The Bride Tournament Page 10

  “Or hunting?” This from Rose.

  “You must include dancing,” Blanche said.

  “And what of religious devotion?” Mary clasped her rosary.

  Clearly each woman promoted her finest talent. “There are countless womanly skills we could examine. I have chosen these based on what I know of Richard’s preferences,” Eleanor answered.

  “Have you?” asked Blanche, her voice low. “Have you, really?”

  Mary paled. Isabel actually licked her lips. Eleanor felt herself blush, but couldn’t think of a reply. Because, even though she was his wife, she didn’t know.

  “Shouldn’t you take that into account? A man of his…talents…and enthusiasm is likely to prefer an eager bride.”

  Blanche intimated that she knew Richard’s desires. Disgusting.

  No matter. For she, Eleanor, would soon be free of him. One of these women would soon share Richard’s bed and suffer any mistresses.

  “Here is how we shall proceed.”

  At last Richard had a break in his grueling schedule. Though his meetings with Edward and his council proved fruitful, too much sitting made him restless.

  All he wanted to do now was find Eleanor. Their conversations made him want to spend more time with her. Even their sparring made him feel more alive. He felt sure they’d consummate their marriage any day now. If only he hadn’t been so exhausted of late. He’d considered waking her each night he saw her sleeping so sweetly, one hand curled under her chin, but knew he, and she, needed rest.

  He’d packed a basket for an impromptu meal. But he couldn’t locate his bride. She wasn’t in their room, nor in the main garden. Nor could he find Alyce, and he knew the two were inseparable. Windsor was a very large castle, with Upper, Lower and Middle Wards. He’d squander his respite in fruitless searching if he didn’t find her soon.

  As he passed the Round Tower, feminine laughter rang out from a room above his head. He hurried up the stairs. Through a partially open door he saw Eleanor, Alyce and five other women seated in a circle. Eleanor spoke softly but intently. The women he could see from his vantage point listened with quiet concentration.

  He stepped forward. “Well met, ladies.”

  All eight heads turned. All eight faces bore varying degrees of surprise and guilt, especially those of Eleanor and her sister. Blanche also looked smug.

  Richard waited in the doorway, hands on his hips. He’d come upon a clandestine gathering spearheaded by his wife.

  “Have I interrupted something?” he asked.

  A woman he didn’t recognize, with a tall headdress, giggled. Two who looked vaguely familiar pressed their lips together as though secrets could not be pulled from them even under torture. One looked as if she might burst into tears and clutched a rosary so tightly he thought the beads might leave permanent impressions in her palms. Blanche laughed. Alyce looked to Eleanor, who, for once, was speechless.

  He’d pursue the matter when he had his wife alone.

  What was wrong with him? He faced a room full of beautiful women, yet his thoughts were only of Eleanor. Never before had a woman drawn him so. But then, he’d never been wed before. Marital instinct, legal and religious claims must be what drew his attention to his wife.

  “My lady wife, I have but a short time free from my duties.” He indicated the heavy basket he carried. “If you would grant me the pleasure of your company, perhaps we could stroll in the gardens and partake of a light repast?”

  Alyce jumped to her feet. “Oh, yes. A most excellent suggestion. We can finish,” she paused, “this later.”

  Why was she so nervous?

  A mixture of sighs and giggles told him the others approved of his interruption, perhaps wishing they too had a gentleman with whom to stroll.

  “Ladies, I shall see you all anon,” Eleanor said. She walked through the circle toward the door.

  Blanche blew him a kiss behind Eleanor’s back and flashed a come-hither look.

  What was she up to now? And his wife?

  Chapter 9

  Eleanor had frozen the instant she heard Richard’s voice and hadn’t thawed. He was sure to do one of two things as they walked: ask questions she didn’t wish to answer or pursue her with sweet words and even sweeter kisses. She wasn’t certain which approach unnerved her more.

