The Bride Tournament Page 11

  “And he writes that he shall secure the decoction through his heirs,” Hugh said. “So Richard either has the formula or has memorized it.”

  “You search with me,” Blanche suggested. “I’ve tried to encourage Richard to discuss his father’s work. He won’t. He barely talks to me these days. Obviously I can’t tell him what I’m really after.

  “If the formula is written, we don’t even know what form of writing to seek. The missing scrolls, another folio of scribbled notes, or perhaps a scrap of vellum? Even if we knew which castle or manor to search, each has too many possible hiding places.”

  Hugh’s frown made her regret her outburst. She couldn’t afford to offend him or his mother. No one but they knew the dire financial straits she faced. Her presumed wealth had earned her admittance into Eleanor’s tournament, but she’d have to falsify records to participate in the actual event.

  She had no home. Her dower lands had been sold to pay her debts. Hugh had purchased the clothes on her back. At the moment, he too lived in fear his resources would dwindle, relying as he did on his mother’s charity.

  She had to turn the tables. “I’m surprised the guards granted you admittance. Has Edward reversed your attainder?”

  “No, ’tis another reason why I came. Never hurts to try to convince Edward of my loyalty in these times of strife. My presence should reassure him I’ve changed sides.”

  “Unless he thinks you a spy.”

  “Which brings us back to the beginning. That’s why I must be first to bring the Philosopher’s Stone, the elixir of life, the means to transmute metal to gold, to the king. ’Tis the only way to convince the king to return my properties. The only way to regain wealth in my own right.” Hugh scuttled closer and put his arms around her. “Come to my room. I’ve missed you.”

  “Hugh, stop.” She forced herself not to recoil when his strong scent made her gag. “We shouldn’t even be seen together, unless we’re arguing, or I’ll be taken out of the running. Richard doesn’t trust me as it is.”

  Disgust washed over her as he took her hand. But she wouldn’t let it show.

  “Perhaps you’re right,” Hugh agreed. “But you’ll still come to me in secret. Whenever I like. Secrecy will serve to heighten our pleasure. You’d best not make me beg or I’ll make you regret it.”

  Blanche bit back a sharp retort. She had no one but herself to blame. Her mistakes, her need to rise ever higher, had led her to this sorry pass.

  All she had to do now was the impossible: find the formula for the Philosopher’s Stone, something alchemists had tried to discover for centuries with or without their secular or religious leaders’ permission. Something King Edward desired. If she did, she’d be free of Hugh. She’d move far away, where no one knew her past. Never again would she be any man’s whore. She’d start anew.

  But for now, she must play her part, distasteful as it was.

  After making sure no one was nearby, she ran her hand down his chest to his nether parts and fondled him. She succeeded in raising a small bulge. ’Twas all this maggot of a man could produce.

  His breathing was already heavy. “Not now. Later. Blanche, leave me.”

  For now, she obeyed.

  Later that night, Richard lay awake. How could he sleep with Eleanor beside him?

  He’d tried not to care for her, to stop wanting her, but her beauty and unique personality drew him. Her intelligence. Her only flaw was her refusal to want him. Perhaps that reluctance heightened his interest….the thrill of the hunt. Each time he thought he might breach the wall she’d built between them, she put up another defense. Cunning as a lord defending his castle under siege.

  He could make out her profile in the light of the dwindling fire. He enjoyed watching her sleep, the only time she was still enough that he could admire her beauty. Her hair spilled over the covers, almost touching him. As he reached for a glistening lock, bringing it to his nose, he knew himself for a lovesick cow. Dropping the strands as if they’d burned him, he cursed his body’s response. Just looking at her, merely catching a lemony hint of scent, aroused him. And wasn’t enough.

  He closed his eyes. Why did he want a wife who hoped to wed another man and wished him to marry another woman? Who despised his work? There was no way they’d consummate this marriage now. How could he stay married to her as he needed to? As he wanted to?

  The sheets rustled. Richard opened his eyes to see her facing him, eyes closed beneath the hair draping her face. Taking care not to disturb her, he slid closer.

