by Anne O'Brien
Richard’s patience grew thin under her assault until it snapped.
‘Do we need the power of wax figures?’ His eyes were forceful, holding hers.
‘No.’ Elizabeth did not look away. ‘You need no power but your own.’
Sliding into her, Richard’s possession was forceful, thorough, outrageously satisfying, until Elizabeth found herself smiling, when she had thought she would never smile again.
Then physical desire flamed to blot out all harsh memories, all differences between them.
Chapter Ten
With clear weather from the west, the garrison at Ledenshall took to training in earnest and with some relief. It might be hard graft, but the physical demands relieved the monotony of the winter months. The Malinder men-at-arms stretched and worked their muscles as they honed their skills with sword and dagger, pike and halberd, in hand-to-hand combat. Every room in the castle, Elizabeth decided at some time within the first week of this activity, rang with the clash of metal against metal, the bellowed orders of the sergeant-at-arms. The plates of armour, susceptible to damp and tarnish, were unwrapped, cleaned, polished, repaired. Bows restrung, arrows re feathered.
Inevitably it became dull work. A bright morning saw a series of straw bales dragged into the flat combat area outside the barbican and the setting up of an archery practice in the form of a contest, with, to inspire interest and a depth of concentration, some serious betting on the outcome. It would, as the Lord of Ledenshall knew, add spice to the proceedings.
It had the desired effect of a holiday festivity. The sun shone, lifting pale winter spirits. Benches were provided for those who would be an audience, Master Kilpin offered to record the bets and a keg of ale miraculously appeared. The servants who could escape their tasks ventured out. Elizabeth dutifully took her seat. Mistress Bringsty stood behind with arms folded. Even Anne drifted down from her chamber, despite the keenness of the wind, well muffled in winter furs, knowing they would enhance her beauty.
The contest began. They used the longbow, much loved for its accuracy, speed of delivery of the long flight arrows, its power when delivering the final blow. Six arrows each to be notched, sighted and loosed at the distant, but distinct, splash of colour. Shoulder and arm muscles flexed and stretched to pull the impressive yew bows with their notched horn tips and bow strings of plaited hemp. Robert Malinder proved to be more than good and preened with typical, but charming, lack of modesty and an extravagant bow. His appreciative audience applauded after much informed betting on his achievements. His expertise was well known.
But Elizabeth wanted to see Richard, drawn to compete towards the end. A little thrill of anticipation shivered over her skin. It mattered to her, ridiculously so, that he should win, should prove himself in victory. How foolish she was! But that did not stop her waiting and hoping.
Only to be disappointed. Elizabeth quickly realised that Richard would never win, nor was it expected. Even the man himself admitted it with a negligent shrug as he flung himself down on the bench beside her to watch and cheer on his garrison. Archery was not his sport, never had been. His lack of the ultimate skill was accepted with tolerant good humour. After all, none could doubt the excellence of the Lord of Ledenshall with a sword and his ability with a lance astride a horse in the formal jousts. Ah, now there was a knight who could hold his own in any company.
In the end it did not matter. Elizabeth watched him as he took his stance, sideways to his selected target, as he ignored Robert’s enquiry as to which target he intended to hit and should they all take cover. Watched as the planes of muscle flowed and rippled under his tunic, smooth as water, as he pulled back the bow to full stretch, thighs braced, and sighted the yard-long arrow, as his dark hair was lifted by the light wind. Saw the utter concentration on his face, in his narrowed gaze, as he aimed and loosed the arrow. Saw and heard also his self-deprecating good humour, his hand some features vivid with laughter, as he failed to hit the centre.
Elizabeth saw and heard, allowed her eyes to linger on the long, lean lines of him and sighed. Her blood ran hot, her cheeks flushed. She thought, with a little puff of breath, that she was even more foolish than she had realised.
The contest came to its end. Master Kilpin stepped forwards to oversee the payment of the bets and Richard looked round the assembled crowd. ‘Does anyone else here wish to test his skill? Per haps we have a champion not yet discovered.’
