Mystique

Chapter 7

Alice ran for the storage shed. Her only hope was to reach it before the two dagger-wielding thieves caught her. If she could get through the door she might be able to barricade herself inside.

"Stop her," the man with the eyepatch yelled to his companion. "If we lose that damned stone this time we'll never get paid."

"The wench runs like a hart," the other man panted. "But she won't escape."

The frightening thud-thud-thud of her pursuers' booted feet behind her was the most terrifying sound Alice had ever heard. The storage shed seemed very far away. She was hampered by the weight of the heavy green stone and by her own skirts.

The two thieves closed on her.

Alice was ten paces away from the small outbuilding when she heard the thunder. It shook the very ground beneath her feet.

Some part of her awareness registered the fact that the sun was still shining. There was no sign of a storm.

The thunder was an ominous drumbeat behind her.

And then she heard one of her pursuers scream.

The horrible cry brought Alice to a stumbling halt. She whirled around in time to see the thief with the toothless grin go down beneath the hooves of a black war-stallion. The beast seemed not to notice the slight obstacle. It surged forward, seeking fresh prey.

Alice recognized the great war-beast and the unhelmed knight astride it. The black manes of horse and rider alike snapped in the wind. Steel flashed in the sun.

Alice clutched the stone and stared at the awesome sight she beheld. She had seen knights and war-horses enough in her life but she had never seen anything so fearsome as this.

Hugh the Relentless and the black juggernaut he rode came forward as one, a great engine of battle that nothing could stop.

The one-eyed man yelled and veered sharply from the chase, seeking refuge in the bushes that bordered the stream. He did not have a hope of outrunning the stallion. Apparently realizing that he was doomed, he turned helplessly to face his fate.

Alice started to close her eyes against the inevitable scene of death and destruction. But at the last instant the highly trained war-horse, obedient to its rider's unseen command, altered course. The huge creature brushed past the thief, leaving the one-eyed man untouched.

The big animal came to a shuddering halt, swung around on its haunches, and paced back to where the one-eyed man cowered. The stallion tossed his head, blew heavily, and stomped one massive hoof as though to protest the end of the chase.

The one-eyed man fell to his knees in terror.

Hugh glanced at Alice. "Are you all right?"

Alice could not find her tongue. Her mouth had gone dry. She nodded quickly.

Satisfied with her response, Hugh turned his attention to the thief. When he spoke his voice was terrifyingly soft. "So, you would hunt the lady as though you were a hound in pursuit of a hare."

"Do not kill me, m'lord," the one-eyed man pleaded. "We meant no harm. We was just frolicking with the lass. Only wanted a good tumble. Where's the harm in that?"

"The lass," Hugh said with exquisite care, "is my betrothed wife."

The thief's eye widened as he saw the ground open beneath his feet. Hell clearly awaited him. He made one more stumbling effort to defend himself.

"But how was we to know that, m'lord? She looks like any other wench. Found her comin' out of the bushes, we did. Naturally, we assumed she was looking for a bit of sport."

"Silence," Hugh commanded. "You are still alive only because I have inquiries to make of you. If you do not watch your tongue I may well decide that I don't need your answers."

The thief shuddered. "Aye, m'lord."

Dunstan came pelting around the corner of the old stone wall. Benedict, moving with the surprising speed he could affect with the aid of his staff, followed close behind him. Both men were out of breath and red in the face.

"Alice," Benedict yelled. "Are you unhurt?"

"Aye." Alice realized that she was trembling. She did not look at the man who had fallen beneath the war-horse's hooves.

Hugh glanced at Dunstan. "See to the one on the ground. He went down beneath Storm's charge and is likely dead."

"Aye, m'lord." Dunstan ambled toward the fallen man. He prodded the still body with the toe of his boot and spat casually into the grass. "I believe you're correct in your assumption, sir." Dunstan bent down to take a closer look at the object that lay beside the fallen man. "He carried a nice little dagger."

" 'Tis yours if you want it," Hugh said as he dismounted. "Along with anything else you can find on him."

"That will not amount to much."

A collective shout went up in the distance. The sounds of the latest clash on the jousting field were borne on the wind. Dunstan and Benedict both looked back in the direction of the tournament grounds.

Alice was conscious of an acute tension.

"I believe Vincent of Rivenhall has taken the field," Hugh said after a moment.

