The Bride Tournament Read online

  Reginald had refused at first because she was no longer Richard’s wife and lacked authority to command his squire. In the end, fears for his lord’s safety and hers persuaded him to join her.

  Those same fears kept Eleanor on edge. Mayhap she was mad as Alyce had said. She couldn’t stand still, doing nothing, waiting for Owen to turn up. And if Richard’s men wouldn’t help her, who would?

  She tried to ignore the pain nipping at her after hours in the saddle. She tried not to worry about everything that could go wrong, yet dire thoughts paraded through her mind as determinedly as soldiers on patrol. If they got lost, if brigands prowled this road and chose to attack, if they were too late, if Hugh’s men captured her, too….

  At last the round towers of Pengormel rose in the distance. The rising sun illuminated signs of disrepair: gaps in the walls, missing stones.

  “Lady Eleanor, the gate’s closed. I don’t see a guard,” Reginald’s voice wavered, revealing his fear.

  Eleanor stared at the weathered wood barrier. How could they gain entry? What if she’d been wrong, and Hugh and Richard weren’t even there?

  Suddenly the gate swung open, revealing a cluster of bedraggled men brandishing daggers and rusted swords. She and Reginald exchanged a nervous glance.

  “Maybe we should leave,” he said.

  Surely facing a group of armed men with only a squire was the most foolish thing she’d ever done. What if she led Reginald into certain death? But doing nothing would have been even more foolish.

  She swallowed rising panic. “Look, they invite us in.”

  “How do we know it’s not a trap?”

  “We have faith.” Her hands shook on the reins as they rode forward, but she held her head high. She may not be a countess any longer, but she was still a lady, far above this pack of ruffians.

  “I’m Lady Eleanor de la Tour. Take me to Sir Hugh,” she commanded in the most imperious tone she could muster.

  “This way,” a heavily-bearded man grunted.

  The inside of Pengormel looked no better than the outside. Small buildings sagged, some reduced to piles of rotting wood. Meandering sheep were filthy and emaciated. Only the main keep directly ahead seemed in good repair, a square limestone stronghold.

  A scraggly, greasy-haired man reached for her reins. She fought her reluctance to hand Saffron over. Not only was the mare her only means of escape, Eleanor didn’t want her maltreated.

  Another man escorted them into the great hall, such as it was. A small fire burned in the huge fireplace. No tapestries or banners graced the smoke-stained, unpainted walls or the timbered ceiling. Reginald followed close behind her.

  Sir Hugh, seated with several men at a rickety table, didn’t rise. His lean face registered surprise, quickly veiled. Where was his mother?

  “Countess? I mean, Lady Eleanor.”

  How she wished people would stop doing that.

  A fat man in ragged clothes made a lewd gesture. The others laughed.

  “Enough.” Hugh raised his cup in a salute. “What brings you here?”

  Richard and Blanche were nowhere to be seen.

  “Lady Latimer invited me,” she lied. “I’d grown weary of court, and wasn’t ready to return home.”

  Hugh frowned. Did he believe her? “Lady Latimer is…indisposed.”

  So Blanche was there. Could Richard be, too? “Perhaps I can be of assistance if she’s unwell. I have some skill in healing,” she offered. Thankfully her skirts hid her unsteady legs. Thankfully Reginald stayed close by her side.

  “That won’t be necessary,” Hugh said.

  “I’m parched from my journey. Might I have something to drink?”

  Hugh nodded. One of the men brought and set down a pitcher and a cup with reddish crust on the rim. Good thing Eleanor didn’t plan to indulge.

  Not surprising that she’d have to serve herself, but in this case doing so served her purpose, too. As she picked up the pitcher, Hugh waved to his men. They moved away from the table and conferred. Devising a strategy about what to do with their unexpected guests?

  She turned her back and held the pitcher away from their line of sight. In her other hand was a small vial she’d fetched from the apothecary before leaving the castle, which contained a drug guaranteed to put any drinkers to sleep. Her heart pounded as she poured the contents into the wine, then refilled each man’s cup.

  This has to work. It has to.