On her bench, Elizabeth fidgeted as her fingers itched to hold a bow again, to feel the taut strength of the bow string as she notched her arrow. It had been so long.
‘My mother would forbid me,’ Anne murmured softly, disparagingly, as if she sensed her intention. ‘So presumptuous! I wager Richard would not approve.’
Which settled it. Elizabeth stood. ‘I will. I will take part,’ she stated, raising her voice. ‘If someone would be willing to risk a coin or two in a small wager on me hitting the target.’ She looked around her, caught the interested glances, the sly nudges.
‘Well, now… This I had not expected.’ Richard held out his hand and beckoned her forwards. ‘I presume, in the face of such a challenge from my wife, that I must be the source of the wager.’
Elizabeth walked forwards to the line, de lighted with his response, tucked her veil back into the neck of her gown out of the way, already having shrugged out of her cloak. Richard selected for her one of the smaller bows. Picked out six well-fledged arrows, sleek with their grey-goose feathers, and stood at her side. His lips curved, his eyes gleamed, caught up by the unexpectedness of the moment. Elizabeth took the bow, yet made no effort to face the target.
‘What is your wager, my lord?’ A solemn enquiry.
‘What is your intent, my lady?’ Equally solemn.
‘To hit the target every time. Otherwise I would not put myself on display here.’ Now her lips twitched.
‘Do I detect the sin of pride here? Then I’ll wager a gold noble that you cannot do it, my lady.’ He turned his head, raised his voice. ‘Master Kilpin. Do you hear?’
‘I do. For shame, my lord! The lady deserves your support.’
‘And so much for faith in my talents. Only one, my lord?’
Richard looked at her for a long moment, at the suddenly flirtatious curve of her lips, of the down-sweep of dark lashes. So many hidden facets to this woman whom he had married simply because she would bring a strong alliance in the March, hoping for an easy, tolerant relationship for political ends. Hoping that at best they would not dislike each other. Yet here she challenged him and he did not dislike it at all. What he felt for her was… Well, he wasn’t sure. But it was far different from easy tolerance. Then she glanced up at him, over the deadly weapon she held with such assurance, and his heart thudded, a strong bound in his chest, enough to take his breath.
All he could see, all he could think of, in that moment, was the indigo depth of her gaze that drew him in, then seemed to swallow him whole until escape was beyond him. He drowned in the rich blue sensation of sweetness. The warmth of the sun on his shoulders, the ripple of conversation around him faded. Her lips were parted as if beckoning him to take and taste. And did he not know how softly seductive they could be? They were all but a breath away, whilst her body was close enough for him to savour the sharp herbal scents she used in bathing, to feel the warmth of her skin as if the layers of linen and silk did not exist. Desire punched at his gut with astonishing speed. The muscles of belly and loins tightened uncomfortably, shocking him into an awareness of his very public surroundings.
‘Richard…?’ Elizabeth prompted.
Taking himself to task with a grimace, he bowed with formal acceptance. ‘Pride goes before a fall, Elizabeth.’ His breath was warm against her face as he whispered in her ear, setting up a trail of shivers along her spine. ‘Very well!’ he announced for the benefit of the crowd. ‘Two gold nobles that you do not strike the target.’
Indulgent laughter rippled around them. Confident, assured, Elizabeth took her sta
nce, lifted one of the arrows, notched it, pulled the bow string to her ear as she had indeed been taught. Focused on the target. And let the slender missile fly.
It hit the straw bale. Of course it did. She had not a doubt of it.
A silence settled on the little crowd.
She could feel Richard’s eyes on her. With an outward serenity she took another arrow, dealt with it in exactly the same manner. Then another, and another. Calm, controlled, perhaps the slightest toss of her head when she came to the final arrow, until all six were buried in the straw. And two of them within the red mark. A roar of appreciation rose around her. Elizabeth turned to Richard, flushed, bright eyed, successful. Victorious.
‘You lost, my lord. You owe me two gold nobles.’
