Mystique (16 page)

“Very well, if you insist.” Alice sighed. “I suppose it would be quite expensive.”

“Aye.”

“Nevertheless, it would be a very lovely song, I’ll wager. Well worth the cost.”

“Forget it, Alice.”

She made a face. “Do you know the identity of that tall man who came to stand by the fire?”

“Aye,” Hugh said. “That was Vincent of Rivenhall.”

“Sir Vincent?” Alice came to an abrupt halt. She gazed at Hugh with astonishment. “Do you know, sir, there was something about him that reminded me a little of you.”

“He’s my cousin,” Hugh said. “His uncle, Sir Matthew, was my father.”

“Your cousin.” Alice looked dumbfounded.

“My father was the heir to Rivenhall.” Hugh smiled with the humorless amusement he had long cultivated for this particular topic. “Had Sir Matthew not neglected to marry my mother before he got her with child, I, not Sir Vincent, would have inherited the Rivenhall lands.”

A
lice was very conscious of the amused gazes of Hugh’s men. She went briskly back toward the tent, aware that several of those gathered around the fire were concealing wide grins. Even Benedict was watching her with a strange expression, as though he were having difficulty restraining laughter.

“If my ears do not deceive me,” Dunstan remarked in a voice that managed to carry clearly across the fire, “‘twould seem that yon minstrel has found himself a new song to sing.”

“Aye,” someone else said with satisfaction. “‘Tis far more entertaining than the other.”

Laughter filled the air.

Alice grimaced and glanced back over her shoulder. The troubadour whom Vincent had paid to sing the nasty ballad about Hugh was indeed strumming a new tune on
his lute. He was wandering back through the encampments, regaling one and all with the song.

A cheer of approval went up.

Alice blushed furiously. She was the new subject of the poem. She looked uneasily at Hugh to see if he was embarrassed.

“Wilfred is right,” Hugh said calmly. “The minstrel’s new song is much more entertaining than his last one.”

Benedict, Dunstan, and the others howled with laughter.

“Sir Vincent may have been successful in the joust this afternoon,” one of the men declared, “but he was roundly defeated tonight.”

Alice was profoundly grateful for the shadows that concealed the red banners in her cheeks. She fixed one of the squires with a determined look. “Will you please bring some wine to my tent?”

“Aye, m’lady.” The man stifled his laughter and leaped to his feet. He started toward the supply wagon, which stood nearby in the gloom.

“You may fetch a cup of wine for me while you’re about it, Thomas,” Hugh called. “Bring it to
my
tent.”

“Aye, m’lord.”

Hugh’s grin flashed briefly in the firelight as he lifted the tent flap. “‘Tis not often I have the opportunity to toast one of Sir Vincent’s defeats.”

“Really, sir, you go too far.” Alice hurried through the opening into the comparative privacy of the tent. “I did not defeat Sir Vincent. I merely corrected his misconceptions concerning today’s events.”

“Nay, madam.” Hugh let the flap fall closed. “Make no mistake. ‘Twas a defeat. A very decisive one. And the troubadour’s new song will ensure that a great many people hear of it. I vow, ‘tis almost as satisfying as a victory against him in the joust would have been.”

She pivoted to confront him. “That is a very poor jest, sir.”

Hugh shrugged. “Mayhap I overstate the case a trifle. Unhorsing my cousin in the joust would have been somewhat more gratifying, I’ll grant you. But not by much.” His chilled smile came and went. “Not by much.”

“M’lord?” Thomas raised the tent flap. “I have the wine for you and my lady.” He offered a tray containing two cups and a flagon.

“Excellent.” Hugh swept the tray from Thomas’s hand. “That will be all for now. Leave us so that I may honor my noble defender in a suitable manner.”

“Aye, m’lord.” With a last, speculative glance at Alice, Thomas bowed his way out of the tent.

Alice scowled as Hugh filled the cups with wine. “I do wish you would cease amusing yourself with this unpleasant incident, my lord.”

