Richard laughed. “They’re in cages, Astra. There’s no way they can eat us.”
Astra nodded, but gratefully clung to Richard’s hand as he led her forward. The first cage housed the bears. They looked much like the bears Astra had seen at bear baitings, except they appeared to be better fed and more docile. Indeed, there was an air of lethargy, almost melancholy about them.
She scrutinized the small space the animals were crowded into, a dank dark room with only one small window. “Are they happy here?” she asked. “For all that they are well-cared for, they must miss the forest, the fresh air and freedom they once knew.”
Richard laughed. “My sweet, tender-hearted Astra, they are only animals. It not as if they can reason about their lot in life.”
“But they can feel,” Astra protested. “Look at their eyes—do you not see the hopelessness there?”
Richard laughed again, but this time he sounded less confident. He led her on to the next room. The cage there held only one bear, a gigantic creature with fur of creamy white. “This is ‘Bruin,’ the King’s favorite. Is he not a handsome specimen?”
Astra nodded, still troubled by the regal-looking creature’s gloomy surroundings. Another rumbling roar came to their ears—even nearer this time. Astra shivered.
“The big cats are next.” Richard pulled at her hand. They moved on to another chamber. As they entered, the torches on the wall flickered, casting eerie shadows into what appeared to be an empty cage. There was a low growl and a large spotted cat lunged forward, snarling at them through the bars of the cage. Astra stepped back quickly and even Richard flinched.
“This is the male; the two female leopards are smaller. Is he not magnificent?” Richard asked.
“Aye,” Astra whispered. She had never seen such beauty and power melded into one form. The cat’s eyes were like brilliant jewels, his fur as rich and finely-ornamented as the most expensive cloth. Yet he was not merely a lovely object or an elegant plaything. His sleek flanks quivered with strength. His huge, hungry-looking mouth opened to reveal gleaming ivory teeth that looked as though they could easily bite off Astra’s arm. He was danger and death personified.
“Do you feel sorry for him, Astra? Do you worry that he is unhappy in his bare, boring cage?”
Astra didn’t answer. The leopard growled again, then began to pace, padding delicately from one end of the cage to the other. There was a restless frustration in the cat’s movements, and Astra again found pity arising in her.
“I do feel sorry for him. All his beauty and grace is wasted. Such a creature is meant to be free, not caged up in some gloomy tower.” She turned to Richard. “Can you not feel it? They call you ‘the Leopard’. How would you like to be imprisoned in a place like this? Would it not make your soul grieve, your heart ache with discontent?”
“I am a man, Astra. This animal does not have a soul, or a heart as you speak of it. He has no conscience, no morality. He is a cold-blooded killer, an instrument of death.”
“Are you so different from him?” Astra demanded. “I saw you kill those men in the forest—without a care, without even a twinge of regret. You are a killer too!”
Richard stared at her, looking startled. “I am a knight. It is my duty, my Christian duty, to protect defenseless women, to smite down evil with my sword.”
Astra sighed. She had started an argument she could not win. Richard had been trained from boyhood to believe in the rightness of violence and war, while she had been taught the opposite.
There was silence between them for a moment. Then Richard put his hand on her arm. “Do you want to see the rest of the animals?”
Astra shook her head. She could not really explain why it distressed her to see beasts in cages, but somehow it did.
“There is another place you must visit while we are near the Tower, Astra,” Richard said, his voice again soft and mesmerizing. “And I promise that this place will not grieve you, but gladden your heart.”
T
hey traversed the busy courtyard and followed a pathway behind the Tower. It led to the neglected ruins of what once must have been a splendid garden. Formerly elegant hedges had returned to their wild, sprawling state, and masses of knee-high vegetation encroached upon the pathway. Most of the flowers and herbs had been choked by the rampant weeds, but there were still roses, gillieflowers and daisies sparkling among the disordered green. Their perfume mingled with the soft scent of earth and sunshine.