‘So I do. And I will pay my debts.’ He took the bow from her, sliding an arm around her waist as he did so. ‘It seems that I need not fear for the defence of my home in my absence.’ Then he leant close and surprised her by kissing first her cheek, then her astonished lips most publicly, which made her flush even more. She had won his notice, his ad mi ration. His very public approval. ‘So who taught you so masculine a sport to such effect?’
‘It was Lewis,’ she replied simply. Elizabeth refused to drop her gaze when she saw the bright humour suddenly quenched, saddened that her brother’s name should cast them into a quagmire again, but refusing to allow the raw misery as memories flooded into the happy event. ‘Lewis taught me,’ she repeated. ‘He de lighted in angering Sir John. Lewis was very good. Better, I think, than Robert.’
‘And so are you, very good. I think Lewis would have been proud of his pupil today. And of her courage.’
Richard could not, Elizabeth thought, have spoken better. He took her hand, palm against palm, allowing the warmth to soothe her sudden grief.
‘Richard!’ Anne Malinder, in sis tent despite her pale and beautiful fragility, was suddenly beside them, her elegant long-fingered hand on Richard’s arm to draw his attention away from Elizabeth. ‘I was impressed with your skill. I thought you were magnificent.’
Breathless, Elizabeth waited. Would he see what Anne was doing? Would he still be oblivious to her talent for flirtation?
Richard laughed. ‘Then you must be blind, Anne. Here is your champion of the day. Not I, but my wife.’
A little line marred Anne’s smooth forehead, her eyes widened. ‘But is it seemly for the Lady of Ledenshall to promote herself in such a manner?’
‘Undoubtedly it is. My wife was the magnificent one in this contest.’
His smile was for Elizabeth alone and she breathed out slowly in a moment of intense and blinding clarity. Somewhere between his wagering gold against her skill, and this blatant compliment, she had… Well, what? What was it that she had done? Had she fallen in love with Richard Malinder? Elizabeth had no experience of love, but it was as if the arrows had struck her heart, wounding her for ever. Elizabeth might step back from an open avowal of love, but the realisation of strong emotion quivered through her, swamped her, filling her mind and her heart. But in a sudden moment of despair, it also kept her lips sealed. For how could she burden Richard with an emotion he did not want from her?
‘Then perhaps you will teach me, dear Richard?’ Anne persisted, dark lashes sweeping down to hide the emerald gleam of pure jealousy.
‘No, cousin. Your brother would do a far better job of that than I.’ Stepping back so that Anne had perforce to remove her hand, Richard raised Elizabeth’s fingers to his mouth, a deliberate act of owner ship, answering all her insecurities. ‘Let us go in and celebrate your victory in a cup of wine.’
And, turning their backs on Anne Malinder, they walked together.
Perhaps it was the foolish achievement. Perhaps the warm acclamation. Or even the pride in her husband’s face. For whatever reason Elizabeth opened her arms and her bed to her lord with a rare confidence and a light spirit. When he offered to demonstrate the accuracy of his own aim in fields other than archery, she encouraged him without reticence. Under the slyly skilful investigations of his hands and his mouth she discovered a whole tapestry of sensation of which she had no experience, and a lack of control that was un thinkable. Immediately, she struggled to free herself.
‘No! You must stop…’
‘Not in this life. You might even enjoy it.’ Richard’s tongue continued to slide along the edge of her collar bone to the swell of her breasts where he lapped at the swelling peak of a nipple. As for his finger tips—they knew no limitations as they dipped and tasted the dark wet heat between her thighs.
‘I might…’ If she had but known what it was. Elizabeth held her breath as his teeth grazed along the soft skin of her belly. Her fingernails scored into his shoulders as she clung on.
‘Unknown territory,’ Richard murmured, his breath heating her skin, setting off little ripples. ‘Look on it as an adventure. Afraid, Elizabeth?’
‘No. Never…’
And Elizabeth found herself driven to grasp Richard’s long-suffering shoulders even more fiercely as the shivers built in her belly, hot and sweet, to explode with bright light, like the tinted illustration of a shooting-star in one of Jane Bringsty’s more questionable documents, all fire and sparkle.
‘Oh!’