"Aye, sir." Dunstan heaved a sigh of regret. "That he has. 'Twould appear he has gone against Harold of Ardmore. That won't be much of a contest. Vincent will ride straight over the top of young Harold."

Hugh's jaw tightened but his voice remained as calm as though they had all been discussing the latest farming techniques. "I regret that you must content yourself with whatever booty you find on these two thieves today, Dunstan. 'Tis plain that due to certain recent events we will not have the opportunity of taking more lucrative victories in the jousts."

Dunstan shot a hooded glance toward Alice. "Aye, m'lord."

Hugh tossed the reins of the war-horse to Benedict. "Summon the sheriff and tell him that I will wish to question this man later."

"Aye, sir." Benedict seized Storm's reins. The stallion gave him a flat stare.

Hugh looked at Alice with unreadable eyes. "You are certain that you are unhurt?"

"Aye," Alice whispered. For some idiotic reason she felt as if she were about to burst into tears. She had the most ridiculous desire to throw herself into Hugh's arms. "You saved my life, my lord."

"That would not have been necessary had you obeyed my instructions to attend the jousts." Hugh's voice held no inflection.

Alice went cold. Mayhap it was true what they said about him, she thought. Mayhap Hugh the Relentless lacked all the warmer feelings. The weight of the rag-wrapped stone was suddenly very heavy in her hands. Belatedly she remembered that she held it.

"I have discovered the green stone, my lord," she said, hoping that knowledge would break through the invisible steel hauberk he wore over his emotions.

"Is that so?" He gave the object in her hands a cursory glance. "I am not pleased with the price you very nearly paid for it."

"But—"

"I had already made inquiries concerning the whereabouts of Gilbert the troubadour. He was to have entertained certain knights and their ladies this evening. The stone would have been safely in my hands by morning. There was no necessity for you to risk your neck for it."

Alice's precarious emotions underwent a sudden shift. She was outraged. "You should have told me of your scheme before you went off to the jousts, my lord. We are partners, if you will recall. We made a bargain."

"Our bargain, as you term it, has nothing to do with the fact that when I give instructions, I expect them to be obeyed."

"By the Saints, sir, that is most unfair."

"Unfair?" He started toward her. "You think I lack a sense of fairness merely because I object to your taking foolish risks?"

Alice stared at him in amazement. "You are angry."

"Aye, madam."

"I mean truly angry," she breathed. "Simply because I put myself in danger."

"I do not consider that such a simple matter, lady."

Hugh's forbidding expression should have deepened Alice's alarm, but for some reason it did not. A tiny flame of hope flared to life within her.

"I believe that you are actually more concerned about me than you are about the green stone, sir."

"You are my betrothed wife," Hugh said evenly. "As such, you are my responsibility."

Alice smiled tremulously. "My lord, I do believe you are something of a fraud. You are not nearly so cold as people claim. Today you saved my life and I will never forget it so long as I live."

She set the cloth-shrouded stone on the ground, straightened, and rushed straight into Hugh's arms.

To her astonishment, they closed around her.

The meshed steel links of Hugh's hauberk were cold and hard but the strength in him was oddly comforting. Alice clung to him.

"We will speak more of this later," Hugh said into her hair.

Hugh waited until after the evening meal had been prepared and eaten around the fire before he went to Alice's tent.

It was a very nice tent, he thought wryly as he walked toward it. Large, commodious. Quite comfortable. It even had a partition down the middle inside. It was the only tent that had been brought along on the journey.

It was his tent.

Hugh had assigned it to Alice without bothering to inquire whether or not she would be so gracious as to share its close confines with him. He'd known in advance what her answer would be to such a question.

Last night he had slept near the fire alongside his men. Tonight he had every expectation of doing so again while Alice enjoyed the comparative luxury and privacy of the tent.

Thus far Alice had not only slept alone in the tent, she had taken her meals there, too. As her uncle had sourly noted, she did not appear to have any interest in the conversation of knights and men-at-arms.

Hugh thought of her snuggled into his blankets and had to stifle a groan. A deep, restless need settled into his lower body. He had been too long without a woman. As a man of discipline he refused to be governed by his own lusts but he paid a price.

He knew the gnawing ache of unfulfilled sexual desire all too well. He had experienced it often enough over the years. He cheered himself with the thought that things would be different when he got himself a wife.