  Eleanor’s movements had disrupted the tight cocoon of coverings she wrapped around herself each night, as if the doing of it could protect her from him. Her thin linen nightgown hinted at the tempting treasures that lay beneath.

  He wanted Eleanor. And he would find a way to have her.

  Chapter 10

  “You’ve been married for several weeks without any love-jousting?” Richard’s brother Owen slapped his thigh and burst into laughter. When he recovered, he asked, “Is aught amiss in your nether regions?” That spawned another gale of laughter.

  Richard didn’t appreciate being on the receiving end of his brother’s sarcastic wit. As soon as Owen arrived at court, they’d taken advantage of a break from work to ride out for this peaceful, private glade in the Great Park, as far from the courtiers as he could get. The tranquil, sunny day opposed his stormy mood.

  He stretched out on the grass, hands folded behind his head, and closed his eyes. Not even his brother would see how Eleanor’s recalcitrance troubled him. “She won’t lie with me.”

  Owen’s laughter rang out again, echoing in the quiet. “This is why you sent for me, dragging me away from a liaison with a most pleasant and accommodating widow? I rushed here, fearing trouble afoot. Never did I imagine you needed assistance with a woman.”

  “Not just any woman. My wife. I hoped the master of seduction would yield some secrets,” Richard replied, his voice rife with mockery. He was tempted to grab his sword and show his brother who was the better man, in swordplay at least. But he needed advice first. “I assumed either duty or interest would make Eleanor accept our marriage. Neither has.”

  Telling his brother the details of his unusual situation rankled and made it more embarrassing. He was a powerful, intelligent, wealthy man. How could he allow a second woman to bring him to doubt his worth? He thought he’d learned his lesson.

  Richard opened his eyes to get his brother’s reaction to the worst of it. “I know why. Because she hates alchemy and thinks it the devil’s work. Because she still loves Arthur, her former betrothed.”

  Silence.

  “What, no witty retort?”

  Owen’s expression was serious for once. He toyed with a leaf. “Have you looked at this from her point of view? I can’t imagine the shock of waking up planning to marry one woman and ending the day wed to another.” He winced. “Or even the shock of being told whom to wed. My selection of a willing wench for even a nightly romp is a careful process, much less a woman who’d be bound to me for the rest of my life.”

  “I fault her father for not informing her of the change in grooms. Naught can be done to change that,” Richard said. “There’s more. Eleanor has further defied me, her father and Edward. She seeks to find me a better bride.”

  Owen stared. Then his eyes narrowed. “You’re not usually this amusing. Tell me you jest.”

  “If only I did.” The awkwardness of his plight hit him anew. He tipped his head back, allowing the sun’s warmth to assuage his tension.

  “Your wife is going to find you a bride.”

  “Your ears work well.”

  “Unbelievable.” Owen remained silent for a few moments.

  He and his younger brother were similar in so many ways, from appearance to temperament. But their differences made them need each other to achieve balance. Owen’s ability to analyze a situation and come up with creative solutions was unmatched. On the field of battle, Owen strategized while he, Richard, led t
he men. If left to his own devices, Owen would wallow in pleasure and mirth, while Richard preferred work over enjoyment.

  “Do you want Eleanor, or might you be happier with a different bride?” Owen asked.

  “I want her.”

  “Because you can’t have her?”

  “No, nor because I must stay wed to her. Because I desire her.”

  Owen tilted his head, as he always did when he was about to make a proclamation about Richard’s character. “Just desire? Nothing more?”

  “I hold true to the vow I made after the Blanche debacle.”

  They recited in unison, “Women are fickle, not worthy of trust. Never to love but desire when you must.”

  Richard laughed with his brother, but melancholy shadowed his merriment. He’d never forget the pain loving Blanche had caused. Never.

  “I enjoy being with Eleanor, as I haven’t enjoyed other women,” he admitted. “She’s different. She doesn’t profess to care for me, nor is she trying to snare or flatter me.”