“Ah, but you do not know how uniquely entertaining it is.” Hugh handed one cup to her and then saluted her with his own.

“Is it so important for you to see Sir Vincent humiliated?”

“A taste of Vincent’s humiliation now and again is all that I am allowed by my liege lord.”

“I do not comprehend your meaning, sir.”

“Erasmus of Thornewood has forbidden Vincent and me to take up arms against each other except in a jousting match. He claims ‘twould be a wasteful indulgence that he cannot afford.”

“Erasmus of Thornewood sounds a very intelligent man.”

“He is that,” Hugh admitted. “But his notion of sound economy leaves me hungry. You served me a well-seasoned dish tonight, madam. You must allow me to enjoy it to the fullest. However, your excellent cookery is not what I find so vastly entertaining.”

Alice was becoming impatient with his sardonic answers. “What is it that amuses you so, my lord?”

Hugh smiled at her over the wine cup. His amber eyes gleamed like those of a hawk that had recently stuffed itself on a plump pigeon. “I do believe that tonight marks
the first time in my entire life when someone else has come to my defense. I thank you, madam.”

The wine cup trembled in Alice’s fingers. “‘Twas the least I could do. You saved my life this afternoon, sir.”

“I would say that our partnership is working rather well, wouldn’t you?” Hugh asked with suspicious blandness.

The look in his eyes threatened to destroy Alice’s composure. This was ridiculous, she thought. She had been through too much today. That was the problem.

Desperate, she racked her brain for a way to change the subject. She said the first thing that came into her head. “I had heard that you were born a bastard.”

A lethal stillness came over Hugh. The wicked amusement died in his eyes. “Aye. ‘Tis the truth. Does it trouble you to find yourself betrothed to a bastard, madam?”

Alice wished she had kept her mouth closed.
What a stupid thing to say
. Where were her wits? To say nothing of her manners. “Nay, my lord. I was merely about to remark that I know very little of your family history. You are something of a mystery to me.” She paused. “By choice, I suspect.”

“I have discovered that the less people know of the truth, the more they are inclined to believe in legends. What is more, they usually prefer the legend to the truth.” Hugh sipped his wine with a contemplative air. “Sometimes that is useful. Sometimes, as is the case with that damnable green stone, it is a nuisance.”

Alice gripped her wine cup very tightly. “I am a student of natural philosophy, sir. As such, I seek honest answers. I prefer to know the truth that lies beneath the legend.”

“Do you?”

She fortified herself with a tiny sip of the wine. “Tonight I have learned a few more facts about you, but I still feel that there is much that I do not know.”

“You have an inquisitive nature. Such a temperament can be dangerous.”

“In a woman?” she asked tartly.

“In either man or woman. The world is a simpler and
no doubt safer place for those who do not ask too many questions.”

“That may be true.” Alice grimaced. “Unfortunately, curiosity is my besetting sin.”

“Aye, so it would seem.” Hugh watched her for a long moment. He appeared to debate some issue with himself. Then he walked to a wooden chest and sat down upon it. He cradled his wine cup in both hands and studied the contents as though it were an alchemist’s brew. “What do you wish to know?”

Alice was startled. She had not expected him to volunteer any information. Slowly she sank down onto the folding stool. “You will answer my questions?”

“Some. Not all. Ask your questions and I will decide which ones I choose to answer.”

She took a deep breath. “Neither you nor Sir Vincent is responsible for the circumstances of your birth. Tis your ill fortune that you were born a bastard and therefore did not inherit the Rivenhall lands.”

Hugh shrugged. “Aye.”

“But I do not see how you can blame your cousin for that turn of events. And you do not strike me as the sort of man who would bear a grudge against the innocent. So how does it come about that you and Sir Vincent are sworn enemies?”

Hugh was silent for a time. When he eventually spoke his voice was devoid of any nuance of feeling or emotion. It was as though he merely related someone else’s history, not his own.