  Denying her interest in him was all the more difficult when they were alone. All he had to do was smile, and she yearned to while away the hours listening to him talk. Trying to make him laugh. All he had to do was kiss her and she yearned to succumb to the wonders of his mouth. And more. Which was wrong when she’d pledged herself to Arthur and vowed to find Richard another bride.

  Knowing he’d want to continue where they’d left off as soon as they reached a private corner of the gardens and enduring her body’s traitorous enthusiasm at the thought, Eleanor knew she had to choose.

  Kiss, or tell Richard her plan.

  Tell. Though he believed duty obligated them to remain wed, as a reasonable man, he had to appreciate the awkwardness of their situation. When offered a bride who’d be better for him and for the king, surely he’d be satisfied.

  “I suppose we are equally stubborn,” she began as they strolled into the Upper Ward’s bright afternoon sunshine. She took a deep breath of fresh air and let it out slowly, also releasing the castle’s dankness and the strain of persuading the candidates to her cause.

  “In what way?”

  “You want me to be your wife as much as I want to…not be.”

  He pressed his lips together, which she now knew was his habit when annoyed, revealing the appealing dimple in his right cheek.

  “Eleanor, why do you work against me? Why not give us a chance?”

  “You know why,” she whispered. Though recently fond feelings for Arthur had been few and far between. She needed to see him again.

  “If only we could work as hard together to make everything turn out for the best,” Richard said.

  “I hoped you’d wish that,” she said. “I think we can. May I tell you how?”

  Eleanor’s cautiousness warned Richard he wasn’t going to like her idea.

  After several moments of walking in strained silence, he gestured to a secluded, sun-dappled spot beneath an ancient oak tree and set down the basket. She helped him spread the blanket.

  Eleanor made a lovely picture as he opened the bottle of wine, sitting before him with her green skirts spread about, the gauze veil on her tall headdress floating gently in the breeze. The brooch he’d given her gleamed in the sunlight. It pleased him that she wore it every day. He wanted to please her enough to drive thoughts of everything but him from her mind.

  As he poured, she arranged the food: strawberries, cheese and more sweetmeats like those he had fed her on their journey to court.

  “As an earl, you need a bride equal to you in status,” she said. “As a noble, the king wants you bound to a wealthy family. As a man, you desire a beauteous, gentle wife. How can you satisfy all of these needs?” She took the proffered cup. “My thanks.”

  “I thought I already had,” he said. “With you.”

  She made a face. Flattery didn’t seem to impress Eleanor.

  “There is one thing more. Wouldn’t you also like a wife who wants you?”

  Still she harped on that. “In the best of all possible worlds, yes. But as you well know, one can’t always have all one desires.”

  “What if you could?” Enthusiasm brightened her eyes to purest violet.

  He watched her sip the wine, followed the movements of her mouth on the cup. And wanted to kiss her.

  Eleanor continued, “What if you could have a wealthier bride, one who is even better connected, more beautiful and more skilled than I?”

  “Why do you ask? I told you on our wedding day and night I had no interest in another bride.”

  “I want to do this for you, Richard. For us. I’m going to find you a better bride.”

  If he looked at her hard enough, maybe he’d
see something to help him understand.

  “When I succeed, you’ll be richer, have superior political connections and be happier than you are with me. Don’t you see? No one loses, everyone wins.”

  “I—” He wanted to say, “I think this is a horrible idea,” but was so astonished the words stuck in his throat. He grabbed his cup and gulped.

  “You’re a wonderful catch,” Eleanor admitted. “I would want you if I hadn’t been pledged for so long to another.”

  He choked on the wine, then recovered. Every sentence yielded new surprises. “My thanks for the kind words and thoughts. But we are already wed.”

  “Marriages end for many reasons. Need I list them? While you were ensconced with the council, I made arrangements to start annulment proceedings. I was forced to wed you, as you recall. And my betrothal to Arthur was annulled without my consent,” she persisted.

