Wolf Bride (6 page)

The day was cold and grey. Cloaked against the wind, Wolf sat upright in the saddle, gloved hands resting lightly on the reins, his head turned away. At that moment, as though sensing her gaze, he looked round and their eyes met.

Then the curtain dropped again.

She lay back, trying in vain to sleep, the image of her bridegroom burnt into the darkness behind her closed lids.

It was dark before they reached the wayside inn where they would break their journey that night. It was a small remote tavern at the foot of a steep hill, not so welcoming as the bustling place they had stopped at the night before. A man came out with a lantern to light the way while another carried their baggage inside; both leered at her and Mary in the draughty inn courtyard, only looking away when Lord Wolf swung down from his horse and began issuing abrupt orders.

Eloise stretched her aching legs, glancing up at the wintry night sky where the first stars were coming out. She was glad their journey had ended for the day, sore and tired after so many hours spent in a swaying litter. She was beginning to think even riding would be preferable. But of course her father would never allow such a thing, for the roads were too dangerous this far north and unsuitable for a woman on horseback.

‘Hurry up inside,’ Lord Wolf said curtly, taking her by the elbow and almost pushing her through the narrow passageway into the inn.

He spoke a moment with the surly-faced inn-keeper, checking their provision of chambers, then gestured Eloise and Mary toward the cramped and winding stairs to the first floor.

Thrust into a bedchamber with little attempt at civility, her maid following after with a candle, Eloise turned to glare at him. ‘My lord!’

‘You’ll want to rest a short while before supper,’ Wolf commented, ignoring her fury at this treatment. His gaze rested a moment on her creased cloak and gown. ‘And perhaps change your attire.’

‘I should prefer to eat in my chamber,’ she told him coldly.

‘You kept to your chamber all yesterday evening,’ he pointed out. ‘Tonight I wish you to dine downstairs with us, where you can meet some of our companions on this journey. But have a care what you wear. This is a small place and unused to unmarried female travellers. No doubt you saw the way those ruffians eyed you in the yard.’ His smile disturbed her. ‘I would not wish to have to defend your honour.’

She stared at him, speechless.

‘Half an hour,’ Wolf told her brusquely, turning away. ‘Your father and I will wait for you below.’

The inn chamber was bare and low-ceilinged with a threadbare tester bed for herself and a straw mattress on the floor for Mary. She prodded the mattress with her toe, and a mouse ran out from underneath. Mary gave a little shriek, but said nothing, merely looked at her new mistress with trepidation.

‘You can share the bed with me,’ Eloise promised her. ‘First though, you had better help me look respectable for this meal.’

Mary dressed her by the light of their single candle, its flame flickering with every icy draught that blew in around the loose window shutters or under the door. Much to Eloise’s relief, Mary had thought to bring a small handglass in which she was able to study herself.

She held it up while Mary combed out and arranged her hair. A narrow-chinned face frowned back at her, pale and not particularly pretty, with unfashionably fair looks. She was no dark court beauty. Yet somehow she had managed to procure a wealthy lord for a husband. And she had even thought Simon in love with her once, though his intentions had not been honourable. Perhaps Queen Anne had been right to say her charms, like the queen’s own, lay below the neck.

Eloise pinched her cheeks to bring some colour into them after the long dreary journey. Would Lord Wolf be as disagreeable a husband as he was a suitor?

‘A clean ruff,’ Mary murmured, and Eloise straightened to receive it, holding still while her maid fastened the fresh ruff in place.

She tried to guess at the intimacies of her wedding night, with nothing but young maids’ gossip to fuel her imaginings. Brought up in the country, she knew how animals coupled, but had always hoped that love between a man and a woman would be a more dignified affair. Soon she would know the truth. She felt like a virgin sacrifice in one of those ancient Greek tales mentioned by the poets, left chained to a rock to appease some ogre. Part of her dreaded the appeasing of the ogre, while part of her was curious to become a woman at last.

