The Bride Tournament Read online

  But wait, who was that sitting next to him?

  Richard. Holding out his hand.

  “Eleanor, are you well?”

  Her disturbing vision burst like a bubble. Her thoughts crowded her tighter than the avid courtiers surrounding her. The sensation of Richard’s arm sliding protectively across her back unsettled her. His hand closed around her waist, holding her securely in place.

  “No,” she whispered. “I don’t think I am.”

  Another night without sleep. Richard threw back the covers, appreciating the cool breeze on his skin. The strain of his new marriage combined with the urgency of his obligations to the king and his new estates sent thoughts racing through his mind swifter than his fastest steed. Eleanor’s steady breathing should soothe him, but served as a reminder of the distance between them.

  Moonlight streamed through the windows and set her aglow. Her fair hair gleamed. The sheet clung to her, outlining soft curves he yearned to touch.

  Eleanor was truly beautiful in any light. If only she wanted him as he did her, wanted him as her husband in truth. He’d had no choice but to wed this woman who yearned for another and for whom he was now cursed with ever-present desire.

  She stirred, dislodging the sheet. The moon revealed the contours of her breasts and their gentle movements as she breathed. He grew hard remembering the feel of them beneath his fingers.

  Shadows concealed her beauty, taunting him. Closer he slid, then closer still, wanting to be near her. Her scent of sweet lemons floated up. Once again the moon illuminated his delectable wife.

  Whose eyes were now open.

  Her gaze locked with his, jolting him. Her eyes widened slightly and her mouth dropped open. Richard’s body responded anew. His skin prickled as if he could feel her stare moving over his thighs up to his chest, then down again. Her eyes widened as she focused on the evidence of his desire. When she met his gaze, hers was replete with invitation.

  Unable to resist, he bent his head and kissed her. A faint sigh escaped her as his mouth moved over hers. He felt her sleepy warmth beneath the fine linen gown.

  Eleanor clutched his arms, then ran her fingers through his hair. His tongue explored her mouth. With each heartbeat, he needed her more.

  Then she put her hands flat on his chest. To stop him?

  He broke their kiss to look at her and saw confusion mixed with passion.

  “Why am I so drawn to you?” Her voice was a mere whisper.

  He smoothed her hair. “Desire knows no reason. Nor can it be forced. Thus when found, should be cultivated like the rare flower it is.”

  “Is that another quote?” she asked with a smile.

  He loved her smile. “’Tis mine own, but I’d be honored should you wish to repeat it.” He bent to kiss her again.

  “But why you?” she persisted before his lips met hers.

  She meant, he presumed with annoyance, instead of Arthur.

  At least she found him attractive, though she fought it with all her might. He had to transform her attraction into ardor strong enough to bind her to him. If only he had more time alone with her without the flurry of court life combined with her preparations for the foolhardy tournament.

  He’d make the most of the moments they had, while she was where she belonged. Next to him, in their bed.

  “This can’t be right.” Eleanor shook her head. Yet as if of their own accord, her hands slid up to clasp his neck. Her fingers threaded into his hair. Holding him close. He liked that. “We shouldn’t.”

  “We’re married,” he countered. “This couldn’t be more right. It couldn’t feel more right.”

  Richard tilted his hips against her so she’d know his need. He caressed her shoulders, then ran his hands down her back, slowly, soothingly. She didn’t resist.

  He had to taste her again. Their mouths blended in a deep kiss, hard and demanding. Their tongues met, hers tentative at first, then growing bolder, exploring. He held her close, then his fingers sought her breasts through her gown, stroking the undersides. He squeezed gently, appreciating how her breasts filled his hands. She was so soft, so tantalizing.

  A gasp escaped her as he toyed with a firm nipple. She arched her back, yielding to his touch. Her eyes were open, wide with sensual surprise.

  “You like that.”

  “I, well, yes,” she admitted.

