist. Battle had always been his game. There was not much need for eloquence on the field of war. Unfortunately, none of his battle skills would help here. Lacking in diplomacy as he was, Hugh decided he would have to rely on blunt honesty. He gave up fiddling with his horse's reins and turned to face her. "Is there no one you can think of whom you would desire to marry?"
"I am marrying you... am I not?"
Hugh avoided her now uncertain gaze. "Though my uncle wished that to be so, I fear 'tis not the best of ideas."
"You do not want me?" He could not resist glancing at her then, but immediately wished he had not. She resembled nothing more than a wounded puppy. Feeling guilt assault him, he quickly looked away again.
" 'Tis not that I do not want you," he began with discomfort, and nearly rolled his eyes. Wasn't that the truth? He did want her. Hell, he was still hard as a staff as he stood there. He just didn't want her to be his wife.
"Nay. You do not want me," she said unhappily and took a step back from him, looking suddenly pale and miserable.
It was amazing how yellow her face could look under all that golden glory, he thought guiltily. Hugh had never been one to bear up well under culpability. Feeling guilty made him extremely uncomfortable and unhappy and generally roused his anger, as it did now. This was none of his fault. He'd never even heard of the woman until two days ago. His uncle was the one who had gone about making promises he could not possibly keep. Which was probably why the bastard had up and died, leaving the problem in his lap, Hugh decided bitterly.
Frustration and anger churning within him, he scowled at the girl. "My uncle never should have told you that I would marry you without first speaking to me."
She didn't look any happier or more understanding after his comment. He straightened with determination. "It simply would not do. I am an earl now, while you are a simple village basta - " Hugh paused abruptly as he realized how he was insulting her, but it was too late. She'd already blanched and turned to flee. Hugh stopped her with a hand on her arm.
" 'Twas not well done of me. I apologize, but I'll not marry you. We simply would not suit. I will see to your future though. A dower and a match. I - "
"That will not be necessary. You need not trouble yourself so. I need nothing from you, my lord. Nothing at all." She turned to race out of the woods.
Hugh stood gaping after her. The girl's lack of gratitude took him aback. True, he was not marrying her himself, but it was no small thing he offered by promising a dower and a match. Yet she'd refused outright and there had been a hint of fire in that proud refusal. It seemed the cuddly kitten had claws, after all. Though she hadn't said a single hurtful thing, Hugh still felt he bore the sting of those claws on his conscience, if nowhere else. He simply could not allow her to refuse his aid. Her pride would have to be set aside. A woman without protection was terribly vulnerable and though he refused to marry her, he felt he owed it to his uncle to at least see that no harm befell her.
Hugh took a step forward, intending to follow her and pursue the matter, only to halt abruptly as the door to the cottage flew open and the hag appeared. She allowed the girl to rush past her, then took up a position in the center of the door frame, arms folded, body stiff, and glaring eyes fixed on Hugh. He had the distinct impression that she was ripping him to shreds in her mind. Then she jerked her head up in a dismissing gesture and whirled to stomp into the cottage. She pulled the door closed with a bang.
