The Bride Tournament (2 page)

All around her guests whispered, clearly craving a scandal.

“Will she wed with Courtenay?” a woman behind her asked.

“How can she not?” a man answered. “A daughter is obligated to obey her father and a wife her husband.”

“I’ll bet a groat she runs off with Stafford!”

They’d turned her life’s upheaval into a wager. Had her face flushed from discomfiture she could barely contain? She bit her lip.

A muscle twitched in the earl’s cheek. He had heard. What did he know of her?

The music started up again. They stared at each other, two soldiers trying to hold a bridge, neither willing to give an inch.

“Let us be off,” her father called. “To the church!”

The guests cheered as he led them from the hall. Alyce and Maud hovered a short distance away.

The earl again held out his purple velvet-clad arm.

Her father and Richard Courtenay might have won the battle, but not the war. She would marry the man she chose and thwart her father’s attempts at alchemy before it ravaged his finances. And his soul.

The shock coiled inside her threatened to explode. “In my haste, I forgot…something. I must fetch my mother’s scarf to carry in remembrance.”

The slight tilt of his head and raised brows told her that he didn’t trust her.

Forcing the sweet smile that once worked so well on her father, she asked, “Perhaps you’ll tell my father where I went?”

A moment of silence. Her heart fluttered like a dizzy butterfly.

“Very well,” he agreed with a nod.

She walked toward the stairs. Eleanor glanced over her shoulder to see him doing the same as he followed the guests. She waved, waiting until he had gone out the door.

Then she ran as fast as her feet would carry her.

Time was running out.

Two obviously flustered and out of breath young women stood before Richard and Eleanor’s father in Middleworth Castle’s bailey. The cheery sun and fresh breeze contrasted with Richard’s dark mood.

“Eleanor has locked herself in her chamber.” The shorter one, a fair-skinned blonde, wrung her hands.

Richard bit back an oath. His ire increased each minute he waited. How dare she defy him? He’d not come this far and risen so high to be thwarted by any woman ever again, much less his bride. He held up a hand against the sun. The guests had mounted and fortunately were too far away to hear this news.

Edmund de la Tour looked skyward, lifting his hands as if asking God for assistance. “Richard, meet my younger and more biddable daughter, Alyce, and Eleanor’s friend, Lady Maud Fitzalan. Alyce, tell her she must come out. Immediately.”

“We tried, Father,” said Alyce, the blonde. She bore only a faint resemblance to his reluctant bride.

Maud, a pleasantly plump brunette, twisted the end of her veil. “Eleanor said she needed her mother’s favorite scarf. We went with her. But she ran ahead and bolted her door.”

“She seemed resigned, not upset. We didn’t suspect a thing,” Alyce added.

“I shall fetch her.” Edmund heaved a heavy sigh.

“No. I will.” Eleanor’s father hadn’t been able to handle her, but Richard couldn’t allow her to best him. He needed this marriage.

He marched into the castle with Edmund, Alyce and Maud at his heels like eager pups. The trio barked directions until they reached her chamber.
 
“Eleanor, open this door. Now,” Richard ordered.

“No!” The wood portal muffled her voice. “I need to think.”

So she could work on a way to evade marrying him? “Do you remember what we spoke of earlier?”

Silence. More silence.

“Eleanor, my lovely bride to be, if you don’t open this door, I’m going to break it down,” he said. “Then I shall fling you over my shoulder and carry you thusly to the church.”

Edmund, Alyce and Maud gasped in unison.

Each second stretched as they stared at the still-closed door. Eleanor had made her own bed. And lie in it she would, with him.

“Move aside,” Richard said.

He hurled himself at the door, pain blasting his shoulder as it met sturdy wood. The latch gave. He flew into the room and collided with Eleanor. They tumbled to the floor, but he managed to turn so she landed atop him.

“Ooooph.”

Her golden hair formed a lemon-scented curtain around them. Lemons. His new favorite scent. Her full lips parted, violet eyes widened in shock.

Richard enjoyed the softness of her breasts against his chest and the way her legs straddled his. Her hips thrust toward his tightening groin, making him wish they were alone. He’d remember their exact position for after the wedding feast.

Eleanor was most beautiful, with a spirit as vibrant as her looks. Once he wore down her resistance, he’d thank King Edward for making marriage to her a condition of becoming Earl of Glasmere. Thus granting him easy access to Middleworth Castle, where his investigation into his father’s mysterious death had led him.

“Let me up this instant,” she demanded, pushing at his chest.

Richard loosed his grip. Eleanor clambered to her feet. Her tousled hair made her seem sweet and vulnerable. He stood, then moved forward as she stepped back. A large coffer prevented her retreat.

“Neither you nor my father can force me. My consent is required.” Her face had paled to purest alabaster, her gaze revealed fear of retribution, but she continued, “I will not wed with you, Richard Courtenay.”

On the one hand, he admired her bravery. On the other, the last thing he needed was another woman who preferred another man. Though he wished he didn’t have to, Richard stepped forward to follow through on his promise. He picked Eleanor up and draped her over his shoulder. Her golden hair dangled past his knees. The freshness of lemon washed over him again. He doubted he’d ever tire of it.

Desire surged, making him hard. He wanted to be done with the wedding, mass and feast and get to the bedding.

“Put me down this instant!” She wriggled and kicked, but he locked an arm across the back of her legs before she inflicted an injury. He felt and heard her breathe heavily. “Put. Me. Down.”

Alyce and Maud clapped their hands over their mouths as he marched toward them.

“You choose, Eleanor,” he said. “Shall I carry you? Or will you walk beside me?”

“I will walk,” she snapped.

Gently, he lowered her to the ground. She adjusted her hair and skirts, chin high.

Richard took her arm and led her out of the castle as her father, Alyce and Maud trailed behind.

