Had nothing changed? Even his need to drink remained the same. He knew from experience that there wasn’t enough ale in all the land to hide his thoughts from himself, and if he drank much more he’d wouldn’t be able to keep his thoughts to himself.
Maybe if he poured out all his secrets he’d be rid of their poison.
The thought of finally being free of their crushing weight sent a mad euphoria through him—before hard reason dropped like an axe.
Laughing bitterly, he poured more ale into his cup. Pouring out his secrets would never happen. If it did, he’d be free—but only of his own head.
He renewed his pacing, stifling walls and bitter memories assaulting him from every cobwebbed dusty corner. At Edward’s court he shared his room with four other knights, but his suite was generous, its linens and wall coverings fine and warm in colour and purpose.
He kicked one of the thinly plastered wooden walls and a shifting of dust hit his shoe and hose. There wasn’t a scrap of colour or warmth in this hovel.
He shook the dust off in disgust. He regretted telling Bertrice not to clean the rooms. She had been insistent, but his bitterness at returning had tainted everything. Now he could see that if he was to spend time here, he’d have to make this hovel hospitable. Pampered soft bastard that he was.
Not that courtly pampering had made him any kinder, or any more of a gentleman. He was an unscrupulous man in a merciless predicament.
He’d been ordered by King Edward to find the keeper of the Half-Thistle Seal. Because private information had been leaked from the King’s chamber, Edward had lost a military surprise he’d been strategizing for months.
The Scots had not come as quickly to heel as the King had demanded since he’d won at Dunbar, and Balliol was now at the Tower of London. Since July, the King had relentlessly ordered nobles and clansmen to swear him fealty. Adamantly established sheriffs and governors to enforce his rule.
But that wasn’t all Edward had done. He’d also launched spies to infiltrate and report that his orders were being completed.
Hugh was such a spy. His skill with sword and strategy had been noted, but not exemplified.
Hugh had had the honour of gaining the King’s attention earlier this year, in April, after the death of the King’s favoured knight, Black Robert.
Secrets. Hugh was good at keeping and discovering them. He was good at reporting to the King. He had all the information Edward could ever need, but not everything he wanted to know.
For one, Black Robert was not dead, and was in fact Hugh’s closest friend and currently living on Clan Colquhoun’s Scottish soil while married to a Scot.
As for the second secret—Hugh didn’t need to travel anywhere to find the keeper of the Half-Thistle Seal. Hugh merely needed to look in a mirror or in the purse strapped tightly to his waist. The small seal had been pressing heavily since it had been hidden on the inside of his tunic. A metal thistle cut in half. One for him. One for Robert. Made so that Hugh could inform Robert of the King’s whereabouts and of any royal decrees that might affect Clan Colquhoun.
How had Edward discovered the Seal so soon? Only a few messages had been sent. Necessary to warn his friend of the King’s movements. Secretive, but innocent, and certainly not enough to start a war. Merely enough to save lives.
So many lives. The English...the Scots. How long could he protect both? Did it matter?
Ah, yes, it did—and that brought him to his third and definitely most perilous secret: Alice.
A joke on him since he was ordered to pay close attention to the Fenton family. Of all the families in all the land that the King had ordered him to spy on it had to be—
Three sharp blows to the weakened door had pieces of chipped plaster falling to the floor. Turning sharply, Hugh sloshed the ale in his cup as he watched the inconsequential door withstand the pounding. His sole concern was who might be visiting this time of night.
Only Bertrice knew he was in the town. He wanted it that way—wanted to give himself at least a day before he had to face everyone. Face what he had to do.
Another bang on the door...another swirl of dust.
‘Hugh, open the damn door—it’s freezing outside.’
Hugh recognised the voice, unlatched the door and stepped away as a tall, thick giant of a man stormed into the tiny house and stamped his feet to dislodge the snow that had settled on him.
Blowing on his hands, the man turned. ‘It’s not much warmer in here.’
‘I can open the door for you to leave and find warmer accommodations,’ Hugh replied, latching the door and turning to Eldric, a man he had known since they’d fostered at Edward’s court.
‘I think I’ll take my chances in here,’ Eldric replied.
‘Are you sure about that?’ Hugh replied, assessing one of his oldest friends—one he had not seen for many years.
Many young squires had been shoved into the same room back then. There had been nothing to differentiate Hugh from the rest of the boys Edward fostered, but even then Eldric had been huge. Everyone had wanted to be his friend and his partner.
Having known too many tormentors in the past, Hugh had steered clear—which had only got him noticed by Eldric.
It hadn’t taken long for Hugh to realise that Eldric wasn’t like the children in his past. For one, his friend had whistled—a habit that would have been mercilessly mocked if Eldric had been a hand span shorter. The other thing was that he was always at ease with his place and with everyone around him. From a lowly servant to the King, Eldric took every meeting with a happy outlook.
Such an outlook on life had intrigued Hugh. Growing up in Shoebury and then in Swaffham he had thought his life sheltered though he’d always known his family’s past darkened him. He knew it for certain when he heard Eldric laugh with an ease he could never manage.
However, there was nothing at ease about his friend now—and he guessed it wasn’t only the cold that caused the certain tenseness to his friend’s shoulders and expression.
‘What are you doing here, Eldric?’
Eldric pointed to the flagon still on the table. ‘Is there any left?’
Hugh knew better than to turn his back to fetch another cup. ‘Not much.’
Eldric’s gaze took in Hugh’s dust-covered boots, his travel-worn breeches and wrinkled tunic. ‘I can tell that.’
Hugh knew he was hardly in courtly dress and had drunk deep. But that was his own business, not this town’s nor his childhood friend’s. Years had passed since he’d seen him, and yet even though Eldric had scarcely been in his presence, he knew exactly how to challenge him.
In these small confines, there was only one way to accept such a challenge.
Turning his back, Hugh fetched another cup and flipped it over in front of Eldric, so that dust, plaster and insect remains fell to the ground.
Without so much as a telling tic, Eldric accepted the cup and poured the rest of the flagon’s ale into it.
Hugh’s humour lifted. Regardless of the unanswered question of why Eldric was in Swaffham, there was some of the same man he had known. Eldric was indeed still at ease with his world.
‘As to why I am here...’ Eldric shrugged. ‘You have to know news of your presence in this town has spread.’
Gossip. He might have underestimated the power of the small town. ‘I arrived today. I thought myself alone for tonight, but that’s not what I meant.’
‘Ah, you mean why am I in Swaffham?’
Hugh gave a curt nod. ‘Not exactly