The Bride Tournament (22 page)

“I saw similar things with my father,” she said. “Fear of failure, either from offering the king controversial advice, or by ingested stuffs doing more harm than good. Combine that with constant suspicion and fear of anyone who might steal a successful formula and misuse it.”

“Exactly. Because of such possibilities, I accepted the Duke of York’s invitation to join Edward’s household. I began training to be a knight at an older age than most. Shortly thereafter, our fathers had their argument. Mine found a new partner. Several months later, they were murdered.”

Eleanor gasped. “I had no idea. I’m sorry to hear that.”

She took his hand, trying to focus on their conversation and not how good it felt to be so near him. Alone with him, and away from the distractions of court.

“Father wrote a series of twenty numbered scrolls containing his findings. In several, he hinted that he had discovered the Philosopher’s Stone. Scrolls seventeen and eighteen have disappeared, either hidden or destroyed by my father or stolen by his murderer.”

A fascinating tale. But why did Richard trust her with his secrets? “You must have suspected my father.”

Edmund had kept this, too, from her. Her blood chilled. She added more logs to the fire.

“Yes. Despite an investigation, no proof was found.”

“I’m glad of that.” Yet Richard must not be convinced, or why would he have seemed so interested in her father’s workshop? She faced him, steeling herself to learn more. “Where does Blanche fit in?”

“As I said, she drugged my wine, hoping to make me reveal any secrets I might know.”

“Why would she do that?”

“I suspect she’s low on funds and owes Lady FitzWalter money.”

“What?” Eleanor couldn’t conceal her surprise. That bit of gossip hadn’t reached her. “No wonder she seemed so eager to participate in the bridal tournament.”

“Blanche has no source of income. Her husband died without a groat to his name.”

Eleanor collapsed on the bench near the fire. What would she have done in Blanche’s place, with no coin and nowhere to live, no family to care for her? She shook off any sympathy.

“Whatever her plight, she drugged you. She lied about her wealth in order to take part in the tournament. Perhaps she has done worse things. Are you telling me being penniless justifies Blanche’s actions?”
 
“No, I’m merely suggesting what desperation can do,” he said. “How it can change people.”

“That’s no excuse.” But he was right, desperation stole good judgment. Look how her father had broken sacred promises to her mother.

“Like Arthur, FitzWalter’s son was attainted by King Edward. My guess is he hopes to earn Edward’s favor by offering him the priceless formula. Worse, he may use it to make himself the wealthiest man in all of England.”

“As I fear my father would,” she confessed. “Alchemy is a practice of the occult, thus heretical. His soul is at stake. I must stop him.”

“So that’s what you were doing in his workshop the night before we left for Windsor. Trying to hinder his progress.”

“I led you right to it. You hoped to find your father’s scrolls.” Should she tell him of the hiding place behind the stones, help him serve Edward? No. Because then she’d be a contributor, when all she’d wanted to do was remove everything alchemy was and stood for from her life.

Eleanor’s head swam. Richard’s tale sounded so far-fetched, yet he’d spoken with sincerity. “Do you have your father’s alchemy formula?”

“No. Blanche obviously doesn’t believe me. I don’t know if my father dared commit the details of transmutation to writing, but I can’t assume he didn’t.”

He took her hands. The warmth of his touch reassured her. Again she realized how much she’d missed even such simple contact with him. Just looking at him, talking with him, no matter the subject.

More the fool she.

“I want you to be careful. As a way to get to me, Blanche or FitzWalter might try to harm you,” he warned.

She pulled her hands away. “My thanks for your concern. I think it’s unfounded, as everyone knows we won’t be married much longer. It isn’t as though you love me and would be devastated to lose me.”

“They know you’re mine for now. That’s what matters.”

Eleanor couldn’t restrain a shiver. How closely he mirrored her thoughts of a few moments ago. Was belonging to each other, the commitment to go forward as a team, the key to marital happiness? Was accepting something significant that you despised about your spouse worth the cost of all you enjoyed? Was love as elusive as alchemy?

Here was the crux of the matter. “Knowing what you know, what would you do with the formula if you found it? Destroy it, test it, or give it to the king?”

Richard sighed. “A conundrum, that. Edward wants to fill his coffers and create a symbol of rebirth and hope for the future, which would benefit us all, and England. ’Tis my duty to serve him as best I can, yet blind devotion is not for me.”

Silence reigned while Eleanor absorbed Richard’s answer that wasn’t an answer. She wished she could read his expression. “I believe finding the key to alchemy will lead to disaster, fueled by greed. Whoever succeeds will be ensnared by power and think to rule the world. Or, if he gives his discoveries to the king for sizeable reward, no matter how Edward endeavors to keep them close, someone with nefarious intent will steal them. Evil begets evil.”

“Evil does beget evil. But you’re jumping to conclusions.”

“So are you.” Enough of this topic. “We’ll never agree. So back to tonight. Why did you go to Blanche?”

“She sent a note, begging me to meet on a private, urgent issue. I’m sorry I agreed, sorrier still you saw what you did.” His thumb caressed the back of her hand, relaxing her.

“Blanche told me you once loved her. Perhaps you still do. Perhaps if not for your duty, you’d have wed her instead of me,” Eleanor ventured. Her voice cracked. Her heart beat faster as she awaited Richard’s reply.

If he spoke true, he hadn’t willingly betrayed her. He was still the honorable, desirable man she knew him to be.

“I did love her, to my peril. Now I am married to you,” he said.

What kind of answer was that? Perhaps Richard wanted to appease them both. Keep his current wife happy and placate the next one.

She wished she could be sure of him. The pain she’d suffered this night outweighed the joy of the kisses they’d shared and even the intimacy. Waking up with him each morning, the way he’d wooed her…. She couldn’t live the rest of her life with a man who could so easily lift her high one moment and bring her so low the next. No man, no person, should have so much control over another.

