Mystique (15 page)

But after this fair at Ipstoke was concluded, most of the winners and losers alike would hurry off to the next joust, wherever it was to be held. Such meets were a way of life for many men. The fact that jousting was technically illegal in England did nothing to quell enthusiasm for the sport.

Hugh was one of the few who took little pleasure in the business. For the most part he indulged himself in tournaments only when he wished to provide his men with the training such contests supplied.

Or on those rare occasions when he could ascertain that Vincent of Rivenhall would be his opponent.

The glow from within the black tent told Hugh that Alice had lit a brazier for warmth and a candle for light. He eased aside the flap and stood quietly in the opening. Alice did not hear him enter. She was seated on a small, folding stool, the only one that had been brought on the journey.

Alice had her back to him. The line of her spine was graceful and achingly feminine. Her head was bent intently over an object cradled in her lap.

The dark, burnished copper of her hair was bound up in a net. It glowed more richly than the coals in the brazier. Her skirts flowed in elegant folds around the legs of the stool.

His betrothed wife
. Hugh drew in a deep breath as a wave of sharp desire crashed through him. His fingers tightened around the flap of the tent.
He wanted her
.

For a moment all he could think about was his startled reaction earlier that day when Alice had thrown herself
into his arms. His emotions at the time had teetered on some unseen brink. He had been torn between rage at the risk she had taken and a gut-wrenching realization that she had almost gotten herself killed. He had very nearly lost her.

The sense of possessiveness that seized him made his hand tremble.

As though she had sensed his presence, Alice suddenly turned her head to gaze at him. She blinked and Hugh could almost see the thoughts in her head shift from one subject to another. Then she smiled at him and Hugh had to close his hand into a fist to keep from reaching for her.

“My lord. I did not hear you come in.”

“You were obviously concerned with other matters.” Hugh called forth every shred of self-mastery that he could claim. Deliberately he let the tent flap fall closed behind him.

“Aye, my lord.”

He walked across the tent carpet and looked down at the object in her lap. “Still studying my crystal, I see.”

“I am still studying
my
crystal, sir.” She stroked the heavily faceted green stone with her fingertip. “I am attempting to comprehend why Gilbert the troubadour and those two thieves thought it so valuable.”

“We won’t learn much from the troubadour. Gilbert has vanished.” Learning of the troubadour’s disappearance had been yet another source of annoyance that day. Nothing seemed to be going right, Hugh thought morosely.

“I’m not surprised,” Alice said. “There was something quite oily about Gilbert. I never cared much for him or his songs.”

Hugh watched her face in the candlelight. “I’m told that women find him attractive.”

Alice gave a ladylike snort. “I certainly did not. He tried to steal a kiss one evening while he was staying in my uncle’s hall.”

“Did he, indeed?” Hugh asked softly.

“Aye. It was most annoying. I dumped a mug of ale on his head. He did not speak to me after that.”

“I see.”

Alice looked up. “Did you learn anything from the one-eyed thief?”

“Very little.” There was no point searching for a second stool. Hugh sat down on one of the heavy wooden chests that contained Alice’s collection of stones. “He talked freely enough, but he knew only that his companion had made a bargain with someone to recover the crystal. I believe that the one-eyed man and his associate killed the peddler in Clydemere.”

“Oh.” Alice’s voice sounded a bit unsteady.

“Unfortunately, the man who went down beneath Storm’s hooves was the one who actually struck the bargain. He is dead and therefore can tell us nothing.”

“I see.”

Hugh narrowed his eyes. “Those two men would have murdered you without so much as a second thought.”

She gave him a brilliant smile. “But you saved me, sir.”

“That is not the point I wish to make.”

She grimaced. “I know what point it is you wish to make, my lord. But look at the positive side. One of the murderers is dead and the other is in the sheriff’s safekeeping. We are both safe and the stone has been recovered.”

“You’re forgetting one thing.”

“What is that?”

“Whoever hired those two men to find the crystal is still out there somewhere and we have no clue to his identity.”

