Lady Knight (28 page)

“Perhaps my stepson left you in ignorance,” Eleanor said, “that you speak of a
woman who is my friend.”

Simon smiled complacently and glanced at Geoffrey. The men shared a provokingly
patronising look. Eleanor would have wagered every last acre, cow, and pound of
pepper she owned that Simon of Ravan would not dare repeat his words to
Riannon’s face.

Eleanor returned her attention to the letter in the expectation of reading more
execrations of the woman she loved.

“At Mardush, which is what the infidels in their warped tongue called the city
of Marketvale, we came close to being rid of that accursed female and her
coxcomb brother, Guy. We almost had an infidel idol to thank, for the statue in
their main temple fell when that unnatural creature walked close to it. Sadly,
she missed being crushed by inches. Alas, Guy also recovers from his wound.
Their deaths would have removed two powerful obstacles to the fair division of
the spoils.”

Eleanor paused briefly to close her eyes and offer a silent prayer of thanks.
She had no idea how much of what she read was true, but it seemed too worryingly
plausible that both Riannon and Guy had suffered dangerous brushes with death.

As she finished reading the letter, which was mainly more complaints, Eleanor
wondered at Ralph’s stupidity. He must know his father would make the contents
of his letter known to her. He knew both Riannon and Guy to be her friends.
Ralph must not care that his scathing, unguarded opinions of the cousins of the
queen would reach her. Either he did it in malice, or he truly did not think her
a person of the slightest regard. That should not have been surprising, for he
certainly did not treat his own wife as of any importance. Indeed, pregnant
Phillipa did not even warrant a mention in the letter.

Eleanor concluded her reading with, “I intend to remain here but a little while
longer. I hope to attach myself to the retinue of the Earl Marshal and accompany
him when he returns. For the rest, I direct you to Ravan.”

“The Earl Marshal.” Geoffrey stroked his beard and nodded. “Ralph has sense and
ambition. A man could do much worse than stand in the favour of the Earl
Marshal.”

Eleanor suppressed a pithy comment on the flagrant want of sense in roundly
abusing Lord Henry’s close blood kin. Having done her duty, she had no stomach
for hearing more of this talk. She rose.

“If you’ll excuse me,” she said.

“Of course, my dear,” Geoffrey said. “Be so kind as to have a basket of bread,
meat, and wine sent to the local chapel. In thanks for Ralph’s healing. And a
suitable offering to the temple for his safe passing through these months of
fighting.”

Eleanor left the two men to their talk of war. She sent a lavishly generous gift
to the brethren of the local temple of Atuan, god of war, including a sheep. She
had three people for whom she owed thanks to the god. Of those three, Riannon
dominated her thoughts.

Eleanor retired early after supper, unwilling to listen to yet more of Simon’s
fawning lies extolling Ralph as little short of a godlike hero, or to bear the
young man’s oily looks. He made her feel unclean. She found it difficult to
believe that Geoffrey did not notice, but if he did, her husband made no attempt
to protect her or restrain their guest.

Eleanor sighed.
Oh, Nonnie. Where are you? Are you well? Will you be coming
back to Gast? Will I see you again? Do you ever remember me?

Eleanor could not recall all of Riannon as a coherent image. Instead, she
vividly remembered fragments, like pieces of coloured glass that made up a
window picture in a basilica. Riannon’s smile. How Riannon looked at her as
though she was the only desirable woman in all of creation. The way Riannon’s
voice could sound as softly intimate as the whisper of sheets. Her beautiful,
strong hands so gentle as they wound a lock of Eleanor’s unbound hair about her
fingers or slid up Eleanor’s inner thigh.

Eleanor shifted in the bed. Instead of the linen sheet against her breasts, she
wanted to feel Riannon’s hand cupping her. Riannon’s hot breath. That
tantalising flick with the tip of her tongue just before she sucked Eleanor’s
nipple between moist lips.

Eleanor drew in a deep breath. She grew warm. She closed her eyes and slid her
own hand across her belly and up to her breast. She imagined the fingers
belonged to Riannon. In a surge of imagination powered by longing, she heard
Riannon murmur her name. The fingertips trailing down to tangle in the hair of
her groin were her lover’s. Eleanor parted her thighs. She ached for the hot,
muscular touch of a probing tongue. She pulsed, wet and ready, for fingers or
fist.
Oh, Nonnie…

The door thunked shut. Eleanor snatched her hands from her body. The bed
hangings twitched. She blinked from surprise rather than the sudden light of a
candle.

