The Winter Love (12 page)

This time Eleanor did not dare ask about what she was eating, but she enjoyed it
. Life outside of the convent was very varied and it was more complicated. The sisters did not live a life without quarrels, but they did not raise their voices and certainly not their fists. The violence that she had seen and heard about in the last few days disturbed and frightened her.

After the meal, Edward
led Eleanor to the fire and brought up a stool for her.

“You will be more comfortable here, Sister Margaret,” he said, even though she had not
yet indicated where she would sit.

“Thank you,” she said, for want of anything better.
She sat and watched as the servants began to clear the room.

“Is there anything you
need? More beer?

“No, thank you. I have sufficient.” Wi
lliam had only just filled her beaker. The beer was good and William had proved to be an attentive host.

“Then do you object if I sit beside you?”

Eleanor had noticed the other stool and assumed that he had brought it for his mother.

“No.” She had no wish to be rude to her host’s son
and much less a desire to lie to him, but she would have preferred to sit in another room without a fire than sit next to him in front of the fire here. She could not easily forget how she had had to hide three dead bodies this afternoon to prevent him accusing his brother of murder.

“Sh
all we have a story, Father?” Edward asked once everyone was sitting before the fire.

Sir
John looked doubtful. “I would rather hear about your journey back from Brittany with your brother.”

“Of course, if you do not mind hearing about Henry being seasick all the time.”

Sir John laughed and Lady Mary smiled. “We are all aware of Henry’s weakness.”

Eleanor felt uncomfortable
; she had not guessed from Sir John’s welcome that he despised his second son as much as Edward did. Now she wondered if it was her estimation of Henry that was wrong.

“Do not worry, Sister Margaret, I do not mock Henry. Who should know better than his own family that he is no sailor?”

Although Edward’s words were kind, Eleanor did not miss the cruelty in his face, although he turned away from her quickly.

“I find that Henry is the better sailor for going to sea knowing how much harm it will do him.” Her voice
trembled slightly, as she was aware that she was saying too much and might offend Sir John.

“That is what I have always said,” said William.
“Henry can’t help being seasick, but he did not have to go to France. He could have stayed at his manor and had a quiet life.” Eleanor was glad both for his support and for the knowledge that she had not been wrong.

“It is a soldier’s duty to fight in a time of war.”

“Yes, Father,” said William patiently, “And that is why Henry went. He knows his duty, even though it costs him the respect of his father and his brother. He knew that he would suffer on the voyage, but he went anyway. Go on, Edward, tell your tale, but spare us any more criticism of Henry. He is a better man than either of us.”

“Very well.”

Edward’s story gripped Eleanor from the beginning. Despite herself she wanted to hear about his journey across the sea; she wanted to hear how he had been able to find his way; she wanted to know what the crew had done when the storms had been worse than the one she had been in; she wanted to know what they had done when they could not put in to land each night. When Edward described arriving in Brittany she longed to have been there with him. After the adventures of the last few days and the excitement of seeing so many new things she wondered what places and people across the sea were like.

It was late by the time that Edward’s tale reached this point and Lady Mary suggested that they retire and hear the rest of the tale the next evening. Eleanor wanted to hear the rest of it
now, even though she had been present for some of it. Reluctantly she went to her bedchamber, but it was a while before she could sleep.

She found herself questioning Henry’s assessment of his brother’s character. Whilst she felt that Edward was not to be trusted, she now found it difficult to believe that he would set out to get his brother hanged. It was one thing
for Edward to lust after a woman and try to visit her in her bed and quite another to be the cause of the death of his brother. Henry had been away a long time, perhaps he imagined or exaggerated the change in Edward. Perhaps it was Henry who had changed. How difficult it was to find out where the truth lay. She was still struggling over it when sleep took her for the third time that day.

The next morning, before she broke her fast, Eleanor slipped out of the house and went to the stable to see if Solomon needed anything while Henry could not look after him. During the night it had grown much colder and the rain had turned to snow, which crunched beneath her feet as she crossed the courtyard. To her surprise, Henry was with Solomon. He turned when he heard her enter and smiled.

“You look better,” she said. It was true; he had his colour back and he was standing straight. He held his arm against his body protectively, but that was the only sign that anything was wrong.

“All I needed was a good night’s sleep.”

Eleanor
thought, guiltily, that he couldn’t have had a good night’s rest since he had left France and she was responsible for the lack of it over the last few days.

“I’m glad.
”

“Did you come out here to hide?” Henry softened his question with a smile.

“No,” she smiled back. “I thought you might not be well enough to come to Solomon, so I thought I would come and see that he was alright.” She blushed. “It was terribly rude of me to presume that your brother would not take good care of him.”

“Solomon missed you, so he’s glad to see you. But, yes, William does look after him very well. Like you, he enjoys the company of horses and they like him.”

Eleanor was confused; she didn’t know whether or not Henry had paid her a compliment. Seeing her hesitation, Henry’s smile broadened. “If you were a boy, Eleanor, I would gladly take you with me to look after my horses. You have a great skill and it will be difficult for me to get Solomon to leave you behind.”

Somewhat placated, Eleanor asked, “And does Solomon need anything?”

“Only some exercise. Would you like to walk him with me after you’ve eaten? I’ll show you my father’s fields, although there is little to see under the snow.”

