Forbidden Lord (7 page)

William gave a sudden laugh. ‘Ye Gods, Godfrey, by no means! Catherine is in the past—and between you and me, I'm relieved she wasn't waiting for me. I've complications enough without having to find an excuse why I no longer wish to wed her.'

‘If you wanted her, none of that would matter,' Godfrey remarked, hoisting himself on to his horse. ‘Anyway, I don't think your lordship is the type she admires.'

William cocked a brow. ‘And you are?'

Heading out of the yard, Godfrey gave a bark of laughter. ‘Had I met her before that milksop she's married, I warrant she'd be willing enough.'

Godfrey was supremely confident that this was so—despite her scathing look when she had met his gaze and the way she had lifted her lovely head haughtily. The woman was beautiful in a different way to Mistress Collingwood, and one thing he had discerned was that she was indifferent to her new husband. His gaze swept to where Mistress Collingwood waited for them by the roadside, an impatient look on her face.

‘But for now we have another young lady to contend with—all the way to York.'

 

The weather turned colder and the condition of the roads deteriorated as they travelled through the counties of Cambridgeshire, Nottinghamshire and at last into her beloved Yorkshire. The winter's rain had turned puddles into small lakes and roads into quagmires, but Eleanor was full of hope despite the weather.

Somehow, despite all her efforts to dislike William, Eleanor was unable to sustain her animosity and a genuine camaraderie had sprung up between them. The tense, stilted journey she had feared had turned out differently and she had enjoyed the casual banter between her companions.

Eleanor and William were riding two abreast, Tilda stepping out to keep pace with the bigger horse, Godfrey several yards in front. They had been riding in silence at a steady pace for several miles. For once the sun was shining and the sky was a pale blue with wisps of cloud. The view on either side was picturesque, with grassy hills dotted with woolly sheep and water meadows where plump cattle grazed.

Skilfully riding his prancing stallion, William looked at his companion, becoming distracted with the delicate curve of her cheek and mouth, the slight swell of her bottom lip and the gentle arch of her brows. He enjoyed riding beside her. She sat her horse with an ease that came with knowing how to.

‘You ride well, Eleanor,' he commented softly.

His eyes went over her figure in her hose and doublet, the padded fabric pulling over her breasts. Her cloak was thrown back over her shoulders and a jaunty brown feather curled in her hat. She was exquisitely lovely, sensual and complex and with none of the pampered softness of so many women he had known. She was standing up to the hard journey admirably, but she was weary and saddle sore and straining to reach Hollymead. Thankfully the pain in her shoulder had eased.

Eleanor smiled carelessly, enjoying the feel of the sun on her face. ‘I've had plenty of practice at Hollymead and at
Fryston Hall—at least my stepfather didn't begrudge me that, and Tilda's been mine ever since I went to live there.'

‘She's a fine mare,' William remarked, keen to engage her in conversation; despite having spent a good deal of time together, he knew little about her. But he was beginning to decipher her moods. She was strong, confident, spirited and determined one minute, and vulnerable and unsure of herself the next.

‘She has a sweet nature and handles well. She also has stamina—which you will have seen for yourself, although she's not up to your splendid animal.'

‘He is rather fine. I bought him off a dealer when I arrived in London a week ago. Savage, he was—thought he'd kick the stable door down, but he's beginning to know who's his master.' Chuckling low, he leaned forward and slapped his horse's neck affectionately when it pricked its ears and snorted, the clever beast knowing it was being discussed. After a while he gave Eleanor a sideways glance. ‘What do you really think of me, Eleanor?' he asked before he could stop himself, but he was curious to know her opinion of him.

She gave him a pointed look, an impish smile playing on her lips. ‘I think you would trouble a woman, Lord Marston—not dressed as a boy, that is.'

William laughed out loud at that. ‘Then think yourself fortunate that you are wearing hose.'

She laughed back at him. She could not help herself.

They rode for a few moments in silence. William turned his head and found Eleanor looking at him. He looked into her eyes, enormous, captivating eyes, amazing eyes, of a deep rich amber that made him think of copper and liquid honey and burnished gold—candid and expressive, with long dark lashes. The silver flame in his gaze kindled brighter, burning her with its intensity. Raising his eyebrows a fraction, he grinned suddenly, the change lessening the tension of the moment.

‘I can imagine how eager you are to reach Hollymead,' William remarked. ‘I trust you will find your uncle in good health.'

‘So do I. I haven't seen him for a long time. What will you do when you have spoken to him? Will you remain in York?'

