Mary Gillgannon

by The Leopard

  Astra had traveled the Thames several times before, but she had never found it as unnerving as she did tonight. The dark water swirling around the boat made her stomach dip and sway. The wherry seemed pitifully small compared to the rain-swollen river. She clutched the edge of the boat tightly and struggled to keep the gorge from rising in her throat.

  She stared at the riverbank to distract herself, seeing the city from a new perspective. It was nearly twilight, but the shapes of houses and buildings were still visible through the mist. Huge ships were anchored along the docks. Their masts rose up in a ghostly forest. As they passed the bend of the river, Astra saw open fields and gardens beyond the city. Then the river’s edge grew crowded again, with great warehouses for storing goods arriving from French ports as well as Genoa, Venice and the Baltic.

  London Bridge loomed ahead—nineteen stone arches spanning the river from Bridge Street to Southwark. The current of the river grew faster. Astra held her breath as they sped down the formidable causeway. Abruptly, the oarsman steered the wherry toward shore and guided the boat to dock at a large quay.

  “Queenhithe,” he announced in a bored voice.

  Astra gathered herself together and climbed unsteadily onto land. She searched the nearly deserted wharf for Richard. Panic engulfed her as she realized how alone and vulnerable she was. A shadowy form loomed up behind her, and she opened her mouth to scream in terror.

  “Astra. Beloved.”

  Shaking with relief, she allowed Richard to embrace her. He smelled warm, sweaty and wonderfully, reassuringly male. As his hot, plundering mouth found hers, she almost forgot her resolution to resist him until they talked. Then his hands slid beneath her cloak. Astra pulled his fingers from her bodice laces and stepped back.

  “Richard... I... I must talk to you.”

  “In due time, my love. First, we must find a warm, dry place.”

  She nodded. The mist had thickened, covering everything with a fine, bone-chilling dampness. Richard took her arm and began to lead the way down the quay. Astra had to walk rapidly to keep up with his long, powerful strides. Several times she attempted to begin the conversation she wished to have. He insisted it could wait until they reached their destination.

  “Where are you taking me?” she finally asked.

  “Southwark.”

  Astra stopped walking. Her memories of the crude settlement on south bank of the Thames were very unpleasant.

  “What’s amiss?”

  “Southwark is a place of sin and abomination. I don’t want to go there.”

  “You will be with me. I will protect you.”

  “But why must we go there? Certainly you know of its disgusting reputation.”

  “Disgusting, aye, but also private. No one from court will think to look for us there.”

  Astra sighed and allowed Richard to take her arm again. She didn’t relish the long walk over the bridge and the feeling of suffocation that afflicted her as the houses crowded in above them, shutting out the sky.

  “Why didn’t you have me take a wherry to Southwark? I am tired of walking.”

  “Shush, love. I could not risk you arriving in Southwark before me. I shudder to think of you in such a place by yourself.”

  His voice was tender, soothing. Astra decided not to argue. It made her sound like a peevish fishwife. That was hardly the way to win a man’s favor, to entice him to propose.

  As much as she dreaded Southwark, Astra was relieved when they reached the massive gate at the end of the bridge. As they walked the narrow passageway over the bridge, her breath clawed in her chest, as if she were smothering. They reached the street and she took a deep breath and then grimaced as the rank odors of Southwark filled her nose.

  “Only a little farther,” Richard coaxed. “Then I have a surprise for you.”

  Astra nodded. Her legs ached and her elegant slippers pinched her feet. At this rate, she would be too exhausted and irritable to care if Richard took her to bed. She was not even sure she had the energy to hold him off until she convinced him of her plan.

  She shivered as Richard led her down a narrow alleyway. A quarter moon shone feebly through the fog, offering little light to guide their way. A cat yowled in the distance, sounding for a moment like a child screaming in pain. In the shadows near their feet, Astra heard rustling sounds and what she fancied were the squeaks of rats. She clutched Richard’s arm fiercely and dug her nails into his thick muscles.

  “Ayez pitié. Ayez pitié.”

  Astra screamed as a wraithlike creature loomed out of the mist. Swathed from head to foot in rags, it extended a claw-like hand towards them and begged in a rasping, foreign voice. “Ayez pitié. Demoiselle? Monsieur?”

  Richard tried to lead her past the creature. Astra hesitated. The moon broke through the mist, and she caught a glimpse of the phantom’s face. It was a woman, not old. Her nose was gone; it left a horrible scar in the middle of what must have once been a lovely face. Her blue eyes were wild, ravaged. She might be wasting away with fever, or merely starving.

  Astra pulled at Richard’s arm. “Please, Richard, give her something.”

  “God’s wounds, Astra, I cannot feed every leper in Southwark!”

  “She’s not a leper,” Astra whispered. “Her nose has been cut off.”

  “Probably a whore who set up her customers to be robbed,” Richard grumbled. He reached for his coin bag. “A wound like that is the mark of a thief.”

  “We should help her anyway. If she was a whore, who would want her now?”

  “You’d be surprised,” Richard said grimly as he pulled out a handful of pennies. He gave them to Astra and she offered them to the woman coaxingly, as if tempting an animal to eat. The woman regarded her warily, then reached out and grabbed the coins. She disappeared immediately into the mist.

  “Jesu, Astra, you’re too soft-hearted. You’re going to beggar me.”

  “Thank you,” Astra whispered. She felt warmer, knowing she had done God’s work. The squalid alleyway seemed less threatening. She began to relax.

  The moon disappeared. Astra heard voices inside the buildings they passed—curses, laughter. She guessed they were behind a row of alehouses and cookshops. The smells grew more nauseating. A man threw a pail of something out a doorway ahead of them. Richard swore as they reached the spot and had to step over a mess of reeking fishheads and entrails.

