The Bride Tournament (6 page)

“I have spoken true. Believe what you will.” She forced a steady, cool tone.

Richard didn’t move. She couldn’t either, held in thrall by nervous anticipation. She feared her reprieve had ended, all too soon. Would he have his way with her to prove her purity?

Why did part of her want him to? He was her husband, after all. No. He wasn’t.

At last he stood and turned away. She let out a sigh of relief. If he’d looked at her that way one more minute…. She’d hoped to taste him again, to feel her flesh against his. Never before had she been attracted to any man but Arthur, nor thought it possible another man could interest her. Richard so easily awoke unfamiliar desire.

Her few kisses with Arthur had been pleasant, scattered over the years between his fostering and warring. But she hadn’t yearned for more the way she did with Richard. What was happening to her?

She had to return to Arthur a virgin or not return to him at all.

It was a good thing she’d be free of Richard soon.

Richard returned to his side of the bed, wishing he’d built up the fire so he could’ve read the truth in her eyes. Had she used tears to trick him into rescuing her? All knew she was clever.

Eleanor had a seductive way about her he doubted she knew she possessed. That combined with her beauty had interested him from their first meeting. Now, having touched and tasted her, he wanted more. His lingering arousal was proof. Had she felt so right because she was his wife?

How close had she and Arthur been? Visions of them passionately entwined paraded through his head. He relived the moment in the alcove when he found Eleanor in Arthur’s embrace, feeling again the annoying, sharp jolt of possessiveness. He imagined them together, smiling and happy. They laughed as they undressed each other, then Arthur put his hand….

He would not think on this.

Eleanor’s occasional sigh told him she was still awake. What thoughts beset her?

Why did he care?

Even in the most harrowing situations, truth had served him. Yet less than a day into his marriage, he was caught up in a grievous misrepresentation. For a brief moment he thought of going back on his word just to get the deed done. But then he’d lose any chance of earning Eleanor’s trust. She had to come to him voluntarily or she’d make the rest of his life—their life—miserable.

He had to make her understand her duty and choose to fulfill it. If he was fortunate, she might come to want him for himself. At the very least, she’d have to realize that her best choice was to accept him as her husband.

His best choice was to make her accept him. His physical attractiveness and ease with women were gifts he’d never used to attain goals the way he used his intelligence and strength. For the first time in his life, he was going to have to court a woman. His own wife. As skilled as he was as a warrior, he had little idea how to woo. He’d approach Eleanor as he did a battle, strategizing with care, analyzing all potential weaknesses.

Then he’d besiege her walls as earnestly as he attacked a rebel’s castle.

All he truly needed from Eleanor was acceptance and fulfillment of her duty, obedience, and above all honesty.

Mayhap if he repeated that enough he would come to believe it.

Chapter 4

Eleanor tossed and turned as Richard slept beside her. Would she get used to having a man in her bed? After all that had befallen her, when would she feel comfortable again?

She touched the key she’d worn around her neck for almost fourteen years, but found no comfort as she oft had from the symbol of her hopes for the future. Even her source of solace was lost to her now.

She lifted herself on one elbow. Richard hadn’t moved for some time. Carefully, she climbed out of bed. She lit a candle with glowing embers, then held it toward Richard. Good. His eyes were still closed. Shielding the fragile flame, she hurried to two wood chests on the other side of the room. The larger, plainer chest held her clothing. But the smaller one, with its ornate carved border, held greater treasure.

After another glance at Richard, Eleanor set the candle down. She pulled the chain over her head and used the key to turn the lock before lifting the lid. Her favorite scent of lemons now seemed stale and bittersweet as her fingers trailed over linens and cloths she’d spent hours embroidering, many with the initials A and E elaborately entwined in thread of precious silver. Near the bottom rested her wedding gift for Arthur, a tapestry depicting his favorite hound, as fine in her eyes as a costly cloth of Arras.