“In the days of John and Isabella, this was the Queen’s privy garden,” Richard said. “It has been abandoned since then, but it is still a pleasant refuge from the city.”
“It is wonderful! You would never even know we are in London. It reminds me of the woods near Stafford. It even smells like it—the scent of flowers and water, rather than dung and garbage.” Astra wrinkled her nose in disgust at the remembrance of the stench of the markets.
Richard laughed. “I suspect you will never be a city girl, Astra de Mortain. You belong here, a bright butterfly among the flowers.” He idly picked one of the daisies that grew in profusion and used it to tickle her under the chin.
She giggled, then paused, uneasy. A disturbing tension moved in the air between them, and her heart had started to race again. Richard was only inches away. She could smell the salty, sweaty maleness of him. Up close, he was even more astonishingly handsome: soft black hair curling around a sculptured, arrogant face, dazzling dark eyes, a sensual, expressive mouth. His tanned velvet skin was marred only by the pale scar on his cheek. Without thinking she reached up and traced the faint line it made, slanting sharply across his cheekbone.
“How did it happen?”
“An unlucky sword thrust. Or perhaps it was lucky after all.” He grimaced. “Usually when a man gets his weapon under your helmet, he drives it straight through your skull.”
Astra could not repress a shudder of horror. “I hate war. I don’t understand why men insist on fighting stupid battles over land and kingdoms.”
“If there were enough land and wealth for everyone, there probably wouldn’t be any wars, but there isn’t. A man has to fight to protect the things he cares about.”
Richard’s fierce words surprised Astra. “What do you care about, Sir Richard?”
“Wealth and power, of course. What else is there?”
“Much more! There is love and children... peace... happiness... security... living a Godly life... caring for the less fortunate—”
“Spoken like a true little novice,” Richard interrupted, his voice suddenly sharp. “You live in a dream world, Astra. Outside of Stafford, many of those things don’t exist. The real world is made up of greedy, selfish men who don’t give a fig for your pretty ideals. They take what they want, and if you aren’t strong enough to fight them, you’re left with nothing “
Astra stared at Richard for a moment, startled by the bitterness in his voice. She could hardly reconcile this harsh philosophy with the playful, easy-going man who teased and flattered her.
Richard caught her watching him and smiled. “Here we are quarreling again. Surely this is too pleasant a place for an argument. Why don’t we find somewhere to sit and rest?”
Astra nodded. For all that her slippers were made of soft leather, they were still new and stiff enough to rub her feet raw in a day of walking. As they reached the trees that grew between the overgrown garden and the river, she looked longingly at the soft grass beneath a sprawling chestnut. “I’d delight in sitting, but I’m not sure I dare. I’m certain to get grass stains on my gown.”
Richard glanced at the elegant rose velvet bliaut she wore and then jerked his tunic over his head. He shook it out and arranged it carefully beneath the tree. “Your couch, my lady,” he announced with a grand gesture.
Astra gaped at him. Richard’s torso was completely bare, the smooth brown skin glazed with a faint sheen of sweat. She could see the sleek muscles rippling across his chest. The sight made her feel strange.
“Please, Richard, it’s not decent!”
“Why not? I’m sure you’ve seen peasants laboring in the field without their tunics. Why is this different?”
Astra shook her head. She didn’t know why it was different. Perhaps it was because she found Richard so irresistibly attractive. Surely it was sinful to be alone with a man who made her feel so exhilarated and alive.
“Come. Sit down,” Richard coaxed as he settled himself beside the tunic. “Don’t look at me if it bothers you.”
Astra sat down cautiously and leaned back against the tree. She sighed. It felt wonderful to rest, and it was such a tranquil, lovely place. She closed her eyes and listened to the soft sounds of the river and the faint breeze whispering through the boughs overhead.
“Don’t fall asleep.”
Astra opened her eyes. Richard was leaning over her, his face inches from her own. His teeth were very white against his dusky skin, his lips rose-brown and moist.
