The Bride Tournament Page 16

  “So, brother, what is so urgent?” He piled several pillows on the bed and flopped against them, arms behind his head.

  Dizziness washed over Richard again. If he consumed anything, he risked it coming back up. How long would the effects of that cursed drug linger? He grabbed a pillow from beneath his brother and carefully reclined on the other end of the bed.

  Richard described his meeting with Blanche and Eleanor’s unfortunate discovery. “I believe Hugh put Blanche up to this. He wants Father’s alchemy writings.”

  Owen jumped off the bed. “By my troth, do you have Father’s scrolls? Did he discover the formula for the Philosopher’s Stone?”

  “I don’t know,” Richard said. “I have eighteen of Father’s scrolls. The other two and his folio of notes are missing. I spent hours studying his numerous drawings of the alchemical process, but couldn’t come up with a workable formula. If it exists in the scrolls I have, ’tis so well hidden Father’s own apprentice couldn’t find it. The secret could be in the other two scrolls, or elsewhere. Or nowhere.”

  Richard’s thoughts wandered to Eleanor. What was she doing? How could he ease her mind?

  “We must search for the missing scrolls so we can give all twenty to Edward,” Owen said. “I’ve heard his alchemists work night and day. For certes they could use Father’s information.”

  “I need to tell you something,” Richard said, heart heavy with memories. “You were away in service to your lord, unaware of the unusual circumstances surrounding Father’s death. About the day Father believed he’d discovered the mixture for the Philosopher’s Stone.”

  “What? And you never told me?”

  “You’d have abandoned your duties to join me if I’d told you.” He continued, “I overheard Father and his new partner, Sir Thomas Cromer, celebrating. They were certain they’d finally created the remedy to restore the long ill King Henry’s health. While I shared their joy, I also feared for them. What if they failed to cure him? What if he took a turn for the worse, or died? Their reputations were at stake.

  “They never had the opportunity to present their discovery. Father and Sir Thomas were killed that afternoon, shortly after I left. Their workshop was ransacked.”

  “And you didn’t think I’d want to know such details?” Owen asked, his expression incredulous.

  “I thought to protect you,” Richard replied. “There was nothing you could’ve done I didn’t try.”

  “I still would’ve liked to know.” Owen dropped onto the bed. “What of the scrolls?”

  “Fortunately, they were well hidden, scattered in different locations. Perhaps the murderers have the missing two. It’s been almost five years. If thieves had the formula and it was viable, they’d have put it to use.”

  “Maybe their thievery was interrupted and they had to leave some scrolls behind. Maybe, like you, they couldn’t make sense of the contents. Or what if there was a substance they couldn’t find?” Owen sat up straight.

  “Any of those things could be true. The scrolls are replete with strange symbols and detailed drawings. Mayhap Father wrote in elaborate code only he and Sir Thomas could decipher.”

  “Who knows which scrolls contain essential information? We have to find out if the formula exists. For the nonce, back to Eleanor. How has she taken all of this?”

  “She despises alchemy because of her father and thinks it’s the devil’s work and. They aren’t speaking because Edmund established a new workshop, violating a deathbed promise to her mother. So I haven’t shared everything about our father.

  “I considered Edmund the primary suspect because he and Father parted so acrimoniously. Not telling Eleanor was wise. Blanche drugged me, so who knows what she or FitzWalter would do to Eleanor if they thought she knew something?” He rubbed his temples to ease the pounding in his head. “Now what? Are all women this much trouble?”

  “As with fighting, one learns from experience,” Owen answered. “I’ve had some feminine predicaments in my day, but none as bad as this. Give me a moment until a solution comes.” He closed his eyes. A few seconds passed in silence. “Lo, I have it.”

  “Already?” Richard sat up, regretting the abrupt movement when lights danced before him. “Well?”

  “You must tell Eleanor the whole truth.”

  Richard snorted. “That’s your solution? How does this sound: ‘My erstwhile betrothed drugged my wine so I’d reveal the formula for the Philosopher’s Stone, which my father is believed to have discovered.’ Even if I could forego my concern for Eleanor’s safety, how can I expect her to believe that? Or care, when she’s so against alchemy?”