  “Quite the opposite. Aye, she seems to be honest in her disdain of all you have to offer.”

  “For once I believe some of what a woman says to me. But how can I sway Eleanor from the man she thinks herself in love with?” he asked. A vision of her laughing with Arthur flashed through his mind. “Yet she must have some care for me. She selected each woman—”

  “There’s more than one?” Owen was nigh on choking.

  Richard handed him the wineskin he’d brought. He sighed. Best get it all out. “There are five. Eleanor is arranging a bridal tournament.”

  Perhaps he should’ve waited until Owen swallowed. Red wine spewed forth, most of it dripping onto the grass and not his clothing.

  “You get five women?”

  Richard retrieved the wineskin. “She wanted me to have a choice. As I was saying, she selected each of them with my likes and dislikes in mind.”

  “How thoughtful. You could forbid it,” Owen suggested as he dabbed at a wet spot on his hose. “The king gave her to you and you want her. Why indulge Eleanor if you intend to keep her in the end?”

  “I want her because she’s different. Her determination to achieve her goals impresses me, even if this goal seems a foolish and frustrating one.” He sat up and took a drink, admiring their peaceful surroundings as he wished for peace in his heart. “Better to let her play her hand but see to it I emerge the winner of the game. Should I refuse, if I strong-arm her into staying with me, her stubbornness would keep us from ever having a marriage that thrives. I know that as surely as I know the sun will rise on the morrow. Every time she came to me, I’d wonder if she did so because she had to.

  “Eleanor must choose me of her own accord. Then, knowing her as I do, she’ll never let me go. She holds on to what is hers with fierceness. In that we are alike.”

  “More fool you to fancy such devotion. She’s already your wife. Why risk losing her to another?” He reached for the wineskin. “And what if you change your mind? What if you prefer one of the other brides in Eleanor’s stead?”

  “I won’t.” Richard sensed she was the only woman who would satisfy him. “But should one of them truly prove better, how can I lose?” Just saying it made him feel ill.

  Damn Eleanor. Why did he have to care for her? He thought of his attempts to woo her, how each time he kissed her she seemed to concede a little more ground, seemed a bit more attracted to him. The battle was far from won. He’d have to work faster, harder to make her cancel the tournament.

  “What of the others?” Owen asked. He leaned forward on his elbows, enthusiasm for the concept seeming to win out over his original doubts. “Can I choose after you?”

  Richard smiled. Owen looked eager as a youth about to get his first pup. “Why not, should you find one to your liking. All are wealthy. Some already have children, some more lands, some more gold. Each is prettier than the next, but none as fair to me as Eleanor.”

  Owen laughed again. “Despite your fine vow, you seem a lovesick fool. A sight I never thought to see. Next you’ll be on your knees serenading her like a minstrel.”

  Richard wouldn’t give his brother the satisfaction of learning he’d done just that. Nor would he tell Owen about the poem he’d recited or the supreme efforts he’d made to take things slowly with Eleanor while restraining his interest.

  Owen rose to one knee and sang a bawdy lay. The horses nickered at his discordant sounds, not even close to the actual tune.

  “Despite your tendency to annoy me and the fact that you sing like a braying ass, I value your opinion above all others. I want you to be one of the judges.”

  Eleanor held her borrowed copy of René d’Anjou’s Livre des Tournois, Treatise on the Form and Organization of a Tournament. She forced her gaze from glorious paintings of knights riding sumptuously caparisoned horses to concentrate on his advice. Alyce sat opposite her at a long wood table, her pen flying across pieces of parchment, pausing only to dip in the ink.

  Richard sat beside her. Since he was to be the recipient of the winner, she couldn’t find a way to say him nay when, despite his busy schedule, he’d asked to be part of the planning. She wouldn’t let his intense gaze or nearness bemuse her. Not at all.

  Did she imagine the glint of sadness in his eyes?

