The Bride Tournament (21 page)

“My concern is that the other women might find out. I doubt they’d agree to compete for a groom, despite his fine form, wealth and position, if they knew Blanche had, well, a head start.”

“Why are you crying? You should be happy. Soon you’ll be free. Of course, Arthur is wed now. But you may still have the chance to choose your own groom.”

Eleanor knew why her success was making her miserable. Because she did care. Truly cared. She wanted Richard to desire her, only her. And though she might seem successful to everyone else, she knew she’d failed. Once again her best efforts had produced an unintended result. She’d forfeited control to Richard by coming to care for him.

Did she love him? She gasped.
Please, not that
. Or did she just want him now because the chances of keeping him were so slim? Is that why she’d fought for Arthur?

“You haven’t cried as much in your life as you have since you met Richard. And I know why. Because you finally truly care about someone, and caring can hurt.”

Her sister was right again. “What’s the point of caring if it gives that person the power to destroy you?” If he doesn’t want you as much as you want him? Eleanor closed her eyes. “Well then, I shall stop caring for him. Right now.”

If only it were that easy.

Perhaps this was why many people accepted arranged marriages. Marriages made for love could yield far more pain than those between strangers. How sad to think she’d spent most of her life wanting a marriage that probably wouldn’t have made her happy anyway.

Eleanor hadn’t heard a word Alyce had been saying.

“…’twas quite late. And the room, as you said, was not in a well-traveled corridor. It’s unlikely anyone else saw them.”

“All right, then. The real problem is he is still wed to me,” she hissed.

“In name only,” Alyce shot back as she hopped from foot to foot on the stone floor. “Eleanor, admit the truth. The reason finding Blanche and Richard together bothers you so is this: You have fallen in love with Richard and want him to love you in return.”

Eleanor recoiled. “No. That can’t be.”

“Are you sure?”

No. Her heart thudded heavily. She wasn’t sure at all. Or was she, but too scared to admit it?

Chapter 14

“Owen!” Richard hammered his brother’s door. “Open the door. Now.”

Owen stood in his tiny chamber with tousled hair and half-shut eyes.

“Let me in. Do you have ale?” He needed to wash away the bitter taste of Blanche’s drugs and his meeting with her.

“I am, um, occupied at the moment.” Owen tilted his head toward the bed, where Richard saw the outline of a body under the covers.

“Ah. Get rid of her,” he said as he shoved the door open and strode into the room. “I have need of your counsel.”

“What of my needs? Cherie, you must go now,” Owen grumbled as he lit a candle. He picked up the gown on his wood chest and held it out. A woman with curly red hair appeared from beneath the sheets. With a petulant frown, she took the garment. As she lifted her arms to slip it over her head, she caught sight of Richard.

Her pretty face brightened. “Oooh, there’s two of you. Hard to say which is the handsomer.” She dropped the gown and drew back the sheets, exposing her ample breasts. “The more the merrier, I always say.”

Richard sighed. Women offered themselves everywhere except in his own bed. The only woman he wanted, and feared he’d ever want, was his reluctant wife.

Owen laughed. “I heartily agree. Perhaps another time.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” she said with a sultry smile. She retrieved the gown and put it on. After giving Owen a brief kiss, she flounced out, closing the door behind her.

“So, brother, what is so urgent?” He piled several pillows on the bed and flopped against them, arms behind his head.

Dizziness washed over Richard again. If he consumed anything, he risked it coming back up. How long would the effects of that cursed drug linger? He grabbed a pillow from beneath his brother and carefully reclined on the other end of the bed.

Richard described his meeting with Blanche and Eleanor’s unfortunate discovery. “I believe Hugh put Blanche up to this. He wants Father’s alchemy writings.”

Owen jumped off the bed. “By my troth, do you have Father’s scrolls? Did he discover the formula for the Philosopher’s Stone?”