  After filling hers, she mustered good cheer and a hearty tone. “Come, let us drink.”

  With wary glances, the men returned to their seats. They drank deep while she toyed with her cup. Eleanor released a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

  “You’ve come at an opportune time,” Hugh said with obviously false politeness. “I have need of you.”

  One of the men snickered.

  “I need information. I tried asking nicely, but the Earl of Glasmere just wouldn’t share.”

  She forced herself to remain still and keep her face blank. She had guessed correctly. Richard was here.

  “Then I asked, shall we say, less nicely. That selfish earl still kept quiet.”

  Eleanor felt herself pale. Her mouth went dry. “What do you think I can do?”

  “When he sees you, maybe he’ll be more helpful. ’Tis a shame Blanche was unconscious before I thought to use her. But you’ll do. Would you accompany me to the dungeon?”

  Eleanor tensed, prepared to flee. How could she escape and free Richard?

  Then one of the men fell forward. His head plopped into his bowl, splattering gravy onto the table. Another tumbled off the bench.

  “What the—? You drugged us! I’ll make you pay.” Hugh staggered toward her.

  Reginald stepped in front, but Hugh swept him aside as he would a fly. He slapped her so hard her head snapped back. Pain flared. He toppled forward, knocking her down and pinning her to the garbage-strewn floor, so heavy she could barely breathe. She tried to shove him off.

  Reginald headed for her, aghast. “Lady Eleanor!”

  “Behind you.” She couldn’t draw in enough air to scream.

  A fat man hit Reginald on the head. He collapsed in a heap.

  The drug claimed the men one by one as Eleanor pushed to dislodge Hugh. At last she slid free, then tugged her gown from beneath his legs. A large ring of keys hung from his waist.

  Her throbbing face and swelling eye were the least of her worries. She snatched the keys and hurried to Reginald, who had a nasty lump on his head but was breathing. She grabbed a torch and lit it in the fire.

  Now to find Richard.

  Eleanor hurried down the only staircase and through the corridors, stopping at every door. Storage room after storage room, mostly empty. The last door was locked. She held up the ring of keys. Which was large enough to fit? Aha. She opened the heavy door and burst into the dungeon.

  As she ran across the stone floor, she took in the dimly lit, large room. A pervasive, dank stench made it difficult to breathe.

  Thank the Lord, she’d found him.

  Richard was chained to large metal rings high on the wall. Blanche and Lady Elizabeth were chained to the opposite wall. Worse and worse. Hugh had chained his own mother. Both women’s heads drooped onto their chests. Lank hair draggled over torn gowns. Asleep, unconscious, or dead.

  She hurried toward the man she loved. Tears rushed to her eyes.

  “Richard,” she whispered.

  Both eyes were swollen, bruised purple-black slits. Dried blood lingered on his split lower lip. His hair was matted, his clothes shredded and streaked with grime. Through a tear in his tunic, a red welt marred his chest.

  “By the rood, Eleanor. What are you doing here? Get out!” His voice was scratchy and hoarse.

  “I’m glad to see you, too. I don’t see any of your fellow Knights of the Garter rushing to your rescue. You should be on your knees thanking me. Oh, forgive me, you’re chained to the wall.” How did he manage to raise her ire with only a few wo
rds, and in such a dire setting? “We’re safe for the nonce,” she reassured him.

  “I meant, get out of here before they do this to you,” he rasped.

  “That’s better.”

  “Who hit you?”

  Lightly she ran her fingers over her cheek. “Sir Hugh. ’Tis nothing. I copied Blanche’s idea and drugged their wine. He figured out what I’d done just before the drug took effect.” If only she knew how long they’d stay asleep. “I’ve got the keys. Can you walk?”

  His injuries made her wince, but she was so relieved to see him her legs felt weak.

  “I think so. How did you find me? Why did you come?”

  “First let’s set you free. How are Blanche and Hugh’s mother?” The chill air made her shiver, numbed her fingers.

  “Don’t know. Neither have moved for a while,” he answered. “I’ve lost track of time. Are you alone?”

  “No. Yes. I couldn’t find Owen. Reginald is here, but Hugh’s men hit him on the head.”

