I
t was odd, Richard thought as he walked toward the Queen’s garden. He had been on the verge of sending a message to Lady Astra, asking her to meet him, when a page had arrived from her requesting the same thing. His grievance with her he knew of, but hers with him, he could hardly guess.
When he saw her among the flowers, her back turned, he hesitated. His anger was still fierce, and he wondered if he could trust himself to be civil. If what Isabel said was true, he had been fooled by Astra, duped by her guileless demeanor into believing she was different from the rest of the female vipers at court. It had been a long time since he had been taken in by a woman, and the thought that Astra had deceived him made him feel like a callow boy. Still, he had decided he must go through with the assignation. Someone needed to warn Astra what kind of man Guy Faucomberg really was. Even if she was as calculating as Isabel said, Astra was no match for the likes of Rathstowe. He stepped forward briskly.
* * *
“So, demoiselle—you wished to speak with me?”
The sound of Richard’s cold, sarcastic voice made Astra jump. She’d been watching the garden path intently, not thinking that he might approach from the rear. Once again, Richard Reivers had managed to unsettle her.
“I did,” she answered as he pushed brusquely through a hedge and stood before her.
“Speak then. Convince me I’m not wasting my time.”
Astra’s heart pounded. She had not expected Richard to be so angry, so abrupt. He obviously believed Isabel’s sly words. Surely as soon as she explained, he’d be himself again, her smiling, charming Richard.
She took a deep breath and began. “I heard Isabel talking to you outside the bedchamber door last night. What she said was untrue. I’m not trying to find a rich husband. Lord Rathstowe means nothing to me. Isabel made that up so you would hate me, and you would... you would kiss her.”
She saw the surprise in his eyes. His gaze swept her face—as if he could read the truthfulness of her words by perusing her features. “You listened at the door?”
“It is my bedchamber, too. Isabel’s voice was loud enough that I could not help overhearing.”
“And you claim it’s all lies?”
Astra nodded. “Isabel dislikes me for some reason. Every word she said was false. Lord Rathstowe has been very attentive to me, but I have not encouraged him. I swear it!”
Richard’s eyes were still wary. “You sat with him at the banquet last night... and the night before.”
“That was Marguerite’s doing. She is friends with Lord Darley, and the Baron asked Faucomberg to join us.”
“He means nothing to you?”
Astra shook her head. “I cannot think he is seriously interested in me, and even if he was, I would not encourage his attentions. The way he looks at me makes me decidedly uncomfortable.”
Richard took her hands and held them in his own. “I am relieved you recognize Faucomberg’s sly charm for the sinister manipulation it is. I cannot advise you strongly enough against the man. Please stay away from him.”
The warning sent a shiver down Astra’s spine, but she was too distracted to worry on it. She was consumed with watching the expression on Richard’s face. He looked grave and concerned, almost tender. The softness on his features was a dramatic change from his usual ironic countenance.
“I wonder, Astra—how do you know I kissed Isabel?”
She blushed. “I... I... I assumed.”
Richard moved closer. His tanned face was unnervingly near. Astra felt her breath catch in her throat. “You took the trouble to meet me here, to make sure I understood your feelings,” he whispered. “Could it be, demoiselle, could it be that you care for me?”
She struggled to find her voice. Things were not turning out as she’d planned. She had intended to warn Richard about Isabel, and also make it clear she knew about his skillful manipulation of her feelings and assure him it would not happen again. Now, somehow, she could not make herself say the words.
“Admit it, Astra. Admit that you want me to kiss you.” His voice was so soft. His eyes were hot, burning pools of blackness. Astra felt herself sliding into the dark mystery there. In another minute, she would be utterly lost. “I... I want you to kiss me.”
His breath was warm and distracting, and she could smell him—the vague, not displeasing odors of leather and sweat. His body seemed to beckon to hers, making her feel weak and trembling. She remembered how smooth and silken the skin of his chest had felt under her fingers.