  “It’s called trust, Richard.” He shrugged. “You should try it.”

  Owen’s all-knowing tone irked him. “You know better than to expect me to trust a woman.”

  “Mayhap there is one woman among the masses who’d never betray her man. I can see you care for Eleanor despite your best intentions. What if she wants you, too?”

  He couldn’t admit the depth of his feelings. “Even if I wanted to, how could I win her trust?”

  “You don’t win trust, you earn it,” Owen said, a smug smile on his face.

  “The damned tournament is in four days,” Richard grumbled.

  “Then, dear brother, you don’t have much time.”

  Fie on her sister and her practical advice. Eleanor stormed back to her own chamber.

  How dare Alyce refuse Eleanor a place in her bed? Alyce wasn’t the one who had to deal with a traitorous, albeit temporary, spouse.

  She didn’t want to face Richard again tonight. All she wanted was some sleep. Maybe the new day would bring a fresh approach to her problems.

  She pulled off her headdress and shook her hair free. The thing made her head ache. Her shoes clacked on the stones, so she slowed as she approached her room. She tiptoed to the door, not wanting to wake Richard. Maybe he wasn’t there. What if he’d returned to that cozy nook to finish what he started with Blanche?

  No, not that. Never before had she suffered such maddening, strong possessiveness for a man. As long as they were married, Richard was hers. That was that.

  Eleanor squeezed the latch. The hinges’ high-pitched squeaks made her wince. Richard couldn’t have missed that noise. But firelight revealed an empty bed. The ebullient, dancing flames mocked her. Her headdress dropped to the floor. She stood motionless in the too empty, too quiet room, awash with pillow feathers.

  Where was her husband?

  Her heart ached. Would the pain fade? She was afraid to search within herself for the answer to Alyce’s question. Did she love Richard?

  God help her if she did.

  “You’re here.”

  Eleanor jumped.

  Richard had returned. She could breathe again.

  “I’m pleased,” he said. “I hope you’ll give me a chance to explain.” He threw another log on the fire, then gestured to the small table and stools in the corner. “Please. Will you join me?”

  Nerves on edge, Eleanor sat across from him. She wasn’t sure she wanted to hear this. On the other hand, she burned to know that despite what she’d seen, he hadn’t wanted to be with Blanche. Her heart, it seemed, had defected from her head. She needed to know Richard wanted her.

  “The truth is more than strange, I grant you.” He reached out as if to take her hand, then apparently thought better of it and crossed his arms. “But here it is. All of it. Blanche put an aphrodisiac in my wine so I’d lose control of my wits and give her my father’s alchemy notes and formula.”

  Eleanor burst into laughter. She couldn’t help herself. His skin was pale, he moved more languidly than usual, but…. “A good tale, but I’m sure you can come up with something I’m more likely to believe. Do try again.” She laced her fingers.

  “I’ve never lied to you, but I haven’t told you every detail about my past, either. There was no need, given that you don’t plan to remain my wife.” Richard leaned on his elbows. “Owen says I should trust you
.”

  Relief soothed her. He’d gone to see Owen. Not Blanche.

  “He says one earns trust by trusting. So I’ll tell you things only my brother knows. My father was one of the few alchemists licensed by Henry VI. When common remedies failed to cure the king’s unusual, long-lasting ailment, his physicians and Queen Margaret resorted to all sorts of treatments, no matter how bizarre.”

  She shuddered. “Back then, I knew so little of my father’s alchemy work, not even that our fathers were partners. As I saw the man it turned him into I began to hate it. And understand the ramifications of success.”

  “Of course I’ve considered them, as well. Our fathers were appointed to the alchemy commission created to cure the king,” Richard said. “And they worked even harder to seek the quintessence, known as the Philosopher’s Stone, reputed to be the secret of transmutation.