She closed her eyes when he kissed her. She felt so dreamy, so relaxed. Her body floated away. All she could feel was the warm, gentle pressure of his lips on hers.
She shivered when she felt his tongue on her lips. His arms came around her—hard, imprisoning. She could not move when he put his tongue deep within her mouth. The sensation startled her. In some forgotten part of herself she knew what this bold, probing kiss meant. Her body responded with a restless fire as she fought the doubts that worried at the edges of her mind. It was just a kiss. Wasn’t it?
She was gasping for breath when he released her. She stared deep into Richard’s eyes. They were darker than ever, almost black. The wry, amused softness was gone from his face. He looked intense and serious.
She blinked and tried to catch her breath.
“Did you like it?” he asked His silky smooth tone sent another shiver down her spine.
She nodded, and felt her face flush. He did not wait for more, but abruptly kissed her again. His lips were firm but soft. And then she felt something else, the teasing tip of his tongue probing between her lips. He found her tongue and their wet flesh touched and fondled. It seemed to take all her concentration to think about what he was doing to her mouth. Her body turned to liquid. She hardly noticed that she was no longer sitting, but lying on Richard’s tunic beneath the tree. He leaned over her, and her fingers rested against the smooth, damp skin of his chest. Without thinking, she slid her hands around to stroke his back. It was firm but silky. The thick muscles flexed slightly beneath her fingertips.
His mouth left hers and moved down her neck, nuzzling below her collarbone. Astra let her fingers stroke his thick, soft hair. His mouth found the hollow between her breasts. Astra squirmed. Her breasts seemed to throb. A tingling ache radiated from each nipple and rippled down her body like a fierce, greedy flame.
Her eyes were closed, but suddenly she could feel Richard’s hands on her breasts. He touched them with a rough possessiveness that she could feel even through the fabric of her gown. The throbbing pleasure she felt unsettled her. She had to stop this. It had gone too far. Soon he would have her gown undone and his fingers would touch naked skin!
The thought brought her to her senses. She pulled Richard’s hands from her breasts and struggled to sit up. “Richard!” she cried and tried to push him away. He released her slowly, looking surprised and rather puzzled.
She wanted to chastise him for making improper advances, but somehow it did not seem quite fair. She had not protested when he kissed her. Nay, she had encouraged him.
Astra pressed her hands to her flushed cheeks, horrified by what had happened—what she had allowed to happen. She had behaved like a wanton. After her priggish words the day before, Richard must think her a terrible hypocrite. Tears gathered in her eyes, eloquently proclaiming her distress.
“Shhhh, lovey,” Richard soothed. “’Tis nothing to cry over.”
“I am a dreadful, sinful creature.”
“Nay, you are beautiful and sweet.”
“I... I don’t know what came over me. I have never been like this before. In truth, I have never even kissed a man until you.”
“And was it so awful that you must cry?”
Astra shook her head. He did not understand. She had liked his kisses. Far too much she had liked them.
“Then what distresses you, Astra? Why do you cry?”
“I...” she started again. She couldn’t tell him. It was simply too shameful. Even with Marguerite she had not shared the extent of her impure thoughts. And this man—she scrutinized Richard through the blur of her tears She was afraid he was not above taking advantage of her fleshly weakness. Hadn’t he already admitted his weakness to her?
“I think perhaps, Sir Richard, we should not see each other again,” she forced out in a quavering voice.
For a moment he just looked at her, as if he were stunned. Then she saw the hurt fill his eyes.
“’Tis not your fault, truly,” she added, hoping to soften the blow. “’Tis mine own weakness that I guard against by shunning your company.”
“But Astra, I thought we shared something special. Already I feel a rare bond between us, and you admitted to me that you believe in love. How will we ever know what might have been if you thrust aside our budding friendship before it has a chance to blossom?”
He made it seem she was cruelly rejecting his offer of friendship. Was there not something to what he said? Perhaps it was not lust she felt, but strong affection, the first stirrings of what could grow into love.
“I don’t know,” she answered, more confused than ever. “I will have to think on it.”
