The Bride Tournament (14 page)

So caught up in her scheme was she that she didn’t even look at him. If she had, she couldn’t have missed the maelstrom of emotions surging within him. First swarmed sadness that she refused to realize he had no interest in a better bride. Why couldn’t she see that if you already had what you wanted, something different, even more, wasn’t necessarily better? Next followed fury, oddly mixed with admiration she’d go to such lengths to be rid of him. Her keenness, the efforts she had made, showed him this was what she truly wanted. To leave him, but at least not in the lurch. That she was willing to take such steps to see to his happiness made him want her all the more.

If only she’d turn her considerable efforts toward him and their marriage instead of searching for answers in every direction except in front of her. Why couldn’t he make her see that? He hated failure.

His final emotion: acceptance. Their conversations obviously meant little to her. The extraordinary kisses they’d shared hadn’t swayed her from her cause. Mayhap in her inexperience, she thought she could find such wonders with any man. He knew better. He’d done his best to convince her, but maybe his persistence had pushed her farther away. Mayhap, as she said, he fought a losing battle.

Was she right? Should they go their separate ways, for both their sakes? Even though he’d be the one to pay the highest price…a life without her beside him. Without the joy of raising their children.

Unless…maybe there was a better way.
His
way.

Eleanor couldn’t bring herself to look at Richard. If she did, she’d burst into tears or throw herself into his arms. Or both. She’d gone too far to back out, yet encouraging him to seek another wife was far more difficult than she’d expected. Each word added another weight on her heart.

What was she to do? She wanted her husband, yet had pledged her devotion to another. Her mother always told her a woman of honor never went back on her word. And that a woman’s word was all she had to give.

The way Richard had looked when she told him about the better bride, much the same way Alyce had when she unveiled her plan but tinged with pain, almost undid her. Only by staring into the distance or into the burgundy depths of her wine could she continue.

Maybe he’d refuse to accept her scheme. Maybe she wouldn’t have to hold the bridal tournament. If so, would he forgive her for trying?

Richard drained his cup and poured another. Though she’d toyed with the strawberries, neither of them had eaten much of the food she’d spread at the edge of the blanket. With a smile she could tell was strained, he leaned forward. He was so close she could see emerald flecks in his eyes, make out each of his long lashes.

If he kissed her, she’d want more kisses. He’d be more than happy to provide them, and more. Which might lead to consummation. And make getting the annulment all the more difficult if not impossible.

Was Richard giving her one last chance to choose him?

She couldn’t move.

“Eleanor. Are you very, very certain this is what you want?”

She nodded slowly, even as her body urged her to say no.

He leaned away, resting on one elbow as if he didn’t have a care in the world. Was the sudden chill actually in the air or just in her?

“Very well, then. You’ve convinced me. Why shouldn’t I study these ‘better’ brides? I’d like to get to know each of them before the tournament. As you said, forging friendships is one way to move forward. I have a lot of moving forward to do. Thanks to you.”

She felt her mouth drop open.

“What have I to lose? And to ensure your tournament’s success, I’ll talk with the king about having the archbishop hasten the annulment proceedings.”

Her throat went dry. “You want to involve the king?”

“Otherwise we’ll have no way of knowing how long it’ll take until our marriage is officially ended. Why wait?”

“Why indeed.” Eleanor thought she might vomit.

Why, why couldn’t she be sure of what she wanted? Why did every option feel like a mistake?

“What are you doing here?” Blanche shrieked. “You nearly scared me to death, lurking by those bushes.”

Sir Hugh FitzWalter disrupted her solitude near a hawthorn thicket in the moat garden. The balding son of her landlady reminded her of a spider and made her skin crawl.

“I but sought a respite from the pressure you’ve put me under. Now you deny me even that,” she said.

“Sit with me.”

Mindful of her second-best wool gown, she eased herself to the ground. He waved her closer. Reluctantly, she hefted her skirts and complied. An excess of spicy scent emanated from his gangly frame. The short tunics and tight hose of the day mocked his too-thin legs.

