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Chapter 5

  April, 1172

  Chester Castle, Cheshire

  After several days of violent rainstorms, the sun turned out for Sir Robert Bolsover’s bedraggled entrance into Chester. He and his men had left the king’s entourage at Chepstow, and while Henry continued eastward across England, Bolsover had turned north. He was finished with the king’s service now; he proposed to stay with his brother-in-law for as long as it suited either one of them.

  The journey had been wet and miserable, but Bolsover displayed no ill effects, jumping lightly from the saddle and giving Hugh a short bow before being caught up in a welcoming embrace.

  Roger of Haworth witnessed the return of Robert Bolsover with apprehension. It was Hugh’s transformation which bothered him most. For the past seven months the earl had seemed on edge, even testy at times, and Roger could count on one hand the number of times he’d been invited to share his bed. He had shrugged it off and put it down to Hugh’s new marriage and his adjustment to it and had determined to patiently wait it out, confident Hugh would eventually fall again into their old routine. In the meantime, he hadn’t attempted to seek companionship elsewhere; he was devoted to the earl and the idea of taking another lover would never have occurred to him.

  So it was a bitter blow to see Hugh suddenly burst to life the moment Robert Bolsover rode through the gate, wind-whipped and rumpled but with his fair hair still shining brightly and his insolent manner still intact. And then to see Hugh embrace him like a brother and kiss his cheeks and stand there speaking with him as if they were the only two in the ward. And then, to add insult to injury, to see Bolsover sling a familiar arm around Hugh’s neck and watch the pair of them walk right past him—with Hugh not even giving him a second glance—and up the steps and into the hall! He stood alone and stared dumbly after them…And then he realized that the earl’s preoccupation hadn’t been due to the presence of a wife but to the absence of her brother. Such ardent longing could mean only one thing.

  Bolsover and Hugh were lovers.

  It was a possibility that Haworth had never considered. Perhaps he’d merely been naive, or perhaps he’d not wanted to believe it. He had known since the coronation of the Young King two years ago that Hugh was interested in Bolsover, but he hadn’t assumed the interest was so deep or physical. In all the years he and Hugh had been intimate, Haworth had never had even the faintest hint that Hugh might have been sleeping with another man. He felt for a moment as if his stomach had been ripped out of him. His heart pounded furiously. He dared not turn around; he thought everyone was staring at him, knowing he’d fallen out of favor, silently laughing at him. He had been betrayed by the one person he could never betray.

  But, as so often happens in the tangles of love triangles, Haworth didn’t blame Hugh. Bolsover was the culprit, the seducer. Bolsover was the one he blamed…and cursed.

  From a window in a second storey apartment which overlooked the ward, Eleanor and Gwalaes were also watching the arrival of Robert Bolsover. “Are you jealous, Eleanor?” the other girl inquired. “Your husband just kissed your brother three times.”

  Her tone of voice was bland, leading Eleanor to believe she was being sarcastic. Although they had argued about Gwalaes’ opinion of Hugh several times, Eleanor didn’t want to bicker now. “Well, they’re good friends and Robert’s been away for half a year,” she answered mildly. “Naturally they’re happy to see each other.”

  “Oh, naturally,” Gwalaes echoed, but with that same sarcastic drawl.

  Gwalaes had changed. Once, aside from Robert, the most zealous proponent of marriage with the earl, she was now strangely monosyllabic whenever Eleanor brought him up. It had started almost as soon as they had passed through the gates of the castle, when they’d arrived for the wedding in September. And when she wasn’t practicing reticence on the topic of the earl, she was complaining profusely about his castle; its population, its dangerous proximity to Wales, its sheer magnitude. It was a trial for Eleanor; she had finally reached the point at which she accepted, and was even starting to enjoy, her fate, and Gwalaes’ moods and displeasures grated on her.

  Before she could retort, Gwalaes said, “I don’t see Alan, do you?”

  Hugh and Robert had disappeared into the keep, but there were men and horses still milling about in the ward. The squire, however, was nowhere to be seen.

  “No…Perhaps he’s already gone to the stable. That black horse of Robert’s is missing also.”

  Gwalaes sniffed. “Your brother was probably concerned that his precious animal caught a chill in the rain and sent Alan to rub him down and throw a warm blanket over his back.”

  “Should we go down, do you think?”

  “Too crowded. Besides, they looked fine without you. God knows, you haven’t seen your brother in half a year also, but he wouldn’t greet you like he greeted Hugh.”

  “I’d like to hear about Ireland,” said Eleanor.

  “Don’t worry! I’m certain that’s all Robert will be talking about at dinner. He loves to have an audience.”

