Lady Knight (30 page)

Eleanor stared, astounded.

“I don’t worry about Henry.” Cicely twisted her wedding ring as if it were a
fetter she wished to be rid of. “He loves me. If anyone whispers slanders about
me, he won’t believe them. I wish he would. Then he might annul me, and I could
marry Richard.”

“Holy Mother! I can scarce believe what I’m hearing. You don’t truly believe
that?”

Eleanor rose and crossed to Cicely. She clasped her niece’s arms firmly and only
just resisted the urge to give her a strong shake.

“Sweeting, you cannot commit adultery and not expect your husband to mind.
Especially not
your
husband. Henry has nothing if not a strong sense of
family. He has a position to maintain as Earl Marshal. He’ll not sit tamely at
your feet and let you put cuckold’s horns on him!”

Cicely sighed away her defiance to leave glumness. “I know he’ll never repudiate
me. Or set me aside. Or pay the Patriarch to have our marriage annulled. What a
foolish mistake I made. I thought my marriage would be bearable if my husband
loved me. What I should have done was ask for a charm that made me fall in love
with him, too.”

Eleanor frowned. “Charm?”

“I asked Naer Aveline to make me one. It made Henry fall in love with me. I
threw it in a moat last year. But the effect hasn’t stopped. I was hoping that
his being away at the crusade would allow it to fade. You hear about men taking
concubines during wars. But Henry didn’t. Aunt, what can I do?”

The charm ring on Eleanor’s finger seemed heavier and tighter. Whatever she said
would be wrong – either for her niece or in the eyes of the gods and men.

“You vowed to be Henry’s wife,” Eleanor said, “faithful and obedient to him
until death parted you. You have no just cause to separate from him. He has not
mistreated you or degraded you, has he? Loving another is not enough.”

“I know,” Cicely said miserably. “But why did the gods make me fall in love with
Richard?”

That cry from the heart struck Eleanor silent.

The next morning, after a restless and anxious night, Eleanor joined the others
in the shrine chamber for the dawn service. She stood in the second row beside
one of Riannon’s nieces. A priest of Naith officiated, but Eleanor found it
difficult to pay attention to him when Riannon stood so close. During one of the
hymns, the intervening people shifted and Eleanor saw the breviary in Riannon’s
hand. Her hopes soared and she prayed harder.

At the end of the service, Eleanor remained after everyone else departed.
Everyone except Riannon. She moved close enough to touch. Eleanor’s body
remembered what Riannon felt like. But Riannon wore her most tightly guarded
expression.

“I thank you for your generous gift.” She offered the breviary to Eleanor. “But
I have not learned my letters since last we met.”

“The message I wished you to read was in the picture,” Eleanor said.

Riannon frowned. The prayer book looked small in her big, beautiful hands. She
opened it at the marked page. Eleanor held her breath. Would Riannon remember?
Would she think it improper? If she had found another lover, would this reminder
from their past embarrass her?

Riannon put a finger to the picture. “It’s the same. This sky is the exact same
shade of blue as the sleeve of the tunic you wore that day we first –”

Riannon’s expression bore a strong resemblance to how she had looked on that
summer’s day when they began their affair. Unsure, cautious, and hopeful – not
indifferent. Riannon had promised to return to her. Perhaps, after all, she had.
Eleanor could not imagine a greater sense of relief and wonder if one of the
gods had reached down to touch her. Mind, body, and soul reeled.

“You don’t hunt,” Riannon said. “I thought you might not come.”

“I didn’t come for sport.”

Riannon’s jaw muscles worked. “Nor I.”

Giddy with relief, Eleanor couldn’t stop herself from smiling. “I still enjoy
riding. With the right company. I can think of no one whose company I’d prefer
to yours.”

Riannon nodded. “I am at your service.”

Eleanor felt her whole body radiated happiness like painted saints glowed with
golden auras of holiness. She turned to leave. Riannon caught her sleeve.
Eleanor’s heart pounded hard as she watched Riannon lift her arm. She
anticipated Riannon’s kiss on her hand – to feel Riannon’s lips on her bare
skin. But Riannon merely stared at Eleanor’s fingers. Eleanor needed the length
of several rapid heartbeats to realise that Riannon looked at the charm ring.

“It has not been off my finger since you put it there,” Eleanor said.

Riannon scowled as if Eleanor’s words troubled rather than reassured.

