The Bride Tournament (11 page)

“I have another confession to make. Isolated as I was at Middleworth, I haven’t paid much attention to recent changes in our land,” she said. “How can Edward even be king? The former king, Henry VI, has a son to inherit his throne.”

He sighed. Eleanor tweaked his vanity and made a mockery of his prior successes with women. He knew he’d seen glimmers of attraction in her eyes during the past few days, as if she wondered what it would be like to relinquish her staunch devotion to Arthur and give life with her husband a chance. She had seemed to enjoy, even anticipate his touch and their time together. Given this romantic setting, the semi-privacy of a moonlit garden on a pleasant evening, he was sure no woman but his reluctant wife would choose the most unromantic topic possible.

Unwittingly she had raised the stakes. How would he find a way to entice her while discussing politics?

“The situation is somewhat confusing,” he began. “Ordinarily Henry’s son would have succeeded him. In this case, the question of who should rule depends on whose reasoning you accept. The Act of Accord in 1460 made the Duke of York and his sons successors to the throne and displaced Henry’s son.”

“How can men make laws as to who should be king? How could they disinherit an anointed king’s son, a prince of the realm?”

Richard rose and stood behind her. He clasped his arms around her, enjoying the way she fit against him. He wanted to kiss the side of her neck but instead spoke softly into her ear.

“York believes Henry VI and the other Lancastrian kings before him usurped the throne from the true Yorkist heirs,” he began.

Eleanor turned to face him, then stepped back. When he loosened his hold to accommodate her, she moved to the other side of the narrow flowerbed.

Advance and retreat
.

“King Edward is descended from sons of Edward III on both his father’s side and his mother’s.” He rounded the flowerbed. “By this logic, Henry VI has a lesser claim to the throne, being a descendant of a younger son of Edward III than York. EIV, 5Thus, York believes his line should resume its lawful and rightful place. York convinced the lords this was true, hence the Act of Accord.”(ross, wotr 49)

The intent way she looked at him, the slight flick of her tongue as she moistened her lips, her delicate scent, aroused him. Made him want to kiss her and more. She made even politics exciting, all while he was supposed to be enticing her.

Consummation could wait no longer. He’d desired her from the first. As he came to know her, he wanted her all the more. He admired her defiance and pride, which made her more attractive to him.

His attempts at chivalrous courting had made inroads, but he still sensed reluctant resistance. As if she desired him but wasn’t sure she wanted to. He would make her sure. He would make her forget Arthur.

He’d been uncharacteristically lenient, allowing her time to adjust to their “situation” as she called it. But they were married, there’d be no annulment. She had to learn that a union with him could be quite pleasant. He could think of only one way to teach her. Of only one way to imprint himself upon her and make her forget all other men.

Slowly, letting her see the desire he refused to hide any longer, he walked toward her.

She backed away, matching him step for step. The waist-high garden wall stopped her retreat. Their gazes locked, hers defiant, his intentionally determined. He’d never do anything she didn’t want him to do. He had to make her see that she did want this, as much as he did.

“The Act of Accord,” she repeated softly. “So what becomes of Henry and his son?”

Still he moved forward until their bodies pressed against each other. She didn’t move, didn’t push him away. As if she waited to see how far he would go. He lifted her onto a low ledge. Her hips were now flush with his. Their breaths mingled. He felt the rhythmic rise and fall of her chest.

“And what of Henry’s queen, Margaret of Anjou?” Her voice faded to a whisper.

He took a deep breath to quell his need. Wanting her had taught him patience.

“Henry and his son, Edward, still hope to regain the throne. The former queen gathers support for Henry’s cause,” he whispered into her ear.

He kissed her neck, then the delicate skin behind her ear. At last. She tasted better than their meal. He moved his hips in a circle. Again and again. Three tiny, gentle rotations against her and he was hard. Her slight gasp revealed that she sensed the change in him, even through their layers of clothing.

“Wh-why are you doing this?”