She bid a temporary farewell to the past, to things that had meant so much to her. On the morrow, she’d have this chest moved to the storage area, where the trappings of her disrupted life would molder with her dream of what should have been.

Until she could make it so.

Dawn had barely broken, but she had to talk with Alyce before joining the remaining wedding guests.

Eleanor knocked on her sister’s door. “Alyce! Let me in.”

Never would she have admitted she hastened to escape Richard. Though they’d remained on opposite sides of the bed, his mere presence did strange things to her. Surely her sleepless night was due to enthusiasm for her new project.

Alyce opened the door and rubbed sleep from her eyes. “Is aught amiss?” Her face brightened. “Or have you come to tell me about your wedding night? What was it like?”

“Naught is amiss and one choosing to give herself to the Church shouldn’t be concerned with what takes place in the marriage bed.” That took care of Alyce. Now she only had the rest of the castle to deal with. Eleanor closed the door behind her.

“This could be my only opportunity to learn of such things,” Alyce persisted.

The rising sun peeked through the arched window, highlighting her sister’s delicate beauty. With her pale skin, luminous azure eyes and hair almost as shiny as gold, she looked like an angel. The lone flower in the withered garden of her stark room.

“Every time you’re here, you make that face,” Alyce said. “How else can I prepare for my future? But I would like to hear of your wedding night.”

“We’ll talk of that anon,” Eleanor said with a dismissive wave. “Alyce, I have a project.”

“Oh, no, Eleanor. No.” Alyce gasped. “Not another project. You promised. The last one almost cost a year’s crop from our herb garden.”

“Adding nourishment to the soil to make plants grow faster and bigger remains an excellent idea. I must’ve miscalculated the proportions. Or had the wrong mix of ingredients.”

“And before that, I feared the wool would never grow back on the sheep.”

“I hoped to make shearing easier and faster. I almost succeeded.” Eleanor hopped onto Alyce’s bed. “This time is different, you’ll see.”

Alyce shook her head. “I’ll hear you out, but make no promises.” She picked up her comb, climbed onto her bed and began unwinding her long braid.

Eleanor wanted to dance with joy. “We are going to find Richard a bride!”

“He already has one. You.” Alyce’s hands dropped from her hair.

“I’m going to seek an annulment. If I get it, Richard will be left with nothing. No bride, none of her lands or gold, none of the prestige of a highly ranked wife. Whether I get it or not, if I find another bride who’ll satisfy both him and King Edward—a better bride—he’ll be happier with her and end the day ahead. We’ll all be happier. Then I can marry Arthur.” And finally be alchemy free.

Alyce stared at her, hands dangling at her sides, mouth agape.

“Close your mouth,” Eleanor said. “Everything happened too fast yesterday for me to think. How could I meekly accept a change in grooms, after years of waiting?”

“It was cruel of Father to keep it from you,” Alyce agreed. “But women like us don’t have the luxury of choosing their husbands.”

“Just because we don’t know of many marriages based on love doesn’t mean there aren’t any. Else why would there be so many books written and tales told of romance? Why should people spend their lives stuck with someone they don’t want?” Eleanor sighed.

“Marriage isn’t about love.”

“You sound like Father. Last night I began a list of unwed women we know.” Eleanor couldn’t tell even her sister that between the unfamiliar sounds of Richard’s soft breathing from the other side of the bed and concern about falling asleep and rolling toward him, she hadn’t slept a wink.

She started pacing. “First is Lady Howes, wealthy but not beautiful enough and only two small manors to her name. Obviously this better bride needs have more lands than I.”

Christ hanging on a large cross on Alyce’s wall interrupted her recitation. His sorrowful, compassionate eyes haunted her. Was it a sin to find your husband a new bride? She pivoted and kept walking.

“Katherine de Sutton is of excellent lineage, but spiteful. Richard would never be comfortable with her. Alice Poynings has wealth, but six children from her first husband. I don’t know how he’d feel about that.” She shook her head. “As you can see, the available brides lack the necessary qualifications.”