“The Goddess continues to bless its efficacy,” Eleanor said. “I’ll send
instructions to the stables.”

Riannon pressed a brief but fervent kiss on Eleanor’s fingers, released her
hand, and strode out.

Eleanor put her kissed hand against her lips. She should not have doubted. If
any mortal deserved her faith, that person was Riannon of Gast.

Eleanor turned to the altar. A sacred flame burned steadily. Belief. Faith.
Devotion. Love. She traced the quartered-circle against her chest and kissed her
fingers.

“Thank you,” Eleanor said.

Eleanor watched her husband’s servant lace Geoffrey’s boots about his bony
ankles.

“The weather is like to turn to rain,” she said. “And you’re fatigued from our
ride yesterday. Perhaps you should rest instead of –”

“Rest?” Geoffrey snapped. “Anyone hearing you would think me ready for my
winding sheet. Save your fussing for someone who needs it. I’ll not hear it!”

He irritably cuffed his servant out of the way.

“I was invited to hunt,” Geoffrey said. “And hunt I shall. You may spend your
time cozened by a fire gossiping and sewing and whatever it is you women do.
I’ll be with the men.”

“I’ll be taking a ride today,” Eleanor said. “For escort, I’ve –”

“Yes, yes.” Geoffrey tugged his hooded mantle about his shoulders. “Do whatever
you wish for your pleasure, but hinder me not.”

Eleanor swept out of his chamber. If he wished to get cold and wet and overtax
himself, then he could. But he need not expect her to have to forgo her evening
to sit cosseting him. She bumped into Ralph.

“You’d best watch where you tread, madam,” he said.

The hard edge to his voice caused her to pause as she stepped past him.

“That’s a fine gown to be wearing while you sew,” he said.

“But not too fine for Lady Northmarch’s company.” Eleanor moved away.

“Nor Lord Guy’s,” he said.

Eleanor turned. The open door to Geoffrey’s room stood just a few feet beyond
Ralph. Their voices would easily carry.

“But he hunts today,” Ralph said. “Though it is well known that the pretty
lordling is no stranger to warming himself at women’s hearths.”

Eleanor dropped her voice. “You’d be well advised to have a care with your
tongue.”

“And Lord Guy is none too particular whose women he favours, either,” Ralph
said.

Eleanor bristled, but kept her voice to a vehement whisper. “I’m your father’s
wife. That’s a disgusting insinuation. You’d best not repeat it within Guy’s
hearing or your father’s. And you might spare a moment from your gutter thoughts
to contemplate how slandering his brother will demote you in the favour of the
Earl Marshal.”

“There’d be nought for me to insinuate, if my father’s wife had a care of her
own.” He grabbed her arm. “Phillipa was right about you. And I have eyes, lady.
I’ll not let you make a fool out of my father.”

“If you wish to accuse me, let’s step into your father’s chamber where you can
do so openly and fairly.”

Ralph’s eyes narrowed. “Be warned, lady.”

“Take your hand off me. If you cannot drag your mind from the midden, remember
that any slanders you cast at my honour also taint your father and whomever your
disgusting fancy chooses to accuse with me. Don’t deceive yourself that any
slight regard you believe you enjoy with the Earl Marshal would protect you from
his brother’s wrath.”

Ralph grinned. “I don’t fear your wastrel lordling.”

“Then you’re an even bigger fool that I imagined.”

Eleanor strode off. She could feel him watching her. Whatever poisonous lies
Phillipa had whispered to him had found fertile ground and festered. Should she
caution Guy? No, Ralph was a blusterer and bully, but not even he would be so
stupid as to publicly accuse Guy in such company as this – and on the basis of
no evidence whatsoever.

Riannon gripped the book hard, just as she might try to cling to a healer’s hand
as she slipped into a delirium. Eleanor still loved her. She wore the charm
ring. Her affections had not drifted to him. With this book, Eleanor had
fulfilled all Riannon’s wishes. Riannon did not know if she was strong enough to
bear them.

She set the book on her bed and turned to retrieve her sword belt. The gold and
red enamel hilt of her knife mutely reminded her of sworn oaths. To be true. To
be just. To protect the weak. To defend the defenceless. To uphold the word of
the gods and the laws of men. Riannon buckled the belt about her waist.

