The Bride Tournament Page 7

  He worked ceaselessly despite the late hour, first heating something that looked like salt over the fire in the raised hearth against the back wall, then pouring colored liquids from one flask into another, pausing to write every so often. Soot covered his apron.

  When the fire dwindled and Eleanor’s eyelids drooped, he yawned. Her father stacked the pages of notes and carried them toward the hearth. Her heart leapt with hope that he was giving up and would toss the pile of vellum in the fire. Instead, he set the pages at his feet. Her jaw dropped as he worked several stones free from the wall, placing each on the floor. He stuffed the notes into the hole he’d exposed, then returned each stone until the wall looked untouched.

  Satisfaction revived her. Her persistence had been rewarded. She’d never have uncovered that hiding place on her own.

  She ducked as Edmund de la Tour exited, locked the door and headed toward the castle. Obviously he didn’t know another key hung on her key ring. From her mother.

  She turned the key and slipped inside. Memories of her last visit flashed through her, when she’d searched for anything resembling a formula. Her goal had been destroy part of whatever she found to make him think he’d misplaced any missing pages. If she burned the lot, he might suspect her.

  “What in God’s name are you doing here?” He’d slammed the door. A glass jar had tumbled off the table and shattered, silvery liquid slithering into the dirt floor. “There go several hours, wasted.”

  Eleanor had shaken off remorse at being discovered. “You promised Mother you’d stop this foolishness!”

  “She’s no longer here to protest. Leave me to my work.” He picked up kindling from a basket and carried it to the hearth.

  “I speak in her stead. Do you even have a license?”

  He didn’t answer.

  “I thought not. Why do you refuse to see that the quest to turn base metals into gold can only bring ruin to all involved? Men have killed and will again to gain the secret for themselves.”

  He looked up from his notes. “You’re but a woman. What can you know of men’s ways? Whoever is the first to bring the true formula to the king will be rewarded beyond belief. And will know he has achieved a miracle.”

  “Or be murdered to prevent him from creating endless amounts of gold for himself.”

  Her father’s eyes glowed, so lost was he in his reveries. “That man’s fame will live forever. That is what I seek, a legacy.”

  Eleanor shivered, remembering. Driven by greed, her father would work himself to death if she didn’t stop him.

  It could take years to recreate any work she destroyed. He’d be furious, especially if he figured out she was the culprit, but any guilt would be mitigated by his betrayal of her, the need to fulfill her mother’s last wish and the belief that she was doing the right thing for him and her family.

  The dying fire shed just enough light. Standing on her toes to reach the stones, she grasped the first one her father had removed. She tugged ’til her fingers were raw, but it didn’t budge. To gain better purchase, she dragged a bench to the wall.

  “Let me help you.”

  She jumped at the sound of Richard’s voice. Her hands dropped to her sides.

  He stood in the doorway, one arm raised as he leaned against the frame. The fading fire emphasized his high cheekbones and deep-set eyes.

  Her heart thudded painfully. Had he seen her reach for the hiding place? Had she made matters worse by revealing the location of her father’s work, so Richard could claim it for Edward?

  “What are you doing here?” she demanded, sounding oddly like her father.

  Chapter 6

  “I could ask the same of you,” Richard said.

  Eleanor quickly masked her surprise and sat gracefully on the bench he’d watched her drag to the hearth.

  “I awoke to find you gone,” he said. “Again. As I searched for you, I saw your father heading toward the castle from this direction. And spotted your footprints.”

  What luck. Eleanor’s midnight wanderings had led him to the very place he sought, saving him hours of fruitless searching.

  He closed the door behind him. The dimly lit workshop was so similar to his father’s, bittersweet memories of working by his side flashed through his mind. But of course it would be similar, with its numerous alembics—glass vessels required for distillation—since his father and Eleanor’s had been partners. Disagreement over the best ways to proceed, over who owned the work accomplished thus far, forced them to go their separate ways.