  Her arousal heightened his. Richard appreciated the irony of his success. He’d tried to woo her, to court her as gentleman should court a lady, and had only fallen deeper under her spell. To awaken her interest, all he’d had to do was take off his clothing. Kiss her. Touch her.

  Hunger surged through him. But he didn’t want to pounce like an overeager youth. Patience, he cautioned.

  Before she could protest, he tugged her gown up and over her head, eager to see all of her. Her eyes had darkened to deepest violet, her smooth, white skin and gentle curves completely exposed to him for the first time. She lay still as he gazed upon her, from her ankles to the golden hairs between her legs, up from her perfect breasts to her reddened lips.

  “You are so beautiful,” he said.

  The urge to kiss her breasts was overwhelming. He bent his head to each soft mound with reverence. His tongue meandered. When he reached the peak, his mouth closed over her.

  Eleanor jumped, dislodging him. She sat up, hair aswirl. She scrabbled for her sleeping gown, then tossed it over her head. Staring at the linen folds as though they contained answers to her every question, she gripped the fabric close.

  “We can’t do this,” Eleanor said hesitantly, as if she searched for a valid reason. In an instant, the glow disappeared from her eyes. “’Twould not be fair to the other brides.”

  “I don’t care about the other brides.” Richard bit back a variety of curses. “I’m married to you.” He’d been so close to success. “You mean to continue with your tournament, even now?”

  “Yes?” Her answer sounded like a question.

  “I know you enjoy talking with me. I know you enjoy my kisses,” he persisted. “Why do you fight me?”

  “You know why. Don’t make me say it.” Her fingers tightened on the robe.

  “Say it. Go ahead, Eleanor. Make me believe every word that comes out of your mouth.”

  “Because I still plan to wed Arthur.”

  “Exactly as I thought.” Her statement should’ve stung, but didn’t. “I don’t believe you. You say that by rote. There’s no emotion or conviction. Stubbornness makes you refuse to see the truth.” Richard flopped onto his back, unable to conceal a grimace of unsatisfied desire.

  “I shall do what I set out to do,” Eleanor said. “Why is that so difficult for you to accept? You look ill of a sudden. Shall I fetch you a compress?”

  Despite his aching flesh, he smiled with satisfaction. She did care for him, even if she couldn’t admit it yet. And her obvious ignorance proved she’d never lain with another man, never before experienced the intimacies they’d shared. Not even with her beloved Arthur. As it should be, but among long-betrothed couples, often was not.

  Eleanor clearly tried to resist the wondrous sensations he evoked in her. Refused to accept their marriage. He could be just as stubborn as she. Richard determined to renew his gentle assault on her until he satisfied needs she didn’t even know she had. Then she would be his wife in truth.

  Then she’d cry off her tournament.

  Tomorrow night couldn’t arrive soon enough.

  Eleanor returned to bed, but rolled away from Richard. She couldn’t face her husband, partly from embarrassment at her response to his caresses. Her entire body hummed the way her harp resonated after the strings were plucked. That she wanted more made her cheeks burn.

  Surely she wasn’t so shallow as to fall for his attractive form alone. Yet when she’d opened her eyes and feasted on his bare chest, the way it tapered to his waist, his flat stomach, his—she felt herself blush—his maleness standing proud, strange yearning flooded her. She’d wanted to press he
rself against him and feel his skin against hers. To know what it would be like to have him inside her. Even now, all she wanted was to curl up close and have him hold her as they slept. To feel safe and secure in his arms.

  Thank the Lord she’d found the strength to stop before they’d gone any further. Was this a test to see if she could remain loyal to Arthur even as Richard tempted her? Everything had changed…too much, too quickly.

  Earlier in the day on her way through the bailey, she’d watched a group of boys playing with marbles. She understood the poor toy’s plight: being slammed by another marble, knocked about against your will, landing somewhere you never intended to go but couldn’t stop yourself, having to adjust to your new situation before being smacked again when you least expected it.

  How could she keep Richard and her increasing desire for him at bay until she knew for sure what she wanted?