At least she could be in no doubt that Lord Wolf desired her, that he was unlikely to mistreat her. She told herself it could have been worse: an infirm old man for a husband, or a drunken brute. But in truth she would have preferred a man she loved. Not this sharp-eyed, cold-tongued stranger.

Downstairs, she found a long room with a fire burning in the stone hearth and a trestle table set for supper, an array of serving men bustling to and fro with platters, trenchers and cups for the wine. Her father was already seated at the head of the table, stately in his furred robe and embroidered cap, drinking wine. The other gentlemen were standing, conversing together by the fireside. Among them she saw the tall figure of Lord Wolf, and looked hurriedly away before he saw her looking, determined to appear more modestly behaved than she had done at court.

‘There you are at last, Eloise!’ her father exclaimed impatiently, and gestured her to the seat on his left. ‘Come and sit beside me, my daughter. Supper is ready to be served, we have been waiting only for you.’

But Lord Wolf intervened before she could sit.

‘Sir,’ he said coolly, ‘if I might first introduce my bride-to-be to this company? Some of these gentlemen are to remain in my service once we are married. Your daughter should perhaps know their names as well as their faces.’

‘By all means, my lord,’ her father agreed hastily.

Eloise nodded as each man was introduced to her, then gave them all a deep curtsey, her eyes demurely lowered. ‘Sirs,’ she replied.

She knew none of the men except one, Hugh Beaufort, a young man she had seen a few times about the court, though they had never been introduced.

Hugh was not a rugged, weathered soldier like the other fellows, but a courtier who worked for the king in some clerical post. A handsome, fair-haired gentleman with long powerful legs clad in black hose, broad shoulders and a pair of wondrous green eyes, Hugh’s appearance took her breath away. He was also the only one to kiss her hand as they were introduced, his bow and flattering compliments very much in the French manner.

If only Hugh Beaufort was her prospective bridegroom, she thought drily.

Introductions over, Lord Wolf drew out her chair and she sat down, thanking him in a murmur. From the cold gleam in his eye, she suspected that he knew precisely what she was trying to do. But this charade was for her father’s sake, not his. She was not married yet, after all. Her father had often complained that she was too fiery and wilful. Perhaps if she seemed submissive in the face of this marriage, he might change his mind and listen when she pleaded to be allowed to remain unmarried.

‘You must forgive my lack of manners earlier,’ Wolf commented, leaning forward as he pushed in her chair. ‘I was concerned for you in that cold wind, exposed to the stares of the inn servants.’

She said nothing, taken aback by his sudden civility. Then she saw his gaze light on Hugh Beaufort, and wondered if he had read her thoughts about that gentleman.

Wolf straightened, and took his place facing her father at the other end of the table. The others in their company waited until his lordship was seated until they too took their seats. She found herself opposite Hugh Beaufort, and smiled back at him when the courtier gallantly passed her a dish of partridges.

It might do Lord Wolf good to think he had a rival for her interest. Though in truth she had no desire to marry anyone, not even a courtier as handsome and flattering as Hugh Beaufort. Now that she knew how deceived she had been in Simon’s courtship, she suspected no man could be trusted where his sexual instincts were concerned.

‘Thank you,’ Eloise said with deliberate friendliness, helping herself to the succulent meat.

The partridge had been simply cooked – no rich or piquant sauce as she was accustomed to enjoying at court – but her hunger was sauce enough. The long cold journey had left her starving.

‘What brings you so far north, Master Beaufort?’ she asked. ‘I thought you served the king, not Lord Wolf.’

His green eyes lit with amusement, Hugh Beaufort glanced from her to Lord Wolf. ‘Yes, I serve the king. But the road north from London is notoriously treacherous for single travellers, so I travel on the king’s business in Lord Wolf’s company.’

‘And what will you do in the north, sir?’

Hugh hesitated, again glancing down the table at Wolf, who showed no response. He dragged a partridge out of the dish himself and began to wrench at its breast meat with his knife.