  Eleanor could not remember Hugh looking so happy in all the months of their marriage. The large hall was full of people, knights and ladies, men-at-arms and guests of the earl, and servants bearing trays of steaming food and jugs of wine. They sat at the high table, Hugh in his elaborately carved chair, Eleanor on his left and Robert in the place of honor on his right, along with Sir Miles de Gournay, Hugh’s steward, and half a dozen other notables. As Gwalaes had predicted, Bolsover described his adventures in Ireland with humor and some slight embellishment, at which the knights who’d accompanied him smiled indulgently. It was obvious Bolsover had a respected reputation as a wild but competent soldier. If he lied a little, it was only to spice up the story, not to inflate his own role in it.

  After the meal, the musicians came out. Bolsover took one’s instrument and attempted to describe the way the Irish played and the strange language in which they sang, but only succeeded in provoking gales of laughter which had been his intent all along. With mock resignation, he handed the instrument back to the musician and called loudly for a good French song. Eleanor clapped with everyone else, flushed from the wine and proud that the two most important men in the castle belonged to her.

  She slipped away a short while later to use the privy chamber and nearly bumped into Gwalaes afterwards on the stair leading back down to the hall. The black-haired girl reached for Eleanor’s arm, her face concerned.

  “Alan isn’t here!” she said.

  “What do you mean, isn’t here?” asked Eleanor. “I’m sure I saw him—”

  “You haven’t seen anyone tonight but your precious husband!” snapped Gwalaes. “Alan didn’t come with Robert—your brother was angry with him and left him with the king in Wales!”

  Eleanor was so surprised that she didn’t take offense to Gwalaes’ snide comment about her husband. She stared, open-mouthed. “How do you know?”

  “Because I asked! You were too busy to care, but I asked!” She related the story that another of Bolsover’s squires had told her about the runaway horse and Alan d’Arques’ misfortune. “He’s kin to you! How could Robert leave him?”

  “There must be a simple explanation, Gwalaes! Avranches was Robert’s favorite horse—he won him from Hugh! When he leaves Chester, he’ll more than likely send for Alan to join him again.”

  “If he ever leaves…” muttered Gwalaes.

  “What are you talking about, Gwalaes?” said Eleanor sharply.

  “Eleanor, open your eyes! Chester suits Robert very well! The earl dotes on him the way he should dote on you! Didn’t you see it at Oakby? Couldn’t you tell when we arrived here for the wedding and Robert, not Hugh, came out to greet us as if he owned all this? There isn’t any reason for Robert to leave! I think that if Hugh could have married Robert instead of you, he would have preferred it!”

  “You’re being ridiculous! They’re good friends just as we’re good friends…”

  The other girl o
pened her mouth as if to make a retort, but shut it just as quickly. Without another word, she turned and walked away, leaving Eleanor to stare after her in complete confusion.

  Two weeks later, the earl and Bolsover left Chester, bound for Normandy with the intention of witnessing the passing of the papal court’s verdict on the king. Eleanor and Gwalaes were awakened by the stamping and snorting of horses and loud male voices. Hardware clanked and jingled. Gwalaes unlatched the window and they leaned out as discreetly as they could. Scores of soldiers and horses milled below them in the ward, breathing out with vaporous puffs in the damp morning air. Then Hugh and Robert appeared. Roger of Haworth barked some command and the genial chaos quickly became order. Bolsover, laughing at something Hugh said, mounted a handsome, sleek roan which the earl had presented to him as a replacement for Avranches. Another command and the soldiers formed themselves into rough lines, led by Hugh and Bolsover. Then everyone moved towards the gate; knights followed by archers followed by men-at-arms followed by three baggage carts—nearly one hundred men in all. In a quarter of an hour the ward was empty, and silent once again. Gwalaes said nothing, but Eleanor felt humiliated. Hugh, whom she hadn’t seen privately since her brother’s arrival, hadn’t informed her of his impending departure.

  She had never been jealous of their father’s complete and exclusive devotion to Robert but she discovered she resented her husband’s excessive attention to him. While Robert was at Chester, Hugh ignored her completely. Never one for idle chatter, he didn’t even have a spare word for her. Perhaps there was a point to Gwalaes’ inexplicable hatred of the earl after all…but Eleanor couldn’t bring herself to hate Hugh. It was her brother’s fault, of course. Gwalaes, who had worshipped him growing up, was still too loyal to him to see the truth. Eleanor knew better; her eyes were unclouded by infatuation. She thought about Robert and the anger built up slowly inside her. He had manipulated all their father’s attention and now he was doing the same with her husband. It was abominable, unbearable. She hated him with an intensity she once would have never believed she possessed.