She reached her arms around him and felt the thick muscles beneath his tunic. His warm, gentle lips entranced her. She allowed him to coax her mouth open and slide his tongue inside. The feel of it shocked and thrilled her at the same time. She knew he mimicked the movement of a man’s part inside a woman, and she could not help wondering what it was like to have a man inside her body the other way—if it would feel so tantalizing, so right.
It almost hurt when Richard ended the kiss and leaned away from her. She could hear his quickened breathing, see the warm flush spread over his dusky skin. His eyes were bright, dazzlingly dark and alluring. She wondered why he had stopped.
“Did you like that, Astra? Do you want more?”
She looked away, too embarrassed to answer, and stared fixedly at a bee alighting on the purple gillieflowers that grew nearby.
“You’d best be careful.” Richard’s fingers reached out to touch the neck of her gown. “The bees will mistake you for a flower as well.”
He said no more, but she felt his hand tracing the design on the bodice of her blue samite bliaut, leisurely outlining the shape of the silver flowers embroidered there. His fingers glided over the smooth fabric and came to rest on the folds of the linen chemise that filled in the low neckline. She held her breath as he teased with the ribbon that laced up her gown. Half-expectant, half-horrified, Astra waited for him to undo it. Then his fingers danced away, lightly brushing the curve of her breast as he withdrew his hand.
“A gown like that, Astra, it invites a man to undo the laces, to see what treasures are hidden beneath. Is that why you wore it—to tempt me?”
She felt her face blaze. She could not answer him.
He took her hand. His calloused fingers clutched hers tightly. His voice was a low, seductive murmur. “I want you, Astra. I want you desperately. But there is no privacy here. We must find a place where we can be alone.”
Astra sucked in her breath. She wanted him as badly as he did her, but she dare not give in to her sinful urges.
“I was wrong to meet you here.” She backed away. “It seems you are still mistaken about me, if you think I would agree to a casual dalliance.”
He followed her, his body edging closer and closer to hers. She was intensely aware of his sleek, hard muscles, the sheen of his tanned skin and long dark hair. “No, I don’t think I’m mistaken at all. I think you want what I can offer you.”
“Stop!” Astra gasped. She reached out her hands to push him away. “You’re too clever for me, my lord. Perhaps you should find someone else to play your games with, someone...”
“Someone like Isabel?”
Astra felt her heart grow chill. No. She didn’t want him to end up with Isabel.
“So that displeases you? Good. I want you to want me, Astra. For whatever reason, I have a burning need to have you desire me as fiercely as I do you.”
He pulled her to him, widening his stance so she stood between his thighs. His fingers reached under her veil and caressed her neck. He lifted her face and looked deeply into her eyes. She could feel his male part—hard and hot—through his tunic and her gown. It probed into her belly. At the same time, his mouth met hers.
There were too many sensations: the tantalizing thrusting of his tongue, the rippling fire his fingers aroused as he fondled her neck, the sheer male hardness of him pressed against her like some burning, implacable force. She wanted to be away from him and yet be closer, so much closer.
“Astra.” Richard interrupted their kiss to moan her name, and Astra seized her chance. She leaned away and grasped his big hands in her trembling fingers.
“Richard, please. You said yourself, this is not the place. There is no privacy here.”
He nodded, his eyes wild and dreamy, his chest heaving. After a moment, he released her. Astra’s eyes darted around. She wondered if anyone had seen them. What had possessed her to suggest this meeting? Then she remembered—Isabel. She had met with him to make sure he knew what a conniving witch Isabel was.
“Richard, you must not trust Isabel. She gossips horribly.”
He looked startled. “Do you think I need protection, Astra?”
She hesitated. It sounded foolish that she should worry about someone like Richard. “I’m sure you know exactly what sort of woman Isabel is. I was only afraid you would believe her lies about me. You don’t, do you?”
Richard’s face was serious. His eyes, hauntingly intense. “I don’t know what to believe, Astra. When I’m with you, my thoughts run all topsy-turvy and cock-eyed. I begin to doubt things I’ve believed all my life.”