‘It is no secret,’ he told her, shrugging. ‘I go to oversee the dismantling of some of the larger monasteries and priories in that region, to ensure all is done fairly and in accordance with the king’s wishes. It is no small task, and could take several months to complete. Lord Wolf has very generously offered to accommodate me at his home during my time in the north. But I do not anticipate being much at leisure there. My work for the king is too demanding.’

She had listened with interest to his description of his work, and could not help being pleased at the thought that he would not be returning to court immediately. Hugh Beaufort seemed an intelligent man with excellent manners, and it would be good to have a courtier on hand to remind her of how things had been at court. Time often dragged in the vast wild stretches of Yorkshire, with little music and dancing or poetry to be had, and she had grown used to a more entertaining life at court.

‘Forgive me, sir, but have I not heard you play the lute and recite at court before the queen?’

Hugh Beaufort laughed somewhat uncomfortably. ‘What a memory you must have. I admit, once or twice I have been fortunate enough to be granted that honour. Though I am by no means skilled at the lute, nor is my poetry to be admired.’ He paused, his voice becoming husky. ‘I am no Thomas Wyatt.’

There was a flicker in his green eyes which spoke of wariness, perhaps even an awareness of danger. A sliver of ice entered her heart. She wondered what this courtier knew of the queen’s secret dalliance with Thomas Wyatt, and what it might mean for Queen Anne if suspicions about her character were beginning to be whispered about the court.

Her reply was careful. ‘Thomas Wyatt is a most wonderful poet, is he not?’

‘He is indeed.’ Hugh drank from his wine cup, not meeting her eyes. ‘Wyatt has a gift for versifying almost to rival the classical poets of Rome.’

His response had been guarded too. Eloise turned her head, and was taken aback to see Wolf watching them both intently. He was not eating, his brows drawn sharply together as though in a frown.

Was he angry that she was conversing so freely with Hugh Beaufort? Or was it the subject of their discussion which met with such narrow-eyed disapproval?

She hesitated for a moment, wondering whether to look away and discreetly cut off the discussion. Then the heat of rebellion burned in her heart. They were not yet married. She was still free to converse with whom she liked, and she liked Hugh Beaufort. Not in the same way as Simon, but she guessed he could be a good friend to her. And she would be in need of friends in the months to come.

‘Do you write poetry?’ Hugh asked her after a moment, refilling both their wine cups from the flagon.

‘It has been known.’

Hugh grinned at her, then seemed to catch Lord Wolf’s eye. His smile faded and he took a large mouthful of partridge, effectively bringing the conversation to an end.

Her father grunted, scattering a pinch of salt over his meat. ‘Well, my friends, we have made good progress and should be back in the North Riding the day after tomorrow, by my reckoning.’ He looked down the table at Lord Wolf. ‘Once home, we must discuss a date for this wedding with the priest. The sooner the better is what I say.’

‘Indeed,’ Wolf said darkly.

‘Once Eloise is safely wed, I shall set about arranging a date for my younger daughter to marry. There is a gentleman in the north who has asked me repeatedly for her hand, the old goat.’ Her father took a leisurely swallow of wine, then wiped his wet mouth on his sleeve, returning to his northern manners now they had left the court. ‘He is nearly as old as me, and no doubt she will not be happy with the match. But Susannah needs a firm hand and a husband’s guidance, just like her sister here. Their mother was the same, God rest her soul.’ He crossed himself, then set to his meal, finishing his thought with his mouth crammed with meat, ‘So take heed, Lord Wolf, not to spare the rod once Eloise is under your protection. An obedient wife will serve you better than a wayward one.’

Eloise bent her head to her trencher, and finished the meal in silence, her heart beating fast, surprised by her own anger. She felt some antagonism towards her father for his blustering talk of beatings and obedience. But she had heard his thoughts on women and marriage before; they were nothing new, and indeed Susannah had only rarely been beaten for disobedience when they were growing up, for she was their father’s favourite. Mostly her temper had sparked at this stern bridegroom who wished to show her off to his company of gentlemen, but would prevent her from speaking in too friendly a manner with any other man.