The heavier weight hung at her left hip where, today, she wore the Goddess’s
blessed sword. The preternaturally sharp blade could cut where it should not.
It was a moral dilemma forged of metal, and one she had yet to resolve.
Eleanor, on the other hand, should present no difficulties to her conscience.
Lord Howe’s wife stood inviolable beyond Riannon’s reach. As far as Riannon
knew, he had done nothing cruel to Eleanor and enacted no heinous neglect –
nothing that might justify Riannon stepping in to champion Eleanor. But how
could Riannon not touch her? Eleanor loved her.

“Gods, give me strength,” Riannon said.

If only she could look at Eleanor and not remember how sweet it was to make love
with her. That might have helped.

I can kill men. I can ride into battle. I can face death. I have served
contemptible men. I have eaten wormy meat. I have slept in lice-ridden clothes.
I’ve endured cold. And blistering heat. Hunger. Thirst. Fear. I have survived
wounds that should have killed me. I can spend an hour or two in her company
without disgracing either of us. I can. I
must.

Riannon spurred her horse to follow Eleanor’s precipitate gallop. When Eleanor
slowed to allow Riannon to draw level, she smiled and didn’t bother tugging the
hood of her fur-lined mantle back into place. With her eyes shining with
pleasure, and colour high in her cheeks, she looked as glorious as Riannon’s
memories. Riannon could not get enough of looking at her. After so long of
wishing and imagining, it seemed unreal that the two of them should be alone and
riding together. Truly, this was an addiction of the acutest kind.

“You’re still reckless,” Riannon said.

“I feel free.”

“You do not know the ground. You might have broken your neck, or your mare’s
leg.”

“I might have run that risk, had you not chosen a path that you knew would be
safe for me to ride at speed. I trust your judgement every bit as much as I do
my ability to keep to the saddle. Was I wrong to do so?”

Riannon grinned. “No. I have ridden this way before.” Their horses, winded from
the gallop, walked close side by side. “You knew what I’d do if given my head,”
Eleanor said. “Instead of seeking to curb me, you aided and abetted me. You do
not expect me to pretend to be meek and unadventurous. I need not try to seem
less than I am. You’re the only person who has ever allowed me to be myself.”

“It passes my understanding why anyone would want you other than you are.”

“They’re the same people who would have you something you are not. Although, you
seem to have finally garnered some of the respect you deserve. I’ve heard nought
but praise of you. The Earl Marshal speaks of you with pride. It was he who
boasted to me of your favour with Prince Oliver of Iruland. You look as though
you’ve prospered.”

“I’m fortunate enough to be on good terms with the prince. The crusade goes
well. We suspect the Lion Emperor will counterattack come spring. He has legions
uncounted spread through his vast empire to the west. But the crusaders are
strong and determined to reclaim Evriat. And we have the right of the gods on
our side.”

“You’ll be returning?”

“Yes. I’m the principal representative of the Order of the Goddess. Aveline
wishes me to return,” Riannon said. “It’s my expectation that Prince Oliver will
grant me a generous reward when he’s in a position to do so.”

“I warrant it’ll be no more than you deserve. Any lord who secures your services
should count himself fortunate. You intend to make your home there, then?”

“I have not even a blade of grass, yet.” Riannon frowned down at the reins in
her fingers. “It might be a year or two, and likely more, before I am in a
position to be able to settle. And marry.”

Eleanor looked sharply at Riannon before quickly turning away. “That will be a
good step for you. You won’t want to spend all your life moving from war to war.
Is there someone – But you have said this might be years hence.”

“I’m not the soundest judge of men, but I believe Prince Oliver will not baulk
at my taking a wife.”

“I didn’t imagine you would submit to a husband,” Eleanor said. “I suppose since
you have much goodwill with members of the Quatorum Council, that will make such
an irregular arrangement possible.” Riannon stared at Eleanor’s profile and came
close to saying what she should give no voice to even though they were alone
with only the muddy ground and the dripping trees to hear them. Not even the
barking dogs or horn calls of the hunting party carried to this part of the
woods.

“Your husband enjoys good health?” Riannon said.

Eleanor was slow to reply. “It was a mistake. I regret marrying him.”

“You had no choice.”

“You’re correct. We did what we had to. Our reasoning was sound. I don’t see how
either of us could have decided other than we did. But knowing that wormwood is
necessary to one’s health makes chewing it no less bitter. I haven’t been able
to stop thinking about what might have been. I have missed you so much.”

Riannon let her horse stop. Eleanor halted hers. Their legs were but inches
apart.