He stared at her a moment, then moved close again, his mouth near her ear. She felt his warm breath tickling her neck, then his lips on her earlobe, nibbling. Her strength drained out of her. She leaned helplessly against him as his tongue found the inside of her ear.
Pleasure shot through her, harsh, blinding. She forgot the lack of privacy in the garden, the danger of his seductive words. She was limp, helpless, aware only of the delicious tremors that raced down her body and shattered her senses, threatening to engulf her in terrifying ecstasy. Only when Richard spoke did she come to herself. “That’s only the beginning, Astra,” he whispered, his lips still near her ear. “I haven’t even begun to make you feel the things I can.”
Astra shivered and pulled away. She was mad to play this dangerous game. Where would it lead? Richard had said nothing about marriage. She could hardly allow him to bed her without making some commitment to her.
“I have to go,” she mumbled. “Marguerite is waiting for me.” She adjusted her clothing and then hurried from the garden, fleeing as if the devil himself were after her.
* * *
Richard watched her leave, then closed his eyes. What was she? Part angel, part enchantress? When he was with her, his thoughts grew jumbled and confused. He forgot she was poor, that he could never marry her. When he held her in his arms, he was willing to say anything, promise anything in order to possess her. She made him dare to dream that love and kindness might prevail. She transformed him, made him yearn for that magic, enchanted world she believed in.
He blinked and felt the spell fading. He couldn’t let a woman blind him to his lifelong ambitions. It was wealth and power that would make him happy, not fancies of love. The kind of lust Astra inspired was a powerful thing, but it was still lust. He was not about to let his body control his life. He adjusted his clothes, trying to subdue the ache in his groin.
He could go to Ruby, but he knew she wouldn’t satisfy him. It was Astra he wanted. Astra, with her skin like fresh cream and eyes as innocently blue as a child’s. She made him want to protect her, to wrap her in his arms and keep her safe from the horror and ugliness of the world.
He made a face. God help him. He was becoming a sentimental fool. Astra could not really be as pure and sweet as she appeared. She had already revealed she felt anger and jealousy exactly like any other woman.
But did that make her as corrupt and grasping as all the other women he had known? He could not decide. Nor could he shake the deep longing Astra aroused. She befuddled him, bewitched him.
And that was dangerous. He could not afford to give up his ruthlessness, the armor of savagery he had constructed to survive his harsh upbringing. He could not afford to let himself feel tenderness towards a woman. To do so was to risk becoming soft and weak. That was exactly what had happened to old Henry. The man was a king, but he acted like a lovesick boy. He had no balls. He let his wife run his life, his kingdom. The worst of it was that it was destroying the country, allowing England to rot from within from greed and lawlessness, while the rest of Europe laughed at them as a bunch of inept and uncouth dullards.
Richard felt the bile rise in his throat. God forbid he should ever be in thrall to a mere woman the way Henry was to Queen Eleanor. That would never happen to him. No woman was going to manipulate and weaken him, not even an angel-faced beauty like Lady Astra.
“W
here have you been?” Marguerite asked sleepily. Astra removed her cloak and sat down on the edge of the bed. “The chapel. I’ve been praying.”
Marguerite yawned. “At this hour? I thought one of the advantages of leaving Stafford was not having to rise early for prayers.”
“I was troubled. I thought some time alone in meditation would help untangle my thoughts.”
Marguerite sat up and pulled the furs and blankets around her bare shoulders. “What have you decided?”
Astra exhaled a shaky breath. “It’s clear Richard is a danger to me.”
Marguerite gave her an amused smirk. Astra ignored her and continued. “When I’m alone with him, I am unable to control my fleshly desires, and he is no better.” She picked at a loose thread on the rose satin coverlet. “Richard has said nothing of marriage, and I fear he does not mean to offer it. I must avoid being alone with him again at all costs.”
“What about Isabel? I thought you were determined to thwart her plans.”
Astra gave a strangled sigh. “I have done what I can, Marguerite. I have warned Richard about Isabel. The rest is up to him. If he decides to take her to wife for the sake of her dowry, I cannot stop him.”