“I’m glad I didn’t need to wake you, my dear,” Geoffrey said.

Eleanor struggled to gather her wits. Geoffrey set the candle down and removed
his robe.

“You didn’t say you wished to come to me this night,” Eleanor said.

She regretted the unusual habit she had adopted of sleeping alone. She would
have paid a prince’s ransom to have Agnes and Enid snoring beside her.

Geoffrey pulled the bedding down and eased himself into the bed. His breath
smelled of wine. Dark dribbles stained the neck of his undershirt.

“Ah, my dear, how could I not end this day of celebration with my lovely wife?”

He put his hand on her belly. Eleanor drew away.

“I’m weary,” she said. “That unexpected ride back from Forditch has left me
tired.”

“I won’t trouble you long.”

He captured her hand and drew it down to his erection poking from under his
shirt. Eleanor recoiled.

“I’m tired,” she said.

“I’m almost ready for you.”

He forced her hand back down to his penis. She gritted her teeth and let him
guide her hand in stroking himself. On the middle finger of her hand she wore
the charm ring. She prayed that it would prove as effective in wilting him as it
did in preventing him swelling.

“Oh, that’s good,” he said. “So good. Yes, dear. Yes.”

Eleanor felt no softening in his shaft. She tried to disentangle herself but his
fingers held her wrist tightly. His free hand grabbed her breast. He squeezed
hard enough to make her wince.

“If I were younger, I’d come to you more often,” he said.

“Geoffrey –”

“I wish you’d put your mouth around me.”

Eleanor wrenched her hand free. “I’m your wife, not a whore!”

“My other wives found nought demeaning in it. It’d give us both much pleasure.
But perhaps another time. I regret that I’ve been unable to be as attentive to
you as I’d like. I need to teach you more, my dear.”

He slipped his hand between her thighs.

Eleanor flinched and eased away. “Please. Not tonight.”

His fingers prodded and probed her. “But your body wants this. You’re wet with
lust. Now, dear, if you’ll spread your legs for me.”

“Geoffrey, no.” Eleanor braced her hands against his chest to hold him off as he
tried to climb on top of her. “I don’t –”

“You deny me my rights?”

“I’m tired. I’ve told you. Please. You’ve been drinking.”

“I must swallow the vilest concoction to enable me to be of use to you,” he
said. “I must wash the taste from my mouth somehow.”

Surprised guilt numbed Eleanor’s resistance. She wondered how much it had cost
Geoffrey’s pride to seek help for his lack of sexual potency. A lack which she
deliberately inflicted on him in breach of her marriage vows.

His knee nudged her legs apart. Guilt or not, Eleanor could not prevent her
instinctive resistance.

“My dear, stop this.” He lowered his weight on her. His penis prodded her. “I
want – Shite!”

Eleanor felt his sudden loss of stiffness. He softened as quickly as a candle
thrown into a roaring fire.

“Atuan’s legs! No!” Geoffrey reached down between his own legs to tug at
himself. “No!”

Eleanor lay still. Her conscience squirmed, but it did not overmaster her anger
at him. She continued to hold her ring unobtrusively against his arm.

When his ministrations proved futile, he rolled off her and sagged with his back
to her. He sounded miserable as he muttered oaths to himself. He pounded the
mattress with a fist.

Eleanor lay torn. The part of her that had been schooled from the cradle to obey
men and be the submissive and passive vessel of their wants urged her to reach
out to him. A memory of her mother’s voice commanded her to try to console him
and salve his wounded pride. Eleanor did not move.

Geoffrey rose and left without looking back at her or retrieving his candle.
The door slammed.

Eleanor scrambled out of bed and snatched her chemise from the wall peg. She
stood shivering in it with her arms wrapped around herself, staring back at the
bed. She wiped at tears that would not stop.

Was she really the same woman who, less than a year and a half ago, had wept for
joy in that bed?

A month later, Eleanor looked from the smiling faces of Geoffrey, Ralph, and
Phillipa to the messenger, and wondered. She directed the messenger to retire to
claim food and ale. Without doubt, his black and green livery belonged to the
Earl of Northmarch, the husband of Riannon’s and Guy’s sister Joan. The
astonishing invitation must be genuine.