“I don’t know,” Richard said. “I have eighteen of Father’s scrolls. The other two and his folio of notes are missing. I spent hours studying his numerous drawings of the alchemical process, but couldn’t come up with a workable formula. If it exists in the scrolls I have, ’tis so well hidden Father’s own apprentice couldn’t find it. The secret could be in the other two scrolls, or elsewhere. Or nowhere.”

Richard’s thoughts wandered to Eleanor. What was she doing? How could he ease her mind?

“We must search for the missing scrolls so we can give all twenty to Edward,” Owen said. “I’ve heard his alchemists work night and day. For certes they could use Father’s information.”

“I need to tell you something,” Richard said, heart heavy with memories. “You were away in service to your lord, unaware of the unusual circumstances surrounding Father’s death. About the day Father believed he’d discovered the mixture for the Philosopher’s Stone.”

“What? And you never told me?”

“You’d have abandoned your duties to join me if I’d told you.” He continued, “I overheard Father and his new partner, Sir Thomas Cromer, celebrating. They were certain they’d finally created the remedy to restore the long ill King Henry’s health. While I shared their joy, I also feared for them. What if they failed to cure him? What if he took a turn for the worse, or died? Their reputations were at stake.

“They never had the opportunity to present their discovery. Father and Sir Thomas were killed that afternoon, shortly after I left. Their workshop was ransacked.”

“And you didn’t think I’d want to know such details?” Owen asked, his expression incredulous.

“I thought to protect you,” Richard replied. “There was nothing you could’ve done I didn’t try.”

“I still would’ve liked to know.” Owen dropped onto the bed. “What of the scrolls?”

“Fortunately, they were well hidden, scattered in different locations. Perhaps the murderers have the missing two. It’s been almost five years. If thieves had the formula and it was viable, they’d have put it to use.”

“Maybe their thievery was interrupted and they had to leave some scrolls behind. Maybe, like you, they couldn’t make sense of the contents. Or what if there was a substance they couldn’t find?” Owen sat up straight.

“Any of those things could be true. The scrolls are replete with strange symbols and detailed drawings. Mayhap Father wrote in elaborate code only he and Sir Thomas could decipher.”

“Who knows which scrolls contain essential information? We have to find out if the formula exists. For the nonce, back to Eleanor. How has she taken all of this?”

“She despises alchemy because of her father and thinks it’s the devil’s work and. They aren’t speaking because Edmund established a new workshop, violating a deathbed promise to her mother. So I haven’t shared everything about our father.

“I considered Edmund the primary suspect because he and Father parted so acrimoniously. Not telling Eleanor was wise. Blanche drugged me, so who knows what she or FitzWalter would do to Eleanor if they thought she knew something?” He rubbed his temples to ease the pounding in his head. “Now what? Are all women this much trouble?”

“As with fighting, one learns from experience,” Owen answered. “I’ve had some feminine predicaments in my day, but none as bad as this. Give me a moment until a solution comes.” He closed his eyes. A few seconds passed in silence. “Lo, I have it.”

“Already?” Richard sat up, regretting the abrupt movement when lights danced before him. “Well?”

“You must tell Eleanor the whole truth.”

Richard snorted. “That’s your solution? How does this sound: ‘My erstwhile betrothed drugged my wine so I’d reveal the formula for the Philosopher’s Stone, which my father is believed to have discovered.’ Even if I could forego my concern for Eleanor’s safety, how can I expect her to believe that? Or care, when she’s so against alchemy?”

“It’s called trust, Richard.” He shrugged. “You should try it.”

Owen’s all-knowing tone irked him. “You know better than to expect me to trust a woman.”

“Mayhap there is one woman among the masses who’d never betray her man. I can see you care for Eleanor despite your best intentions. What if she wants you, too?”

He couldn’t admit the depth of his feelings. “Even if I wanted to, how could I win her trust?”

“You don’t win trust, you earn it,” Owen said, a smug smile on his face.

