The Bride Tournament (9 page)

The way he stroked her hair sent delicious shivers down her spine. His light, sweet kisses set her blood racing. Where would he venture next, what new sensations would he ignite?

His gaze held hers as his fingers roamed across her neck and over her shoulders, awakening the skin beneath. Her nipples peaked as he gently circled them.

Eleanor wanted more. She wanted him. Sudden need made her tremble.

He withdrew his hands. “You’re shaking. What you said this morning as we broke our fast about me warming your bed…I thought you were ready.”

Better for them both that he think she was nervous. She was, but not for that reason. Well, some of that, also. “I thought so, too. I’m sorry. I still need more time.”

“How much more?” The warmth faded from his eyes.

Guilt lanced her. How could she utter the truth, yet mislead him at the same time? No wonder he thought women couldn’t be trusted. But as she’d told Alyce, she was doing this for the greater good.

“Soon.”

“We must do our duty. I’ll give you until we arrive at court.”

That wasn’t long enough. She kept her thoughts to herself.

He turned his back to her and drew up the covers. In minutes his even breathing told her he was asleep, clearly not tormented by a racing mind as she was. Tonight the sound didn’t soothe. Each inhale was a hiss of ire, each exhale an admonishment.

Hours later, Eleanor bit back a curse as she rubbed her calf to ease a sudden cramp. She’d crouched so long beneath the window outside her father’s alchemy workshop that her limbs protested. Her shoes and the hem of her old gown were soaked from the evening’s rains, clinging and uncomfortably clammy against her legs.

She peeked inside, fury stinging her veins as she took in two long, polished wood tables with an array of oddly shaped glass containers for distillation and other processes. Scattered about were pages and pages of notes covered with mysterious diagrams, symbols and elaborate drawings.

This was her last chance before they left for court to put an end to his experiments. Her father’s obsession to find a way turn inexpensive base metals into gold came from the devil and would be his ruin, just as her mother had said.

He proved it by spending vast sums on tools and implements when the mania overtook him. The need to make himself the richest man alive, more powerful than the king, trounced reason.

He worked ceaselessly despite the late hour, first heating something that looked like salt over the fire in the raised hearth against the back wall, then pouring colored liquids from one flask into another, pausing to write every so often. Soot covered his apron.

When the fire dwindled and Eleanor’s eyelids drooped, he yawned. Her father stacked the pages of notes and carried them toward the hearth. Her heart leapt with hope that he was giving up and would toss the pile of vellum in the fire. Instead, he set the pages at his feet. Her jaw dropped as he worked several stones free from the wall, placing each on the floor. He stuffed the notes into the hole he’d exposed, then returned each stone until the wall looked untouched.

Satisfaction revived her. Her persistence had been rewarded. She’d never have uncovered that hiding place on her own.

She ducked as Edmund de la Tour exited, locked the door and headed toward the castle. Obviously he didn’t know another key hung on her key ring. From her mother.

She turned the key and slipped inside. Memories of her last visit flashed through her, when she’d searched for anything resembling a formula. Her goal had been destroy part of whatever she found to make him think he’d misplaced any missing pages. If she burned the lot, he might suspect her.

“What in God’s name are you doing here?” He’d slammed the door. A glass jar had tumbled off the table and shattered, silvery liquid slithering into the dirt floor. “There go several hours, wasted.”

Eleanor had shaken off remorse at being discovered. “You promised Mother you’d stop this foolishness!”

“She’s no longer here to protest. Leave me to my work.” He picked up kindling from a basket and carried it to the hearth.

“I speak in her stead. Do you even have a license?”

He didn’t answer.

“I thought not. Why do you refuse to see that the quest to turn base metals into gold can only bring ruin to all involved? Men have killed and will again to gain the secret for themselves.”

He looked up from his notes. “You’re but a woman. What can you know of men’s ways? Whoever is the first to bring the true formula to the king will be rewarded beyond belief. And will know he has achieved a miracle.”

“Or be murdered to prevent him from creating endless amounts of gold for himself.”

Her father’s eyes glowed, so lost was he in his reveries. “That man’s fame will live forever. That is what I seek, a legacy.”

Eleanor shivered, remembering. Driven by greed, her father would work himself to death if she didn’t stop him.

It could take years to recreate any work she destroyed. He’d be furious, especially if he figured out she was the culprit, but any guilt would be mitigated by his betrayal of her, the need to fulfill her mother’s last wish and the belief that she was doing the right thing for him and her family.

The dying fire shed just enough light. Standing on her toes to reach the stones, she grasped the first one her father had removed. She tugged ’til her fingers were raw, but it didn’t budge. To gain better purchase, she dragged a bench to the wall.

“Let me help you.”

She jumped at the sound of Richard’s voice. Her hands dropped to her sides.

He stood in the doorway, one arm raised as he leaned against the frame. The fading fire emphasized his high cheekbones and deep-set eyes.

Her heart thudded painfully. Had he seen her reach for the hiding place? Had she made matters worse by revealing the location of her father’s work, so Richard could claim it for Edward?

“What are you doing here?” she demanded, sounding oddly like her father.

Chapter 6

“I could ask the same of you,” Richard said.

Eleanor quickly masked her surprise and sat gracefully on the bench he’d watched her drag to the hearth.

“I awoke to find you gone,” he said. “Again. As I searched for you, I saw your father heading toward the castle from this direction. And spotted your footprints.”

What luck. Eleanor’s midnight wanderings had led him to the very place he sought, saving him hours of fruitless searching.