  “Nothing interested me more than my father’s work, from setting up the distillation apparatus to the sulfur and mercury we used. That is, until I was old enough to grasp the dangers of succeeding and the precarious position such a scientist would find himself in. Alchemy is science. Not evil in itself, or from the devil.”

  “I don’t agree.”

  “Have you ever looked at it from the king’s point of view….how many people he could help with more gold?”

  “No, because the concept is heresy. Not science or medicine, but magic.”

  “We’ll have to agree to disagree on that. I do agree that some science can bring out the worst in some men.”

  Whether Richard had the discipline to not succumb to alchemy’s lure like other men wasn’t the most important thing. The pursuit in and of itself was. Could their rift be mended?

  “I saw similar things with my father,” she said. “Fear of failure, either from offering the king controversial advice, or by ingested stuffs doing more harm than good. Combine that with constant suspicion and fear of anyone who might steal a successful formula and misuse it.”

  “Exactly. Because of such possibilities, I accepted the Duke of York’s invitation to join Edward’s household. I began training to be a knight at an older age than most. Shortly thereafter, our fathers had their argument. Mine found a new partner. Several months later, they were murdered.”

  Eleanor gasped. “I had no idea. I’m sorry to hear that.”

  She took his hand, trying to focus on their conversation and not how good it felt to be so near him. Alone with him, and away from the distractions of court.

  “Father wrote a series of twenty numbered scrolls containing his findings. In several, he hinted that he had discovered the Philosopher’s Stone. Scrolls seventeen and eighteen have disappeared, either hidden or destroyed by my father or stolen by his murderer.”

  A fascinating tale. But why did Richard trust her with his secrets? “You must have suspected my father.”

  Edmund had kept this, too, from her. Her blood chilled. She added more logs to the fire.

  “Yes. Despite an investigation, no proof was found.”

  “I’m glad of that.” Yet Richard must not be convinced, or why would he have seemed so interested in her father’s workshop? She faced him, steeling herself to learn more. “Where does Blanche fit in?”

  “As I said, she drugged my wine, hoping to make me reveal any secrets I might know.”

  “Why would she do that?”

  “I suspect she’s low on funds and owes Lady FitzWalter money.”

  “What?” Eleanor couldn’t conceal her surprise. That bit of gossip hadn’t reached her. “No wonder she seemed so eager to participate in the bridal tournament.”

  “Blanche has no source of income. Her husband died without a groat to his name.”

  Eleanor collapsed on the bench near the fire. What would she have done in Blanche’s place, with no coin and nowhere to live, no family to care for her? She shook off any sympathy.

  “Whatever her plight, she drugged you. She lied about her wealth in order to take part in the tournament. Perhaps she has done worse things. Are you telling me being penniless justifies Blanche’s actions?”

  “No, I’m merely suggesting what desperation can do,” he said. “How it can change people.”

  “That’s no excuse.” But he was right, desperation stole good judgment. Look how her father had broken sacred promises to her mother.

  “Like Arthur, FitzWalter’s son was attainted by King Edward. My guess is he hopes to earn Edward’s favor by offering him the priceless formula. Worse, he may use it to make himself the wealthiest man in all of England.”

  “As I fear my father would,” she confessed. “Alchemy is a practice of the occult, thus heretical. His soul is at stake. I must stop him.”

  “So that’s what you were doing in his workshop the night before we left for Windsor. Trying to hinder his progress.”

  “I led you right to it. You hoped to find your father’s scrolls.” Should she tell him of the hiding place behind the stones, help him serve Edward? No. Because then she’d be a contributor, when all she’d wanted to do was remove everything alchemy was and stood for from her life.

  Eleanor’s head swam. Richard’s tale sounded so far-fetched, yet he’d spoken with sincerity. “Do you have your father’s alchemy formula?”

  “No. Blanche obviously doesn’t believe me. I don’t know if my father dared commit the details of transmutation to writing, but I can’t assume he didn’t.”

  He took her hands. The warmth of his touch reassured her. Again she realized how much she’d missed even such simple contact with him. Just looking at him, talking with him, no matter the subject.

  More the fool she.