He shook his head. ‘I shall go home to Staxton Hall—just a few miles north of York. I've been away a long time. I'm eager to see my family—my mother and my sisters.'

‘They are expecting you?'

‘I wrote to my mother from London.'

‘And how many sisters have you?'

‘Two. Anne and Jane are twins and still at home.'

Her look was one of envy. ‘You're lucky. I would have liked a sister.'

‘You have Catherine.'

Eleanor's eyes clouded with regret. ‘Catherine and I never enjoyed the close relationship that real sisters share with each other, and we rarely confided in each other.'

‘I'm sorry to hear that. Catherine was often moody, her temper volatile, but she had a gentle side to her nature—and she was also a victim of her father's harshness and, at times, indifference.'

Eleanor glanced at him, wondering if he still loved Catherine. The blankness of his expression showed her he was desperately trying to hide what he still felt for her; in fact, his seeming lack of concern was not convincing, for a man who has loved a woman cannot help but hold on to the memory of that love, even if it is no more.

‘You—have been to the Court since returning to London?' she asked, having no desire to discuss her temperamental stepsister.

‘Briefly.'

‘And is Queen Elizabeth as beautiful as everyone says she is? And is it as exciting as I have heard?'

William seemed amused as he studied her. Eleanor saw
a twinkle in his eye and a twist of humour about his attractive mouth.

‘Each to his own. There are better things to do than to idle away one's time at Court. It all appears civilised on the surface, made up of civilised human beings, but there runs many dangerous and treacherous undercurrents as ambitious courtiers court the Queen's favour and scheme to better their position and fill their family coffers.'

‘And are you too not ambitious? I—am aware that your own scheming resulted in the confiscation of your home,' she said haltingly.

‘No,' he said decidedly. ‘Besides, my home has been restored to me—and for that I have to thank your uncle, since he petitioned the Queen on my behalf. Thankfully Elizabeth knows who her friends are. She knows who stood by her through the years of her troubles and rewards them well for it now she has the power to do so.'

‘I did not realise my uncle was influential in Court matters, never having sought favour.'

‘The Queen met him several years ago when she was at Hatfield Palace and she admired his intellectual mind. But where the Court is concerned, believe me, Eleanor, it can be a dreadful place. There is also much warmongering among the ladies who surround the Queen, with their petty jealousies and intrigues, weaving webs of deceit. And the men are equally as bad, with their love of corruption, of besting the next man in the frequent tournaments—jousting, pageants and masques put on for the Queen's entertainment.'

‘They say she is much admired by the gentlemen of the Court.'

‘She is the Queen. It flatters her vanity to be surrounded by men, and she is not averse to a handsome face.'

‘And do you not aspire to be one of them? There was a time when you dazzled the ladies of the Court of King Edward and did not lack for female companionship—and I
know all about your spirit of adventure that took you to foreign parts.'

A cloud seemed to cross his face. Elizabeth's Court was livelier than the Court of the young King Edward, of which he had been an integral part, where nobles had seen him as an astute friend or a man to be wary of if they were involved in anything detrimental towards the King.

‘Those days are gone. The Queen's Court holds no attraction for me, and much less the Queen herself. Besides, she is enamoured of Lord Robert Dudley—and he of her.'

‘I have heard the gossip—' she shot him a little smile ‘—who has not? But there are those who say it is scurrilous and untrue.'

‘I assure you, Eleanor, that the rumour is not unfounded. They cannot keep their eyes off each other.'

‘But Lord Robert is a married man so nothing can come of it. A wife cannot be set aside.'

‘She can if the lady who wants a wife set aside happens to be the Queen of England and supreme governor of the church. As such she has the power to do so, and do not forget that her father did just that in his desire to wed Elizabeth's mother and later to divorce Anne of Cleves. Unfortunately Elizabeth has inherited a bankrupt and rebellious country from her sister, and considerable debt abroad.

‘Her advisors have warned her that she will only survive it if she marries a strong prince. There are several being talked of and Robert Dudley is definitely not one of them. However, he thinks very highly of himself and is ambitious, certain he can reclaim his destiny at Elizabeth's side, but his enemies are many. If he does not return to his wife, he will have to watch his back.'

‘I have much in common with Robert Dudley. Both our fathers were beheaded under Queen Mary.'

William's face turned hard. ‘A tragic situation that you have laid at my door.'