That notion naturally led to the all-too-obvious observation that he very nearly did have a wife. For most couples a betrothal was so close to a vow of marriage that few objected if the man and woman chose to consummate the union. In fact, such a consummation virtually ensured that the wedding would take place.

It was Hugh's ill fortune to be betrothed to a lady who considered herself his business partner rather than his future spouse. He wondered what it was going to take to convince Alice that marriage would be an interesting alternative to the convent.

The problem troubled him. It had all seemed so simple at first. Now he was starting to have doubts.

He had many abilities, Hugh thought. He was not without wits. Erasmus of Thornewood had seen to his education and Hugh was well aware that he was far more widely read than most men. But when it came to understanding women, especially a woman such as Alice, Hugh felt his skills to be sadly lacking.

"My lord?" Benedict rose from where he had been sitting near the fire and hurried over to Hugh. "May I have a word with you?"

"Not if it's about your sister," Hugh said.

"But, my lord, I would have you comprehend her better before you go to her. She meant no harm this afternoon."

Hugh paused. "She very nearly got her throat slit this day. Do you wish me to encourage her in such foolishness?"

"Nay, sir, but I'm certain that she will not do anything so rash again. I must point out that you have gotten what you wanted. The green stone is now safely back in your possession. Can you not let matters rest?"

"Nay." Hugh studied Benedict's worried face in the flickering shadows cast by the fire. "Calm yourself, lad. I do not beat women. I will not strike your sister."

Benedict looked unconvinced. "Sir Dunstan has explained that you are angry because you were unable to go against Vincent of Rivenhall in the jousts this afternoon."

"And you fear I shall take out my irritation on Alice?"

"Aye, that is exactly what I fear. Alice has a way of annoying men who seek to order her about, my lord. My uncle was forever losing his temper with her."

Hugh stilled. "Did Sir Ralf ever strike her?"

"Nay." Benedict smiled ruefully. "I do not think he dared do so. He knew she would have her revenge in some fashion that he could not predict."

"Aye." Hugh relaxed. "I gained the impression that Ralf was somewhat intimidated by Alice."

"At times I think he was actually afraid of her," Benedict said quietly. "Alice believed it was because of our mother's reputation."

"Your mother?"

"Aye. She was a great student of herbs, you see. A true mistress of the lore of plants." Benedict hesitated. "She knew the properties of many strange and unusual species, the ones that could heal as well as those that could kill. And she taught Alice about them from a very early age."

An icy sensation chilled the skin of Hugh's arms. "In other words, Sir Ralf feared that Alice might have learned enough from your mother to poison him, is that it?"

"Alice would never do anything so terrible." Benedict was clearly shocked by the notion. "My mother taught her to heal, not to cause harm."

Hugh reached out and gripped Benedict's shoulder. "Look into my face, lad."

Benedict's anxious eyes met his. "Aye, my lord?"

"There are things that must be made plain between Alice and myself. Among them is the fact that as my betrothed wife, she must abide by my instructions. I do not give orders for the sake of whim. I give them for the safety of those in my charge."

"Aye, sir."

"Alice and I may argue over this matter but I give you my oath that I will never strike your sister. You must be satisfied with that."

Benedict searched Hugh's face for a long moment, as though seeking to see clearly through the shadows. Then some of the rigid tension went out of his young shoulders. "Aye, my lord."

Hugh released Benedict. "She will come to understand that while she is in my keeping, she must obey me just as everyone under my command does. Unfortunately, there may be times, such as today, when her very life depends upon her obedience."

Benedict groaned. "I wish you good luck in convincing her of that, my lord."

Hugh smiled slightly. "Thank you. I suspect I shall need it."

He turned and continued toward the black tent. It was a fine night, he reflected. Cool but not cold. Campfires dotted the darkened landscape around Ipstoke. Sounds of drunken revelry, loud laughter, and occasional bits of song drifted on the evening air.

It was a typical evening following a day of jousting. Victorious lords and knights were celebrating their triumphs in ballad and story. The losers were negotiating the generally friendly, but often expensive, ransoms that would be demanded of them.

More than one man would be impoverished by the day's events. Several would be nursing bruises and the occasional broken bone.