“Thank you.
I should like that.” She knew that she would. It was an unexpected pleasure to go where she desired and not where she was told to go. There were some good things about life outside the convent apart from a variety of rich and spicy foods.

Henry led her back into the house
and they joined the rest of his family and the servants in the hall. Sir John greeted them and Henry took his place at his father’s right hand, indicating that Eleanor should sit on his right.

The meal was
plain, but plentiful. Eleanor ate her full and managed to take part in the many conversations that were going on around her. It was noisy in the hall, but not unbearable; Sir John kept an orderly house.

William walked with them back to the stable; he liked to begin his day by inspecting all the horses and talking to the
groom. Henry saddled Solomon, explaining that he would give him a short run once they reached the open land away from the fields. He and Eleanor walked out of the manor’s gate and up the hill that led away from the manor house. It was snowing gently, but she could still see the house and its wall when Henry stopped and asked her to turn round.

“You see how well defended my father’s house is?
Even if they find you here, those men from the convent will not be able to hurt you.”

Eleanor
bit her lip; she would not beg Henry to stay, or to take her with him, but she felt very much that he was deserting her. She understood now why he thought she needed to be kept safe; if the man who had sent the men to the convent had any idea how large the treasure was, he would know that it was worth a great effort on his part to secure it. It seemed he had already sent men to France to find Philip in the middle of a battle. Henry was worried that they had only won a temporary reprieve, but she could not satisfy him that she was glad that he was leaving her here rather than taking her with him. She knew now that there was no one waiting for him at his house and understood that it would not be proper for her to accompany him. She dared not suggest that she go once more as a boy, for that would be a sin, but she wondered what would become of her here. If Henry would not take her with him, however, she must stay here.

“You do not say anything. Eleanor, please...”

“I believe that the defences are good, if you say so, and that you cannot take me with you... if you say so.”

Henry had to be satisfied
with that. He turned and started walking again

“My family come to me for the Christmas feast. You will come with them and it may be that I can take you back to Devon then.”

To her surprise, Eleanor did not feel her spirits revive at Henry’s suggestion. She pondered this as they walked over the brow of the hill and down the other side. Neither of them broke the silence for some time and Eleanor hoped that Henry found it as comfortable as she did. Now that she had accepted that she must stay, she enjoyed looking around her at the fields as they grew whiter as the snow continued to fall.

Sir
John’s fields were extensive and it took them some time to walk them. Solomon grew impatient and when Henry finally got onto his back he tossed his head in anticipation.

“Care to join me?” Henry
leaned down and held out an arm to her. “There’s no one here to see.”

Eleanor took his hand and he swung her up behind him.
She put her arms around him and Solomon set off. No longer afraid of his speed or the distance of the possible fall, Eleanor started to laugh with the pleasure of it and Henry joined her.

They turned back towards the house and Solomon galloped as if he bore no rider at all rather than two.
Just before they reached the top of the hill again, Henry let her down and they walked slowly back to the manor house. It was snowing heavily now and Eleanor started to shiver. The sky was dark and she longed to be inside, yet she found her pace slowing further. She looked up at Henry and saw that he was watching her.

“I should not have kept you out so long,” he said.

“It was not so long.”

They had stopped walking now and Eleanor held her breath, waiting for whatever it was that Henry wanted to say, but he simply adjusted the hood of her cloak to keep the snow off her face and started walking again.

After they came through the gate,
Henry turned towards the stable and Eleanor crossed the courtyard to go into the house. To her surprise, Edward was waiting for her.

“Here, give me that wet cloak and come into the hall to get warm.”

The hall was deserted, but Edward called for a servant to bring her some warm spiced wine then led her to a bench set near the fire and sat next to her.

“What did Henry think he was doing, taking you out on such a day?”

“We walked fast and I was always warm.” Eleanor was surprised by Edward’s vehemence; their acquaintance had been short and he had not shown himself to be particularly careful of her so far.

“
He calls himself your protector, yet takes no care of you.”

Eleanor bristled. “I was perfectly safe and I am no weak maid to be kept indoors in the bad
weather. In the convent I work in the fields.” She held out her scarred, rough hands to him. “These are not the hands of a gentlewoman.”

Edward took her hands
before she could pull them back and looked at them carefully. “Indeed they are not,” he said sadly. He ran a finger lightly over her calluses and a shiver ran up her spine; she must be colder than she thought, despite the fire’s heat.

“You will not work in the fields while you are with us. You will sit by the fire and sew or spin.”

Eleanor smiled as she remembered Sister Sarah’s despair at her sewing. “It is as well your vocation is not to be a wife, for no husband would put up with such poor sewing,” she had said when Eleanor had presented a tangled mess to her one time too many. Then she frowned as she realised that Edward was serious; in this house she would be expected to sew. At least she could spin; she could spin wool as fine as any weaver could desire.

Edward saw the frown. “Surely you would not prefer to work in the
fields in this weather. You’re a gentlewoman and should not work in the fields at all.”

Did wives not work alongside their
husbands in the world, then? This was not what she had thought at all.

“I should prefer to wor
k with the horses,” she said, “but I suspect that your brother needs no help.”

Edward laughed.
“William manages his horses very well. You have some very strange ideas, Sister Margaret.”