Chapter 2

“What a beautiful day for a wedding,” Richard said.

“Some would surely think so.” Eleanor managed to sound calm as they rode to the church, but every muscle itched to snap the reins and flee. Where would she go that he wouldn’t find her?

She couldn’t appreciate the blue skies dusted with clouds or the sun’s warmth. She admired yet wanted to spurn the man who rode beside her.

He sat his horse like a chivalrous knight from one of her treasured romances: straight, proud, shoulders back. A breeze teased his overly long hair, revealing high cheekbones. Despite his appearance, faultless enough to make women swoon, inside prowled yet another controlling man. He was intelligent, confident, powerful, and wealthy. And handsome. She could admire him, but she couldn’t allow herself to care for him. Not if she wanted to be free.

“I’m sorry your father waited to tell you about my becoming earl and having to marry me,” he said.

“What? He knew?” She twisted so quickly she almost fell off her horse as shock sank its teeth into her afresh. “He spoke to me every day, looked me in the eye, while concealing such news? How long has he known?”

“For several months,” he confessed.

Eleanor struggled to keep her voice low, though churning fury urged her to yell. “How could he watch me prepare for my wedding knowing I’d not wed the man I expected to wed? How could he betray his own daughter?”

“I advised against it. He said no one knows your cleverness better than he. And feared if he told you sooner, you’d have found a way to prevent the change in grooms.”

That her father thought her clever, that Richard didn’t agree with his approach were no consolation. She had to think of a way out of this nightmare. Resolve replaced the sheer desperation that had led her to lock her door.

Somehow Richard’s calm acceptance of her rebellion, his taking her side while preserving his interests, made him more imposing. He hadn’t yelled or hit her, as many men would have. Being flung over his shoulder, and in front of her sister, father and friend, had stung her pride.

This wedding day could only be farther removed from her dreams if she’d somehow changed into a hunchbacked hag. Her fingers burned from gripping the reins. She closed her eyes briefly, seeking numbness.

Richard helped her dismount, strong arms lifting her easily. The intimacy of his hands on her waist, being close enough to feel his breath on her cheek, made her heart flutter. Why?

They passed Arthur, who stood among the guests, not by her side.

She stumbled on an uneven stone. Richard caught her before she fell, his muscled arm around her waist again. She’d shake off him and the sense of security he gave her as she would a nagging fly.

The elderly priest awaited them at the church steps. Raising his hands for silence, he cleared his throat. “Does anyone know a reason why this couple should not be wed?”

She held her breath, hoping her father had a change of heart. Or that Arthur would stand up for her.

The priest’s answers were the whispering of silks, satins and velvets and a bird singing a merry melody.

Richard repeated his vows, his deep voice rumbling through her. Standing tall beside her, radiating power, he took her hands in his.

Suddenly Eleanor knew how she could avoid this unwanted marriage. She could take control by withholding her consent. Consent was vital to a valid marriage. All she had to do was say….

She took a deep breath.

“Do not even think it,” the earl hissed into her ear. “’Twill not bode well for you.”

Her haze of shock and disbelief dissipated like fog beneath sunshine. The sun burned the back of her head. Her veil tickled her cheek. Her new shoes pinched. But she couldn’t help but stare at the man she’d never seen before this day but must wed.

His shoulders, surely padded as was the custom, filled a fashionably short tunic of purple velvet. A wide chain of the new king’s symbols, gold suns and white enamel roses, graced his chest. Purple hose disappeared into thigh-high, pointed boots. Though not ostentatious like most courtiers, Richard’s dress confirmed his wealth and position.

If looks and presence alone mattered, he’d make a most excellent husband. For someone else.

Her turn to speak. Eleanor drew a breath, but no words came out. She felt squeezed tight as a sponge, stuck between the crowd and the church. Between the man she couldn’t have and the one she could.

Richard’s gaze bored into her as her vows poured out in a rush. The ceremony continued with the blessing and giving of the rings. Richard slid a sapphire encrusted band on her finger, gems winking in the sunlight. Eleanor focused on the uncustomary heaviness of the ring and what it meant.

She belonged to Richard now.

Not for long. There had to be a way to end this marriage without offending the king. For now, she needed to survive her wedding day. And her wedding night.

Slowly he leaned forward. She had to kiss him even as Arthur looked on. Eyes open, she met his gaze.

“I greet thee, Countess of Glasmere,” he said.

Becoming a countess had been another benefit she’d awaited, but she found no joy in her new title.

Richard grinned, making him look flirtatious. Dangerous. He bent closer until their lips met. His were warm and smooth.

She expected a brief kiss of peace, but he slid a hand around her waist and drew her close, bringing her full against him. A kiss of possession, showing all present she was his.

Surely it was surprise that sent a delicious shiver through her, not the feel of his hard, well-muscled body. Not the intriguing sensation of his mouth on hers or the heated pressure of his hand on her back.

At last he released her. His left hand clasped hers, joining the wide band he had given her with the silver signet ring of Glasmere.

The ring that until recently had been on Arthur’s hand.

Guilt washed over her. How could she have accepted Richard’s kiss, the man who had stolen everything from her and Arthur? Who worked toward an unattainable dream that mayhap already consumed him as it did her father?

She tried to pull her hand away. He drew her near as they walked inside to celebrate Mass. Pressed tightly to his side, she had no choice but to follow him down the aisle or make a scene. That her pride would not allow.

Eleanor ignored the music and the crowd’s cheers. She didn’t acknowledge the smiling faces or the glory of the ornately carved, high-ceilinged nave.

She only saw Arthur.

“’Tis time for the feast,” Eleanor’s father called in a jovial tone. His smile widened. “Glasmere. Eleanor. Or should I say, Lady Glasmere.”