The Bride Tournament (3 page)

Richard liked the sound of that more than he’d expected.

Not once had his new wife’s father looked him in the eye. Did Edmund keep some secret close or have lingering guilt over his long-ago quarrels with Richard’s father?

“Your guests await,” Eleanor’s father said.

A circle of smiling, unfamiliar faces surrounded them in the great hall. Eleanor stood beside him, stiffer than a pair of wet boots that had dried in the sun.

He sighed, wishing he knew how to help her accept what must be. Wishing she preferred to wed with him.

“This marriage wasn’t my choice, either,” he admitted. At seven and twenty, he hadn’t planned to take a bride for years, and then only to sire an army of heirs.

“Thank you. That makes me feel so much better.” She nodded but didn’t smile after a couple bid them well.

“Whether God’s plan is what we think we want doesn’t matter.” He’d learned to rely on that after the only woman who’d worked her way into his heart betrayed him as his mother had betrayed his father…by sleeping with another man, and a higher-ranked one at that.

Being made an earl marked the zenith of his career. And Eleanor’s hand was the honey on a fig tourtelete. Marriage to her enabled him to explore her family’s estates freely and uncover how much her family knew about his father’s alchemy formula.

Despite an exhaustive search of his holdings, Richard hadn’t learned whether his father had found the formula for turning base metals into gold. His father’s scrolls had to be in Eleanor’s father’s possession. If they existed at all. If they didn’t, he and King Edward would be most disappointed, for none of the scientists hard at work had yielded fruit.

“Good tidings,” a short, fat man said. “I hope you’ll be very happy.”

“How is that poss—”

Richard took Eleanor’s hand and squeezed it, silently advising her to keep her true thoughts to herself. She tugged, but he maintained a firm grip until she relaxed. He liked the feel of her slim fingers in his.

“Where will you live?” an elderly woman asked with a wave of her beringed hand.

“We’ll reside at Glasmere Manor when we’re not at court or visiting Eleanor’s lands,” he replied.

“You’ll be too busy with the king’s business. I’d hate to encumber you,” Eleanor said with such a sweet, shy smile he was almost convinced it was real. As he’d feared, she had feminine wiles like his former betrothed. “I’ll not travel to court but remain at the only home I’ve known.”

“Let it not be said I’d neglect my new wife. I will have you by my side.”

Where he could keep an eye on her. And get to know her.

He drew her close to illustrate, earning a gust of sighs from the guests and an unexpected rush of desire for himself. The feel of her enticed him as it had earlier in her room. Suddenly he wanted more than a marriage of merged assets. Could he have that with Eleanor?

Their gazes met and held. Eleanor raised her chin, promising future challenges.

Richard bent his head and kissed her.

Eleanor ground her teeth as Richard escorted her to the high table. Knowing all eyes were on her, she allowed her hand to remain in his. That didn’t mean she had to like it.

But she did. Thrice she’d been flush against his hard body, twice he’d kissed her. Both times she’d experienced an unsettling rush of…what? Not aversion or repugnance as assumed, but something surprisingly pleasant and tempting. Something that made her want more.

Did he feel the same, or had he held her close to prove he could? To show the guests she was his, and he had control?

Eleanor couldn’t wait to be alone with the earl. She shook her head. Not so he could touch her, so they could talk. She would end this marriage, even if doing so cost her her father and inheritance.

After she and Richard settled in their chairs, the guests seated themselves on benches at trestle tables arranged before her in a U shape. Musicians struck up an estampie. Her head pounded along with the drums.

How could she sit between a husband she didn’t want and a father who had all but stabbed her in the back while the man she did want looked on?

Her father leaned close and patted her on the shoulder. “You’ve done well thus far, Eleanor. I knew I could count on you.”

“You have played me for a fool.” Though spots of fury danced before her eyes, she didn’t dare say much more in front of so many avid listeners. His hand was a stone, weighing her down.

“Arthur could control you no more easily than I. Richard will make you a better husband.”

The arrival of water and cloths for hand washing interrupted their conversation. After all said grace, servers brought her favorite soup of ground capon thickened with almond milk. She waved the bowl away.

Who could she turn to for aid? Not the king who had taken Arthur’s title, not her father. Her only hope was the Church, for her betrothal had been annulled without her consent.

The only person she could trust was Arthur, the other victim of this day’s events. But the king and her father had usurped any power he might have had to help.

She clenched her spoon. “If you knew I’d be bound to another, why is Arthur here?” she asked. “How could you force him to stand before these nobles with nothing left to him?”

“Arthur is—”

“Never mind. How would I know you spoke the truth?” She shook her head.

“He wished to say farewell. After the meal, you may have a few moments to speak with him.”

“May have? You don’t have authority over me anymore. I’ll do as I please.”

Her father picked up his cup and drank. “Arthur is a friend of Richard’s. They were knighted together.”

Eleanor flinched. Richard smiled at something the person next to him said. Thankfully he hadn’t been listening to her.

Heaping platters of roast heron, the first dish in the next course, had been served. Richard offered her the platter. For a long moment, the noise and smells faded, leaving only him.

“Ah, already the newlyweds have eyes for each other,” her father crowed.

She felt her cheeks flush. She’d been handed from a father eager to use her as a spy to a husband who had to take her to remain an earl. Neither valued her or her concerns.

All around, guests feasted upon her father’s largesse, laughing and drinking, ignorant of his nearly drained coffers. The music and merriment made her long to scream or run from the room. Or both. She felt powerless to stop the events turning her life into a churning mess.

Dancing began as Eleanor escaped to the alcove where mere hours ago she’d learned her future had changed.

She rubbed her ice cold hands together to no avail. The next few moments would likely be the last she’d spend alone with Arthur. She’d be forced to live with a stranger and let the knight of her heart ride away.