“‘Tis simple enough. Vincent’s people hated mine with an undying passion. My family returned the favor. Our parents and the rest of their generation are all dead and gone, so it is left to my cousin and me to carry on the feud.”

“But why?”

Hugh turned the cup in his big hands. “‘Tis a long tale.”

“I should very much like to hear it, my lord.”

“Very well. I shall tell you the main part of it. I owe you that much under the circumstances.” Hugh paused
again as though gathering thoughts from some deep, hidden place.

Alice did not move. It seemed to her that a strange spell settled on the interior of the tent. The candle burned low and the embers on the brazier dimmed. Outside, the sounds of laughter and song grew faint, as though they emanated from a vast distance.

Shadows coalesced within the tent. They seemed to swirl around Hugh.

“My father was named Sir Matthew of Rivenhall,” he said. “They tell me that he was a respected knight. His liege lord made him a gift of several fine manors.”

“Pray, continue, sir,” Alice prompted gently.

“A marriage was arranged for him by his family. The lady was an heiress. It was considered a fine match and Sir Matthew was, by all accounts, much pleased. But that did not stop him from lusting after the young daughter of one of his neighbors. Her father held the fief of Scarcliffe. My grandfather tried to protect his only child but Sir Matthew convinced her to meet him in secret.”

“The woman was your mother?”

“Aye. Her name was Margaret.” Hugh turned the cup between his hands. “Matthew of Rivenhall seduced her. Got her with child. And then he went off to give service to his liege lord. I was born while he was in Normandy.”

“What happened?”

“The usual.” Hugh moved one hand in a negligent gesture. “My grandfather was furious. He went to Rivenhall and demanded that Matthew be forced to marry my mother when he returned from Normandy.”

“He wished them to break Sir Matthew’s betrothal?”

“Aye. Sir Matthew’s family made it plain that they had no intention of allowing their heir to throw himself away on a young woman who could offer only one small, rather poor manor as a dowry.”

“What of Sir Matthew’s betrothed? How did she feel?”

“Her family wanted the marriage to take place as much as Sir Matthew’s did. As I said, it was considered an excellent match.”

Alice nodded in comprehension. “So no one wished to see the betrothal severed, is that it?”

“Aye.” Hugh glanced at her and then he looked into the dying coals on the brazier. “Least of all Matthew of Rivenhall. He had no intention of abandoning his fine heiress for my mother. But he did come to see her once after he returned from Normandy.”

“To tell her that he loved her and would love her always even though he must wed another?” Alice asked quickly.

Hugh’s mouth quirked upward at the corner in a humorless smile, “You seek to salvage a romantic ending for this tale?”

Alice blushed “I suppose I do. Is there one?”

“Nay.”

“Well, then? What did Matthew of Rivenhall say to your mother when he met with her and learned that he had a son?”

“No one knows.” Hugh took another swallow of wine. “But whatever it was, my mother apparently did not care for it. She murdered him and then took her own life. They were both found dead the following morning.”

Alice’s mouth fell open. It took her several tries before she could speak. When she did so, the words emerged as a squeak. “Your mother murdered your father?”

“So they say.”

“But how? If he was a great knight, how could she possibly manage to kill him? Surely he would have been able lo defend himself against a woman.”

Hugh looked at her with grim eyes. “She used a woman’s weapon.”

“Poison?”

“She put it in the wine she served to him that night.”

“Dear God.” Alice stared down into the red wine in her cup. For some reason she no longer had a taste for it. “And then she drank the wine herself?”

“Aye. Vincent’s father, Matthew’s younger brother, became the heir to the Rivenhall estates. He was killed three years ago. Vincent is now the lord of Rivenhall.”

“And he bears enmity toward you because he believes that your mother murdered his uncle?”

“He was taught to hate me from the cradle even though he became lord of Rivenhall because of my mother’s action. In truth, I was taught to return the favor.”