The mood between them had changed. All at once the ugly reality had invaded the false, easy atmosphere of the journey,
and Eleanor rounded on the man, knowing him for what he truly was, and before she could help herself, accusingly, she said, ‘Yes, and with good reason.' Her eyes saw the changing expression on his face—a look that at once seemed to warn her and to shut her out.

‘Good reason indeed,' he remarked brusquely.

Eleanor lifted her chin. ‘That's the way it is. I'm in no position to judge.'

Anger ignited in his eyes. ‘No, you're not.'

With nothing else to say, in one swift motion William kicked his horse forwards.

Becoming lost in her thoughts, Eleanor rode on in silence. Throughout the days she had been with William they had become not exactly friends, because what she knew to be his betrayal of her father had placed too great a divide between them, but they got on well enough. Moreover, she found in him a sensitivity that made him capable of perceiving her need for understanding. He was also the only man who had told her he admired her spirit, instead of condemning her for it.

Why had William disappeared from Catherine's life so suddenly, she wondered yet again, and where had he been for the past three years? The very fact that he refused to speak of it told her that whatever had befallen him had left scars, as yet unhealed. What treachery could have hardened his heart?

There were so many questions she wanted answers for. What was the cause of the enmity between William and her stepfather? Was Catherine at the root of it, or was it something more sinister than that?

T
hey were to spend the night at an inn beneath the grim, massive ramparts of Pontefract Castle, an impressive, impregnable structure built by a Norman upon a rock, in an area that was an established centre of the cloth industry.

The next day they would reach York. Darkness was falling and it had been raining for the best part of the day. Welcome lights shone from the inn's windows and smoke twisted up from its chimneys. Eleanor slid from her horse and ducked her head as a gust of wind buffeted her.

Camaraderie restored between them, half-smiling, William looked at her, knowing how relieved she was that this was to be their last night on the road, but she was staring straight ahead, her face ashen. Following her gaze, he saw two men taking to the road. They hadn't seen the new arrivals and they looked in a hurry. Both men were shrouded in black cloaks, their hats pulled down and partly shielding their faces from the buffeting wind, but they were familiar to Eleanor.

She became still as she puzzled over the familiarity of the men, looking at the gate through which they had disappeared, then shook her head.

‘Why do you frown?' William enquired.

‘Those two men who just rode out were familiar to me,' she replied quietly.

‘Your stepfather's men?'

‘Yes. It isn't my imagination.'

‘No,' William agreed, his expression one of grim concern. ‘It's not your imagination and nor do I think it's a coincidence. I knew Atwood would lose no time in dispatching his henchmen after us.'

‘I don't think they saw us.'

‘Neither do I. They must have passed us somewhere along the way without knowing and think we are ahead of them. Why did they not stay the night at the inn? Why the haste?' His dark brows were drawn together in a frown. ‘I'm curious to know what they're up to.'

Eleanor's heart was filled with dismay and a cold shiver ran down her spine. ‘I am afraid,' she whispered.

‘Your fears are not without foundation. Anyone as ruthless and determined as Frederick Atwood will wreak his vengeance no matter what he has to do. We must be extra-vigilant from now on.'

‘Do you think we should ride on a bit farther? Wouldn't you rather put some more miles behind us? We could reach Tad-caster in a few hours.'

‘It will soon be dark. Besides, given the choice of riding in the rain after a couple of Atwood's ruffians rather than enjoying a hot supper and sitting in comfort before a blazing fire with a lovely young woman,' he murmured, his eyes twinkling roguishly and a smile curving his lips as he attempted to relieve the tension of the moment, ‘well—a man would have to be out of his mind not to choose the latter.'

Eleanor cocked her head on one side and smiled up at him. ‘Are you flirting with me by any chance, William Marston?'

Throwing back his head, he laughed out loud, his white teeth flashing against his bronze skin. ‘Heaven forbid I should feel romantically inclined to the one who has branded me a traitor,
Mistress Collingwood, but,' he said, his laughter fading and his eyes coming to rest warmly on hers, ‘I could be persuaded.'

Eleanor could barely speak, for at that moment there was nothing she wanted more than to persuade him. The proud set of his head and the way his dark hair curled over his collar, the lift of his brows and the curl of his lips made her heart heavy, for though she had made it plain to herself from the outset that she would avoid any advances he might make towards her like the plague, she had not bargained for the ache that had pestered her night and day since.

As she followed him inside the inn, it suddenly dawned on her that they'd be parting soon, perhaps tomorrow, and the realisation pierced her with unexpected poignancy. However, one thing was clear. Something had been lit between them, something that made her heart sing—and Eleanor did not have a clue what to do about it.

