The Bride Tournament (10 page)

But then, he’d not escape hers either.

’Twas two days into their journey to Windsor. The horses plodded along the road, keeping pace with carts laden with bedding, clothing and supplies. At this rate, combined with frequent stops, the trip from Northumberland to Berkshire would take weeks instead of days. Though she chafed at the delay and was unaccustomed to long hours in the saddle, Eleanor couldn’t help but appreciate the respite from her worries.

She wouldn’t let her father’s watchful, disapproving eye affect her, and did her best to avoid and ignore him. There was nothing left to say.

Thank goodness she and Richard were rarely alone. Due to the scarcity of rooms at inns along their route, she shared with her maid Mary and Alyce, while Richard stayed with his squire, Reginald.

That didn’t stop Richard from finding dozens of ways to torment her. Like when he’d hold her hand—so she didn’t trip on rough ground. But his warmth and strength made her less steady than she was on her own.

He was proving to be the most eminently attractive yet disconcerting man she’d ever met. As he rode beside her, more than once her gaze strayed to his mouth, remembering his kisses and wishing he would try to kiss her again. Wishing….

She held her head high, as if enjoying the afternoon sun’s warmth and the lovely setting. In the space of a week she’d been wed to a man not of her choosing and wrenched from the comforting safety of what she’d once called home. Home, where she’d been queen of her domain and few dared say nay to her. Now she was under her husband’s thumb.

At court she’d be a newcomer, with no authority despite being a countess. She’d have to share a chamber with Richard again, surely the most frightening prospect of all. The solution was to organize her bridal tournament posthaste.

“We shall rest the horses here,” Richard called out.

No, not again. She couldn’t bear any more of his “rests.” “Surely we’re not far from the next inn?”

Richard bestowed one of his slow smiles upon her, the kind that set her insides to melting fast as butter in a hot pan.

Why did he inspire her desire? Why did she yearn to see Richard again as soon as he left her sight? She shuddered. If this was how really caring for someone felt, she didn’t like it. She’d never felt this way about Arthur. For the first time, she wondered if she truly loved him.

Of course she did. Not missing him constantly was her way of handling his lengthy departures.

The group stopped beside a sparkling stream. Water splashed as it flowed over the rocky bed. Bright yellow gorse dotted green, rolling meadows.

Richard reached up to lift her from Saffron. She tensed, knowing he’d slide her against him as he did every time he helped her dismount. His hands closed about her waist, followed by a brief sensation of weightlessness as he plucked her from the saddle, then came the slow, intimate descent while his green-eyed gaze held hers. He smelled clean and fresh despite their long hours on the road. The feel of his hard body unsettled her yet again.

“Do you hunger?” he whispered.

Not for food. “No.”

His closeness made her uneasy. Choosing that moment to rumble, her stomach defied her.

He laughed. She wished the sound didn’t please her.

“Come then, I have sweetmeats in my pack.” He grabbed her hand, leaving her little choice but to follow.

The horses drank from the stream and nibbled on greenery while the eight men accompanying them reclined on the ground nearby, some eating, some resting.

Richard settled a short distance from the others on a flat rock surrounded by waving grasses. He seemed perfectly at ease. In a russet tunic, tight brown hose revealing powerful thighs, a hardy traveler replaced the elegant lord. He stretched, arm muscles flexing, broad chest expanding. He watched her with a slight smile, making her suspect this display of maleness was solely for her benefit.

Eleanor remained standing. Being near Richard weakened her resolve.

“Alyce,” she called. “Come join us.”

“We’ll sup alone,” Richard said softly.

Not if she could help it.
But Alyce chatted gaily with Richard’s squire, clearly without concern for her sister’s welfare. Eleanor opened her mouth to call again.

“If Alyce shares our meal, there won’t be enough food for you,” he said.

She seethed. Richard couched orders in kindness. She glared, but he munched on an apple as if he didn’t have a care in the world.

To eat or not to eat, that was the question. Give in to Richard, or preserve her dignity. Dignity prevailed over her growling stomach. She’d starve before she let him win, before she let any man order her around like she was a witless fool. She stepped away.

Two steps later, a tug on her skirts jerked her to a sudden stop.

“Sit, dear wife.” His voice was deceptively pleasant.

Eleanor twisted. The expression on Richard’s handsome face was full of challenge. He released her skirts and with a wave of his hand indicated the spot beside him.

She sat across from him, but he smoothly shifted his large frame until they were so close their thighs seemed as one. His heat burned through her clothing.

He displayed a piece of crystallized ginger between his thumb and forefinger. “Here.”

He’d remembered their conversation about favorite foods. Was he being thoughtful or trying to tempt her into liking him? She reached for the sweet, but he pulled back.

“Open,” he said as he leaned forward.

She held out her hand.

“Your mouth,” he whispered so near her ear the warmth of his breath tickled.

Her mouth dropped open in surprise. He popped the sugared date between her lips.

She bit his finger.

He yanked his hand back. Then he smiled, the most seductive smile she’d ever seen. A shiver raced up her spine.

“Ah, a most agreeable form of love play, my sweet. Are you so eager to eat me up?”

Eleanor snatched another comfit from his pack and ate it. “No, I hunger only for your food.” She sat up straighter, peering over the grasses. If only Alyce would look her way.

Richard’s finger brushed her cheek. Her hand hastened to cover the spot.

“You had some sugar near your mouth,” he said.

After they’d eaten, Richard raised his hand, catching his squire Reginald’s attention. The lanky blond lad jumped to his feet, ran to one of the carts and pulled something out.

The youth returned with a lute. Richard accepted the instrument and a small piece of quill for plucking the strings. After strumming a few chords, he launched into a song.

What new torture was this?

“Le souvenir de vous me tue,

Mon suel bien, quant je ne vous voy.