But after this fair at Ipstoke was concluded, most of the winners and losers alike would hurry off to the next joust, wherever it was to be held. Such meets were a way of life for many men. The fact that jousting was technically illegal in England did nothing to quell enthusiasm for the sport.

Hugh was one of the few who took little pleasure in the business. For the most part he indulged himself in tournaments only when he wished to provide his men with the training such contests supplied.

Or on those rare occasions when he could ascertain that Vincent of Rivenhall would be his opponent.

The glow from within the black tent told Hugh that Alice had lit a brazier for warmth and a candle for light. He eased aside the flap and stood quietly in the opening. Alice did not hear him enter. She was seated on a small, folding stool, the only one that had been brought on the journey.

Alice had her back to him. The line of her spine was graceful and achingly feminine. Her head was bent intently over an object cradled in her lap.

The dark, burnished copper of her hair was bound up in a net. It glowed more richly than the coals in the brazier. Her skirts flowed in elegant folds around the legs of the stool.

His betrothed wife. Hugh drew in a deep breath as a wave of sharp desire crashed through him. His fingers tightened around the flap of the tent. He wanted her.

For a moment all he could think about was his startled reaction earlier that day when Alice had thrown herself into his arms. His emotions at the time had teetered on some unseen brink. He had been torn between rage at the risk she had taken and a gut-wrenching realization that she had almost gotten herself killed. He had very nearly lost her.

The sense of possessiveness that seized him made his hand tremble.

As though she had sensed his presence, Alice suddenly turned her head to gaze at him. She blinked and Hugh could almost see the thoughts in her head shift from one subject to another. Then she smiled at him and Hugh had to close his hand into a fist to keep from reaching for her.

"My lord. I did not hear you come in."

"You were obviously concerned with other matters." Hugh called forth every shred of self-mastery that he could claim. Deliberately he let the tent flap fall closed behind him.

"Aye, my lord."

He walked across the tent carpet and looked down at the object in her lap. "Still studying my crystal, I see."

"I am still studying my crystal, sir." She stroked the heavily faceted green stone with her fingertip. "I am attempting to comprehend why Gilbert the troubadour and those two thieves thought it so valuable."

"We won't learn much from the troubadour. Gilbert has vanished." Learning of the troubadour's disappearance had been yet another source of annoyance that day. Nothing seemed to be going right, Hugh thought morosely.

"I'm not surprised," Alice said. "There was something quite oily about Gilbert. I never cared much for him or his songs."

Hugh watched her face in the candlelight. "I'm told that women find him attractive."

Alice gave a ladylike snort. "I certainly did not. He tried to steal a kiss one evening while he was staying in my uncle's hall."

"Did he, indeed?" Hugh asked softly.

"Aye. It was most annoying. I dumped a mug of ale on his head. He did not speak to me after that."

"I see."

Alice looked up. "Did you learn anything from the one-eyed thief?"

"Very little." There was no point searching for a second stool. Hugh sat down on one of the heavy wooden chests that contained Alice's collection of stones. "He talked freely enough, but he knew only that his companion had made a bargain with someone to recover the crystal. I believe that the one-eyed man and his associate killed the peddler in Clydemere."

"Oh." Alice's voice sounded a bit unsteady.

"Unfortunately, the man who went down beneath Storm's hooves was the one who actually struck the bargain. He is dead and therefore can tell us nothing."

"I see."

Hugh narrowed his eyes. "Those two men would have murdered you without so much as a second thought."

She gave him a brilliant smile. "But you saved me, sir."

"That is not the point I wish to make."

She grimaced. "I know what point it is you wish to make, my lord. But look at the positive side. One of the murderers is dead and the other is in the sheriff's safekeeping. We are both safe and the stone has been recovered."

"You're forgetting one thing."

"What is that?"

"Whoever hired those two men to find the crystal is still out there somewhere and we have no clue to his identity."

Alice's fingers tightened around the crystal. "But whoever it is must know that his attempts to steal the stone have failed. It is back in your hands now, my lord. No one would dare to try to take it from you."

"I appreciate your confidence," Hugh muttered, "but I don't think we should assume that all potential thieves will have the same faith in my skills."

"Nonsense. My uncle assured me that you are well nigh a legend, sir."

"Alice, I regret to inform you that what constitutes a legend in out-of-the-way places such as Lingwood Manor or Ipstoke amounts to no more than a moderate reputation elsewhere."