‘A true under statement,’ Richard remarked on a ghost of a laugh, still holding her safe, close guarded, as the tremors died away. Then with breathtaking speed he moved so that his body pinned her to the bed and she could not wriggle and escape. Not that she had the energy to do so until she re covered from the glory of it.
‘You look very smug.’ Elizabeth informed him, still shivering with the splendour of her discovery. His lips curved, his eyes gleaming in the soft darkness.
‘So I do.’ He pressed his smiling mouth to the shallow valley between her breasts. ‘And now, my Amazon, you can use your womanly wiles to torture me beyond bearing.’
Elizabeth did so, with most satisfying results, overcome with her new-found confidence. Whilst Richard, roused and pain fully ready, surrounded by her, driven to shattering completion by her, could only marvel at the depth of desire this complex woman distilled in him.
Chapter Eleven
‘Richard. I miss David.’
Richard had just returned home after accompanying Robert and Anne along the March on part of their journey back to Moccas. He had been away almost two weeks. Elizabeth refused to admit either to him or to herself how much she had missed him. The days of Richard’s absence had hung heavily. Hardly waiting for him to dismount from his horse, she had followed him to his bedchamber.
Richard seemed not to have heard her, so she tried again. ‘I wish David was here.’
‘I know.’ Richard eased his thick leather jerkin from his shoulders, un buck led his sword with a sigh of relief. ‘And I see no remedy for it as long as David is under your uncle’s authority. Perhaps when he’s older he’ll make a bid for freedom.’
Elizabeth pursed her lips. Increasingly estranged from her family, there had been no letters, no communication of any nature. Not that she had expected any, but she missed David and, when Richard was absent in the March and she was alone at night, she wept and dreamed of Lewis.
‘Perhaps. But I wish I knew…’
‘You wish you knew whose hand was on the blade, or whose gold bought the deed. You wish you knew whether it was mine.’
Uncomfortable, embarrassed, Elizabeth frowned down at her clenched fingers, astonished at how intuitively Richard could follow her train of thought.
‘And I can do nothing to help you,’ he continued as he stretched his hand to turn her face to his. ‘Except perhaps this…’
Surprising her, he leaned forwards, his hand sliding around the nape of her neck to draw her close, then rested his lips against hers. A light caress of mouth against mouth, until the soft pressure hesitated, withdrew until a breath separated them, then returned, warmed, deepened. The kiss lasted longer than either expected. Nor did Richard release her when he lifted his lips, b
ut continued to cradle her face in his palms. His eyes searched her face as he clearly followed a thought.
It had surprised him, and still did. A lot of things had surprised him recently. Like how much he had missed his wife over the previous days. How he had found his thoughts re turning again and again to what she might be doing, his over whelming concern being whether she was safe in his absence, whether she was content. Did she perhaps miss him? He dared not think along those lines, yet was forced to admit that he missed her. No, he had not expected this, and was uncomfortable with it. He frowned at her upturned face, held softly between his palms. The distrust was still there, however much he might try to deny it, and not much he could do about it, as he had just acknowledged. But the kiss had stirred his blood, his loins. He would like nothing better than to push her back on to the bed, strip her of that heavy woollen gown, no matter how elegant it might be, and re discover the slender length of firm pale skin beneath. Nothing better than to stretch over her, flesh sliding against flesh, and bury himself in her to assuage the imperative demand that must be as obvious to her as to him. He could do all of that immediately…
He was brought back to the present, reminded that he was frowning at her, when Elizabeth touched her fingers to his face, in an attempt to reassure him. ‘I don’t mean to blame you, you know.’
‘No. I don’t suppose you do, but the wound doesn’t heal, does it?’ She winced at the bleakness, but Richard shook his head to clear his mind of sheer rampant desire and deal with Elizabeth’s anxieties. He found it was becoming a need in him to do so. ‘Well, my troubled wife, it’s as quiet in the March as it will ever be. I could take you to Talgarth, I suppose, to visit your brother.’
‘You could.’ She discovered that she was holding her breath, not just from the kiss, but willing him to make the decision, to take the risk.