The Bride Tournament (5 page)

He pressed on, kissing his way toward her mouth. His lips met hers, then again, but she didn’t kiss him back or open her mouth. Either she was completely untutored in the ways of men or she primly refused his advances. Her eyes were closed.

Never had he expected such complete disinterest.

Richard worked his way down Eleanor’s neck, then lower still, tugging the sheet from her reluctant fingers. He opened her robe to reveal her breasts, lush and magnificent. A key dangled from the gold chain shimmering between them. What did it open? What was so important to his wife that she wore the key beneath her clothing and close to her heart? But this was a time for touch, not talk.

As his fingers roamed her smooth curves, he started to respond. So did she. He smiled. Her nipples firmed beneath his questing fingers, arousing him fully. Her head tipped back and her lips parted, clear signs she was starting to welcome, to enjoy, his touch. His erection pulsed as he continued gentle strokes, biding his time, enjoying the anticipation.

Until something splashed onto his cheek. Eleanor was crying. Whether her tears were feigned or real, his interest withered.

“I believe I’m still bound to Arthur,” she whispered.

He swore. Anger seethed through his veins. She was a woman grown and needed to face her responsibilities. As he faced his.

“You are married to me. No other.”

Eleanor drew her robe tight. Her glorious hair fell forward to cover her face.

There’d be hell to pay if he failed to consummate their marriage. How could he convince her? Uncertainty didn’t sit well with him. As a soldier, one acted or died. Even in his new role as an earl, he felt comfortable with the decisions he’d made thus far.

“I am sorry, but I…I just can’t….” Eleanor put her head in her hands and sobbed quietly.

His anger dissolved like snow in the sun. There was but one course of action to follow.

Richard walked to one of the chests delivered by his squire. He lifted the lid, revealing his daggers strapped beneath. Sliding a weapon free, he admired the sleek blade as it gleamed in the firelight.

He strode toward the bed, dagger in hand.

Eleanor looked up and screamed.

Eleanor seized the bedcovers as if they could protect her from the fear surging within. And Richard.

One minute he was kissing her, the next he brandished a dagger. He strode toward her, weapon held high. Candlelight accented his broad chest and well-muscled arms, making him seem a warrior on the attack.

She scrambled to the far side of the bed, tangling her foot in the covers. She kicked off the offending cloth.

“Help! To me!” She sped across the room.

Richard ran after her, feet pounding the floor. “Eleanor. Stop! What are you doing?”

They reached the door at the same time. He slammed his hands against it as she struggled to pull it open. His powerful arms trapped her between them.

“Let me go!” The iron handle chilled her fingers while the heat of him scorched her back.

His breath came in a rush above her. She choked when she tried to loose another scream.

Summoning all her courage, she bit out, “Hurting me will gain you nothing.”

He spoke softly into her ear as he had earlier, making it tingle once again. “Eleanor, stop before someone hears. I’m not going to hurt you. I’d never hurt you,” he vowed. “The dagger is for me.”

“What?” Eleanor turned.

Richard’s chest almost touched her nose as he breathed. She could smell him, her herbal soap mixed with an intriguing scent she couldn’t define. His strength, clearly carefully restrained, no longer frightened but impressed her. His eyes narrowed behind his tousled hair.

“The dagger is for me,” Richard repeated. “To cut myself so I can smear blood on the sheets. That way all will believe we are well and truly wed.”

“Oh. Oh.” Eleanor nearly collapsed in humiliation. She couldn’t look at him. “I saw the dagger and panicked. I’m truly sorry. It’s been a long, trying day.”

Alyce had been right. Perhaps she did need to think before she acted.

Being so near him unnerved her. He fascinated and drew her against her will. She ducked under his arm and hurried back to the bed.

“Blood on the sheets. ’Tis an excellent idea,” she said. “Why didn’t I think of it?”

Because she’d been immersed in Richard’s touch. When he kissed her neck, the shivery thrill spreading through her so surprised her she hadn’t thought to pull away. His hands on her breasts, which no man had ever touched before, had been so gentle, yet made her hope for more. His touch calmed her while inspiring a traitorous stirring deep within. For a brief moment, she’d wanted to touch him, to feel how different his flesh was from hers. To see if she could elicit a similar reaction.

How could Richard affect her so when Arthur’s kisses hadn’t? The shock of her body’s response had made her cry. And her tears convinced Richard to grant her a reprieve.

Eleanor had bought time to find a way to get Arthur back. When she did, she’d prove her marriage to Richard had never been consummated, notwithstanding any “proof” on the sheets. If necessary, she’d submit to an embarrassing examination to show she remained pure. Using Richard’s good deed against him bothered her, but she had no choice. Guiltily, she glanced at him, glad he couldn’t read her thoughts.

He stood by the bed. “I’m giving you the opportunity to adjust to the sudden changes in your life and to me as your husband. ’Twill be a challenge, for I believe in honesty. Nor am I a good dissembler.”

A small spiral of remorse twisted Eleanor’s stomach. They’d been married less than a day and already he’d violated his principles for her.

“I admire honesty, as well. But events beyond our control brought us here. It’s only for a short while. And for a good reason, to protect ourselves.” This would be best for him too. Someday he’d realize that. Still, she hoped niggling guilt would fade. “Let us be honest with each other, at least. You deserve a bride who doesn’t love another man.”

Richard stiffened. A gleam lit his eyes as he leaned close. “What if I could make you want me?”

At that moment she believed he could do anything.

Against her will, Richard captivated her, like an exceptional jewel. He acted the polished lord, yet danced with cheerful enthusiasm. He exhibited tactful authority when clearing the chamber during the bedding. When angry, he had the presence of mind to rein in his emotions while revealing an exciting, untamed edge. She’d never forget the tenderness in his gaze when he touched her. And she wanted to see it again.

