Slowly Ancel moved, crossing towards his wife when she presented at the doorway.  The anger was there as was the desire in his eyes.  Whether it was for her, or the idea of her, the wanton lust was in his eyes and groin.  When she spoke to him of giving herself to her king whom she trusted, a sneer furled at his lips and then the lash of him not being that man … the anger took over his desire and he raised his hand.  The back of it might change her tone.  The rest of her words blurred as his arm came up to strike the blow.<br/><br/>Then she spoke /her/ name and he caught himself.  Not unaware of what he was doing, but a deeper hatred arose in him.  Yet, deep in those eyes was the love he once had, the anger rising through him crossed his face, removing any thoughts of that love from his person.  That was his to hold and no one else to ever touch, it was all for his wife, not some child.<br/><br/>“You are not my Elenore … don’t you dare speak her name again.”  There was a small hint of madness in his eyes, as his hand balled into a fist that he put into her face it was ready to cock and release.  Slowly he uncurled a finger, pointing to emphasize his words to her.  “You shall do as the king pleases or you’ll find yourself far worse off than if those peasants did get a hold of you.”<br/><br/>Then, through clenched teeth, he snarled, “Get out of those clothes before I tear them from your body.”  His hand came down, reaching for her upper arm; to grab her so as to throw her into the room and away from the window, his white knuckles evident that his grip would bruise her soft flesh.<br/>