  She fumbled with the ring of keys. The first didn’t fit Richard’s heavy manacles. His skin was rubbed raw around the metal, so she tried to be gentle even in her haste. Any pain she caused was sure to be minor compared to what he’d already suffered.

  “Reginald? Of course. I sent Owen away,” he said. “How many drank your wine?”

  “Seven.”

  “Damn. There must be more men in this castle.”

  “I didn’t dare search for others.”

  The next key didn’t work either.

  His head dropped against the wall. He licked his dry, chapped lips.

  Neither did the next key or the next. Panic swept through her. Her hands shook, making the keys rattle.

  None fit.

  “So hot,” he whispered.

  Richard was hot and she was freezing? Eleanor felt his forehead and swallowed a scream. He burned with fever. Oh, no. She hadn’t counted on this. Her plan was falling apart.

  What was she going to do? With two women unconscious, Richard very ill, no way to free them….

  “There must be another set of keys,” she said. “Don’t go away, I’ll be right back.”

  She needed a bit of humor to lighten the oppressive tension. He didn’t respond.

  Eleanor ran, holding up her skirts. She retraced her path down the long corridor and up the stairs, panting hard.

  Reginald hadn’t moved. Seven men remained slumped over the table.

  Quickly she searched each, leaning back as best she could to avoid their various disgusting odors. She couldn’t identify some of the things she felt in their pockets, but there were no keys. She dropped to her hands and knees, ignoring the filthy floor. No luck there, either. Her heart pounded as she wiped her hands on a rag.

  Richard must be right, there were more men in this castle. Awake men.

  And one of them must have the keys.

  Chapter 20

  Richard opened his eyes. The cold, damp dungeon wall barely appeased his heated flesh. Fever devoured him. Whether brought on by festering cuts on his wrists and ankles from the chains or drinking putrid water, he didn’t know. How long had he been ill…days, weeks? How often was he lucid? He wouldn’t last much longer.

  Because delirium had set in. He was seeing things.

  But what he had seen! An angel in the form of a disheveled Eleanor, coming to rescue him. He laughed, a hacking sound more like a cough. The rational remnants of his mind knew no woman would try to save a man or could invade a castle without significant aid.

  Yet he thought he remembered hearing her voice and the jangling of keys. Hadn’t he felt her soft, cool hand on his forehead and the soft caress of her hair on his neck? Hadn’t he smelled her lemony scent, so out of place in this chamber of despair? More likely he’d only imagined her. Desperation born from isolation, injury and misery brought the person he most wanted to see to life.

  If he had to die, at least his final thoughts would be pleasant ones. Thoughts of Eleanor.

  The woman he loved.

  Another harsh laugh escaped him. He must be going mad. Not only to admit he loved at all, but to realize it when chained in a dungeon….

  He’d never have the chance to tell her.

  His eyes drifted shut again.

  Keys, keys. Where were the keys?

  Eleanor raced through Pengormel, searching room after room. Time and luck were running out. The slumberers could awaken at any moment. Or she could encounter men who hadn’t drunk her wine. Then she, Richard, Reginald, Blanche and Elizabeth would be doomed.

  Eleanor moved on to the dilapidated structures outside. Fetid air and cloudy skies made everything dreary. Avoiding clucking, scrawny chickens and sheep, she rushed to the small gatehouse.

  Her heart skipped a beat. There, on the wall opposite the door, dangled a ring of keys. But to get them, she’d have to reach over the burly man dozing beneath. She’d hadn’t seen him before, so he couldn’t have partaken of the wine, yet he slept tipped back on his stool with his scruffy, gray-streaked head inches beneath the keys. Her heart thundered as she sneaked closer.

  Closer still. Her fingers itched to get those keys. Keeping an eye on him, she rose on her tiptoes and cautiously reached over his head. His ale-washed breath made her gag.

  Her hand touched the key ring. Though she wanted to grab it and flee, hasty actions and jangling keys might startle him awake. Eleanor forced herself to move with care.