She’d seen more aspects of Richard’s personality in a day than Arthur had revealed in the years she’d known him. She couldn’t recall Arthur raising his voice or bursting into laughter. He was ever mellow. Why should that bother her? ’Twas far better to have a calm, predictable husband who’d be content to follow where she led.

“You’re a soldier. Why fight a losing battle?” she asked.

“The king made your hand part of my recompense for excellent service.”

“I’ve no doubt such recompense is well-deserved. From what I can see, you’re honorable and kind, yet carry yourself with the presence and confidence of a leader. Those qualities combined with your wealth and physical attractiveness yield a man most women would be overjoyed to wed.”

“Such praise makes me wonder if you know your own heart.” He placed his hand on her chest.

Eleanor wished his fingers would move lower to cup her breast. No. She wouldn’t succumb to his tempting ways. She slid under the covers. With a devastating smile, he returned to his side of the bed.

“Most women would be overjoyed to wed,” she repeated. “Not I.”

He shouldn’t be left without a bride just because she’d been promised to another. Perhaps she had a friend who would suit. A friend who didn’t cringe every time she heard the words alchemy, transmutation or quintessence.

Yes, yes, yes! She wanted to shout with glee. Here was the solution to her problems. She would find Richard a better bride so he’d agree to relinquish her. A new bride, more comely, wealthier and even more talented than she, to serve as greater reward. Both Richard and the king would be appeased. Only her father would be unhappy. But after his recent actions, she had no need to worry about him.

Joyous enthusiasm filled her until harsh reality took its place. Finding this new bride would be no easy task, for she’d have to be a better prospect than Eleanor herself. All her life she’d been complimented on her beauty. She could read, write and do sums in addition to the womanly abilities of running her household, needlework, dancing and the like.

How to find the woman Richard deserved, the perfect bride?

There was nothing she loved better than a challenge.

Eleanor blew out the candle and pulled up the covers, staying as close to her edge of the bed as possible. She didn’t dare ask Richard if he would sleep on the floor by the fire. He had given, now she must.

Richard pulled back the covers with one hand, dagger poised again in the other. She didn’t want to watch, but couldn’t force her gaze away. After all, he was doing this for her. He raised the dagger to his head and cut his scalp.

She gasped. Unconsciously squeezing the blanket, she waited to see what he would do next.

“Do not fear. Even minor scalp wounds bleed profusely. No one will see this, not even my squire,” he said, his voice flat.

He seemed strangely well prepared. Had he anticipated her reluctance to consummate? Or had he sliced himself to protect a woman before? The answers should make no difference. But she couldn’t help wondering how many women he’d made love to. If she, who had no intention of being seduced by Richard, was sorely tempted, there must be women who’d been willing or even pursued him.

Richard spread his hair away from the cut. He tilted his head until a few drops marred the pristine sheet, then smeared the blood into the fabric. Without a glance at her, he wiped his hands clean on a cloth, then dabbed his head. After throwing the red-spotted cloth into the fire, his eyes burned with an emotion she couldn’t describe. Not anger, not sorrow, but something in between.

Eleanor sensed that he expected her to say something. What?
Thank you? I’m sorry?
Neither seemed appropriate.

Her education had taught her how to handle every situation, every task she’d faced. Until today. Everything that lay before her was unfamiliar. She needed some control over her future. She’d take charge by finding Richard a new bride. By keeping alchemy far from her life.

His hands went to his hips and he finished untying his hose.

Eleanor shut her eyes.

The well-stuffed mattress gave slightly as he got in. She felt the movements of the covers as he arranged them. Time passed as she listened to his breathing and the crackling fire, but she couldn’t compel her tense muscles to relax. How would she ever sleep with him in the same bed, even far away?

She wouldn’t think of him, but of women she knew who might be worthy of consideration as his new bride. There was Lady Howes—

“Are you a virgin?”

All thoughts of suitable acquaintances flew from her head. Surprise made her sit up. “What?”

“You heard me. Is that why you refuse to consummate our marriage, because you have no virgin blood left to shed? You were betrothed for many years. That’s akin to marriage. And you profess love for Arthur. Have you made love with him?” He sat up. The covers fell to his lap, the glow of the dying fire outlining his muscular chest and arms. “Have I been played for a fool? Do you refuse me, your lawful and rightful husband, to honor your lover?”

Eleanor gasped. His accusations stung. “Does your concern stem from the fact that I might not be a virgin, or that I might’ve made love with your friend?”

Could Richard be jealous of her past?

Richard stood and rounded the bed with no obvious regard to his nakedness. She refused to look anywhere but at his face. He looked furious.

“Answer me.” He loomed over her.

“How dare you doubt me?” Eleanor flopped onto her back, tempted to pull the covers over her head. “I am pure.”

His lack of trust stung sharp as a bee. How, in such a short time, had he managed to gain enough power over her that it mattered what he thought of her?

Silence. Endless silence.

“How do I know you speak true? You were betrothed and wanted to marry Arthur, so why wait? You said we should be honest, but are willing, nay, eager to lie about the blood on these sheets.” He bent over her, so close his hair tickled her cheeks. “How do I know how many more lies you’ll tell?”

He smelled wonderful, enticing. She had a sudden urge to touch him, to feel the molded muscles of his substantial chest. She held her arms tightly by her sides to keep from doing just that.

“You know there’s but one way for me to be certain you tell the truth in this,” he whispered.

If he moved another inch, their lips would meet. Eleanor held her breath. Her heartbeat quickened. He slid a finger down the side of her face, pushing away a strand of hair. A delicious shiver coursed through her. His warm hand lingered on her neck. She hoped he’d kiss her.

But she couldn’t give in to this strange curiosity, this unwelcome need.