Hugh rested on his elbows, clearly at ease, despite the dour expression on his long face. She held herself straight and stiff.

“As I hadn’t received any of the information you’ve promised, I came to see for myself.”

“There’ve been no reports because I haven’t learned anything of use,” Blanche said. “Yet.”

“Ah, but since my arrival at court,
I
have. Should I be angry with you, Blanche? You wouldn’t dare betray me, but I hear you’ve set your sights on winning Richard back. That you’re part of this bizarre tournament everyone is buzzing about.” Hugh rolled to his side, propping himself up on his elbow. “Your enticements couldn’t hold him before, why should they now?”

He reached out and pinched her chin. The sun, pleasantly warm until his arrival, bore down on her with a vengeance. Sweat dripped down her neckline. She swiped it before it could stain her bodice.

“’Twas I who left him.” And what a mistake that had been. She twisted her head until Hugh released her. “’Tis merely an act that I seek his favor now. His stupid ‘wife’ offered me the opportunity to get closer to him, so I took it. How better to find what we seek? Thanks to her absurd tournament, I’ll have access to Richard almost every day.”

“What good is that? Think you he carries his father’s alchemy scrolls on his person? You’re moving too slowly. Time is running out,” Hugh warned.

Her heart thudded. “What have you heard?”

“
My sources inform me that another alchemist is close to success. And rumors abound that several others have joined in the race. We must be first to bring the formula to the king, or all of our efforts will have been for naught.
”

“I’ll work harder, if only to prove you wrong. I tell you again: Richard doesn’t have his father’s scrolls or know of their existence.” Blanche emphasized each word. “It’s been years since his father died. If Richard had them, being the honorable man he is, either he would’ve destroyed them or given them to Edward. Then all would know of their existence.”

Hugh took a deep breath, then spoke with great care as if talking to a dim-witted child. “What does Richard’s father’s folio of notes say?”

She knew the ugsome book nearly by heart. “‘Most revered Lords, Readers of this Epistle, let it be known that with assistance from God I am Guardian of the most secret Essence, the Philosopher’s Stone.’”

Saying the words sent a spray of needles up her spine. Never in her life had she thought to be involved with alchemy, the mystical science of transmuting base metals into gold. Anyone who knew how to combine ingredients into such a quintessence as the Philosopher’s Stone would command more power and wealth than the king.

“And he writes that he shall secure the decoction through his heirs,” Hugh said. “So Richard either has the formula or has memorized it.”

“You search with me,” Blanche suggested. “I’ve tried to encourage Richard to discuss his father’s work. He won’t. He barely talks to me these days. Obviously I can’t tell him what I’m really after.

“If the formula is written, we don’t even know what form of writing to seek. The missing scrolls, another folio of scribbled notes, or perhaps a scrap of vellum? Even if we knew which castle or manor to search, each has too many possible hiding places.”

Hugh’s frown made her regret her outburst. She couldn’t afford to offend him or his mother. No one but they knew the dire financial straits she faced. Her presumed wealth had earned her admittance into Eleanor’s tournament, but she’d have to falsify records to participate in the actual event.

She had no home. Her dower lands had been sold to pay her debts. Hugh had purchased the clothes on her back. At the moment, he too lived in fear his resources would dwindle, relying as he did on his mother’s charity.

She had to turn the tables. “I’m surprised the guards granted you admittance. Has Edward reversed your attainder?”

“No, ’tis another reason why I came. Never hurts to try to convince Edward of my loyalty in these times of strife. My presence should reassure him I’ve changed sides.”

“Unless he thinks you a spy.”

“Which brings us back to the beginning. That’s why I must be first to bring the Philosopher’s Stone, the elixir of life, the means to transmute metal to gold, to the king. ’Tis the only way to convince the king to return my properties. The only way to regain wealth in my own right.” Hugh scuttled closer and put his arms around her. “Come to my room. I’ve missed you.”