“Poor little sweeting,” Marguerite murmured. She patted Astra’s hand. “We’ll find you another suitor, I promise.” A sly smile twitched her lips. “Rest now. I have an adventure planned for tonight that will make you forget all about the maddening Richard Reivers.”
Astra nodded vaguely. She did not think even one of Marguerite’s escapades could lift her gloomy mood. She had made up her mind to avoid Richard, but having done so, she felt as if she had killed some part of herself. He enchanted her, and it was not only his thrilling kisses or handsome face that drew her to him. She sensed a boyish, wistful longing beneath Richard’s glib charm and cynical words. She suspected he had been hurt very deeply in his past, and she longed to soothe him, to ease his unhappiness. For all the aura of danger that surrounded Richard, there was a vulnerability about him as well. He aroused her tenderness almost as much as he aroused her passion.
Stop, she admonished herself. Richard was a dangerous man, one whose extraordinary allure had the power to threaten her immortal soul. She recalled the sensation of his tongue probing her ear. The ecstasy of it had seemed to plumb the very depths of her. It was obscene, shocking, and it had felt so wonderful she had well-nigh let down her guard completely. If he hadn’t stopped... Sweet heaven! How far would she have let things go?
Astra removed her overtunic and lay down on the bed. Marguerite had left and everything was quiet. Astra’s thoughts spun in wild circles, then gradually calmed. There was no doubt of it, she decided. She had to tell Richard she could not see him again, except in the company of others. It would be difficult, but she dare not weaken. The sake of her future depended on her resisting the glorious temptation he offered.
* * *
“Where are we going?” Astra asked breathlessly as she met Marguerite in the half-deserted courtyard outside the palace.
“Shhhh! It’s a secret.”
“I don’t like this,” Astra murmured, glancing around uneasily. “We should be dining with the Queen this very minute. What will we tell her if we are missed?”
“I’ve already explained to Her Majesty that we have accepted an invitation from Lord Darley. His London house is not far, and we will be properly escorted there by my father’s knights.” Marguerite reached out to adjust the hood of Astra’s cloak so it better concealed her face.
“But we’re not going there, are we?” Astra accused. “That was merely a lie you told the Queen so she wouldn’t be suspicious.”
Marguerite gave Astra a sharp glance. “We did indeed have an invitation from Lord Darley. I understand that Guy Faucomberg and Adam Ferreres will be joining him this evening. Perhaps you would like to go after all?”
Astra thought of Richard’s jealous anger in the garden and shook her head. Even if things were finished with Richard, she did not want him to think she had lied to him. Besides, Richard had warned her that Faucomberg was a dangerous man, and she believed him. It seemed wise to avoid Rathstowe as much as possible.
Marguerite took Astra’s arm and led her towards the knights’ quarters. “I am pleased you see that gathering for what it is—a stuffy meal among pompous, boring men who will likely discuss politics all night. What I have planned for tonight will be much more entertaining.”
Astra glanced uneasily at her friend. After some of the scrapes she had been in with Marguerite, it seemed unwise to follow blindly wherever she led. Astra hesitated, forcing Marguerite to halt. “Do you promise we will be escorted at all times? Do you swear it upon your psalter?”
“What’s this? Don’t you trust me?” Marguerite asked in a hurt voice. “You are my dearest friend. How could you think that I would ever allow you to be unprotected?”
“Swear it,” Astra continued persistently. “Swear that we will be escorted at all times.”
Marguerite heaved a sigh. “Oh, all right, I swear it, on my prayer book or the holy rood or whatever you wish.”
Astra nodded, somewhat satisfied. Even Marguerite would not break a holy vow.
They continued walking. Their footsteps echoed sharply on the flagstones of the quiet courtyard. They reached the low, dark building that served as barracks for the King’s soldiers, and Marguerite gestured for Astra to wait while she went inside. A few moments later she returned, followed by two well-armed knights.