"I do not believe that for one moment, sir," she said with a wholly unexpected show of loyalty. "I saw the way you dealt with those thieves today. When that tale gets back to the one who hired them, he will most certainly think twice before making any more attempts to take the stone. I am certain that we have seen the last of his handiwork."

"Alice—"

She tapped the crystal with her forefinger. Her brows snapped together in a contemplative expression. "Do you know, sir, I would very much like to find out why someone stole this stone in the first place."

Hugh's attention was briefly caught by the ugly crystal. " 'Tis possible, I suppose, that someone mistakenly believes it to be a valuable gem. It is, after all, said to be the last of a great treasure."

She eyed the stone with evident skepticism. "To judge by the low price he placed upon it, the peddler who sold it to my cousin Gervase certainly did not think it valuable. He believed it to be merely an unusual object. A trinket of interest only to a student of natural philosophy."

"I suspect that the thief was motivated by a belief that the stone had a far different sort of value."

Alice looked up sharply. "What sort of value is that, sir?"

"I told you that possession of the crystal is linked by a legend and a curse to the lordship of Scarcliffe."

"Aye. What of it?"

Hugh shrugged. "Mayhap there is someone who does not wish me to become the new lord of Scarcliffe."

"Who would that be, sir?"

Hugh absently drummed his fingers on his thigh. "Mayhap 'tis past time that I told you about Vincent of Rivenhall."

"The man you sought to go against in the jousts today? My brother told me that you were most annoyed because you were obliged to miss the contest. Indeed, I am well aware that it was my fault you found it necessary to forgo the joust."

"Aye. It was."

She gave him a dazzling smile. "But in the end you must admit that regaining the stone was the important thing, my lord. And we have done that, have we not? All is well, so we can forget about the unfortunate incidents of the recent past."

Hugh reluctantly decided that it was time to deliver his little lecture on obedience. "It is not my way to forget unfortunate incidents, as you term them, madam. Indeed, it is my belief that one must use such events to teach firm lessons."

"Never fear, sir, I have certainly learned mine," she assured him cheerfully.

"I wish I could believe that," Hugh said. "But something tells me—"

"Hush." Alice held up a hand to silence him. "What is that?"

Hugh scowled. "What is what?"

"Some troubadour is singing a ballad. Listen. I believe it is about you, my lord."

The words of a song sung in a lusty masculine voice floated into the black tent.

"The knight called Relentless was fearless

'tis said.

But I tell you today from Sir Vincent

he fled."

"Aye, 'tis about me," Hugh growled. Vincent had found a way to have his revenge, he thought. Such was the price one paid when one got oneself betrothed to a woman such as Alice.

Alice set down the stone and leaped to her feet. "Some drunken troubadour is slandering you, my lord."

"Which only goes to prove true what I said earlier. What constitutes a pleasant little legend in some parts is naught but a poor jest in others."

"Sir Hugh once caused bold knights

to shudder and quail.

But henceforth let the truth of his

cowardly nature prevail."

"This is outrageous." Alice stalked toward the tent flap. "I shall not stand for it. You missed that silly joust today because you were occupied with the business of being a true hero."

Belatedly, Hugh realized that Alice intended to confront the troubadour. "Uh, Alice, wait. Come back here."

"I shall return in a moment, my lord. First I must correct that troubadour's idiotic verse." Alice slipped through the tent flap. It dropped back into place behind her.

"God's teeth." Hugh rose from the wooden chest and crossed the tent carpet in two strides.

He reached the flap and yanked it open. He saw Alice in the light of the campfire. She had her skirts clutched in her hands as she went briskly toward the neighboring encampment. Her chin was angled determinedly. His men stared after her in consternation.

The troubadour, heedless of impending trouble, continued with the next verse of his song.

"Mayhap his fair lady will search

for another strong knight who can please.

For the Bringer of Storms has gone soft,

now 'tis limp as a midsummer breeze."

"You, there, sir troubadour," Alice called loudly. "Cease braying that foolish song at once, do you hear me?"

The troubadour, who had been wandering among the encampments, pausing to sing his new ballad wherever he was invited to do so, broke off abruptly.

It seemed to Hugh that the night became suddenly and unnaturally quiet. His own men were not the only ones gazing at Alice in astonishment. She had the attention of all those gathered about the nearby fires.

