The Bride Tournament (32 page)

Radiance suffused her as the morning sun brightened the night sky. “Yes, Richard. Oh, yes. I love you, too.”

“Kiss me.” He held out his arms.

Eleanor bent forward, then stopped. “Your injuries….”

“I won’t break,” he said. “Kiss me.”

She did. The instant their mouths met, desire blazed within him. He slid his fingers into her hair. Without breaking the kiss he lay back on the bed. She followed, nestling close by his side. He’d never been happier.

“Kiss me again,” she said.

Richard had one last confession to make. With great effort he sat up straighter. “I want everything out in the open first.”

“Have you been keeping a secret?” Concern flared in her gaze.

“Not exactly.” He stroked her good cheek to reassure her. “’Tis just that as you planned your tournament, I had a plan of my own. To keep you as my wife. Though it didn’t work as well as I’d hoped.”

“You’ve known all along you’d never let me go?”

“Yes. At first, I admit, only because the king wished us to wed. Your hard work and persistence, your devotion to your cause, made me love you,” he acknowledged. “I was touched that you’d go to such great lengths to find me a better bride so I’d have more than I bargained for. Most women would have looked only to themselves, but you thought of my needs. I realized that instead of watching you laboring so hard to be free of me, I wanted you to put all your efforts into keeping me.”

“Then how could you watch me pine over Arthur and arrange the tournament?” Her chin went up. “Were you laughing at me?”

“Of course not. Not telling you my plan was the hardest part.” He paused, trying to think of the best way to explain. “I knew two things. First, if I forbade you to hold the tournament or if I asked Edward to put a stop to it, you’d feel as ensnared as you had on our wedding day. You’d continue to think Arthur the perfect spouse and never accept me.

“Second, we could only be happy if you realized on your own that you wanted to be with me. You’ve always said you wanted to choose your own husband and you wanted to love him.”

“You seem to know me well. I’m glad my stubbornness paid off for once,” she said.

He stroked her cheek. “I didn’t want to love my wife. I can admit why I feared such a thing. To love means to trust. But trusting a woman opens a man up for the agony of betrayal. You convinced me we could have more. That trusting a woman can even be rewarding.”

“I’m honored to have your trust. You’ve revealed all, now ’tis my turn to be completely honest.” She sat up and held his hands. “I do love you. I’m not certain that’s enough anymore. Because I don’t think I can endure watching you search for your father’s scrolls. This must end, one way or the other. So I’ll tell you that my father hides his alchemy writings in his workshop. Perhaps your father’s missing scrolls are there, too. I want us to live a life free of alchemy. I want to destroy whatever we find.”

“Thank you for telling me. I’d best hie to Middleworth.”

“You know I’m going with you. Else how will you know where exactly to look?”

A chill ran over him. A remnant of the fever or a premonition?

He hadn’t agreed to destroy whatever they unearthed in that hiding place, nor had he agreed to cease his pursuit. Would that lack shred their newly found trust? If they found the scrolls or any information of value and he delivered it to Edward, she’d never forgive him. Could he destroy his father’s life’s work? For love, or his own reasons?

Two of the happiest weeks of her life later—because she’d spent them with Richard as he healed—they crept toward her father’s workshop in the wee hours of a moonless night. Eleanor had managed to make a pressing of the key and have a new one made. As before, they waited for Edmund to finish his labors and return to the castle. Anger glowed like embers of his dying fire as they entered. If anything the space was more crowded owing to the addition of another array of glass vessels.

“He’s been busy,” Richard said.

“Unfortunately.” Trepidation made her fingers shake as she pointed to the secret spot above the hearth. She’d waited so long for this moment. What would they find? “Here. You need to remove these four stones.”

“Being here brings back so many memories of my father.” Richard was tall enough to reach them without the aid of a bench. He ran his fingers over the wall. “Amazing. Even this close I can’t tell if they’ll come loose.”