“Hugh, stop.” She forced herself not to recoil when his strong scent made her gag. “We shouldn’t even be seen together, unless we’re arguing, or I’ll be taken out of the running. Richard doesn’t trust me as it is.”

Disgust washed over her as he took her hand. But she wouldn’t let it show.

“Perhaps you’re right,” Hugh agreed. “But you’ll still come to me in secret. Whenever I like. Secrecy will serve to heighten our pleasure. You’d best not make me beg or I’ll make you regret it.”

Blanche bit back a sharp retort. She had no one but herself to blame. Her mistakes, her need to rise ever higher, had led her to this sorry pass.

All she had to do now was the impossible: find the formula for the Philosopher’s Stone, something alchemists had tried to discover for centuries with or without their secular or religious leaders’ permission. Something King Edward desired. If she did, she’d be free of Hugh. She’d move far away, where no one knew her past. Never again would she be any man’s whore. She’d start anew.

But for now, she must play her part, distasteful as it was.

After making sure no one was nearby, she ran her hand down his chest to his nether parts and fondled him. She succeeded in raising a small bulge. ’Twas all this maggot of a man could produce.

His breathing was already heavy. “Not now. Later. Blanche, leave me.”

For now, she obeyed.

Later that night, Richard lay awake. How could he sleep with Eleanor beside him?

He’d tried not to care for her, to stop wanting her, but her beauty and unique personality drew him. Her intelligence. Her only flaw was her refusal to want him. Perhaps that reluctance heightened his interest….the thrill of the hunt. Each time he thought he might breach the wall she’d built between them, she put up another defense. Cunning as a lord defending his castle under siege.

He could make out her profile in the light of the dwindling fire. He enjoyed watching her sleep, the only time she was still enough that he could admire her beauty. Her hair spilled over the covers, almost touching him. As he reached for a glistening lock, bringing it to his nose, he knew himself for a lovesick cow. Dropping the strands as if they’d burned him, he cursed his body’s response. Just looking at her, merely catching a lemony hint of scent, aroused him. And wasn’t enough.

He closed his eyes. Why did he want a wife who hoped to wed another man and wished him to marry another woman? Who despised his work? There was no way they’d consummate this marriage now. How could he stay married to her as he needed to? As he wanted to?

The sheets rustled. Richard opened his eyes to see her facing him, eyes closed beneath the hair draping her face. Taking care not to disturb her, he slid closer.

Eleanor’s movements had disrupted the tight cocoon of coverings she wrapped around herself each night, as if the doing of it could protect her from him. Her thin linen nightgown hinted at the tempting treasures that lay beneath.

He wanted Eleanor. And he would find a way to have her.

Chapter 10

“You’ve been married for several weeks without any love-jousting?” Richard’s brother Owen slapped his thigh and burst into laughter. When he recovered, he asked, “Is aught amiss in your nether regions?” That spawned another gale of laughter.

Richard didn’t appreciate being on the receiving end of his brother’s sarcastic wit. As soon as Owen arrived at court, they’d taken advantage of a break from work to ride out for this peaceful, private glade in the Great Park, as far from the courtiers as he could get. The tranquil, sunny day opposed his stormy mood.

He stretched out on the grass, hands folded behind his head, and closed his eyes. Not even his brother would see how Eleanor’s recalcitrance troubled him. “She won’t lie with me.”

Owen’s laughter rang out again, echoing in the quiet. “This is why you sent for me, dragging me away from a liaison with a most pleasant and accommodating widow? I rushed here, fearing trouble afoot. Never did I imagine you needed assistance with a woman.”

“Not just any woman. My wife. I hoped the master of seduction would yield some secrets,” Richard replied, his voice rife with mockery. He was tempted to grab his sword and show his brother who was the better man, in swordplay at least. But he needed advice first. “I assumed either duty or interest would make Eleanor accept our marriage. Neither has.”