  “I want you to be careful. As a way to get to me, Blanche or FitzWalter might try to harm you,” he warned.

  She pulled her hands away. “My thanks for your concern. I think it’s unfounded, as everyone knows we won’t be married much longer. It isn’t as though you love me and would be devastated to lose me.”

  “They know you’re mine for now. That’s what matters.”

  Eleanor couldn’t restrain a shiver. How closely he mirrored her thoughts of a few moments ago. Was belonging to each other, the commitment to go forward as a team, the key to marital happiness? Was accepting something significant that you despised about your spouse worth the cost of all you enjoyed? Was love as elusive as alchemy?

  Here was the crux of the matter. “Knowing what you know, what would you do with the formula if you found it? Destroy it, test it, or give it to the king?”

  Richard sighed. “A conundrum, that. Edward wants to fill his coffers and create a symbol of rebirth and hope for the future, which would benefit us all, and England. ’Tis my duty to serve him as best I can, yet blind devotion is not for me.”

  Silence reigned while Eleanor absorbed Richard’s answer that wasn’t an answer. She wished she could read his expression. “I believe finding the key to alchemy will lead to disaster, fueled by greed. Whoever succeeds will be ensnared by power and think to rule the world. Or, if he gives his discoveries to the king for sizeable reward, no matter how Edward endeavors to keep them close, someone with nefarious intent will steal them. Evil begets evil.”

  “Evil does beget evil. But you’re jumping to conclusions.”

  “So are you.” Enough of this topic. “We’ll never agree. So back to tonight. Why did you go to Blanche?”

  “She sent a note, begging me to meet on a private, urgent issue. I’m sorry I agreed, sorrier still you saw what you did.” His thumb caressed the back of her hand, relaxing her.

  “Blanche told me you once loved her. Perhaps you still do. Perhaps if not for your duty, you’d have wed her instead of me,” Eleanor ventured. Her voice cracked. Her heart beat faster as she awaited Richard’s reply.

  If he spoke true, he hadn’t willingly betrayed her. He was still the honorable, desirable man she knew him to be.

  “I did love her, to my peril. Now I am married to you,” he said.

  What kind of answer was that?
Perhaps Richard wanted to appease them both. Keep his current wife happy and placate the next one.

  She wished she could be sure of him. The pain she’d suffered this night outweighed the joy of the kisses they’d shared and even the intimacy. Waking up with him each morning, the way he’d wooed her…. She couldn’t live the rest of her life with a man who could so easily lift her high one moment and bring her so low the next. No man, no person, should have so much control over another.

  The alchemy of love.

  No. No. She did not love Richard.

  “Eleanor, you must cancel, or at least postpone indefinitely, your tournament.”

  She stood, outraged. “What? How dare you demand this?”

  “I don’t know what Blanche or FitzWalter will do next. There’s no way for me to protect you in a crowd,” Richard said.

  “You don’t need to protect me. Look to save your next bride.”

  “Until our marriage is officially over, ’tis my duty to keep you from danger. I keep what is mine, whether it be a goat or a wife.”

  Duty again. Anger sizzled hotter than butter in a cook’s pan. He cared nothing for her as a woman, as herself.

  “The sooner a new bride is chosen for you, the sooner I’ll be safe,” she snapped. “Then you can protect her. And the rest of your livestock.”

  She was a possession and an obligation. Not special or esteemed. To think she’d wanted him to kiss her, hold her. And had almost given him the precious prize of her virginity.

  So why did she feel so bad?

  This unpleasant night had revealed an even more unpleasant truth. Despite her best efforts to remain aloof, despite his indifference, she didn’t know if she could stop caring for Richard.

  Even as he withdrew from her.

  The next day, a page in Edward’s livery with its large sun in splendour badge on the chest interrupted Eleanor’s scrutiny of the final tournament details in the library. She loved the aged smell of shelf after shelf of books, and the peaceful silence.

  “The chamberlain of the Royal Household requests a meeting?” Eleanor stared at the note the young boy had handed her. “Why would he want to see me?”