The troubadour swept Alice a deep bow as she came to a halt directly in front of him.

"My lady, forgive me," he murmured with mocking courtesy, "I regret that my song does not please you. 'Twas composed only this afternoon at the request of a most noble and valiant knight."

"Vincent of Rivenhall, I assume?"

"Aye." The troubadour laughed. " 'Twas indeed Sir Vincent who requested a song to celebrate his great victory on the jousting field. Would you deny him a hero's ballad?"

"Aye, that I would. Especially when he was not the champion today. 'Twas Sir Hugh who played the true and gallant hero."

"By refusing to take the field against Sir Vincent?" The troubadour grinned. "Forgive me, but that is an odd notion of a hero, madam."

" 'Tis obvious that neither you nor Sir Vincent knows the true facts concerning what happened this afternoon." Alice paused to glower at the circle of listeners she had collected. "Hear me, all of you, and listen well for now I shall tell you what really happened today. Sir Hugh was obliged to miss the joust because he was occupied with a hero's task."

A tall man dressed in a red tunic walked into the circle of firelight. The flames revealed his aquiline features.

Hugh groaned as he recognized the newcomer.

"What heroic task took Sir Hugh from the field of honor, my lady?" the tall man asked politely.

Alice whirled to confront him. "I would have you know that Sir Hugh saved me from two vicious thieves this afternoon while Sir Vincent was playing games. The robbers would have murdered me in cold blood, sir."

"And who are you?" the tall man asked.

"I am Alice, Sir Hugh's betrothed wife."

A ripple of interested murmurs greeted that announcement. Alice paid them no heed.

"Are you, indeed." The tall man examined her in the firelight. "How interesting."

Alice fixed him with a quelling glare. "Surely you will agree that saving my life was a far more heroic deed than engaging in a bit of nonsensical sport."

The tall man's gaze went past Alice to where Hugh stood a short distance behind her. Hugh smiled faintly as he met eyes that he knew were very nearly the same color as his own.

The tall man turned back to Alice. He swept her a sardonic bow. "My apologies, madam. I am sorry if the troubadour's song offended you. And I rejoice to know that you survived your encounter with thieves this afternoon."

"Thank you," Alice said with icy politeness.

"You are obviously something of an innocent, madam." The tall man stepped back out of the firelight. "It will be amusing to see how long Hugh the Relentless remains a true hero in your eyes."

He did not wait for a response.

Alice glared after him and then turned once more to the troubadour. "Find another song to sing."

"Aye, my lady." The troubadour's expression gleamed with laconic amusement as he swept her another bow.

Alice whirled about and strode back toward Hugh's encampment. She paused when she saw him standing in her path.

"Oh, there you are, my lord. I am pleased to say that I do not believe we shall be troubled again by that ridiculous ballad about Sir Vincent of Rivenhall."

"Thank you, lady." Hugh took her arm to lead her back to the tent. "I appreciate your concern for me."

"Don't be ridiculous. I could not allow that idiot to sing his lies about you, sir. He had no business making a hero out of Sir Vincent of Rivenhall when you were the true hero of the day."

"Troubadours must make their living in whatever way they can. No doubt Sir Vincent paid well for his ballad."

"Aye." Alice's face lit with sudden enthusiasm. "A thought has just occurred to me, sir. We should pay the troubadour to invent a song about you, my lord."

"I'd prefer that we did not do that," Hugh said very distinctly. "I have better things to spend my money on than a ballad featuring myself."

"Very well, if you insist." Alice sighed. "I suppose it would be quite expensive."

"Aye."

"Nevertheless, it would be a very lovely song, I'll wager. Well worth the cost."

"Forget it, Alice."

She made a face. "Do you know the identity of that tall man who came to stand by the fire?"

"Aye," Hugh said. "That was Vincent of Rivenhall."

"Sir Vincent?" Alice came to an abrupt halt. She gazed at Hugh with astonishment. "Do you know, sir, there was something about him that reminded me a little of you."

"He's my cousin," Hugh said. "His uncle, Sir Matthew, was my father."

"Your cousin." Alice looked dumbfounded.

"My father was the heir to Rivenhall." Hugh smiled with the humorless amusement he had long cultivated for this particular topic. "Had Sir Matthew not neglected to marry my mother before he got her with child, I, not Sir Vincent, would have inherited the Rivenhall lands."