The Bride Tournament (29 page)

“I know how that be,” laughed the guard. He let them pass.

One hurdle crossed. Who knew how many more lay ahead?

“This can’t be true!” Eleanor held up the short note she held.

She read it again and again. Why had Richard bothered to send any note after the way they’d parted?

“‘I greet you well and send God’s blessing. Before you hear it from the gossips, I thought to tell you that Blanche and I have gone away together,’” she read. ’Twas signed only “Richard.”

Richard and Blanche? Gone where? And why?

She’d thought her heart already broken, yet felt it crack afresh. He’d never wanted her. Only Blanche.

Unless….

Alyce rushed into the room. “Eleanor, I’m so glad I found you. I’ve strange news.”

“What could be stranger than this?” Eleanor handed her the scrap of parchment. “It looks like Richard’s hand. But he wouldn’t abandon his duty to Isabel so carelessly. Surely Edward will be displeased if he changes brides yet again.”

“What a coincidence. Isabel is my news too. I left her crying,” Alyce reported. “Richard clearly affects his women deeply. Isabel, Blanche…. You still care for him.”

Eleanor shot Alyce a glare.

“Isabel received a similar letter. She made the mistake of opening hers in public. When she collapsed in tears, it fell to the ground. The nearest person, quite rudely though everyone was dying to hear, picked it up and read it aloud,” Alyce said. “I quote, ‘Perchance you will forgive me any sorrow this may cause you, but Blanche and I have gone away together.’”

“I can’t believe Richard would run off with Blanche.”

“You don’t want to believe. There’s a difference,” Alyce warned.

“Alyce, now it’s your turn to think. This is most curious. The note is dated yesterday, yet it was just delivered. The hand looks sloppy, as if written in haste. The words don’t sound like his. Richard swore he had no feelings for Blanche. And one of the first things he told me was that he’s not a liar.” Eleanor paused. “Unless that was a lie, too. Let’s find Owen, maybe he also received a missive.”

Hours later, they hadn’t found Owen. No one they asked had seen him or knew where he’d gone. Eleanor’s feet ached from searching, and her head pounded. She and Alyce returned to her tiny room and collapsed on the bed, the only place to sit.

She kicked off her shoes. “I’ve been reviewing every conversation Richard and I had about Blanche. I think I’ve come up with something.”

Alyce sighed. “I hope you’re not trying to make something of nothing.”

“Be serious. Richard doesn’t love Blanche. He and Owen both said he can’t love anyone. So why would he leave with her when he’s supposed to wed Isabel? He wouldn’t, unless he had no choice. Unless he was taken against his will. Richard has been abducted.”

“Oh, Eleanor. Richard is a powerful knight and an earl. Who’d dare make off with him? Who could succeed? He could probably fend off half a dozen men.” Alyce removed her headdress. “Your imagination is wonderful for lunatic schemes and telling tales to children, but is a hindrance now.”

“Blanche already drugged Richard, who knows what else she’d do? He warned me that she and FitzWalter might harm me to force him to give them alchemy formulas. What if he was caught unawares? That has to be it!” Energy restored, Eleanor jumped off the bed. “Help me change.”

“Drugged him, whatever for?”

“No time to explain. I must go to him.”

“You? If Richard
is
in trouble, it’s too dangerous. Do you even know where he is? Besides, a lone woman can’t rescue a knight and shouldn’t travel alone in any case.”

“I’ll have some of his men accompany me.” She pulled on one of her plainest gowns of darkest blue wool. The gown she’d worn the night Richard came upon her in her father’s workshop. She tried to breathe slowly as she braided her hair. “Hand me my boots. If anything has happened to him….”

Alyce clutched the boots to her chest. “Eleanor, Richard isn’t yours to cry over anymore. He’s not yours to save. You saw to that, yet now you dash off on a crazed journey to who knows where assuming you can rescue him from who knows what? Think, Eleanor, think!”

“Alyce. Give me those boots,” Eleanor demanded. “I have to help him, if I can’t find anyone else who will. I can’t rest knowing he’s in danger. You were right once again. I love him.”