“What an honour!” Geoffrey shook his head while beaming. “To hunt with them at
Isingtor. My dear, what say you?”

“It’s a singular and uncommon invitation,” Eleanor said. “Think who else will be
there,” Phillipa said. “The Earl Marshal himself, I dare say. Perhaps even the
queen. We –”

“You have me to thank for this,” Ralph said. “I told you, father, that I’d lift
our family to the highest ranks. I have the ambition and skill you lack. I
worked hard to gain the Earl Marshal’s attention whilst on crusade. And look
what has come of it! I’ll be the envy of every placeseeker in the realm.”

“I hope the roads are not too muddy.” Phillipa put a hand to her swollen belly.
“I wouldn’t like to spend too much time travelling.”

“You’ll remain here,” Ralph said. “I won’t have you putting the health of my
heir at risk.”

Phillipa looked crushed. Instead of saying anything, though, she bit her lip and
lapsed into unhappy silence. Eleanor had found her no friend, but if anyone
could provoke her to Phillipa’s defence, it was Ralph.

“Women have travelled on horseback late into pregnancies with no ill effect to
either mother or babe,” Eleanor said. “But if it concerns you, there is the
litter.”

Phillipa shot her a surprised look of gratitude.

“Your knowledge of childbearing must be second hand, madam,” Ralph said, “since
you haven’t successfully borne any yourself. My wife will not risk my son’s life
for a pleasure jaunt. I’ll not be gainsaid on that.”

Eleanor seethed but held her tongue betwixt her teeth. She knew better than to
look to her husband for support against his son. Geoffrey patted Phillipa’s
hand.

“Perhaps you can join us next year,” Geoffrey said. “I’m sure Ralph’s favour
will continue high, and this is but the first of many prestigious invitations to
join the company of the highest folk in the realm.”

Ralph nodded smugly.

Eleanor could not help pointing something out. “The invitation comes from Lord
and Lady Northmarch, not the Earl Marshal.” Ralph waved aside her words.
“They’re kin of his. He has asked them to invite us as a courtesy to himself.
That is plain.”

Eleanor did not find it so. Indeed, had they received an invitation from the
Earl Marshal, she thought it more likely the courtesy due to her being aunt to
the Earl Marshal’s wife, not Ralph. Lord and Lady Northmarch had more than one
close relative to ask them to invite the Howes. Was Guy behind the invitation?
Or Riannon?

Riannon squelched across the muddy forecourt at Isingtor and through the noisy
press of horses, grooms, dogs, and the other returned hunters. Guy fell into
step with her.

“Mayhap tomorrow, little Nonnie, we’ll blood our spears and leave those
braggarts to be the empty-handed ones.”

“Mayhap, then, you’d best leave your brandy behind.”

Guy smiled. “It wasn’t drink that affected my aim. It was all the yawning from
listening to their reliving each siege and skirmish of the crusade. And how much
better they could have done in command. It’s hard to sight quarry when your eyes
are closed in a doze.”

Riannon grinned as they stepped into the large hall. Her sister kept logs
roaring day and night in the great hearths to combat the draughts and chilly
dampness. But it was not the embrace of warmth which stopped her three paces
inside the doors. She spied the small group at the hearth with her sister.

“Oh ho!” Guy slapped Riannon’s back. “The lovely Eleanor is here. We’re in for a
merry time now. It’s a pity her husband’s son is with her. I wish they’d left
the useless dog’s pizzle in a ditch somewhere.”

Riannon stood rooted to the spot. She had lost count of the times she had
imagined seeing Eleanor again, and had prayed that she would come to Isingtor,
but the reality of being so close to her again jarred every sinew.

“Nonnie?” Guy stopped a few paces away and stared back at her. “Is aught amiss?”

“No. I… I must change my hose.”

Riannon strode away from Guy’s astonishment. She trotted up the winding stairs
to her small chamber. Riannon shut the door and leaned back against the wall.

She did so dearly want to see Eleanor again, but perhaps she had been wrong to
arrange this meeting. Nothing good could come of it. Eleanor was accompanied by
her husband. Riannon had found it nigh on impossible to be civil to the man
before. How could she bear exchanging pleasantries with him knowing that Eleanor
had lived with him for a year and a half?

What if Eleanor’s fancy had turned to him during that time? She and Eleanor had
had so little time together during that fateful summer. Could it have faded for
Eleanor? Would Riannon be no more than a pleasant, hazy memory to her?