Car je vous jure sur ma foy,

Sans vous ma liesse est perdue.”

She translated the French as he sang the sweet melody, “The memory of you kills me, my only love, when I cannot see you. For I swear to you by my faith, without you my joy is gone.”

Her chest tightened as his long fingers moved over the strings. His rugged face seemed softer as his soothing bass caressed words meant only for her. The final phrase faded into the warm breeze.

She couldn’t look away.

He began another song. The familiar tune seemed strangely fitting here, accompanied by: the grasses’ soft chorus and subtle beat of the rushing water.

“Sing with me,” he said.

Her throat felt suddenly hoarse. She feared the joy of their voices blending, her heart warming toward him further….

She’d already given into him more than she’d planned by sharing meals as they traveled. Allowing him to ply her with tender morsels and engage her in witty conversation. What would he want next? Thank goodness he didn’t know she played the harp, the perfect instrument to complement his lute.

How else would he seek to control her? “Open,” when he wished her to eat. “Sing” when he desired a tune. Surely “Spread,” as in “Spread your thighs,” would be next.

Never. Not for this man, no matter how handsome, how appealing. Richard didn’t fool her. He sought to control her, so arrogant he thought persistent wooing would win the day.

“Do you truly believe my weak, feminine sensibilities would make me yield after a few sweet songs and treats? Ha.”

He smiled knowingly. “You know you enjoyed them.”

Alyce often said God tested people to prove their faith or devotion to a cause. Clearly Richard was her test. Could Eleanor remain devoted to Arthur despite Richard’s temptations?

Soon they’d be at court with the king, where she could inquire about the steps she’d need to take with the church court. Where she could find Richard another bride.

She wouldn’t let him affect her. She wouldn’t fail.

Richard set aside the lute, well satisfied by the meal, the fine day and his progress with Eleanor. As he’d hoped, courting seemed to be the key to winning his wife. She’d eaten from his hand. She’d swayed with the music’s rhythm and even smiled, proving his songs had weakened her resistance. At one point he thought she might swoon at the loving words he spoke.

Was it fair to entice her to succumb? Once he’d fallen victim to words such as those.

He’d made the hugest mistake of his life more than ten years ago when he was but a knight with limited hope of rising higher. He had fallen in love. With Blanche, then Blanche Fastolf, daughter of parents of modest means, and asked her to marry him. She’d professed her feelings for him. They set a date for their wedding. He’d been happy.

Until the night his dreams were crushed. Before returning to his chamber after a meeting with his overlord, he’d passed Blanche’s room. Her door had been slightly ajar.

He’d heard laughter, her laughter. “Kiss me, John.”

John? His heart had all but stopped. Blanche, bedding another man, mere days after plighting her troth to him.

Betrayed by his betrothed. The pain had been worse than when an enemy’s sword slashed his calf during a battle. He’d learned that enemies lurked even in the guise of lovers.

He’d surged forward, but Blanche’s next words halted him.

“Yes, John, I will wed with you.” Another laugh, sultry. “I was meant to be the wife of a nobleman. My children need to be born of noble blood.”

That instant, his heart had closed. A portcullis slammed down, the iron gate locking his emotions inside as securely as it kept in a castle’s inhabitants. The harsh ache of Blanche’s betrayal had diminished with time, but the concern over not being worthy remained. Now he was a powerful, wealthy earl. No one would deny him. Especially not his wife.

Richard would practice his wiles, learned from a master, on Eleanor. But, wise to their effect, he’d remain aloof.

His beautiful wife sat quietly, for once, at his side. How delectable she’d looked with the dusting of sugar on her cheek. How he’d yearned to taste the sweetness of her skin.

Desire for her was safe and natural. Caring for her could prove more dangerous than facing a battlefield with the enemy in full armor.

He didn’t need to love Eleanor to fulfill his duty.

Chapter 7

Eleanor couldn’t wait to reach Windsor Castle so Richard could attend the king. Having him near from dawn ’til sunset, then hours of fitful sleep by his side, exhausted her. Because she constantly battled the part of her that wanted to accede to his wooing. But the goal she fought for was worth the effort.

At an inn the night before they reached Edward’s court, all savored a delicious meal of blawmanger with rice and chicken. Laughing travelers cozily crowded the place, creating a friendly and welcoming mood. Alyce, worn out by the excitement of the journey, nearly dozed in her bowl. Mary took her off to bed.

“The air is pleasant,” Richard said. “Will you walk with me?”

Yes. No.
Eleanor didn’t trust herself to be alone with him. All she had to do was say she was tired. But she wasn’t. Despite her earlier need to be free of him, she didn’t know how many more opportunities she’d have to share his company. At court Richard would be surrounded by desirable prospective brides. Anticipation and reluctance vied within as they went outside. She’d revel in these few minutes.

The hush of the moonlit night contrasted with the patrons’ boisterous conversations. The scent of spring flowers floated on a refreshing breeze, mingling with familiar smells of the nearby stable.

He led her to a small bench, his hand on the small of her back. She stiffened, leery of his intentions.

As he put his arm around her, Richard caught a whiff of her lemony scent. Another woman would likely guess his intent or have one of her own, but Eleanor didn’t react to his touch. She didn’t even look at him. He put a finger under her chin and gently turned her head.

Their gazes met, sending a flicker of desire through him.

“Eleanor, over the past few days you and I have had the chance—”

She rose and walked to a flowerbed. “I’m looking forward to meeting the king, though the prospect makes me a little nervous.” Eleanor picked a rose and sniffed it. “Out of my element.”

He wasn’t fooled. She hadn’t left him on the bench because she had a sudden need to pick a flower. Nor did “out of her element” refer only to meeting the king. Being alone with him made her uncomfortable.