  Mere months later, his father and his new partner were murdered. Two of his many scrolls of notes disappeared. Richard suspected Edmund de la Tour, but neither he nor the authorities had uncovered any proof. But he’d never been granted access to Edmund’s workshop.

  Until now. The proof he needed, had sought for years, could be in this very room. He itched to pull those stones free to learn what they concealed.

  “What brings you here?” he asked.

  She shrugged. “I needed peace. Our healer once lived in this cottage. As a girl I visited often.”

  That sounded plausible, but the way she cast her eyes down told him there was another reason.

  “So your father still plays at alchemy,” he said, eager to hear what she knew of her father’s activities, past and present.

  “More like pursues with a vengeance.”

  “Is he near success?” Richard’s heartbeat sped. Was her father benefiting from his father’s labors or his own?

  “I don’t know. ’Twas only recently I learned he’d returned to this workshop.”

  Richard wanted to be the first to provide King Edward with the means to obtain much needed wealth to fund his new kingdom, if doing so were possible. He needed to give meaning to his father’s years of work. First he had to find the missing scrolls to see if his father had in fact succeeded.

  His wife stood in his way. If he didn’t search the cottage now, he wouldn’t have another chance until they returned from court. Who knew when that would be?

  He lit and held up a candle. Eleanor’s unbound hair gleamed golden as the light passed over her. He had a sudden urge to take her in his arms, to start his seduction anew.

  “Your father was also an alchemist,” Eleanor said, her face unreadable. “My father told me. And I know you seek his formulas for the king.”

  Did she know they’d been partners, that her father had betrayed his? “No one knows when Edward’s alchemists will come up with the mix of ingredients needed to complete the process of transmutation,” he said.

  “The philosopher’s stone.” Disgust laced her voice.

  “And there’s also elixir vitae, the elixir of life.” He couldn’t keep excitement from his. “Such discoveries could change the world. Not only could we turn base metals to gold, wondrous enough on its own, but prolong life. Science and medicine melded for the good of all.”

  She jumped to her feet. “It’s heresy.”

  Unfortunate that their views on such an important aspect of his life were so far apart. “Do you believe in Communion?”

  “I see what you’re trying to do. That’s religion, a ritual passed down through the ages. Faith. Not the same at all.”

  Arguing would get him nowhere. “What do you know of your father’s experiments?”

  “Not much. He wouldn’t tell me when I asked.” A shadow seemed to pass over her. “The hour is late. Perhaps we should return to our room.”

  He bit back frustration. He’d get nothing from her this night. Not information, not consummation. “You’re right, Eleanor. This place is peaceful. I’ll stay for the nonce.”

  Richard moved to the bench, close enough to inhale her sweet lemon scent, and sat.

  “Then we shall share the peace,” she said, sitting beside him. “While we can.”

  She wasn’t going to leave him alone in her father’s workshop. He’d have to find a way to borrow her key.

  He smiled. “Let us share that and more.”


  Richard’s smile was so compelling Eleanor was nearly tempted to stay. But she had to get him out of here. Out of her way.

  He seemed uncommonly interested in her father’s workshop. His gaze had probed every shelf crammed with books, every nook and cranny. Did he want to know if her father was farther along than his had been, or did he seek something specific? She hadn’t mistaken the gleam in his eye nor his determination when questioning her. Had the mania attacked Richard also, driving him to steal her father’s knowledge?

  Fortunately it didn’t matter if he himself played at melting base metals, for she’d not be wed to him for long.

  “I’d leave you to your peace and seek mine elsewhere, but I must lock the door,” Eleanor said.

  “So your father won’t know you were here? I’ll do it. Give me the key.”

  Richard did want something. If she gave him the key, he might press it in wax to fashion his own for later use.

  He stood, then leaned back against the wall and crossed one leg over the other, but she sensed tension beneath his nonchalance as he held out his hand.