He closed the door behind him. The dimly lit workshop was so similar to his father’s, bittersweet memories of working by his side flashed through his mind. But of course it would be similar, with its numerous alembics—glass vessels required for distillation—since his father and Eleanor’s had been partners. Disagreement over the best ways to proceed, over who owned the work accomplished thus far, forced them to go their separate ways.

Mere months later, his father and his new partner were murdered. Two of his many scrolls of notes disappeared. Richard suspected Edmund de la Tour, but neither he nor the authorities had uncovered any proof. But he’d never been granted access to Edmund’s workshop.

Until now. The proof he needed, had sought for years, could be in this very room. He itched to pull those stones free to learn what they concealed.

“What brings you here?” he asked.

She shrugged. “I needed peace. Our healer once lived in this cottage. As a girl I visited often.”

That sounded plausible, but the way she cast her eyes down told him there was another reason.

“So your father still plays at alchemy,” he said, eager to hear what she knew of her father’s activities, past and present.

“More like pursues with a vengeance.”

“Is he near success?” Richard’s heartbeat sped. Was her father benefiting from his father’s labors or his own?

“I don’t know. ’Twas only recently I learned he’d returned to this workshop.”

Richard wanted to be the first to provide King Edward with the means to obtain much needed wealth to fund his new kingdom, if doing so were possible. He needed to give meaning to his father’s years of work. First he had to find the missing scrolls to see if his father had in fact succeeded.

His wife stood in his way. If he didn’t search the cottage now, he wouldn’t have another chance until they returned from court. Who knew when that would be?

He lit and held up a candle. Eleanor’s unbound hair gleamed golden as the light passed over her. He had a sudden urge to take her in his arms, to start his seduction anew.

“Your father was also an alchemist,” Eleanor said, her face unreadable. “My father told me. And I know you seek his formulas for the king.”

Did she know they’d been partners, that her father had betrayed his? “No one knows when Edward’s alchemists will come up with the mix of ingredients needed to complete the process of transmutation,” he said.

“The philosopher’s stone.” Disgust laced her voice.

“And there’s also
elixir vitae
, the elixir of life.” He couldn’t keep excitement from his. “Such discoveries could change the world. Not only could we turn base metals to gold, wondrous enough on its own, but prolong life. Science and medicine melded for the good of all.”

She jumped to her feet. “It’s heresy.”

Unfortunate that their views on such an important aspect of his life were so far apart. “Do you believe in Communion?”

“I see what you’re trying to do. That’s religion, a ritual passed down through the ages. Faith. Not the same at all.”

Arguing would get him nowhere. “What do you know of your father’s experiments?”

“Not much. He wouldn’t tell me when I asked.” A shadow seemed to pass over her. “The hour is late. Perhaps we should return to our room.”

He bit back frustration. He’d get nothing from her this night. Not information, not consummation. “You’re right, Eleanor. This place is peaceful. I’ll stay for the nonce.”

Richard moved to the bench, close enough to inhale her sweet lemon scent, and sat.

“Then we shall share the peace,” she said, sitting beside him. “While we can.”

She wasn’t going to leave him alone in her father’s workshop. He’d have to find a way to borrow her key.

He smiled. “Let us share that and more.”

Richard’s smile was so compelling Eleanor was nearly tempted to stay. But she had to get him out of here. Out of her way.

He seemed uncommonly interested in her father’s workshop. His gaze had probed every shelf crammed with books, every nook and cranny. Did he want to know if her father was farther along than his had been, or did he seek something specific? She hadn’t mistaken the gleam in his eye nor his determination when questioning her. Had the mania attacked Richard also, driving him to steal her father’s
knowledge?

Fortunately it didn’t matter if he himself played at melting base metals, for she’d not be wed to him for long.

“I’d leave you to your peace and seek mine elsewhere, but I must lock the door,” Eleanor said.

“So your father won’t know you were here? I’ll do it. Give me the key.”

Richard did want something. If she gave him the key, he might press it in wax to fashion his own for later use.

He stood, then leaned back against the wall and crossed one leg over the other, but she sensed tension beneath his nonchalance as he held out his hand.

As far as she could tell, everything of value lurked behind the stones. Clever though Richard was, she doubted even he’d find the hiding place. Unless he’d seen her pull on the stone.

Did he approve of the quest, or was he just following orders? She dared not ask. Like as not he wouldn’t answer, for there was no trust between them. Nor did she want to reveal her own hand. In any case, his goal was pursuit of the transmutation formula.

“A good chatelaine keeps her keys close,” she said, indicating the chain dangling from her waist.

In an instant he was off the bench and had her pressed to the wall. “Was that an invitation for me to try to take them from you?”

“No.” She couldn’t get out another word with his hard body against hers.

Sliding slowly down her arm, his hand left a tingling path. His fingers closed around her wrist, his mouth inches from hers. She tightened her grip on the keys as he moved his fingers in a gentle circle over her shoulders, again and again, stroking her, lulling her.

Slowly, he lowered his head to kiss her. She was appalled to find she wanted him to. Eleanor broke away before he could wreak more havoc on her senses, the wool of her gown sticking briefly to the stone wall.

“You’ve already proved you’re stronger than I. But you won’t control me, I’ll see to that.” She marched to the door and swung it open, exasperated by her response to him and her failure to destroy her father’s notes. “If you want me to be ready to travel this morning, we’d best prepare.”

“’Tis obvious you’re trying to get me away from this cottage. It suits my purpose to go with you. Never fear, I’ll find out what’s in this place and what it really means to you.”

She’d alerted Richard’s suspicions, as he’d alerted hers. There was no way she’d escape his vigilance to return to the cottage before they left for court.