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in love, he found Margerie had fled the court – on the arm of another lover, a penniless young noble from the south.
    The news of Margerie’s flight was soon all round the court. His pride had been wounded, his already sore heart broken. And he had sworn never to love again, for love was just a mask that hid a man’s baser needs.
    ‘But Eloise was always at the top of my list,’ he admitted, seeing Hugh’s glance.
    ‘You had a list?’
    Wolf raised his eyebrows. ‘There is no need to sound so surprised. You may reach that point one day soon. And it does not hurt to be prepared.’
    His companion laughed. ‘I have no wish to marry young, so I have not yet made my list.’
    The cavalcade slowed as the narrow track turned east, passing through a grove bordered by a shallow, reed-thick lake. Wolf examined the close-growing trees with an experienced eye, watching for signs of ambush, for these roads became more dangerous the further north they travelled.
    ‘No maid has caught your eye at court?’
    Hugh looked sheepish, bending to pat his horse’s neck. ‘I find one or two of the queen’s ladies pleasing to the eye, I cannot deny it. But none have struck me as perfect.’
    ‘Perfect?’
    ‘When I meet my future wife, I hope to recognise her as such at first sight. The French poets liken it to a lightning strike.’
    ‘The French are a fanciful people,’ Wolf commented drily, ‘particularly when they turn their hands to writing verse. I would advise you to avoid poetry and take a more hard-headed approach when it comes to choosing a wife.’
    Hugh looked at him. ‘You do not believe in love?’
    ‘I believe in making the best of things, my friend. Look at me: my bride is fair enough to look upon, and hopefully there will be an heir to follow soon. If Eloise be not too unruly, nor too cold in bed, what should I need of love? Trust me when I tell you it is an empty word, used more by fools and liars than any sensible man.’
    Wolf reined in his horse, signalling the other riders to stop.
    As the cavalcade halted, he pointed across at the lake with his riding crop and raised his voice. ‘This place has water for the horses and good shade. We shall rest an hour or two here for luncheon, and allow the ladies to stretch their legs.’
    Wolf dismounted, leading his horse across to the shady grove and lakeside. While the weary animal drank its fill from the greenish water, he glanced back at the litter, where his future bride was already descending.
    Hugh’s remarks had rankled slightly, reminding him of the first time he had seen Eloise, tousle-headed and soft-cheeked, still a girl, not yet of marriageable age.
    He had been little more than a youth himself, his heart still smarting with grief from his mother’s death. But he had not been a child anymore. No, that unquestioning innocence had been long gone by the time he saw Eloise and thought her memorable. In those days he had been hungry to be out in the world, fighting the king’s enemies rather than sitting at home, mourning his lost childhood.
    Had his first glimpse of Eloise Tyrell been a lightning strike?
    Nothing so dramatic, he thought wryly. But perhaps there had been an element of compulsiveness about his interest in Eloise. He had asked around discreetly a few months back and discovered that she was still a virgin. It was rumoured the king had considered her for his next mistress, though she was no beauty. Her features were a little too irregular, and there was no stately composure in her look.
    So why had he chosen her? He had no answer to that.
    Grasping the hem of her gown, Eloise came slowly down the wooded slope towards the lake. She raised her head and looked eagerly about herself at the trees and the sunlit water beyond, taking deep breaths.
    He watched with interest. No doubt she was glad to be free of the stuffy confines of that curtained litter, even if only for a short time.
    Her maid, following more carefully with armfuls of cushions from