  As far as she could tell, everything of value lurked behind the stones. Clever though Richard was, she doubted even he’d find the hiding place. Unless he’d seen her pull on the stone.

  Did he approve of the quest, or was he just following orders? She dared not ask. Like as not he wouldn’t answer, for there was no trust between them. Nor did she want to reveal her own hand. In any case, his goal was pursuit of the transmutation formula.

  “A good chatelaine keeps her keys close,” she said, indicating the chain dangling from her waist.

  In an instant he was off the bench and had her pressed to the wall. “Was that an invitation for me to try to take them from you?”

  “No.” She couldn’t get out another word with his hard body against hers.

  Sliding slowly down her arm, his hand left a tingling path. His fingers closed around her wrist, his mouth inches from hers. She tightened her grip on the keys as he moved his fingers in a gentle circle over her shoulders, again and again, stroking her, lulling her.

  Slowly, he lowered his head to kiss her. She was appalled to find she wanted him to. Eleanor broke away before he could wreak more havoc on her senses, the wool of her gown sticking briefly to the stone wall.

  “You’ve already proved you’re stronger than I. But you won’t control me, I’ll see to that.” She marched to the door and swung it open, exasperated by her response to him and her failure to destroy her father’s notes. “If you want me to be ready to travel this morning, we’d best prepare.”

  “’Tis obvious you’re trying to get me away from this cottage. It suits my purpose to go with you. Never fear, I’ll find out what’s in this place and what it really means to you.”

  She’d alerted Richard’s suspicions, as he’d alerted hers. There was no way she’d escape his vigilance to return to the cottage before they left for court.

  But then, he’d not escape hers either.

  ’Twas two days into their journey to Windsor. The horses plodded along the road, keeping pace with carts laden with bedding, clothing and supplies. At this rate, combined with frequent stops, the trip from Northumberland to Berkshire would take weeks instead of days. Though she chafed at the delay and was unaccustomed to long hours in the saddle, Eleanor couldn’t help but appreciate the respite from her worries.

  She wouldn’t let her father’s watchful, disapproving eye affect her, and did her best to avoid and ignore him. There was nothing left to say.

  Thank goodness she and Richard were rarely alone. Due to the scarcity of rooms at inns along their route, she shared with her maid Mary and Alyce, while Richard stayed with his squire, Reginald.

  That didn’t stop Richard from finding dozens of ways to torment her. Like when he’d hold her hand—so she didn’t trip on rough ground. But his warmth and strength made her less steady than she was on her own.

  He was proving to be the most eminently attractive yet disconcerting man she’d ever met. As he rode beside her, more than once her gaze strayed to his mouth, remembering his kisses and wishing he would try to kiss her again. Wishing….

  She held her head high, as if enjoying the afternoon sun’s warmth and the lovely setting. In the space of a week she’d been wed to a man not of her choosing and wrenched from the comforting safety of what she’d once called home. Home, where she’d been queen of her domain and few dared say nay to her. Now she was under her husband’s thumb.

  At court she’d be a newcomer, with no authority despite being a countess. She’d have to share a chamber with Richard again, surely the most frightening prospect of all. The solution was to organize her bridal tournament posthaste.

  “We shall rest the horses here,” Richard called out.

  No, not again. She couldn’t bear any more of his “rests.” “Surely we’re not far from the next inn?”

  Richard bestowed one of his slow smiles upon her, the kind that set her insides to melting fast as butter in a hot pan.

  Why did he inspire her desire? Why did she yearn to see Richard again as soon as he left her sight? She shuddered. If this was how really caring for someone felt, she didn’t like it. She’d never felt this way about Arthur. For the first time, she wondered if she truly loved him.

  Of course she did. Not missing him constantly was her way of handling his lengthy departures.

  The group stopped beside a sparkling stream. Water splashed as it flowed over the rocky bed. Bright yellow gorse dotted green, rolling meadows.