“Better bride? Qualifications?” Alyce’s voice cracked. “Have you lost your wits?”

“I’ve never been more serious.” Eleanor halted. The dazed expression on Alyce’s face proved she hadn’t grasped how clever the plan was. “I’ll let you think. When you agree that helping Richard to another bride is the way to help me and him to happiness, nod.”

Alyce combed her hair, but Eleanor could tell she wasn’t counting the strokes as she usually did.

“What do you think?”

“I said I would hear you out and I have. I think you are ill.” Alyce stared at her as though she had three eyes. “The shocking events of your wedding day must’ve disrupted your humors. Your blood, bile, choler and phlegm are clearly out of balance. I shall send for the physician. Perhaps you need a bloodletting.”

“Don’t even think it,” Eleanor warned. “I am well.”

“How can you be?” she asked. “You were sorely tested yesterday. But you must do your duty.”

She sounded just like Richard. “Duty.” The word left a taste in her mouth worse than sour milk. “Why do men have more freedom to do as they choose? Why must women obey men’s demands?”

“’Tis the way of the world. Richard and Arthur didn’t have much choice, either. From king to peasant, we all must obey a higher power.” Alyce set the brush on her trunk and began to make her bed.

“I have to try.” Eleanor pivoted again, skirts swinging. “Here’s how my idea will work. What is my favorite tale?”

“
The Odyssey
,” Alyce answered.

“I put the two together, and voilà!” She clapped her hands. “Aren’t I brilliant?”

“What has
The Odyssey
to do with finding Richard a bride?”

Eleanor spoke as patiently as she could. “Odysseus’s wife Penelope waits twenty years for him to return from his voyage. She can’t keep her suitors at bay, so she holds a test of skill. A husband test. She’ll marry the man who can string Odysseus’s bow and shoot through twelve axes.”

Alyce held up her hands as if warding off disaster. “Oh, Eleanor, no.”

“You see? Brilliant.”

“You have gone mad. You mean to hold a bride test.”

“Exactly.” Eleanor raised her arms with glee. “Wait…why have one test when we can have several? I know! We’ll hold a tournament. A bridal tournament.” She skipped around the room.

“Stop this instant. Or I’ll be certain you have the dancing mania and will send for the physician.” Alyce hurried toward her. “Finish the tale. Penelope believed Odysseus would return, so she made the contest impossible for anyone but her beloved husband to win.”

Eleanor froze mid-step.

“Is that what you’re going to do, Eleanor?” Alyce asked, her voice softer than usual. “Set the bar so high only you can prevail? You are all the things you say Richard deserves. Are you but giving yourself time to see if you could care for him? Or if Arthur remains true?”

Slowly, Eleanor turned. Could Alyce be right? Of course not. “The only fair way to have Arthur is by providing an excellent new bride for Richard.”

“Didn’t Odysseus kill all the suitors after he won?” Alyce crossed her arms.

“’Tis like you to be absolutely literal,” Eleanor said.

“Plan or not, perhaps Arthur will prefer the bride Richard offered. How do you know he still wants to marry you?”

The question hung in the air like unwelcome fog.

“Arthur says I should accept Richard,” she admitted. “I don’t believe he means it.”

“Has Richard agreed to this lunatic scheme?”

The thought of discussing this with him made her uneasy. “I’m not sure he’ll need to. Once he meets the winner and sees how much better suited she is, the means of finding her won’t matter. Richard seems perfect in every way but two. He’s not Arthur, and he’s pursuing alchemy. Yes, he’s handsome. Yes, he seems honorable, kind, intelligent and many more good, manly things.” Including inspiring stirrings of what she had to admit was desire.” But I want to marry Arthur.”

“You sound like a spoiled child. I half expect you to stomp your foot.”

Eleanor stiffened. “I’m not upset over being denied a mere sweetmeat or toy. Mayhap I am a bit stubborn. Nay, persistent. I won’t give up on the one thing I’ve always wanted.”