Alice’s fingers tightened around the crystal. “But whoever it is must know that his attempts to steal the stone have failed. It is back in your hands now, my lord. No one would dare to try to take it from you.”

“I appreciate your confidence,” Hugh muttered, “but I don’t think we should assume that all potential thieves will have the same faith in my skills.”

“Nonsense. My uncle assured me that you are well nigh a legend, sir.”

“Alice, I regret to inform you that what constitutes a legend in out-of-the-way places such as Lingwood Manor or Ipstoke amounts to no more than a moderate reputation elsewhere.”

“I do not believe that for one moment, sir,” she said with a wholly unexpected show of loyalty. “I saw the way you dealt with those thieves today. When that tale gets back to the one who hired them, he will most certainly think twice before making any more attempts to take the stone. I am certain that we have seen the last of his handiwork.”

“Alice—”

She tapped the crystal with her forefinger. Her brows snapped together in a contemplative expression. “Do you know, sir, I would very much like to find out why someone stole this stone in the first place.”

Hugh’s attention was briefly caught by the ugly crystal. “‘Tis possible, I suppose, that someone mistakenly believes it to be a valuable gem. It is, after all, said to be the last of a great treasure.”

She eyed the stone with evident skepticism. “To judge by the low price he placed upon it, the peddler who sold it to my cousin Gervase certainly did not think it valuable. He believed it to be merely an unusual object. A trinket of interest only to a student of natural philosophy.”

“I suspect that the thief was motivated by a belief that the stone had a far different sort of value.”

Alice looked up sharply. “What sort of value is that, sir?”

“I told you that possession of the crystal is linked by a legend and a curse to the lordship of Scarcliffe.”

“Aye. What of it?”

Hugh shrugged. “Mayhap there is someone who does not wish me to become the new lord of Scarcliffe.”

“Who would that be, sir?”

Hugh absently drummed his fingers on his thigh. “Mayhap ‘tis past time that I told you about Vincent of Rivenhall.”

“The man you sought to go against in the jousts today? My brother told me that you were most annoyed because you were obliged to miss the contest. Indeed, I am well aware that it was my fault you found it necessary to forgo the joust.”

“Aye. It was.”

She gave him a dazzling smile. “But in the end you
must admit that regaining the stone was the important thing, my lord. And we have done that, have we not? All is well, so we can forget about the unfortunate incidents of the recent past.”

Hugh reluctantly decided that it was time to deliver his little lecture on obedience. “It is not my way to forget unfortunate incidents, as you term them, madam. Indeed, it is my belief that one must use such events to teach firm lessons.”

“Never fear, sir, I have certainly learned mine,” she assured him cheerfully.

“I wish I could believe that,” Hugh said. “But something tells me—”

“Hush.” Alice held up a hand to silence him. “What is that?”

Hugh scowled. “What is what?”

“Some troubadour is singing a ballad. Listen. I believe it is about you, my lord.”

The words of a song sung in a lusty masculine voice floated into the black tent.

“Aye, ‘tis about me,” Hugh growled. Vincent had found a way to have his revenge, he thought. Such was the price one paid when one got oneself betrothed to a woman such as Alice.

Alice set down the stone and leaped to her feet. “Some drunken troubadour is slandering you, my lord.”

“Which only goes to prove true what I said earlier. What constitutes a pleasant little legend in some parts is naught but a poor jest in others.”

“This is outrageous.” Alice stalked toward the tent flap. “I shall not stand for it. You missed that silly joust today because you were occupied with the business of being a true hero.”

Belatedly, Hugh realized that Alice intended to confront the troubadour. “Uh, Alice, wait. Come back here.”

“I shall return in a moment, my lord. First I must correct that troubadour’s idiotic verse.” Alice slipped through the tent flap. It dropped back into place behind her.

“God’s teeth.” Hugh rose from the wooden chest and crossed the tent carpet in two strides.

He reached the flap and yanked it open. He saw Alice in the light of the campfire. She had her skirts clutched in her hands as she went briskly toward the neighboring encampment. Her chin was angled determinedly. His men stared after her in consternation.