  Ever so slowly her fingers closed around the metal circle. Ridges of rust scraped her fingertips. Bit by bit she lifted the ring off its nail and over the guard’s head. A rumbly snore froze her, stretched out over in his face. He slept on.

  She had the keys.

  Suddenly the stool fell from beneath the guard. He crashed to the floor. His eyes widened.

  “Where do you think you’re doing, you pretty baggage?” he roared, grabbing her skirts in his meaty hands.

  She ripped them free. And ran.

  “Wait ’til I get my hands on you. I’ll show you what’s what,” the guard called. “To arms, to arms!”

  Her feet flew over the dirt yard. Harsh breathing told her he was close behind. She swerved around a bleating sheep and almost tripped over a slow-moving goat. Sweat pooled between her breasts.

  “I’ll get you, wench,” he shouted. “Don’t think I won’t.”

  As she reached the castle door, she glanced over her shoulder. The guard was doubled over, wheezing. Faster, faster she dashed to the dungeon, past still slumbering men, down the stairs.

  Richard’s chin rested on his chest. His eyes were closed.

  Her chest heaved as she caught her breath. She pressed her hand against a cramp in her side. “I’ve—got—more—keys.”

  He didn’t move.

  “Richard, wake up. Please, wake up.”

  First key, no. Second key, no. Third key, yes!

  She unlatched his manacles. No longer held up by chains, Richard collapsed to the stone floor.

  She dropped to her knees beside him. “Oh, dear Lord. I’m so sorry.”

  “What?” he mumbled, face down.

  “You’re awake. We have to leave. There’s a guard after me. Who knows when the others will awaken.” There was so much more she wanted to say. No time.

  “Too hot. Tired.”

  “Please, Richard. You must stand. I need your help to get us out of here.”

  Why hadn’t she considered that he might be incapacitated? She would have come for him no matter the odds she faced.

  He braced his hands on the stones and pushed himself to his knees. “Dizzy.”

  “You can be dizzy later.”

  With all her might she tugged, helping him to his feet. He swayed, then balanced himself against the wall. She clutched him, offering her support.

  “I can walk,” he said, his voice scratchy and low. “Let’s go.”

  “What about Blanche? Elizabeth?”

  “We’ll have to come back for them.”

  They held hands
as they made their way down the corridor, Richard gaining strength with each step. He used the wall for support as they climbed the stairs.

  “My thanks, Eleanor,” he said. “I’ve never known a woman so brave. Or so foolish.”

  She smiled. Richard must be feeling better.

  “What awaits us upstairs?”

  “Seven drugged men, an unconscious Reginald, one awake guard who’s furious and huge, but slow,” she answered.

  “I want you to stay out of danger. Can you promise me that?”

  “No.” Eleanor shot him a glare.

  Richard stopped short. He caressed her good cheek and leaned in. “I can’t be worrying about you. I must focus on the enemy.”

  She placed her hand over his. God willing, they’d survive this so she could tell him the truth. Even if he threw it back in her face, she had to share her love. “I promise to be careful.”

  They hurried into the great hall as the guard entered the main door, sword in hand. Richard grabbed a sword from a sleeping man’s scabbard.

  Eleanor froze. She didn’t want to watch the upcoming fight, yet felt compelled to.

  Richard looked as though a breath might topple him. Despite his admonition, she had to help. She couldn’t wield a sword, but perhaps she could find a weapon in a poker or pan. Wary of the sleeping men, she backed toward the hearth.

  “Get up, sluggards,” the guard yelled to the insensible men. He slapped one on the back as he stormed toward Richard.

  Reginald struggled to his feet and clutched his head.

  Richard’s sword clanged against the guard’s. He stood tall, as if energy flowed into him from a hidden source. He slashed and swung, muscles bulging. The guard was no match for Richard, even injured and ill. A powerful lunge sent Richard’s sword through the guard’s gut. He fell to the floor with a resounding thud.

  She’d never seen this side of Richard, the fierce knight. His fortitude amazed her.

  “Let’s get out of here. The three of us can’t carry two women. We’ll send for help.” Richard pulled the sword free, then wiped it clean on the dead man’s shirt.