“Not a single day has passed that I have not thought about you,” Eleanor said.

Instead of saying what clamoured for voice, Riannon frowned down at her gloved
hands.
I love you. I have not stopped loving you from the moment I saw you.

“You were always in my prayers,” Eleanor said.

“I prayed for your continued good health.”

“You shadowed my days and haunted my nights. I couldn’t begin to count the hours
I’ve lost in wondering about you, what you did, how you fared, and where you
were.”

Nor I you. Hating every moment you might have been with him.
“I’ve relived
every moment we shared,” Eleanor said. “Times beyond number.”

Every day and every night.

“Nonnie?”

“You should not say such things.”

“Keeping my words behind my teeth will not make them less true. The gods see
directly into our hearts and minds, and can read our souls. They know how much I
have missed you and how often I prayed to see you again. I need you to know it,
too.”

Riannon nodded, even as she continued to frown.
I needed to hear it. I love
you.

“I know that the Riannon I love won’t lavish me with sighs and bardic promises
or poems. Not even about weeds. Or fish.”

Riannon grinned at her horse’s neck.

“You haven’t changed so very much, I fancy,” Eleanor said. “But, Nonnie, is it
so very wrong of me to want to be able to hope?”

Riannon lifted her anguished stare to an autumn sky filled with shades of grey.

“You can have no idea,” Eleanor said softly, “how much it means to remember what
it feels like to be loved.”

“Oh, lady, you are wrong. I do know.” Riannon turned to see Eleanor looking at
her. The Eleanor she remembered. Her Eleanor. “Almighty gods, there is so much I
would say to you that I cannot speak to Lord Howe’s wife.”

“The gods willing, there will be a time when I am myself again.”

“When that day comes, I’ll ask you if you would consider becoming a wife again.”

“Oh.” Eleanor put a hand to her face. “Oh, Nonnie.”

Riannon offered her hand. Eleanor clasped it. Though they both wore gloves, the
contact produced a fierce surge of pleasure through Riannon. She gently squeezed
Eleanor’s fingers when she wanted to grip her so tightly that nothing would ever
be able to pry them apart again.

“You’d not ask in vain,” Eleanor said.

Riannon grinned. “In all likelihood, though, I might gain only modest holdings
compared to yours. When we considered it before, you could not –”

“Now is not then. The ground has changed.
You
have changed. You’re the
Vahldomne now, a leader of the victorious crusade who gathers glory for the
gods, and who sups with princes. You’re not just a poor cousin with a stained
name. If we can marry with the sanction of the gods, the queen would be foolish
beyond prayer to alienate your wife’s lands. Our liege lady might be many
things, but her wits are not disordered when it comes to her own gain. I expect
we would have to pay dearly to have our own way, but in coin and your services –
not with our liberty or land.”

Riannon’s horse shifted, but she maintained her hold on Eleanor’s hand. She
wished she held more. Even so, she had hope and a surety to buttress her against
more waiting.

Riannon reached inside her collar with her free hand and tugged out a lock of
chestnut hair tied to a green ribbon. With Eleanor watching, she lifted the hair
to her lips and kissed it. Eleanor’s fingers tightened against hers. Eleanor
smiled in that special way Riannon remembered and brushed a tear from her cheek.

Riannon dismounted before her mind formulated the impulse to move. As she walked
around the horses, she recognised the danger she courted. But she could not stop
herself. She could not leave Eleanor to weep uncomforted.

Eleanor slipped willingly from the saddle into Riannon’s arms. Whatever else
about Riannon had changed, the part that enjoyed the feel of holding Eleanor
pulsed as strong as ever. That supple weight against her – the solidity of
Eleanor’s body in her arms – the feel of Eleanor’s hands on her arms.

“Oh, Nonnie, how did I live without you?” Eleanor ran her hands across Riannon’s
back. “I flattered myself that my imagination was so strong and vivid in
conjuring your comforting revenant. But it was, in truth, a feeble ghost that
came not close to this reality of you.”

Riannon wanted so badly to kiss Eleanor.

“I’ve imagined this times beyond counting.” Eleanor sniffed. “Not once did I
believe myself so wretched that I would weep on you again. Do you think it’s a
case of wishfully overestimating my self-control? Or can I blame you for
overpowering my poor, feeble senses? After all, you have a history of doing so.
And it’s far more comforting to blame someone else for one’s weaknesses.”