  Richard reached up to lift her from Saffron. She tensed, knowing he’d slide her against him as he did every time he helped her dismount. His hands closed about her waist, followed by a brief sensation of weightlessness as he plucked her from the saddle, then came the slow, intimate descent while his green-eyed gaze held hers. He smelled clean and fresh despite their long hours on the road. The feel of his hard body unsettled her yet again.

  “Do you hunger?” he whispered.

  Not for food. “No.”

  His closeness made her uneasy. Choosing that moment to rumble, her stomach defied her.

  He laughed. She wished the sound didn’t please her.

  “Come then, I have sweetmeats in my pack.” He grabbed her hand, leaving her little choice but to follow.

  The horses drank from the stream and nibbled on greenery while the eight men accompanying them reclined on the ground nearby, some eating, some resting.

  Richard settled a short distance from the others on a flat rock surrounded by waving grasses. He seemed perfectly at ease. In a russet tunic, tight brown hose revealing powerful thighs, a hardy traveler replaced the elegant lord. He stretched, arm muscles flexing, broad chest expanding. He watched her with a slight smile, making her suspect this display of maleness was solely for her benefit.

  Eleanor remained standing. Being near Richard weakened her resolve.

  “Alyce,” she called. “Come join us.”

  “We’ll sup alone,” Richard said softly.

  Not if she could help it. But Alyce chatted gaily with Richard’s squire, clearly without concern for her sister’s welfare. Eleanor opened her mouth to call again.

  “If Alyce shares our meal, there won’t be enough food for you,” he said.

  She seethed. Richard couched orders in kindness. She glared, but he munched on an apple as if he didn’t have a care in the world.

  To eat or not to eat, that was the question. Give in to Richard, or preserve her dignity. Dignity prevailed over her growling stomach. She’d starve before she let him win, before she let any man order her around like she was a witless fool. She stepped away.

  Two steps later, a tug on her skirts jerked her to a sudden stop.

  “Sit, dear wife.” His voice was deceptively pleasant.

  Eleanor twisted. The expression on Richard’s handsome face was full of challenge. He released her skirts and with a wave of his hand indicated the spot beside him.

  She sat across from
him, but he smoothly shifted his large frame until they were so close their thighs seemed as one. His heat burned through her clothing.

  He displayed a piece of crystallized ginger between his thumb and forefinger. “Here.”

  He’d remembered their conversation about favorite foods. Was he being thoughtful or trying to tempt her into liking him? She reached for the sweet, but he pulled back.

  “Open,” he said as he leaned forward.

  She held out her hand.

  “Your mouth,” he whispered so near her ear the warmth of his breath tickled.

  Her mouth dropped open in surprise. He popped the sugared date between her lips.

  She bit his finger.

  He yanked his hand back. Then he smiled, the most seductive smile she’d ever seen. A shiver raced up her spine.

  “Ah, a most agreeable form of love play, my sweet. Are you so eager to eat me up?”

  Eleanor snatched another comfit from his pack and ate it. “No, I hunger only for your food.” She sat up straighter, peering over the grasses. If only Alyce would look her way.

  Richard’s finger brushed her cheek. Her hand hastened to cover the spot.

  “You had some sugar near your mouth,” he said.

  After they’d eaten, Richard raised his hand, catching his squire Reginald’s attention. The lanky blond lad jumped to his feet, ran to one of the carts and pulled something out.

  The youth returned with a lute. Richard accepted the instrument and a small piece of quill for plucking the strings. After strumming a few chords, he launched into a song.

  What new torture was this?

  “Le souvenir de vous me tue,

  Mon suel bien, quant je ne vous voy.

  Car je vous jure sur ma foy,

  Sans vous ma liesse est perdue.”

  She translated the French as he sang the sweet melody, “The memory of you kills me, my only love, when I cannot see you. For I swear to you by my faith, without you my joy is gone.”

  Her chest tightened as his long fingers moved over the strings. His rugged face seemed softer as his soothing bass caressed words meant only for her. The final phrase faded into the warm breeze.