 

It wasn't one of the best inns they had stayed at, being dirty and dim, and yet it was lively enough and warm. It had been market day in Pontefract and it was crammed with local traders and farmers, their dirty boots stinking of the farm yard. There was much laughter and drinking and as the three of them, sitting as close to the fire as they could get, ate their meal and drank their ale, for the first time since leaving London Eleanor began to relax.

They were in her beloved Yorkshire and her journey was almost over. The two men her stepfather had sent in pursuit had unnerved her, but she wasn't unduly worried since she felt safe enough with William and Godfrey. She did not doubt William's prowess as a fighter, but anyone would have to be a fool to provoke Godfrey, and tomorrow she would be safe at Hollymead in her uncle's care.

Godfrey had a natural tendency after they had eaten to disappear to wherever it was he had a bed, but that evening, well fortified with ale and flattered by the open attention of the
hostess, he was in no hurry to depart. Molly Brown, enormously well endowed in all the right places, was spurred into immediate action the minute he stepped through the door, for in Pontefract, men of Godfrey's splendid size and presence were as rare as hen's teeth.

William and Eleanor watched with great amusement as she served him brandy, and as she served it she leaned so far over that her loosely fastened blouse dipped down to reveal more of a rather splendid pair of mammary appendages than was decent, causing heat to warm Eleanor's face with embarrassment, for she was certain that if the woman's blouse gaped any lower her umbilicus would have been visible.

Godfrey couldn't take his eyes off the fine orbs and he grinned appreciatively. ‘Nice view you have there, sweetheart.'

Molly grinned back and nudged him playfully with her elbow. ‘Nice of you to say so, love.' Her eyes twinkled. ‘Lonely, are you?'

‘I might be.'

‘Then we'll have to see what we can do about that, won't we?' she said, laughing suggestively. ‘Though if you're staying we only have two empty rooms, one small, the other a bit bigger.' Her eyes devoured Godfrey unashamedly. ‘I'll wager you, big fella, can fit in the small one well enough and these two gentlemen can share the other.' Only having glanced at Eleanor in passing, she was completely ignorant as to her gender, which only served to intensify Eleanor's and William's amusement. They had to struggle to keep themselves from laughing out loud.

Molly smiled cheekily at William. ‘Very comfy it is—double bed, soft mattress. You'll have no complaints.' Placing her hands on her hips she chuckled, her more than ample body shaking as she winked at Eleanor. ‘Why so coy, laddie? A handsome youth should not be shy with his friends, eh, sir,' she said, nudging William knowingly and laughing louder when Eleanor flushed scarlet by her casually thrown suggestion. ‘Hot water for washing and the bed warmed will be extra.'

William cocked an eyebrow at Eleanor. ‘That sounds perfectly agreeable to me. We'll have the extras.' His eyes passed over Eleanor lightly, contemplating her flushed cheeks. ‘Very cosy,' he murmured as Molly sauntered away with a wink at Godfrey.

‘Not as cosy as you'd like to think—so get rid of the twinkle in your eyes, Lord Marston.' Eleanor was quick to put him in his place, but she was not unmoved. His voice and his outrageous suggestion came as a soft caress and sent an eddy of sensations spiralling down through the core of her being, but she was not to be drawn. ‘I'm unaccustomed to sharing my bed with anyone and I am not about to begin now—and you should know better than to think I would.'

William's laughter gave evidence of his amusement as Eleanor glowered mockingly at him. ‘The male garb you wear is not unbecoming, Eleanor, but it does tend to overshadow what's beneath with gloom.'

‘Which it will continue to do.' She smiled sweetly at Godfrey. ‘I'm sorry to disappoint you, Godfrey, but I shall take the small room.'

‘What Eleanor really means, Godfrey, is that you and I shall share the double bed.'

Still grinning, Godfrey shook his shaggy head, his eyes still fastened on the swaying rump of the fair and buxom Molly. ‘You two go up to bed,' he said, folding his arms across his massive chest. ‘I'll find my own place to rest.'

‘That suits me fine,' William murmured, standing up and stretching his long frame.

‘In which case,' Eleanor said, also getting up and moving round the table to William, ‘I shall have the soft bed and you can sleep in the other room, William.' She smiled sweetly. ‘I know you won't mind.'

‘I won't?' he replied, leaving Godfrey to become better acquainted with Molly, who was clearly adept in satisfying her customers, being of that gallant breed of women who fornicate
for fornication's own fine and pleasant sake, an art in which she evidently had sufficient practice. William had no doubt that his friend would feast upon her bountiful and vigorously abounding charms until he passed out in glorious bliss.

