‘Oh, no time like the present. Start tonight. Don’t delay.’
When her husband turned to regard her once again, there was a broad grin on his face, not a cruel grimace, but a look of amusement. Then, to her astonishment, he winked at her before turning back to Sir Edward. ‘But a game of chess first, I think,’ Guy said, rising from the table.
He went to one of the side-tables and returned with a magnificent silver board and an intricately carved wooden box. He set these down on a low wooden chest close to the fire and he and his friends settled down in a huddle. Hester had intended to leave them at the first opportunity, but these intriguing objects held her spellbound. She had never seen anything like them and her curiosity led her to the fireplace as if it pulled her on a string.
The board was a silver square, richly decorated with swirling patterns inside the criss-crossing squares. From the box, Guy took many beautiful little figures, fashioned delicately in ebony and ivory, and placed them in rows on the squares of the board. Hester stood watching, entranced by their loveliness. She had never seen anything so perfectly crafted. She even forgot to sulk as they began to play, bewitched by the gorgeous little figures, the weird creatures and strangely attired people they represented.
‘Is it from the East?’ she asked at last, unable to contain her curiosity.
Guy moved one of the smallest pieces forward to the next square. ‘It is,’ he replied, meeting her eyes and seeming to welcome her interest. ‘It is very popular amongst the Saracens.’
‘How strange that you should want to bring back their things when you went there to kill them,’ Hester found herself remarking.
‘Damned barbarians deserved to keep their chess no more than they deserved to keep the Holy Land,’ scoffed Sir Edward.
Guy glanced at him with a barely hidden expression of scorn. Hester realised in an instant that he shared none of Sir Edward’s views. But, instead of disagreeing openly, he merely replied, ‘It is a clever, strategic game, good for exercising the brain.’
‘And so beautiful. I have never seen such fine carvings.’ Hester could not restrain her exuberance. Her husband looked up at her in surprise.
‘Yes, I think so too,’ he replied quietly, looking into her eyes. ‘Perhaps you would allow me to teach you to play, my lady,’ he offered.
‘You’d be wasting your time, Beauvoisin,’ Sir Edward cut in. ‘Women can’t understand chess. It’s beyond them. Too much thinking involved.’
‘Perhaps the Lady Hester could prove you wrong, Sir Edward. I believe she may have the necessary skills for chess,’ Guy replied in a level voice, his dark eyes still fixed on Hester.
‘Pah!’ spat his opponent.
‘I should like to learn,’ Hester ventured.
‘Then come, my lady,’ Guy said, patting the wood of the settle on which he was sitting. ‘Come and sit beside me and watch the game. ’Tis the best way to learn.’ Hester hesitated. She longed to watch and learn, but she also wished to keep her distance. Then he raised his eyebrows as if to repeat the invitation, and she found she could hold back no more. In a moment she had crossed the short distance between them and was sitting by his side.
As he moved the dark carvings he told her their names. ‘This is the pedo, the foot soldier…and this is the elephant, or al-fil, as that creature is called in the Saracen tongue.’
‘You speak their language?’ Hester gasped in amazement. Guy nodded.
‘What’s that, Beauvoisin?’ Sir Edward broke in. ‘Not using those damned Saracen words again? I’ve told you about that before.’
‘So you have, sir,’ Guy replied mildly, casting another surreptitious wink at Hester.
She did not know what to think. Suddenly it was as if they were allies against the ghastly Sir Edward. But Guy wasn’t her ally, he was her enemy, her thief-husband, who had stolen himself away and had now returned to steal Abbascombe away from her too. And yet, there was something about his presence which drew her.
He leaned forward to move the little horseman and, as he did so, his knee brushed against hers. She felt herself flinch. He must have felt it too, for he moved away from her slightly, allowing her a little more space on the settle. He continued to explain the game as if nothing had happened. ‘We call this piece the knight. He is the heroic warrior riding into battle, rather like your husband.’ There was a note of bitterness in his voice and his smile, as she looked up, was a sardonic one.
‘You said earlier that you were a hero,’ Hester ventured.
‘So I did,’ Guy murmured, just loud enough for her ears only. ‘But I do not always mean everything I say.’ He paused. ‘I said some other things to you earlier which I would prefer unsaid, if ’twere possible.’
Sir Edward was moving the intricately-carved chariot.
‘That piece is the rukhkh, or chariot in our own language,’ Guy explained. He paused for a moment, then his hand went straight to his knight, swooping down upon his opponent’s king. ‘And that, Sir Edward, is shah mat; meaning, my lady, that the king is without resource, nothing can save him and therefore the game is over.’
‘You’ve won!’ Hester exclaimed.
‘There’s no fooling you, is there?’ Sir Edward spluttered, draining his goblet once more. ‘I say, I didn’t expect that. How did you manage it? Oh, I see. Well, Beauvoisin, damned good play.’
One of the girls brought yet another flagon of wine and there was a clamour as goblets were thrust forward for her to fill. Guy and Sir Edward stood aside, allowing the other knights to cluster around the board and begin a new game, rather more fuddled and wine-sodden than the last.
Hester took her chance to move away and went to stand in a shadowy nook beyond the great fireplace, where she thought she might observe her guests unnoticed. After a few moments, though, Guy was beside her once more.
‘So, my lady, would you still like to learn chess?’
Hester nodded silently. The game still fascinated her, but she was wary of allowing him to draw her into private conversation. Instead, she continued to stare towards the chessboard as if studying every move, though heaven knew her thoughts were dominated by the man beside her.
He allowed the silence to last a few moments longer. The fire crackled and spat as it caught a new log. The knights’ goblets clinked and chinked as they drank.
‘What had you planted in that field?’ he asked then, his voice low and serious. ‘The one where we…’ he hesitated, searching for the right word ‘…where we met this afternoon.’
‘Barley,’ Hester replied tersely, her annoyance returning with the memory of those heavy horses on her crop, and of the indignities she had suffered at his hands.
‘We were in high spirits, having reached our destination,’ he said, a note of apology in his voice, as he drained the wine from his goblet and set it down on the settle with a clatter.
Hester nodded, but said nothing.
‘It has been a long absence and a lengthy journey home,’ he continued.
‘My lord has no need to explain. It is your own crop to do with as you choose. I did not know then who you were,’ Hester answered in as level a voice as she could muster.
‘And I did not know…should perhaps have realised, but…’
‘You still call Abbascombe “home”, then?’ Hester interrupted, unwilling to hear his explanations.
‘Of course. There has not been a day these ten years when I did not think of it, and of those I had left here.’ There was an openness in his words which surprised