“Of course, my dear.” Richard helped her to her feet. “We must get back to Westminster.”
* * *
“It’s time we returned to the palace,” Will suggested as he led Marguerite toward the river.
She nodded, too distracted by her thoughts to argue. The day had certainly not gone as she had planned. William de Lacy had turned out to be more than a challenge. He was a baffling puzzle. She had flirted and teased all day, and he had not responded with anything more than pleasant smiles and polite rejoinders. Time and time again she had tried to entice him into out-of-the-way corners, hoping he would kiss her, but to no avail.
When they passed a small alcove between buildings outside the market, she had pulled him into the vacant space and brushed his arm deliberately with her breast. When he turned to look at her in surprise, she gave him a bold, inviting look and pursed her lips provocatively. Will had hesitated and then leaned over and gave her a light, passionless kiss. After he released her, she had been more confused than ever.
The rest of the day had been pleasant, if slightly strained. They had talked and eaten and continued to be unfailingly polite to each other. It was as if the kiss had never been. But Marguerite could not get the memory of it out of her mind. She had never had a man behave this way with her before. They might act shy or uneasy at first, but once she offered them her lips, they always warmed to her. This man was obviously not interested. He kissed her as if it was a duty!
Could it be that Will did not find her attractive? Most men found her comely, if not beautiful, and she was confident that any man would at least want to kiss her. Unless he was in love with someone else, and too loyal to betray them. Marguerite frowned. If that was the case, why didn’t Will reveal he had a paramour?
She glanced sideways at her escort. Will was not as tall or muscular as Richard, but he was well-built and apparently a good soldier. He seemed in every way a virile, masculine man. She again considered the possibilities—that Will did not like her, that he had sworn himself to celibacy—then discarded them. No, there had to be something else, some other reason. The truth dawned suddenly.
“Sweet Jesu,” she gasped, stopping in the middle of the crowded street. “You don’t like women!”
Will looked around uneasily, then took her arm and pulled her forward. “It is not a thing I wish the whole city to know,” he muttered.
“It’s true!”
Will glanced her way and then nodded. “I wish it wasn’t, Marguerite, but it is. If I could have spared you this knowledge, I would have.”
“You’re a... Oh!” Marguerite gasped. “I’ve never known anyone like that before.”
Will grimaced. The day was ruined, and likely also the sense of companionship and acceptance he’d begun to feel with this woman. He turned wearily as Marguerite spoke again: “Tell me—do you find the same things pleasing in a man that a woman does?”
He gaped at her in astonishment. “I don’t think that is something I should be discussing with you.”
“Of course you should. We obviously have something in common—we both like men. Why shouldn’t we compare our tastes?”
“Marguerite, I don’t think...”
“At least tell me what you do when you find someone you like.”
Will searched her face. Finding no scorn in her expression, merely frank interest, he answered in a low voice, “I must make sure that the man feels the same toward me. It can be dangerous to approach a man if you’re not sure he shares your desires.”
“And then what?”
“What are you getting at, Lady Marguerite?”
She gave him her sweetest smile. “I want to know what you do in bed with a man.”
Will burst out laughing, the tension between them abruptly dispelled. “I’m surprised your father ever let you out of the convent. I suspect he made a grave mistake in doing so.”
“You’re making fun of me,” Marguerite pouted. “You’re not going to tell me, are you?”
“No, I’m not. You’ll have to use your wicked imagination.”
Marguerite frowned. “I’ve tried, but I don’t really understand. A man and a woman fit together nicely, but a man and another man...” She shook her head.
“Perhaps some day, when you’re older, I’ll give you a hint,” Will teased. “For now...” His face grew sober again. “I would appreciate your discretion about this. Richard knows, obviously, but he is a much more open-minded man than most.”
Marguerite gasped. “Richard and you... are you...”
“Lovers?” Will finished for her, “No, Richard does not share my aberration. If anything, he goes the other direction. He likes women as much as any man I’ve ever known.”