  Finally Richard understood why her father waited so long to tell Eleanor who she’d wed. For certes she would have found a way to avoid wedding with him at all. His stomach churned. “You’ve obviously thought on this a great deal. Who else knows of your idea?”

  “Only Alyce, at first. I needed an assistant.”

  “An assistant,” he repeated. Maybe that would help him follow.

  “To take notes. To keep my records of the potential brides.”

  “There’s more than one?”

  “Well, of course. You just saw them.”

  The five women. Potential brides, for him. And Blanche, the woman most eminently unsuitable to be his bride, was one of them. He hadn’t seen through her skillfully crafted façade all those years ago when he thought he knew her well. Eleanor couldn’t hope to do so on such short acquaintance. The other women had been passing fair, but none as attractive to him as Eleanor.

  He shook his head. Was he actually taking this lunatic scheme seriously?

  Eleanor picked up a strawberry by its stem. It dangled enticingly from her fingers. He wanted to feed her the fruit and lick the sweet juices from her lips. And other places.

  He adjusted his position.

  “How could I be sure which woman would satisfy you?” she asked. “I settled on five contenders. A nice number from which to choose. Four would be too few, I think, to offer sufficient variety. More would be difficult to keep track of.”

  “How long have you been planning this?”

  “Since our wedding night. I pondered making the decision myself, based on a specific set of characteristics you might like. I decided four judges would be better, as in a tournament. Perhaps you’d care to help to select the winner? What man wouldn’t want five excellent prospects from which to choose?”

  So caught up in her scheme was she that she didn’t even look at him. If she had, she couldn’t have missed the maelstrom of emotions surging within him. First swarmed sadness that she refused to realize he had no interest in a better bride. Why couldn’t she see that if you already had what you wanted, something different, even more, wasn’t necessarily better? Next followed fury, oddly mixed with admiration she’d go to such lengths to be rid of him. Her keenness, the efforts she had made, showed him this was what she truly wanted. To leave him, but at least not in the lurch. That she was willing to take such steps to see to his happiness made him want her all the more.

  If only she’d turn her considerable efforts toward him and their marriage instead of searching for answers in every direction except in front of her. Why couldn’t he make her see that? He hated failure.

  His final emotion: acceptance. Their conversations obviously meant little to her. The extraordinary kisses they’d shared hadn’t swayed her from her cause. Mayhap in her inexperience, she thought she could find such wonders with any man. He knew better. He’d done his best to convince her, but maybe his persistence had pushed her farther away. Mayhap, as she said, he fought a losing battle.

  Was she right? Should they go their separate ways, for both their sakes? Even though he’d be the one to pay the highest price…a life without her beside him. Without the joy of raising their children.

  Unless…maybe there was a better way. His way.

  Eleanor couldn’t bring herself to look at Richard. If she did, she’d burst into tears or throw herself into his arms. Or both. She’d gone too far to back out, yet encouraging him to seek another wife was far more difficult than she’d expected. Each word added another weight on her heart.

  What was she to do? She wanted her husband, yet had pledged her devotion to another. Her mother always told her a woman of honor never went back on her word. And that a woman’s word was all she had to give.

  The way Richard had looked when she told him about the better bride, much the same way Alyce had when she unveiled her plan but tinged with pain, almost undid her. Only by staring into the distance or into the burgundy depths of her wine could she continue.

  Maybe he’d refuse to accept her scheme. Maybe she wouldn’t have to hold the bridal tournament. If so, would he forgive her for trying?

  Richard drained his cup and poured another. Though she’d toyed with the strawberries, neither of them had eaten much of the food she’d spread at the edge of the blanket. With a smile she could tell was strained, he leaned forward. He was so close she could see emerald flecks in his eyes, make out each of his long lashes.

  If he kissed her, she’d want more kisses. He’d be more than happy to provide them, and more. Which might lead to consummation. And make getting the annulment all the more difficult if not impossible.

  Was Richard giving her one last chance to choose him?

  She couldn’t move.