“The damned tournament is in four days,” Richard grumbled.

“Then, dear brother, you don’t have much time.”

Fie on her sister and her practical advice. Eleanor stormed back to her own chamber.

How dare Alyce refuse Eleanor a place in her bed?
Alyce
wasn’t the one who had to deal with a traitorous, albeit temporary, spouse.

She didn’t want to face Richard again tonight. All she wanted was some sleep. Maybe the new day would bring a fresh approach to her problems.

She pulled off her headdress and shook her hair free. The thing made her head ache. Her shoes clacked on the stones, so she slowed as she approached her room. She tiptoed to the door, not wanting to wake Richard. Maybe he wasn’t there. What if he’d returned to that cozy nook to finish what he started with Blanche?

No, not that. Never before had she suffered such maddening, strong possessiveness for a man. As long as they were married, Richard was hers. That was that.

Eleanor squeezed the latch. The hinges’ high-pitched squeaks made her wince. Richard couldn’t have missed that noise. But firelight revealed an empty bed. The ebullient, dancing flames mocked her. Her headdress dropped to the floor. She stood motionless in the too empty, too quiet room, awash with pillow feathers.

Where was her husband?

Her heart ached. Would the pain fade? She was afraid to search within herself for the answer to Alyce’s question. Did she love Richard?

God help her if she did.

“You’re here.”

Eleanor jumped.

Richard had returned. She could breathe again.

“I’m pleased,” he said. “I hope you’ll give me a chance to explain.” He threw another log on the fire, then gestured to the small table and stools in the corner. “Please. Will you join me?”

Nerves on edge, Eleanor sat across from him. She wasn’t sure she wanted to hear this. On the other hand, she burned to know that despite what she’d seen, he hadn’t wanted to be with Blanche. Her heart, it seemed, had defected from her head. She needed to know Richard wanted her.

“The truth is more than strange, I grant you.” He reached out as if to take her hand, then apparently thought better of it and crossed his arms. “But here it is. All of it. Blanche put an aphrodisiac in my wine so I’d lose control of my wits and give her my father’s alchemy notes and formula.”

Eleanor burst into laughter. She couldn’t help herself. His skin was pale, he moved more languidly than usual, but…. “A good tale, but I’m sure you can come up with something I’m more likely to believe. Do try again.” She laced her fingers.

“I’ve never lied to you, but I haven’t told you every detail about my past, either. There was no need, given that you don’t plan to remain my wife.” Richard leaned on his elbows. “Owen says I should trust you.”

Relief soothed her. He’d gone to see Owen. Not Blanche.

“He says one earns trust by trusting. So I’ll tell you things only my brother knows. My father was one of the few alchemists licensed by Henry VI. When common remedies failed to cure the king’s unusual, long-lasting ailment, his physicians and Queen Margaret resorted to all sorts of treatments, no matter how bizarre.”

She shuddered. “Back then, I knew so little of my father’s alchemy work, not even that our fathers were partners. As I saw the man it turned him into I began to hate it. And understand the ramifications of success.”

“Of course I’ve considered them, as well. Our fathers were appointed to the alchemy commission created to cure the king,” Richard said. “And they worked even harder to seek the quintessence, known as the Philosopher’s Stone, reputed to be the secret of transmutation.

“Nothing interested me more than my father’s work, from setting up the distillation apparatus to the sulfur and mercury we used. That is, until I was old enough to grasp the dangers of succeeding and the precarious position such a scientist would find himself in. Alchemy is science. Not evil in itself, or from the devil.”

“I don’t agree.”

“Have you ever looked at it from the king’s point of view….how many people he could help with more gold?”

“No, because the concept is heresy. Not science or medicine, but magic.”

“We’ll have to agree to disagree on that. I do agree that some science can bring out the worst in some men.”

Whether Richard had the discipline to not succumb to alchemy’s lure like other men wasn’t the most important thing. The pursuit in and of itself was. Could their rift be mended?