The troubadour, heedless of impending trouble, continued with the next verse of his song.

“You, there, sir troubadour,” Alice called loudly. “Cease braying that foolish song at once, do you hear me?”

The troubadour, who had been wandering among the encampments, pausing to sing his new ballad wherever he was invited to do so, broke off abruptly.

It seemed to Hugh that the night became suddenly and unnaturally quiet. His own men were not the only ones gazing at Alice in astonishment. She had the attention of all those gathered about the nearby fires.

The troubadour swept Alice a deep bow as she came to a halt directly in front of him.

“My lady, forgive me,” he murmured with mocking courtesy, “I regret that my song does not please you. ‘Twas composed only this afternoon at the request of a most noble and valiant knight.”

“Vincent of Rivenhall, I assume?”

“Aye.” The troubadour laughed. “‘Twas indeed Sir Vincent who requested a song to celebrate his great victory on the jousting field. Would you deny him a hero’s ballad?”

“Aye, that I would. Especially when he was not the champion today. ‘Twas Sir Hugh who played the true and gallant hero.”

“By refusing to take the field against Sir Vincent?” The troubadour grinned. “Forgive me, but that is an odd notion of a hero, madam.”

“‘Tis obvious that neither you nor Sir Vincent knows the true facts concerning what happened this afternoon.” Alice paused to glower at the circle of listeners she had collected. “Hear me, all of you, and listen well for now I shall tell you what really happened today. Sir Hugh was obliged to miss the joust because he was occupied with a hero’s task.”

A tall man dressed in a red tunic walked into the circle of firelight. The flames revealed his aquiline features.

Hugh groaned as he recognized the newcomer.

“What heroic task took Sir Hugh from the field of honor, my lady?” the tall man asked politely.

Alice whirled to confront him. “I would have you know that Sir Hugh saved me from two vicious thieves this afternoon while Sir Vincent was playing games. The robbers would have murdered me in cold blood, sir.”

“And who are you?” the tall man asked.

“I am Alice, Sir Hugh’s betrothed wife.”

A ripple of interested murmurs greeted that announcement. Alice paid them no heed.

“Are you, indeed.” The tall man examined her in the firelight. “How interesting.”

Alice fixed him with a quelling glare. “Surely you will agree that saving my life was a far more heroic deed than engaging in a bit of nonsensical sport.”

The tall man’s gaze went past Alice to where Hugh stood a short distance behind her. Hugh smiled faintly as he met eyes that he knew were very nearly the same color as his own.

The tall man turned back to Alice. He swept her a sardonic bow. “My apologies, madam. I am sorry if the
troubadour’s song offended you. And I rejoice to know that you survived your encounter with thieves this afternoon.”

“Thank you,” Alice said with icy politeness.

“You are obviously something of an innocent, madam.” The tall man stepped back out of the firelight. “It will be amusing to see how long Hugh the Relentless remains a true hero in your eyes.”

He did not wait for a response.

Alice glared after him and then turned once more to the troubadour. “Find another song to sing.”

“Aye, my lady.” The troubadour’s expression gleamed with laconic amusement as he swept her another bow.

Alice whirled about and strode back toward Hugh’s encampment. She paused when she saw him standing in her path.

“Oh, there you are, my lord. I am pleased to say that I do not believe we shall be troubled again by that ridiculous ballad about Sir Vincent of Rivenhall.”

“Thank you, lady.” Hugh took her arm to lead her back to the tent. “I appreciate your concern for me.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I could not allow that idiot to sing his lies about you, sir. He had no business making a hero out of Sir Vincent of Rivenhall when you were the true hero of the day.”

“Troubadours must make their living in whatever way they can. No doubt Sir Vincent paid well for his ballad.”

“Aye.” Alice’s face lit with sudden enthusiasm. “A thought has just occurred to me, sir. We should pay the troubadour to invent a song about you, my lord.”

“I’d prefer that we did not do that,” Hugh said very distinctly. “I have better things to spend my money on than a ballad featuring myself.”