Arthur appeared beneath the arch, tall, slim and endearingly familiar.

Her smile returned as he sat beside her. “Arthur, how are you? I’ve missed you.”

Eleanor took a deep breath, enjoying the scent of his soap. Never would she smell the herbal pine mixture without thinking of him.

“As well as can be, considering.”

“Father kept everything from me until this morning. Had he told me sooner I could have done…something.” At last she could speak her thoughts. “Why didn’t you send word? Why didn’t you help me find a solution?”

“I wrote you, but received no response,” he said. “What was I to do?”

Eleanor bit back a scream. Worse and worse. Her father had stolen Arthur’s letters. Later she’d say a prayer of mourning. For she’d lost her other parent this day. His scheming and renewed obsession with alchemy had turned him into a man she didn’t care to know.

“Look at me,” she insisted.

His gaze was that of a stranger’s. Had circumstances changed him?

“I thank God for Richard,” Arthur said. “He petitioned King Edward for lenience and received permission to give me Woodbury Manor. Without his kindness, I’d have nothing.”

“How thoughtful of him to give back your own manor,” she said with a sneer. “While he steals your bride. If your friend is so reasonable, he’ll agree our marriage is a mistake. I’ll obtain an annulment, and be free to wed you.”

“No, Eleanor,” Arthur said. “You have to accept what must be.”

Eleanor’s jaw dropped. “What? You sound like Richard.” And Edmund.

“If you don’t commit to him, you’ll fail your father and your king,” Arthur said. “Don’t make yourself miserable by hoping for what can no longer be.”

She took his hands, but he pulled away. “Don’t you love me anymore?” The pleading tone in her voice appalled her.

“That matters not,” he said with a sigh. “Yorkists rule where Lancasters once prevailed. The loser must accept his lot.”

Her heart filled with tenderness. “You’re denying your love for me to spare me more suffering. If you declare yourself, you know I won’t rest until we’re together.” No matter the cost. “Arthur, spare me more lies.”

“I too am to wed,” he continued as if he hadn’t heard a word she’d said. “Richard has betrothed me to his ward, Margaret.”

How many more unwelcome surprises must she endure?

Arthur would be beholden to Richard for hearth, home and wife. Unless she moved faster than a fox fleeing hunters, there’d be two marriages to dissolve.

“Is that what you truly desire?”

“Margaret could have looked higher than an attainted former earl. Richard shows the world that in his eyes at least, I’m not a traitor,” Arthur said.

“Nor in mine.” She and her new husband had one thing in common: their support of Arthur. “Does Richard’s friendship mean more to you than I do?”

“I do what I must.”

Duty again. If Arthur wasn’t strong enough to defy Richard, she’d be strong for him.

“We can find a way to be together,” she insisted.

She wanted to feel his arms around her, to know that he needed her and their future, no matter how long it took to achieve. But she couldn’t betray the vows she’d spoken. She’d have them annulled first.

Arthur slid down the bench. He crossed his arms over his dark green tunic. “We grew up close as brother and sister. I thought of you as mine. But everything changed.”

“My feelings for you haven’t.” How could they, in less than a day? “Have yours?”

“What we feel is of no import. You are wed. Promise me you won’t dwell on what could have been.” He leaned forward. “Life isn’t like the romances you read, replete with swoons and happy endings.” Arthur lifted her hand to his lips for a formal, chivalrous kiss. “I must go. I hope we can remain friends.”

“Friends, Arthur? I’d have more of you.”

Eleanor turned her palm up and clasped his hand. The few, brief kisses they’d stolen over the years had satisfied a young girl’s amorous wishes. But she was a woman now. For what she planned to do, the risks she was about to take, she needed proof that Arthur still wanted her. That their love could triumph over all obstacles.

“Arthur, tell me true. Tell me you want me.”

For an endless heartbeat, they stood together, hands clinging.

“Eleanor, I—”

“Here you are, my lady wife.” Richard’s deep voice held a hint of mockery. His gray-green eyes were unreadable.

Arthur backed away as though he’d been burned.

She didn’t wish to be caught displaying her feelings for another man, nor did she want to insult Richard. He too had been told whom to wed.

Or had he? She caught her breath. Perhaps he was so powerful he could maneuver people like a chess player. What if he could envision what would happen several moves ahead and had encouraged Parliament to attaint Arthur?

“Let us return to the feast.” Richard held out his hand, the Glasmere signet ring glinting in the glow of the brazier.

Eleanor took it. Leaving Arthur was almost as hard as going through with the wedding. She nurtured a fragile spark of hope that could become a fire. Once she and Richard were alone in the chamber she’d helped array only this morning for herself and Arthur, Eleanor would end this farce of a marriage.

Before it couldn’t be ended.

Chapter 3

At last all he had worked for was within reach.

Not fond of large gatherings, Richard stood apart from the crowd enjoying his wedding feast. Richly dressed nobles jabbered, servers scurried to and fro. His bride danced with one of her cousins. He knew her happy smile was an act.

“She surpasses the miniature portrait Edward sent you, does she not?”

Richard tensed at the high-pitched voice. Lady Blanche Latimer. The fly in his pudding.

“What of it?” He couldn’t be polite to her. Blanche, his erstwhile love, deceived him when he was most vulnerable, like an enemy attacking a knight while he slept. In times of war, Richard kept his sword within reach. In matters of the heart, armor forged by disloyalty now kept him just as well protected. “Did you attend my wedding because you hoped I might change my mind at the last minute?”

“We were good together, and you know it. I regret the mistake I made,” Blanche said. “But no. I was invited with Lady Elizabeth FitzWalter, cousin to Eleanor’s father, and her son Hugh.”