  “Eleanor. Are you very, very certain this is what you want?”

  She nodded slowly, even as her body urged her to say no.

  He leaned away, resting on one elbow as if he didn’t have a care in the world. Was the sudden chill actually in the air or just in her?

  “Very well, then. You’ve convinced me. Why shouldn’t I study these ‘better’ brides? I’d like to get to know each of them before the tournament. As you said, forging friendships is one way to move forward. I have a lot of moving forward to do. Thanks to you.”

  She felt her mouth drop open.

  “What have I to lose? And to ensure your tournament’s success, I’ll talk with the king about having the archbishop hasten the annulment proceedings.”

  Her throat went dry. “You want to involve the king?”

  “Otherwise we’ll have no way of knowing how long it’ll take until our marriage is officially ended. Why wait?”

  “Why indeed.” Eleanor thought she might vomit.

  Why, why couldn’t she be sure of what she wanted? Why did every option feel like a mistake?

  “What are you doing here?” Blanche shrieked. “You nearly scared me to death, lurking by those bushes.”

  Sir Hugh FitzWalter disrupted her solitude near a hawthorn thicket in the moat garden. The balding son of her landlady reminded her of a spider and made her skin crawl.

  “I but sought a respite from the pressure you’ve put me under. Now you deny me even that,” she said.

  “Sit with me.”

  Mindful of her second-best wool gown, she eased herself to the ground. He waved her closer. Reluctantly, she hefted her skirts and complied. An excess of spicy scent emanated from his gangly frame. The short tunics and tight hose of the day mocked his too-thin legs.

  Hugh rested on his elbows, clearly at ease, despite the dour expression on his long face. She held herself straight and stiff.

  “As I hadn’t received any of the information you’ve promised, I came to see for myself.”

  “There’ve been no reports because I haven’t learned anything of use,” Blanche said. “Yet.”

  “Ah, but since my arrival at court, I have. Should I be angry with you, Blanche? You wouldn’t dare betray me, but I hear you’ve set your sights on winning Richard back. That you’re part of this bizarre tournament everyone is buzzing about.” Hugh rolled to his side, propping himse
lf up on his elbow. “Your enticements couldn’t hold him before, why should they now?”

  He reached out and pinched her chin. The sun, pleasantly warm until his arrival, bore down on her with a vengeance. Sweat dripped down her neckline. She swiped it before it could stain her bodice.

  “’Twas I who left him.” And what a mistake that had been. She twisted her head until Hugh released her. “’Tis merely an act that I seek his favor now. His stupid ‘wife’ offered me the opportunity to get closer to him, so I took it. How better to find what we seek? Thanks to her absurd tournament, I’ll have access to Richard almost every day.”

  “What good is that? Think you he carries his father’s alchemy scrolls on his person? You’re moving too slowly. Time is running out,” Hugh warned.

  Her heart thudded. “What have you heard?”

  “My sources inform me that another alchemist is close to success. And rumors abound that several others have joined in the race. We must be first to bring the formula to the king, or all of our efforts will have been for naught.”

  “I’ll work harder, if only to prove you wrong. I tell you again: Richard doesn’t have his father’s scrolls or know of their existence.” Blanche emphasized each word. “It’s been years since his father died. If Richard had them, being the honorable man he is, either he would’ve destroyed them or given them to Edward. Then all would know of their existence.”

  Hugh took a deep breath, then spoke with great care as if talking to a dim-witted child. “What does Richard’s father’s folio of notes say?”

  She knew the ugsome book nearly by heart. “‘Most revered Lords, Readers of this Epistle, let it be known that with assistance from God I am Guardian of the most secret Essence, the Philosopher’s Stone.’”

  Saying the words sent a spray of needles up her spine. Never in her life had she thought to be involved with alchemy, the mystical science of transmuting base metals into gold. Anyone who knew how to combine ingredients into such a quintessence as the Philosopher’s Stone would command more power and wealth than the king.