“You wanted to know how Edward could be king,” he said, placing another gentle kiss on her neck. By the saints she smelled good, more pleasing than the rose garden surrounding them.

“I meant—”

“Sssh.”

Eleanor drew in a breath and leaned against the wall. Her eyes widened. “I think….”

“Don’t think.” He kissed her neck again. “Feel.” Another lingering kiss, then he made his way toward her mouth. “Feel me. Us.”

His hips continued their slow movements. He wouldn’t be able to take much more of this. To secure her consent, he needed to arouse her gently. To allow her sensuality time to blossom.

With great care, as if she’d crumble to dust if he moved too quickly, he linked his fingers with hers. She didn’t object. He lowered his head, stopping when their mouths were mere inches apart. Her lips parted.

Yes, he thought, just so.

Eleanor was his wife. He had the right to kiss her, and much more. Only to earn her trust would he go to such lengths to woo her.

Slowly, so slowly, he bent closer. He paused a hairsbreadth before their lips met, waiting. Then he kissed her, a careful, light touch to test her willingness, though he burned to possess her.

“Richard,” she whispered.

He kissed her again. Deeper this time, a true kiss. Need seared him as she clutched his shoulders. He pulled back slightly, afraid she was pushing him away, rejecting him again. But she drew him down to her, violet eyes gleaming with desire.

“More.”

The single word promised victory. His heart leapt.

She kissed him back, matching his intensity. He slid his tongue into her mouth and felt her lean into him. The thrill of her response added to his. Desire soared as their mouths fused, tongues teasing, hands roaming.

Staggered by the passion igniting between them, he broke away. They stared at each other, breathing hard. Her lips were slightly parted, rosy from his kisses. Inviting.

His groin pounded, demanding release. But their first joining couldn’t be in a public, albeit secluded, place. He took her hand, determined not lose this opportunity…but where to go? Not the woods, not the stables, nor their shared rooms.

“Well, what a coincidence.”

Arthur. Richard’s desire melted faster than snow tossed on a fire.

Eleanor pulled away, obviously embarrassed. Embarrassed by being caught in her husband’s arms by her former betrothed.

A fine stew. His gut churned.

“On your way to see the king, I presume, as am I.” Arthur’s face was placid, his voice welcoming rather than sarcastic. Did he still want Eleanor, or did he accept his new lot in life?

“Arthur,” she said.

Eleanor looked at Arthur, then at him. She seemed uncertain how to proceed.

“The two of you seem to be faring well,” Arthur said. “I can only hope my marriage yields such success.”

What did Eleanor see in him? Obviously wealth and position meant little to his wife. Arthur had neither. Did she prefer blond hair and an angelic face to his darker, less refined features? The former earl was the precise vision of a chivalrous knight from a romance, while he looked the hardened warrior. Women had oft praised his features and form, but what if he wasn’t to her taste?

He wished he didn’t care.

“What brings you to court?” Eleanor asked. He was pleased that her face revealed curiosity, nothing more.

“I hope to curry Edward’s favor,” Arthur replied. “To prove I no longer support the Lancastrians.”

Perhaps he spoke true. Or perhaps the man endeavored to follow Eleanor. To steal her away.

“A worthy goal,” she said.

Richard had a sudden urge to prove his worth, to please his wife. Despite their hasty nuptials, despite the fact that he needed her lands and funds and that marriage to her fulfilled his duty, it wasn’t enough to know she had to stay with him.

What idiotic vanity was this, to want his wife to admire him, to want to stay with him? He was naught but a weak fool, returning to the road he’d traveled long ago and vowed never to revisit.

“I wish you success,” Eleanor added.

His love for Blanche had commenced just this way. With him hoping and endeavoring to please her. With him caring what she wanted. Just like Blanche, Eleanor wanted another man to succeed.

Of its own accord, the portcullis guarding his heart had lifted ever so slightly as his interest in Eleanor grew. He slammed the heavy gate back into place and added another lock.