Escorting Eleanor to the foot of the stairs and envying his friend's busy, athletic night, he looked down at her. She had removed her jerkin and unfastened the neck of her shirt. It was parted in a V shape, exposing the velvety softness of the flesh of her neck and the upper part of her chest. His stomach clenched as he remembered how she had looked when he had entered her room two days earlier, finding her naked apart from the concealing bed covers. Godfrey wasn't the only one with an appetite.

He reached out to touch her cheek in a careless, intimate gesture. ‘We could share the soft bed. There's absolutely nothing to be worried about,' he ensured, challenging her with a mocking grin. ‘You'll be quite safe.'

Eleanor laughed with velvety softness, a light sound, her gentle humour infecting and warming William to such a degree that he wanted to snatch her into his arms and kiss her senseless.

‘I know I will because you, my lord, will be next door.'

The expression in his eyes changed for a heartbeat and then lightened again as he chuckled. ‘I needn't be. I'd rather be in your bed.'

‘That would make it a bit crowded; besides, you're mad if you think I'd agree to anything so outrageous,' she protested. She acknowledged that his suggestion was ludicrous, and yet if it was, why did her heart beat so hard in her chest, and why did she not want to move away from him? His looks and his nearness were seductive, but it reassured her to some degree that she'd so far managed to stand against him. ‘I'd be a fool, an utter fool, to get involved with you.'

‘Be a fool,' he prompted softly.

‘I don't think so. We both know that would be a mistake.'

‘Why, what is it you fear?'

‘What should I fear?' she countered, pushing the hair from her face and beginning to climb the narrow stairs without giving him the chance to reply. ‘Goodnight, William,' she said over her shoulder. ‘Sleep well.'

Going in search of her room, Eleanor wondered what would have happened if she had agreed to his request. Heat poured through her. With the memory of his gaze touching her face as though it were a caress, she had wanted him to hold her, to kiss her, to tell her that he was glad she had travelled with them and that he would regret their parting on the morrow—and if there were to be no parting, how long, she wondered, would she be able to fight off the deep magnetic attraction she was beginning to feel for him? How long would she want to?

But come what may, she must. The last few years had made her distrustful and taught her to be on her guard against men's wiles, and she must never forget that this man was the architect of all her wretchedness.

 

When at last they neared Hollymead, a cold sheet of rain burst down from a sky the colour of mud, instantly soaking them. William would have had them seek shelter until it had passed, but Eleanor was too impatient to reach her home to delay now.

An ache for the past came to her as she looked across the familiar rainswept landscape, seeing the Roman wall and bastions enclosing the city of York like a ribbon of white in the distance and the majestic twin towers of the Gothic minister—and despite the rain it seemed to her a wondrous fair sight. Her heart swelled with joy in her breast. York was the queen of cities to her mind and already she could hear the peal of church bells, which, she remembered, seemed to ring all the time—bells calling the hour and others summoning folk to meetings, and on All Souls Night they rang throughout the night.

Eager to reach Hollymead, Eleanor urged her horse to a
faster pace, wiping the water from her face, knowing it would come within her sights at any minute—but it didn't. Panic coursed through her veins. Where was it? Had the trees grown so tall that its towers and chimneys were hidden from view? Had she really been gone that long?

The three of them fell silent as they peered ahead. William did not like the tension he felt in the air. It vibrated through the drenched landscape, through his body.

Eleanor did not turn and see William's face, but she felt his uneasiness, and her own discomfort grew. For half a mile they rode along the rough road, passing a huddle of cottages and a farmstead where a flock of hens scratted and a few pigs rooted around in the mud.

And then they came to what had once been Hollymead, that gracious, noble house where Eleanor had been born and had spent the happiest years of her life. The heavy gates stood wide open. Where were the gatehouse keeper and the stable boys? Where were the servants and Uncle John? Where was everybody? a voice screamed inside her head.

No one spoke as they rode into what had been the outer court, the building that reared in front of them with its broken leaded windows a blackened, tragic ruin. Not all of it had burned, only the older part built of wood, the stone of the newer section having withstood the flames.

Removing her hat and feeling the rain on her face, Eleanor looked about her dazedly, aware that several people were wandering about as if in a daze, but unable to focus her eyes on them. The fire had been recent, for smoke in places still curled up to the sky, yet the uncanny silence held. They dismounted and walked slowly forward to enter what remained of the great hall.