Eleanor urged Saffron into the night toward Hugh’s and his mother’s castle. Her heart raced as fast as her mount’s hooves. Scenery flew by, blurred in moonlight muted by clouds. Cool night air whipped off her cloak’s hood and ruffled her braid.

Unfortunately, she’d wasted precious time seeking aid. And only Richard’s squire, Reginald, accompanied her.

Richard’s men had been too well trained to laugh at her, but they clearly thought she’d gone mad. They said they acted on Richard’s orders alone. But what if he wasn’t able to send orders? Who at court could do so in his stead, save the king? Even she wasn’t so foolhardy to approach the most powerful man in England when she lacked convincing proof.

Reginald had refused at first because she was no longer Richard’s wife and lacked authority to command his squire. In the end, fears for his lord’s safety and hers persuaded him to join her.

Those same fears kept Eleanor on edge. Mayhap she was mad as Alyce had said. She couldn’t stand still, doing nothing, waiting for Owen to turn up. And if Richard’s men wouldn’t help her, who would?

She tried to ignore the pain nipping at her after hours in the saddle. She tried not to worry about everything that could go wrong, yet dire thoughts paraded through her mind as determinedly as soldiers on patrol. If they got lost, if brigands prowled this road and chose to attack, if they were too late, if Hugh’s men captured her, too….

At last the round towers of Pengormel rose in the distance. The rising sun illuminated signs of disrepair: gaps in the walls, missing stones.

“Lady Eleanor, the gate’s closed. I don’t see a guard,” Reginald’s voice wavered, revealing his fear.

Eleanor stared at the weathered wood barrier. How could they gain entry? What if she’d been wrong, and Hugh and Richard weren’t even there?

Suddenly the gate swung open, revealing a cluster of bedraggled men brandishing daggers and rusted swords. She and Reginald exchanged a nervous glance.

“Maybe we should leave,” he said.

Surely facing a group of armed men with only a squire was the most foolish thing she’d ever done. What if she led Reginald into certain death? But doing nothing would have been even more foolish.

She swallowed rising panic. “Look, they invite us in.”

“How do we know it’s not a trap?”

“We have faith.” Her hands shook on the reins as they rode forward, but she held her head high. She may not be a countess any longer, but she was still a lady, far above this pack of ruffians.

“I’m Lady Eleanor de la Tour. Take me to Sir Hugh,” she commanded in the most imperious tone she could muster.

“This way,” a heavily-bearded man grunted.

The inside of Pengormel looked no better than the outside. Small buildings sagged, some reduced to piles of rotting wood. Meandering sheep were filthy and emaciated. Only the main keep directly ahead seemed in good repair, a square limestone stronghold.

A scraggly, greasy-haired man reached for her reins. She fought her reluctance to hand Saffron over. Not only was the mare her only means of escape, Eleanor didn’t want her maltreated.

Another man escorted them into the great hall, such as it was. A small fire burned in the huge fireplace. No tapestries or banners graced the smoke-stained, unpainted walls or the timbered ceiling. Reginald followed close behind her.

Sir Hugh, seated with several men at a rickety table, didn’t rise. His lean face registered surprise, quickly veiled. Where was his mother?

“Countess? I mean, Lady Eleanor.”

How she wished people would stop doing that.

A fat man in ragged clothes made a lewd gesture. The others laughed.

“Enough.” Hugh raised his cup in a salute. “What brings you here?”

Richard and Blanche were nowhere to be seen.

“Lady Latimer invited me,” she lied. “I’d grown weary of court, and wasn’t ready to return home.”

Hugh frowned. Did he believe her? “Lady Latimer is…indisposed.”

So Blanche was there. Could Richard be, too? “Perhaps I can be of assistance if she’s unwell. I have some skill in healing,” she offered. Thankfully her skirts hid her unsteady legs. Thankfully Reginald stayed close by her side.

“That won’t be necessary,” Hugh said.