“De Saer, Weyland, this is Lady Astra.”
The two men bowed. Astra noted they did not look particularly pleased. She guessed they had as many doubts about the night’s excursion as she did.
“Where are we going?” Astra again asked as they reached Kingsbridge Wharf, and one of the knights beckoned for a wherry. “I’d like to have some idea of what’s ahead of us.”
“London Bridge,” Marguerite answered firmly. She removed her hood and shook her ebony curls until they billowed out from beneath her sheer rose-colored veil. “What would a visit to London be without exploring its famous bridge?”
“My lady, I do not think— ” one of the knights began.
Marguerite silenced him with a glare. “Nonsense. It’s still well before sunset, and the city is overrun by sergeants and beadles whose duty is to keep the peace. We’ll be perfectly safe.”
Astra felt a prickle of warning in her belly. She had seen for herself that London could be a dangerous place, even in the daytime. How much more so would it be after dark? She glanced at the two knights who walked behind them. The men were armed to the teeth, and Marguerite had promised to remain in sight of their escort at all times. Astra wondered if her naiveté made her exaggerate the dangers of the city. Besides, she really did want to see the famous bridge. She joined Marguerite and the two knights in the wherry.
The river was swift but relatively calm this night. Still, Astra was relieved when they disembarked at a wharf near Billingsgate, and Marguerite announced they would walk the rest of the way. It was a lovely evening. Behind them, the sky glowed with the dazzling orange and violet of a summer sunset.
They passed the Tower and came out on Walbrook Street at the entrance to the bridge. Astra gasped in amazement. There were houses and shops crowding the narrow causeway across the Thames. “Sweet heaven—it’s almost a town unto itself,” she murmured.
“Just imagine, Astra, there are likely more people living on the bridge than in the whole village of Stafford.”
Astra nodded, feeling awed. Watching the waning sunlight reflect from the jumble of buildings covering almost every inch of space on the bridge, she realized this was a sight she might well tell her children about someday.
They passed through the massive gatehouse and began to traverse the bridge. Astra’s pleasure turned quickly to apprehension. Houses and shops loomed over the passageway across the river, almost blocking out the sky. The street itself was so narrow two horsemen could scarcely pass. The bridge stank of excrement and garbage. Astra felt a sense of suffocating enclosure, and she was greatly relieved when they finally reached the other side and progressed into open space.
“You’ve seen the bridge then, Lady Marguerite,” the older of the Fitz Hugh knights said sharply. “It’s time to return to Westminster.”
“But we haven’t eaten yet, and I’m starved. Aren’t you, Astra?”
Marguerite looked to Astra for confirmation. Astra didn’t know what to do. She heartily agreed with the knight that they should go back, but the thought of immediately returning along the airless, almost subterranean route they had just passed through filled her with dread. “I suppose we could rest awhile.”
Marguerite smiled delightedly. “Well, then, now to find a place to dine.” She set off briskly down the quay.
“This is Southwark, my lady,” the younger knight called after her. “There are no eating establishments in this part of the city that are fit for gentlewomen.”
“Of course there are, de Saer.” Marguerite cast a wicked grin backwards. “I’ve heard you say that a man can find anything he wishes in Southwark.”
De Saer flushed at Marguerite’s teasing. The older knight, Weland, flashed Marguerite a resentful look and then shrugged at de Saer. “It seems Lady Marguerite must learn for herself.”
Astra felt her stomach do a little flip-flop. It was obvious their escort had doubts about their destination, but they were not willing to do anything to deter Marguerite. With utmost reluctance, she joined the knights and followed after her friend. She felt relatively safe with de Saer and Weland on either side of her. It was Marguerite—walking far ahead—she worried about.
De Saer had not been exaggerating, Astra thought grimly. Even compared to the rest of London, the filth of Southwark was appalling. Manure and refuse were piled everywhere. Shabby dwellings crowded almost to the river, and down the runnel-like streets ran hordes of half-naked, dirty and emaciated children. As they turned off the quay, beggars immediately accosted them. Marguerite had one of the knights scatter a handful of coins from the purse he carried for her. As the wretched souls scrabbled and fought over the money, Astra shuddered. She remembered a similar depressing scene in the courtyard of St. Paul’s, and Richard’s remarks about only the strong surviving.