  Chapter 12

  Encouraged by Eleanor’s response to his kisses, Richard spent the day half-hard anticipating the night to come. Never before had he been so enthralled by a woman. Because he couldn’t have her? Owen would laugh for hours if Richard confessed how much he yearned for his wife. Perhaps any man would want a woman who so frequently tempted but had yet to fulfill her sexual promise. How much was Eleanor the woman, and how much was needing to consummate in truth? The need to be in control?

  He couldn’t be sure.

  By the time they were alone in their chamber, he was more than ready. Had she spent her day in the same state, or had her thoughts been of the tournament? Of Arthur? He prayed not as he stood, waiting, clad only in tight hose.

  His wife looked at everything but him, as she had on their wedding night. She peered into her clothes chest, then arranged the contents. Yet the silence wasn’t awkward, but tinged with anticipation. Next she focused on the ewer of water and brass basin for washing as she prepared for bed. If she didn’t stop, she might rub her skin raw on the linen towel.

  Richard crossed to stand behind her. She started, but didn’t turn, rigid as a soldier on watch. He sighed. Clearly they wouldn’t pick up where they’d left off. He’d have to melt her resistance afresh.

  She tested his patience. But waiting so many years to resolve his father’s alchemy achievements or lack thereof had honed it. Persistence would prevail in both cases. The prospect of another night of unsatisfied need prompted him to augment his efforts.

  Richard brushed her hair aside and ran the tips of his fingers down the side of her neck. So smooth. He placed a row of tender kisses from her collarbone up to her jaw. Ever so slowly he rubbed her back with long, languorous strokes. Her closeness, her fresh lemon scent ensnared him. When she relaxed, he slid his hands past her ribs to cup her breasts, appreciating their weight. His thumbs teased the peaks to tautness.

  How he wanted to touch her again. How he wanted her.

  He placed his hands on her shoulders and turned her to face him. “Tell me now. Should I stop?”

  No answer.

  His erection throbbed. “Eleanor?”

  She looked at him, her eyes darkest amethyst. “You intrigue me,” she whispered. “I want you.”

  He exulted in her reluctant admission. “Then you shall have me. I’ll show you many things I know you’ll enjoy. We both will.”

  “But we can’t.”

  “Why?”

  “I can’t seem to help myself, Richard. I don’t feel in control.”

  Concealing a smile, he said, “This isn’t about control. It’s about feelings. And being open to having them.”

  He kissed her. The first sweet taste of her spurred his need. His mouth moved over hers in a multitude of soft kisses, tempting her to respond. She sighed, then kissed him back with surprising fervor. His tongue met hers as he deepened the embrace, as he encouraged her heady responses.

  She couldn’t know what her kisses did to him. Each time he was with her and grew more familiar with her body, his desire increased. Imagine what it would be like to be inside her.

  He pulled off his hose. Her nightgown was the final barrier. He slid the garment up and tugged it over her head. She did not protest, but raised her arms to assist him. As it dropped to the floor, he clasped her close. The fullness of her breasts met his chest, his thigh instinctively slipped between hers. He was lost in the sensation of her body touching his.

  But he wanted more. “Touch me.”

  Her expression yielded a mixture of uncertainty and desire.

  He put her hands around his waist. Tentatively she explored his back. With greater confidence, her questing hands moved to his arms, lingering over his biceps, then across his chest, teasing his skin. The sight of her small, pretty fingers touching him added to his desire.

  Eleanor wanted him, at last.

  Richard had planned to make their first time together a leisurely experience full of deep, sensual kisses. He meant to allow her time to get acquainted with his body, his touch. But he was about to explode and her alluring sighs indicated her eagerness.

  Capturing her mouth in a potent kiss, he guided her to the bed. Her golden hair spilled in glorious disarray as she lay waiting. Waiting for him. He moved over her and pushed the shining locks aside to expose her full breasts, then took one hardened peak into his mouth, sucking gently. He tweaked the wet nipple as he tongued the other. She squirmed beneath him.