“I’m parched from my journey. Might I have something to drink?”

Hugh nodded. One of the men brought and set down a pitcher and a cup with reddish crust on the rim. Good thing Eleanor didn’t plan to indulge.

Not surprising that she’d have to serve herself, but in this case doing so served her purpose, too. As she picked up the pitcher, Hugh waved to his men. They moved away from the table and conferred. Devising a strategy about what to do with their unexpected guests?

She turned her back and held the pitcher away from their line of sight. In her other hand was a small vial she’d fetched from the apothecary before leaving the castle, which contained a drug guaranteed to put any drinkers to sleep. Her heart pounded as she poured the contents into the wine, then refilled each man’s cup.

This has to work. It has to.

After filling hers, she mustered good cheer and a hearty tone. “Come, let us drink.”

With wary glances, the men returned to their seats. They drank deep while she toyed with her cup. Eleanor released a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

“You’ve come at an opportune time,” Hugh said with obviously false politeness. “I have need of you.”

One of the men snickered.

“I need information. I tried asking nicely, but the Earl of Glasmere just wouldn’t share.”

She forced herself to remain still and keep her face blank. She had guessed correctly. Richard was here.

“Then I asked, shall we say, less nicely. That selfish earl still kept quiet.”

Eleanor felt herself pale. Her mouth went dry. “What do you think I can do?”

“When he sees you, maybe he’ll be more helpful. ’Tis a shame Blanche was unconscious before I thought to use her. But you’ll do. Would you accompany me to the dungeon?”

Eleanor tensed, prepared to flee. How could she escape and free Richard?

Then one of the men fell forward. His head plopped into his bowl, splattering gravy onto the table. Another tumbled off the bench.

“What the—? You drugged us! I’ll make you pay.” Hugh staggered toward her.

Reginald stepped in front, but Hugh swept him aside as he would a fly. He slapped her so hard her head snapped back. Pain flared. He toppled forward, knocking her down and pinning her to the garbage-strewn floor, so heavy she could barely breathe. She tried to shove him off.

Reginald headed for her, aghast. “Lady Eleanor!”

“Behind you.” She couldn’t draw in enough air to scream.

A fat man hit Reginald on the head. He collapsed in a heap.

The drug claimed the men one by one as Eleanor pushed to dislodge Hugh. At last she slid free, then tugged her gown from beneath his legs. A large ring of keys hung from his waist.

Her throbbing face and swelling eye were the least of her worries. She snatched the keys and hurried to Reginald, who had a nasty lump on his head but was breathing. She grabbed a torch and lit it in the fire.

Now to find Richard.

Eleanor hurried down the only staircase and through the corridors, stopping at every door. Storage room after storage room, mostly empty. The last door was locked. She held up the ring of keys. Which was large enough to fit? Aha. She opened the heavy door and burst into the dungeon.

As she ran across the stone floor, she took in the dimly lit, large room. A pervasive, dank stench made it difficult to breathe.

Thank the Lord, she’d found him.

Richard was chained to large metal rings high on the wall. Blanche and Lady Elizabeth were chained to the opposite wall. Worse and worse. Hugh had chained his own mother. Both women’s heads drooped onto their chests. Lank hair draggled over torn gowns. Asleep, unconscious, or dead.

She hurried toward the man she loved. Tears rushed to her eyes.

“Richard,” she whispered.

Both eyes were swollen, bruised purple-black slits. Dried blood lingered on his split lower lip. His hair was matted, his clothes shredded and streaked with grime. Through a tear in his tunic, a red welt marred his chest.

“By the rood, Eleanor. What are you doing here? Get out!” His voice was scratchy and hoarse.

“I’m glad to see you, too. I don’t see any of your fellow Knights of the Garter rushing to your rescue. You should be on your knees thanking me. Oh, forgive me, you’re chained to the wall.” How did he manage to raise her ire with only a few words, and in such a dire setting? “We’re safe for the nonce,” she reassured him.

“I meant, get out of here before they do this to you,” he rasped.

“That’s better.”