  She continued reading aloud. “The king of arms must say to the judges, ‘Noble and redoubted knights, honored and gentle squires, I have come before you to advise, request and notify you on behalf of the very noble and very powerful princes and my very redoubted lords that if you wish to please them you will take charge of organizing, and be judges, of a very noble tourney and bouhort of arms that has recently been undertaken by them.’”

  “Slow down,” Alyce said. “I’m only at ‘very noble and very powerful princes.’”

  “I’d be happy to write a summary of tourney rules for you,” Richard said.

  “My thanks, Richard, but I’d prefer to take them straight from the source. I’ll ask for your preferences in certain areas, if you like, but I’d not trouble you with mundane administrative issues.”

  “Since my future is at stake, ’tis no trouble. But proceed.”

  “My thanks again.” Was he trying to bait her? “‘These lords have agreed together to choose you over all others on account of the great fame of your valor, the renown of your intelligence and the praise of the virtues that have long endured in your noble persons.’”

  “That’s quite a long book. Do I need to copy every word?” Alyce set down her pen and shook her hand. “I’m not sure how long I can keep this up, so—”

  A page approached and bowed. “Your Grace, the king has requested you to join him.”

  Eleanor managed to hold back a sigh of relief.

  Richard rose. “Since time is of the essence, Eleanor, I’ll not ask you to wait to continue until I can return. May your plans meet with much success.” He kissed her hand, then her cheek, and left with the page.

  His warm breath, the soft brush of his lips, his fresh scent set her blood racing.

  “Eleanor. It’s not too late to stop this foolishness,” Alyce said. “I’ve seen the way Richard looks at you. And the way you look back.”

  Alyce could be quite annoying.

  “Be that as it may, mutual interest isn’t love. It’s not enough for my marriage.” Eleanor returned to the treatise. “The judges choose the day and place of the tourney. Then ‘one of the pursuivants of the company of the king of arms, who has a very loud voice—’”

  “How do you know your feelings won’t grow with time? Does Richard delight you? Do you want to live with him instead of Arthur?”

  Alyce’s questions made her squirm. Unfortunately, the more she came to know him, the more she liked him. Richard was wonderful in all aspects save one. Could she come to care for him the way she had Arthur, despite his pursuit of alchemy? She lacked sufficient time to be sure.

  Focus on the task at hand. “‘Who has a very loud voice ought to cry, taking three gre
at breaths and three great pauses: Hear Ye, Hear Ye, Hear Ye. Let all princes, lords, barons, knights and squires of whatever marches that are in this kingdom and all other Christian kingdoms, who are not banished—’”

  “Enough!” Alyce cried.

  Eleanor looked up in surprise. There was yet so much work to do. “I can easily adapt these rules to meet our needs, but you must help me.”

  “End this folly and stay married to Richard. Once the tourney is cried, the entire court will know you don’t want him. If you change your mind after that, it will be too late. Have you thought about how all of this makes him feel?”

  Yes. He needed their marriage, for duty and personal gain. But what of his efforts to woo her? “Are you with me or against me? I need your support.” Not only her assistance in preparing for the tournament, but also her belief that Eleanor was doing the right thing.

  “I want what’s best for you,” Alyce said. “And what will make you happy.”

  “Both require having the power to choose my husband. One who isn’t caught up in alchemy.”

  “It seems Richard cares for you, and you enjoy his company.” Alyce set down the pen and capped her inkwell. “Mayhap you can have all you desire. Mayhap you can choose. Make Richard your choice and all will be well,” she pleaded.

  Eleanor closed the heavy treatise and pushed it aside. If only her troubles were as easily displaced. “I confess I’m not sure what I want anymore. When I’m with Richard, it’s exactly as you say. I come alive. I savor our time together, then think of when I’ll next see him. But he’s too deeply entrenched in his vow to help Edward achieve alchemy. You’ve seen what the quest has done to Father, heard tell of others. It’s like a disease that consumes all sense and reason. And for what? These supposedly smart men, including the king, are not only wasting their time and money, they’re endangering their souls. Don’t you agree?”

  “Our priest says some priests are alchemists. And that Mass involves transmutation….”