He left the stones and took her hands. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Absolutely. But let’s take care to leave everything the way it was when we arrived. I don’t want him to suspect that anyone has been here. Especially me.” She wouldn’t feel guilty. He had betrayed her mother. She did this for her memory, and because it was the right thing to do. No matter what the king wanted. But he was God’s anointed….

Eleanor lit a candle and set it on the floor so the flame couldn’t be seen through the window.

Richard grabbed the first stone, which came free with a high-pitched scraping sound. He handed the stone to Eleanor, who put it on the floor as she’d seen her father do. Perhaps the order and position of the stones was essential. She’d face them the same way so they could be replaced easily. The next three followed suit.

Richard reached into the hole. “Nothing.”

“All this for nothing?” Anger mixed with relief. “Maybe that’s for the best. Can we leave, and give up this quest?”

“I haven’t hit the back wall yet.” He pulled the bench into place, stood on it, and stretched. His eyes widened. He pulled out a stack of vellum and gave it to Eleanor.

She wanted to know what the pages contained, and she didn’t. What if alchemy was real? What would that mean to her, and to England?

“Well?” he asked.

She appreciated his making her a partner in this endeavor. Her chest tightened as she examined the pages. “’Tis my father’s writing. Seems to be a step-by-step journal of his endeavors followed by his thoughts. ‘I was positive this was the solution,’” she read. “‘Alas, no. Do I lack a substance, and if so, what? Am I mixing the wrong amounts, for the wrong amount of time at the wrong temperature? The combinations of ingredients and measurements are infinite. Why, why, doesn’t it work? What more can I do?’” The desperation made her sad and frightened for Edmund. “Here, take a look. Do you think there’s anything of import?”

He bent to the candlelight. After glancing through the writings, he shook his head. “From what I can tell, Edmund isn’t close to the formula for transmutation. Most of his underlying assumptions are incorrect. I can safely say his work is years behind my father’s.”

“That’s a huge relief,” Eleanor said. “I’ll burn a few pages, just in case he’s closer than you think.”

She selected three random pages and brought them to the hearth, confident she was doing the right thing. Slowly the embers caught, turning the edges of the sheets bright red. Relief burned hot as the flames.

“I think I felt something else in the hiding place, way in the back,” Richard said. “I can’t quite grasp it.”

He climbed on the bench again, then reached as far as he could.

And retrieved three thick scrolls.

Slowly Richard stepped down. His wounds had almost healed, but his left leg was still stiff. For a moment he simply looked at them.

“Three?” they asked together.

He sat, untied the thinnest one and spread it across his lap as Eleanor peered over his shoulder. “Well. Not exactly what we came for.”

“Some rolled-up receipts, for chemicals, glassware…. Look. This one shows my father purchased two scrolls from yours.”

“That’s good news. At least we can be fairly sure your father didn’t kill mine.”

“I’m sad that I’m glad Edmund is merely an anxious alchemist.”

“The other two resemble the scrolls I gave to the king. I’d never have found them without your help.” He closed his eyes. “After all this time, I’m not sure I want to know what they contain. I’m not sure if I’m relieved or wish they’d never been found.”

“I wish they hadn’t been found here,” Eleanor said. “Let’s throw them in the fire and be done with this.”

“After all this, we need to know what’s inside. You take one, I’ll take the other.”

Reluctantly she accepted a scroll. They untied the red ribbons.

“At last,” Richard said, his voice low and ragged. “Scroll Eighteen.”

“This one is labeled ‘Seventeen.’” The joy of discovery mingled with fear. She held Satan’s work in her hands. But her husband didn’t agree.

As Richard examined Scroll Eighteen, she couldn’t help but admire the elaborate drawings and carefully laid out charts filled with unfamiliar symbols. Such skill and so many hours of work devoted to the cause. He opened the other scroll and scanned it.

Tension rolled off Richard like clouds in the sky before a storm. He stood and pounded his fist on the table. The glass vessels rattled.

