Hugh inclined his head. ‘Your endeavours with gifts could help me.’
His words were laced with cynicism, displaying more differences from the way she had known him to be. All through his childhood he’d tried to curb his father’s drinking, had worked tirelessly to save what little land they owned. He had come to her rescue when those boys had lowered her into the empty well.
Despite his efforts, his father had died from drink and his land had been sold to her father. From the proceeds he had purchased armour and paid for his travel to Edward’s Court.
Over those years while he’d trained, he had returned for only a few days or weeks to Swaffham. During those times, she had noticed him achieving a warrior’s build and assurance with the sword. Had watched him train with Eldric, who would often return with him. Her childish hero-worship had quickly turned to admiration. And a sort of ache as she’d watched him train as if he still had something to prove.
It was the memory of one of those times...that last time she’d seen him...that made her ache all the more. With embarrassment, with her own shame, with anger...
It had been her own fault. She’d approached him as he was slicing his sword against nothing. But she’d strode too close. She hadn’t been thinking about the sword—only him. It might have meant his sword slicing through her, but his training had required control, precision. He had stopped, the tip skimming her belt.
But he hadn’t controlled his temper when he’d stopped the lethality of the sword and exploded towards her.
She didn’t remember the words he’d used as he cursed. Only remembered his anger—his anger and his incredulousness because he hadn’t known she was spying on him. The mutinous embarrassment in his expression.
But that wasn’t what had caused her to ask the question. That wasn’t what had brought her steps closer to him. No, it was the emotion Hugh had displayed that had made her take those steps, had made her ask him to kiss her. It had been terror. He’d almost killed her and it had terrified him. He’d felt something—for her.
So she had asked him to kiss her. And Hugh, who had always protected her, had looked as if he wished his sword had struck true. Until, upon a shudder, he’d taken that last step, put his leg between hers, one hand cradled her jaw and his eyes locked on her lips.
The warmth of his hand, the living, breathing hardness of his body had contrasted with the cold, unyielding sword he’d still clutched in his hand. And then it had been only Hugh, his head lowering, and her standing on tiptoe to meet him before...
Before Hugh had raised his eyes to hers and stopped. Hugh had stopped. And it hadn’t been anger or worry or terror in his eyes. He had simply...gone from her.
When he’d stepped away she hadn’t needed his words. She’d already heard them in the impassiveness of his gaze. ‘Run to your home, Alice, before you do something you’ll regret.’
To her shame, she had.
He had left days after that confrontation. She had hid on her family’s estate and helped with the residents. And had vowed she’d never run again.
Yet here she was, standing in the town square and trying to avoid Hugh. No more.
Inclining her head, she addressed Cranley. ‘I should be safe if you want to return home now.’ She met Hugh’s steady gaze. ‘Shop with me if you like.’
‘Then it will truly be like old times.’
‘Some things should not be repeated.’ She watched Cranley’s retreating back and hoped she wasn’t making a mistake.
‘If we aren’t to repeat the past,’ Hugh said, interrupting her thoughts, ‘then why allow me to walk with you? You’re not even looking at the merchandise surrounding you.’
She stopped between stalls and the heavily laden bystanders bumped along beside them. ‘Because I have no interest in the merchandise, but Idohave an interest in why you are here.’
‘Bertrice insists on cleaning my home. Since I was unable to sit by a roaring fire, I found myself at a loss for anything to do this afternoon. The market provides entertainment.’
Again, he hadn’t divulged an answer.
‘Is it the King again? Is that why you’re here with me now?’
He raised a brow. ‘The King?’
‘That day in the garden you said you’d talk to the King. Was the conversation not to your liking?’
There was a knowing curve to his lips. ‘You remember that day very well.’
So did he—and she was tired of his games. ‘The talk didn’t go well, then?’
Crossing his arms, he widened his stance. She felt the market crowd at her back, and she avoided their enquiring eyes.
‘What makes you so sure?’ he said.