They walked among the low-slung alehouses huddled along the narrow streets, and Astra saw with surprise that there were well-dressed knights mingling with the ruffians. As they turned the corner, she caught a glimpse of a broad-shouldered, dark-haired man a few paces ahead of them. Almost immediately the man turned and spoke to his companion, and Astra realized it was not Richard. Even so, her heart pounded, and a hot ache throbbed inside her. Suddenly, in her mind, she was in the garden by the Tower again, watching Richard take off his tunic. She had not been able to look away from his gleaming brown skin and thick corded muscles. When he had leaned down to kiss her, his mouth sensual and moist, she had reached out and touched him. She could still recall kneading her fingers into his naked silky skin, how she had lost herself in his scent and feel and taste.
Marguerite, now walking next to Astra, leaned over and whispered in her ear, “What deep thoughts are you thinking?”
Astra blushed. Marguerite saw the flush on her cheeks and smiled. “Ah, let me guess. You were thinking about Richard.”
Astra started to protest. Marguerite chuckled and patted her arm. “It’s all right, sweeting. I know you have not forgotten him. Indeed, he is not an easy man to forget. I still say he has the most splendid shoulders in Christendom.”
“Have a care for my feelings, Marguerite. The mere mention of Richard distresses me.”
“Oh, I am well content that it does. It takes only a tiny reminder of Sir Richard to make your cheeks go pink and your eyes to sparkle. I imagine the thought of him produces other interesting changes in your person as well. Perhaps your heart beats faster, your skin grows suddenly hot and tingling...”
“Marguerite! Your words are most unseemly!”
Her friend chuckled again. “I am right or you would not protest... nor would your face turn such a vivid hue. You
are
still in love with him. I would wager my last silver penny on it.”
“For the thousandth time, Marguerite! It was not love, but lust! The man arouses my most base, vile—”
“Hush, sweeting. You don’t want our escort to overhear.”
Astra clapped her hand over her mouth, utterly mortified. In her frustration she had been talking loudly, virtually announcing to the Fitz Hugh knights that she lusted for a man! She glared at Marguerite, who nearly collapsed in a fit of giggling.
“Find a place to eat, Marguerite,” Astra said coldly. “Otherwise I shall take our escort and leave you.”
Marguerite gestured to a nearby tavern. “At last. This place will do perfectly.”
Astra looked doubtful. The gloomy alehouse called the Black Swan appeared no better than the rest of the Southwark establishments they had passed. Their escort led the way into the place, and Astra saw that it was filled with grim-faced knights and villainous-looking sailors. De Saer and Weland exchanged an uneasy glance, and fingered their sword hilts.
Marguerite selected a table in the far corner, and a blowzy serving wench wearing a startlingly bright shade of lip rouge sauntered over to them and demanded to know what they wanted. Marguerite ignored the wench’s impertinence and ordered a trencher of food. The knights did likewise, and Astra also nodded her assent to the woman’s questioning look. As the woman cleared the table of used ale mugs, Astra could scarcely tear her eyes away. The bar maid wore a gown so thin and loose that her large, pendulous breasts were nearly visible beneath it. The thought occurred to Astra that the woman likely sold more than food to her customers.
As they waited for their meal, Astra perused the rest of the establishment’s occupants. A mangy pack of men diced at the other end, casting furtive looks at Marguerite’s party. In one corner a drunk slumped over a table, snoring loudly, while from a table of hard-eyed soldiers came guffaws of laughter. One of them stood up and stretched his long, lean form. Astra’s eyes widened in shock as she gazed across the dim tavern. As the tall knight moved aside, she could see a dark-haired girl sitting on a bench between two other knights. Her gown was down to her waist, her plump, round breasts fully exposed.