“Nothing. There’s nothing different from the other scrolls. Most are in code, so the casual reader wouldn’t ascribe any meaning to the words. But I know the key. There’s nothing of use. No formula I can ascertain. Unless after years of study, I still don’t know enough about what works and what doesn’t. No one does.”

She wished she knew how to ease his disappointment. But she wouldn’t hide her relief that they’d found nothing worth bringing to the king. Now they could destroy the scrolls, as she’d asked. And if she could convince him not to help the king’s pursuit of the formula in other ways….

“Even so, maybe the king’s alchemists could make some sense of these,” he said. “Perhaps some of the charts or explanations will be useful when combined with their resources. I should turn them over to him.”

She could see him struggling with the decision. Eleanor couldn’t breathe. She didn’t know if their love could surmount his interest in alchemy.

“I know how you’d feel if I did. And you’d wonder, would this be the end?”

Who would give?

“On the other hand,” he continued. “We’ve seen the lengths people will go to get their hands on the secrets of alchemy. I don’t know if I could give the formula to the king had I found it. How could I be sure the Philosopher’s Stone would be used to benefit others, when I see how even the potential for wealth and power corrupts? My duty is to serve the king, not blindly, but for his good and the good of England. I no longer know if this would. Maybe you’re right, and all of this effort could be put toward work that would yield results.”

Her heart soared. “I’m so glad to hear that. Let’s move on, and think happier thoughts.” As she helped him roll up the scrolls, she added, “We’ve another wedding to arrange. Ours.”

After carefully replacing the papers and stones and locking up the workshop, they strolled hand in hand toward Middleworth Castle.

“Richard, there’s one thing more I need to know. If you planned for us to stay married, why did you fawn over the potential brides?” Eleanor asked. “You seemed like you were having a most wonderful time.”

“I had to convince you to choose me, and hoped seeing me with other women would make you jealous,” he answered. “Also, I admit, I wanted you to feel the pain I felt when I saw you mooning over Arthur. Of course I was mad at myself for being jealous, which didn’t help matters any.”

“Your plan worked,” she said with a smile. “I was horrified when I thought you might actually care for Isabel. I feared I’d lost you. And the whole thing was my fault. My pride wouldn’t let me tell you how I felt, for I wasn’t sure you felt the same. I was finally going to confess before I left court, but then you told me how foolish you thought love was.”

“Ah, Eleanor. Even if another woman might be a bit wealthier, a finer musician or more docile, I could never find one with the wonderful combination of characteristics that make me as content as you do. For me, no woman could be a better bride.” He snuggled her close and kissed her. “Because I already have the best bride. You.”

Epilogue

The day of Eleanor and Richard’s second wedding dawned clear and bright. Just like their future, Eleanor thought as she dressed in the room they’d share tonight. Excitement filled her veins.

’Twould be a small wedding, and so much more meaningful than the first. For this time she and Richard were in love. Her dreams of loving her husband, choosing him and being free of alchemy had come true.

“Eleanor.”

Richard stood in the doorway, especially handsome in a deep red brocade tunic that matched her new gown. He took off his beaver hat and joined her by the window. She welcomed him with a kiss.

He pulled her close. “Ah, Eleanor. A most excellent way to begin the day.” He kissed her again. “I came to give you this.” He handed her his mother’s cabochon ruby brooch. “Will you wear it?”

She smiled. “Of course. Always. I’m so glad to have it back. This time I have something for you, too. Here.”

He took a small pouch from her and pulled out a brooch designed to match hers, but with a single cabachon.

“An ideal gift,” he said with a smile as he pinned it to the brim of his hat.

Eleanor turned her brooch over to release the clasp. Sunlight set the gold aglow. “Richard, what’s this?”

“What?”

She showed him the back. “This tiny crease. I don’t know why I never noticed it before. Is there a secret compartment?”