The alchemy of love.

No. No. She did not love Richard.

“Eleanor, you must cancel, or at least postpone indefinitely, your tournament.”

She stood, outraged. “What? How dare you demand this?”

“I don’t know what Blanche or FitzWalter will do next. There’s no way for me to protect you in a crowd,” Richard said.

“You don’t need to protect me. Look to save your next bride.”

“Until our marriage is officially over, ’tis my duty to keep you from danger. I keep what is mine, whether it be a goat or a wife.”

Duty again. Anger sizzled hotter than butter in a cook’s pan. He cared nothing for her as a woman, as herself.

“The sooner a new bride is chosen for you, the sooner I’ll be safe,” she snapped. “Then you can protect her. And the rest of your livestock.”

She was a possession and an obligation. Not special or esteemed. To think she’d wanted him to kiss her, hold her. And had almost given him the precious prize of her virginity.

So why did she feel so bad?

This unpleasant night had revealed an even more unpleasant truth. Despite her best efforts to remain aloof, despite his indifference, she didn’t know if she could stop caring for Richard.

Even as he withdrew from her.

The next day, a page in Edward’s livery with its large sun in splendour badge on the chest interrupted Eleanor’s scrutiny of the final tournament details in the library. She loved the aged smell of shelf after shelf of books, and the peaceful silence.

“The chamberlain of the Royal Household requests a meeting?” Eleanor stared at the note the young boy had handed her. “Why would he want to see me?”

“I cannot say, Lady Glasmere, but he awaits in his office. I shall take you to him.” The page bowed low.

Still holding the note, Eleanor followed the boy as he wove through the corridors toward the chamberlain’s sizeable, wood-paneled office.

“Please, Lady Glasmere, be seated.” William, Lord Hastings, stood behind a wide desk. He dressed to match his elevated position in a long, fur-trimmed robe with puffed shoulders and a tall hat with a rounded top that almost concealed his short, dark hair. He wore a necklace of linked suns and white enamel roses, the king’s emblems. Like Richard’s.

Lord Hastings waved a hand full of documents toward a carved chair on the other side of his desk. He sat, and began sorting documents onto various piles.

“Since you are newly arrived, I’m not sure how much you know of my duties and offices. I am responsible, amongst many things, for the king’s entertainments.” Hastings paused, his attention momentarily captured by one of the documents. He put the remaining parchments on the tallest pile. “Of course I have heard of the most unusual event you are planning. I wish to offer my assistance.”

That her tournament should be noted by the man many called the king’s closest friend was flattering, but the unspoken hint that he wanted to be involved and make changes in her decisions appalled her.

“My thanks, Lord Hastings,” she said with a gracious nod instead of a sharp retort, “but all is under control. I wouldn’t want to trouble you. I can see how busy you are.” She smiled, striving to appear confident and calm.

Hastings smiled back. He steepled his fingers. “Perhaps you misunderstood my intent. Edward wishes to restore jousting to England. I believe your tournament, though far from a joust, could encourage enthusiasm for related events. So I am offering my assistance. I’m certain you know what that means.”

Eleanor’s stomach sank. She might not have been at court very long, but she knew.

“It means you will graciously accept my aid,” he said. He handed her a rolled parchment tied with a pink ribbon. “Within you will find the new plans.”

She untied the ribbon with fingers she willed not to shake. He couldn’t know how her stomach churned as she prepared to read his proposed changes.

“You may study them later. The primary alteration is that the tournament will now be held at Smithfield.”

Eleanor gasped. Smithfield, where royal jousts had been held? A far larger venue than she’d rented. Her stomach roiled again. “But, my lord, I—”

“And I plan to invite the entire court.”

She emitted an unladylike gasp. As if it weren’t enough the whole court knew of and gossiped about her tournament, now everyone would witness the victory of the woman who would become Richard’s new bride.

“I’m glad to see this pleases you,” Hastings commented, an unmistakable note of warning in his voice. “I have everything under control. Of course I’ve mentioned this to the king. You’ll be elated to know he has expressed interest in attending.”

Eleanor was speechless. No matter where she went, no matter how hard she tried, there was always some man who could overrule her choices and tell her what to do. Was there anywhere in the world a woman could escape a man’s control, could make her own decisions and see them enacted?

All she could do now was accept with grace. Act like the lady—the countess—she was. “Since the tournament now is in your skilled hands, my lord, you may wish to know I’ve just learned that Lady Blanche Latimer, one of the competitors, lied about her wealth to gain entry.”

“I see. I’ll have that looked into.” Hastings continued, “Quite interesting, is it not, Lady Glasmere? The king required you to wed the earl, yet now he supports your generosity in seeking…what do the gossips say…a ‘better bride.’ I wonder what prompted such a change of heart. I suggest you think on that, and carefully.”

He returned to his papers without so much as another look at her.

She rose, fighting the unwelcome wavering of her chin. “My thanks, Lord Hastings, for your munificence.”

His head snapped up, likely at the impossible-to-contain sarcasm in her tone.

After bestowing a simpering smile, Eleanor left the chamberlain’s office. Though the highest hands in the land were now cooking her pies, there had to be a way to gain some jurisdiction over the ingredients.

Chapter 15

“Margaret is dead. My new wife is dead.”

Holding his hat in his hand, Arthur stood before Eleanor in Windsor’s chapel. He looked haggard as the hat’s drooping feather, as if Margaret’s sudden death had sapped his energy.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Eleanor said. She frowned. Sorrow was all she felt. Where was hope, where was longing to be with Arthur, now that he was free?

“Margaret came down with a fever as we traveled. We had no physician. No one in our group aided her. She died before we reached the next town.” He sat beside her, but she slid down the pew.