Her Christmas Knight. Nicole Locke

asked.

      Eldric gave a small smile.

      Hugh didn’t expect an answer, but sometimes the most obvious questions slipped into answers.

      ‘Are we friends?’ Eldric said.

      ‘Yes,’ Hugh replied, surprised that the answer came easily despite himself knowing better. Maybe there was still some of that sheltered and naive boy in him yet.

      Eldric nodded, as if Hugh had answered some other question not asked. ‘Good to know.’

      Hugh sensed that there was more to say, and he intended to wait. After all, he knew about keeping secrets. If he pried too deeply Eldric would do the same. With his silence, it appeared Eldric knew a score of secrets—as did Hugh. Could it be possible that Eldric was a friend in truth? There was only one way to find out.

      Shifting in his seat, he said, ‘I would think Edward would know better than to employ you to carry and catch secrets. It’s not as if you can hide.’

      Eldric let out a startled laugh. ‘You’d be surprised how easy it is to hide in plain sight. People don’t equate my handsome stature with intelligence.’

      ‘Your intelligence must be all you’re relying on!’

      Eldric did laugh then. ‘I may not have bested you, but my sword arm is still longer than yours.’

      Hugh drained his cup. ‘Longer, but not sharper.’

      ‘Sharp enough. And in these quarters you couldn’t escape even with that footwork you learned from...’ Eldric’s voice faded and he shook his head. ‘Sorry, I heard the news.’

      The unsaid name hung between them. ‘Black Robert’ of Dent—Edward’s favoured knight and Hugh’s mentor.

      Hugh had been just as surprised as Eldric when Robert, who had been older and already making a name for himself, had taken him under his wing to train him.

      Hugh had readily accepted, even knowing that Robert trained hard, and he had been pushed to do the same. Through that time Hugh had tormented himself, wondering if Robert knew of his shame because of his father’s drunkenness and lost honour.

      But Robert surely had to have done, because nothing was truly a secret at Court—which had made Robert’s sullying himself with Hugh’s family reputation all the more startling.

      Of course Hugh had heard of Robert’s own rumoured history. How he might not be legitimately-born, which shouldn’t be possible given his knighthood. Still, the vague rumour had persisted and surrounded Robert, despite Edward’s affection for him and his alliance with a Welsh Marcher Lord.

      Hugh hadn’t cared. He was grateful for any kinship with the formidable knight, and had continued to follow Robert’s prescribed training even when he left Court.

      When he had seen his friend again Robert had been a changed man, but they’d stayed close.

      ‘I heard you were the last who saw him.’ Eldric shook his head. ‘Still can’t comprehend how the bastards got him.’

      ‘He went off alone,’ Hugh supplied. ‘And he was just a man.’

      ‘A legend.’

      Even more so now in death.

      A death that the English mourned, but that Hugh knew was a lie.

      Secrets and more secrets.

      Robert was still alive, and married into a Scottish family. And if he was found he would be formally executed.

      Hugh, who held his secret, would most likely be murdered on some abandoned road, his body left to rot in a forgotten wood.

      He had made a vow that day to Robert, on Scottish soil, that he would never tell the King or his fellow man that Robert still lived. A solemn vow. A traitorous one, as well.

      Hugh didn’t care. The only thing he cared about was his friendship with Robert, and that he’d take to his grave...wherever that was to be.

      However, that didn’t mean he wanted to die any time soon, and Eldric merely mentioning Robert was a threat.

      ‘What are you doing here, Eldric?’ he repeated.

      Eldric kicked at the dirt on the floorboards. ‘Attending a dinner tonight. It’s St Martin’s Day.’

      Holidays. Celebration. Hugh wasn’t in the mood for merriment.

      Standing, he signalled to the door. ‘I shouldn’t keep you, then.’

      ‘I came to take you with me.’

      Hugh bit back a telling curse. Wanting no company, he’d purposefully kept quiet about his arrival. He’d wanted one night to wallow in self-pity upon being forced to return here. One night to drink as if copious amounts of ale in this hovel didn’t hold bitterness.

      But that was not why he wanted to curse. It was because Eldric had been invited to a traditional dinner and he could bring a guest.

      ‘How long have you been here?’

      ‘Weeks.’

      ‘Weeks’ meant he had been here before the King had sent him. If Eldric was a spy, it didn’t have anything to do with him and Alice.

      So perhaps it was true that he’d came on a detour. But no detour took that much time in a town the size of Swaffham.

      ‘Weeks’ meant something else. Friend or no, Eldric wasn’t on any mere detour. Even if it was futile, Edward had sent Hugh here on a mission to find the Half-Thistle Spy, and he didn’t like any interference. Eldric being here for weeks was definitely an interference.

      Of course Eldric could have lied about his time spent here, and hadn’t, which should go in his favour. But there were too many coincidences that Hugh didn’t like.

      He also didn’t like it that his flagon and his cup were empty.

      ‘The fare will be delicious at the mayor’s house,’ Eldric said.

      The mayor’s house meant Alice. The one woman he shouldn’t see. Not in the state he was in. Not ever.

      Knowing his going could only be a trap, Hugh answered, ‘Why not?’

       Chapter Five

      ‘Finally you’ve arrived!’ Elizabeth exclaimed as Alice was ushered into the receiving hall.

      ‘Not soon enough,’ Alice said, allowing the servants to remove her heavy cloak, hat and gloves.

      ‘As usual, the November wind is battering this house,’ Elizabeth said. ‘I had a dreadful time getting the children to bed, but at least it’s not raining.’

      ‘It’s starting to.’

      ‘All the guests haven’t arrived yet!’

      ‘They’ll come.’ Alice blew on her hands. ‘How’s the goose?’

      Elizabeth let out a rough exhalation. ‘You knew about that?’

      It was Martinmas—St Martin’s Day—and the start of the Christmas season. A busy day for farmers, whose livestock had to be slaughtered and dried for the coming months, a profitable one for beggars knocking on doors for alms, and a gluttonous day for feasting. Lots of food, and even more drink. And at her sister’s home Alice would gain invitations to others’ homes.

      ‘Esther hasn’t been able to talk of anything else for the last two days.’ Alice fluttered her hands in the air and widened her eyes. ‘“Elizabeth can’t find a St Martin’s Day goose! What will be done? Something has to be done!”’ She rubbed her hands to give them warmth. ‘This morning I had to order her to stay at home.’

      ‘Order Esther?’ Elizabeth strolled into the parlour. ‘Who