  The waiting, the constant thoughts of Eleanor had aroused him more than he had thought possible without release. He could wait no longer.

  Richard slid his hand between her legs and discovered sleek moisture. She was ready for him. Instinctively her hips lifted, sending his fingers gliding over her tender flesh. She moaned as he found a sensual rhythm.

  Soon he’d sink into her and her hot wetness would surround him. The anticipation was almost enough to send him over the edge.

  A low cry from Eleanor made him stop. His heart plummeted. Had he gone too fast? Did regrets beset her?

  “Eleanor, sweet, what is it?”

  She blushed, a delicate rose spreading across her cheeks. “’Tis only, well, I had no idea it could be this good,” she said.

  “I shall ensure that you like the rest even better,” he said.

  “First I want to touch you,” she whispered.

  She reached for him as he resumed his gentle assault on her. The feel of her hand on his erection made him wild. He couldn’t take this. He needed to be inside her. Now. Right now. But her hand moving on him, the pleasure seething inside him was too great.

  Then she rose up against his fingers, tilting her head back as she found her ecstasy.

  “Richard,” she breathed.

  That was all it took. His own release overwhelmed him.

  He spilled onto the sheets.

  Thank God, she was yet a virgin.

  As wondrous, rolling waves of pleasure dissipated, Eleanor controlled her breathing. Richard remained beside her, silent, no longer touching her. She thanked the clouds for covering the moon. She couldn’t bear to face him now, either to reveal her embarrassment or to see the look of cocky victory sure to be on his face.

  The first sight of his flawless, masculine form last night had weakened the dam of her resistance. Tonight, all he’d had to do was touch her and she melted like snow in the sun. His caresses had released her desire in a flood. The way his thumbs tantalized her nipples made her want to cry out, then the rasp and warm wetness of his tongue on them had actually made her moan aloud. His body pressed against hers had infused her with yearning. She hadn’t known for what until she burst into indescribable bliss.

  She’d succumbed to her irrational desire for Richard even as she sought another bride for him. She was weak, as her priest often said women were.

  ’Twas painful to admit Arthur paled in comparison. She hadn’t spent much time in his company over the past years. Had she, in her romantic dreams, imagined a better man than truly existed? Perhaps she wanted him out of habit, because she hated change. Take her mother’s untimely death. How it had alter
ed her life and her father’s moods. What if her determination to choose her own husband blinded her to the truth?

  No, ’twas Richard who was blinding her to the truth. He was the first man who had truly courted her. What she needed was Arthur. She had to see him and let the comfort of his presence obliterate her yearning for Richard.

  Her unwarranted attraction to her husband stood in the way. As much as her traitorous body wanted to, she could never kiss him again or she’d risk the downfall of her lifelong dreams.

  As if in answer to Eleanor’s prayers, the next day Arthur returned to Windsor.

  Richard stuck to her like a burr on her stocking, yet wasn’t nearly as annoying. She finally escaped his vigilance by encouraging the brides-to-be to whisk him away for a ride.

  Just before he left, he said, “I’ve news. If you’re wondering why Arthur is here, ’tis because he’ll wed Margaret on the morrow.”

  Eleanor clenched her fists to control the impulse to scream. “You’re worse than my father,” she said. “How could you kiss me last night and do—other things while concealing such news? You expect me to trust you, yet you refuse to do the same.”

  Richard smiled a seductive smile that elicited unwelcome memories. “I meant to tell you. But I had other things on my mind.”

  “You could have told me as we broke our fast.”

  “He wants to marry her. Not you. There’s nothing you can do.”

  “Don’t ever tell me that again.”

  “Which part? That Arthur doesn’t love you?” He smirked.

  “Oooh.” To think she’d almost allowed him to consummate their marriage. To think she’d doubted her feelings for Arthur. “I can’t wait until the tournament. Then I shall be unshackled from you.”

  “We’ll see.” Richard was insultingly smug.