Arthur and Eleanor stared at each other. She’d never looked at him, Richard, quite that way. He burned to know what they were thinking.

As the moment stretched, awkwardness increased. How to break the spell that seemed to hold them all immobile? A horse whinnied, as if echoing his discomfort.

Would Eleanor ever stop loving her erstwhile betrothed? Would he and Arthur ever regain their easy friendship?

“I’ve sent for Margaret,” Richard announced. “She should be joining us at court within the week.”

Arthur nodded, but his expression didn’t change. Eleanor looked at the blossom still in her grasp as if each petal held its own unique fascination. A breeze brushed the flowers at his feet.

Perhaps that hadn’t been the best subject to raise. If anything, the mood grew more strained.

“It’s late, and we need to get an early start on the morrow.” He held out his hand.

For an instant he feared she wouldn’t take it. Worse, he thought she might request a moment alone with Arthur.

Eleanor took his hand, but handed Arthur the flower.

A gesture of friendship, or something more?

Could there be a more awkward set of circumstances?
Eleanor’s fingers trembled as she lit a candle.

“Arthur is here,” she told Alyce, who’d awoken when she entered their small, but surprisingly clean, room. “He found me kissing Richard in the garden.”

Richard’s kisses had enthralled her, weaving her in a content spell of desire. He’d been a panther stalking his mate, sleek and purposeful. Powerful. Her body had burned to explore the sensations he aroused. To learn what came after kissing.

Until Arthur arrived.

Alyce sat up, her silvery hair glistening in the candlelight. “What happened?”

Eleanor set the candle on the only table and removed the veil from her new hat with a flat crown. “I stood between the two of them, wondering if each was going to grab an arm and pull.”

Even as guilt tore her apart. Wanting to make love with Richard made her disloyal to Arthur. The strain on Richard’s face as he glared at Arthur provoked additional guilt that she hadn’t done her duty and consummated their marriage.

“And before that you were kissing Richard,” Alyce said. “Did you enjoy it?”

Eleanor sighed. “I did,” she whispered.

“Hmm. Eleanor, which man do you really want?”

She wasn’t sure how to answer that question.

Chapter 8

The king gave the council a reprieve while he shared a private meal with his queen, Elizabeth, so Richard decided to find his wife and do the same. Finding her in the vast castle took some doing, but his efforts were rewarded in the moat garden beneath the central tower.

She sat on a bench amidst clumps of white-flowered bushes. A dozen or so children sat on pillows in front of her, rapt expressions on their young faces. Several adults stood nearby.

“And the dragon’s red eyes gleamed in anger,” Eleanor said. The sun sparkled off her wedding band as she raised her hands. “He reared back and drew in a huge breath—can you show me what that would sound like?”

All of the children drew in huge, loud breaths. He hid a laugh behind his hand.

“Yes, just so,” Eleanor said with a smile. “Well, the dragon was just about to breathe fire on the maiden Meridwen. His green scales glinted in the firelight as she struggled against her bonds, fearing the end was near.”

What a pleasant surprise. His wife was an expert story teller.

“‘Help, help!’ the maiden cried, though she knew no one could hear. Suddenly a knight appeared at the entrance to the dragon’s lair. A golden light surround him, making his armor shine. He drew his sword—” Eleanor stopped. Her smile widened. She’d seen him. “Oh, look! Here’s the brave knight now. Richard, come join us.”

The children turned. Some gasped with glee. One little girl hid behind a larger one.

A dark-haired boy stood and bowed. “Please help us save Maid Meridwen from the dragon, Sir Knight.”

Eleanor’s eyes twinkled with obvious delight. “Oh, yes. Please do.”

The last time he’d played with children he’d been one himself. Could he relax enough to participate? He didn’t want to disappoint Eleanor. What he did want was to share this with her. Richard drew an imaginary sword with great flourish, and raised it high. “Maid Meridwen, I shall rescue you!”