  “Sweet Maria, what a stink,” Astra gasped.

  “Only a little farther.”

  Ahead of them, the shadows seemed to move and moan. Richard pulled her closer and shielded her with his body. Pressed against him, Astra felt herself relax just as the moonlight caught the form of a couple embracing against a building. Pale silver light reflected on naked skin, and Astra saw what the couple were doing. The woman’s skirts were up to her waist, the man’s bare buttocks bunched and thrust—in and out, in and out.

  They passed the couple within inches, the man’s raspy breathing harsh in their ears. Astra clung to Richard, feeling strange. It was repulsive, yet she felt an odd, aching feeling between her legs. She also felt an emptiness there, as if she needed to be filled—filled with Richard, with the hot, hard thing she had felt beneath his hose.

  Richard’s breathing beside her seemed harsher. She realized he was aroused, tantalized as she was. Her heartbeat quickened. She had been mad to think she could be alone with this man and be able to resist him.

  “Here we are.”

  Astra gazed dubiously at the gloomy two-story building. There were no windows, no sign of light or comfort. Richard guided her to a wooden ladder, placing her hands on the rough sides.

  “The back entrance. The other way is locked. No one will know we are here.”

  She let Richard boost her up, and began to climb. It was a struggle in her long skirt. She felt Richard behind her, ready to catch her if she fell. She guessed that her wriggling bottom was directly in his face. The thought made her blush.

  She was sweating when she reached
the top, her silk gloves full of splinters. She climbed onto the small landing there and stared in dismay at the small, crooked doorway. She was ready to swear at Richard, to rail at him for making her endure such torture to reach this crude place. Then he opened the door to the room and made her gasp with surprise.

  It was a very pleasing room. A brazier glowed in the corner, and tall, gleaming candles illuminated the rest of the cozy space. A table with a pitcher and two pewter cups stood in one corner, a bed in the other. The bed was not large, but it was covered with a sumptuous silk coverlet of vivid purple.

  “Are you hungry, Astra? I can have them bring food up.”

  Astra shook her head. She was hungry, but much too nervous to eat. “The room is ...” She did not know what to say. He had done this all for her. It was a gift, a splendid, romantic gift.

  Richard suddenly seemed shy. She could not credit it, but he was. He seemed stiff when he walked to the table, completely unlike his usual graceful self. His hand shook visibly when he poured the wine.

  Astra’s stomach was full of butterflies. When she took the goblet of wine, she had to hold it against her body so she wouldn’t spill it. She took a sip. It was fine and sweet, much like the wine served at the King’s banquet table. It went down slowly, burning a fire to her belly. The blaze suffused her limbs and warmed her. A flush crept over her skin.

  Richard watched her from across the room, and she saw for the first time how elegantly dressed he was. Velvet hose, soft calfskin boots, a scarlet satin tunic that laced up his broad chest—he looked more like a prince than a knight. Only the jeweled misericord at his waist and the scar on his cheek gave him away as a fighting man. She studied his face, the dark, intense eyes, the smooth high cheekbones, the soft mouth. He was beautiful as only a man could be. Beautiful and dangerous. He reminded her of a gleaming gold dagger, the gracefulness of its lines unmarred by the deadliness of its function.

  “Take off your cloak, Astra.”

  She went to the table and put down the wine and then slipped off the ragged, dowdy cloak and laid it carefully on a stool by the fire. Richard was only a few feet away. His eyes moved over her body. The gown she wore was tight. It skimmed her hips, nipped in tightly at her waist and molded closely to her breasts. She’d worn it relatively unadorned, with only a slim silver girdle at her waist, delicate black silk gloves and a simple purple veil over her hair, held in place with a circlet of silver. She’d perspired on the way up the ladder, and the film of moisture on her skin made the dress cling more tightly than ever.

  Richard’s eyes moved to her face. Her whole body felt heavy, as if she were underwater.

  “Your hair, Astra. I want to see your hair.”

  She turned away to hide the ridiculous trembling of her fingers. The circlet was easy to undo, but it caught on her gloves. She took them off and laid them carefully on top of her cloak, then removed her veil. Her hair was tightly bound in braids twisted around her head. She began to undo them.

  It was a tedious process, and it seemed to take a long time to finish. She looked up once. Richard’s face was rapt, intent. His chest heaved slightly, as if he could not breathe properly.

  Her hair tumbled down. She fanned her fingers through it and smoothed out the twists and crimps. Her hair had grown since she’d left the priory. It was nearly to her waist now, and it felt heavy, uncomfortable. It swirled around her shoulders like the waves of a frothy golden sea.

  “Sweet God in heaven. You’re beautiful beyond belief.”

  Astra looked away, overcome. There was such intimacy between them. A current of emotion seemed to flow through the very air in the room. This man had glimpsed her naked, but he was acting as if he had never seen her before. She trembled to think what it would be like when he kissed her. The thought prompted Astra to remember her purpose. She would not succumb to him without some assurance of her future.

  “Richard—I must speak with you.”

  He walked to her slowly, smiling faintly. She could see the sheen of sweat on his brow, the wetness of his teeth between his parted lips. She could smell him.

  When he was very close, he grasped a handful of her hair and brought it to his lips.

  “Talk,” he said.

  Twenty-three

  His body was so close, throbbing, hungry. His eyes were like deep, dark pools of desire. She wanted to drown in them. Instead, she pulled away from the edge.

  “I heard you were a hero in Wales.”

  There was surprise in his eyes, then a flicker of some thing else—anger, bitterness. “Aye. If you consider bloodshed heroic.”

  She gave him a questioning look. Richard’s mouth twitched and then spread into a grim smile. “Oh, the King is well pleased with my work. The rumor is he finally means to reward me with something more than empty words.”

  Astra took a deep breath. This was her chance. If her plan succeeded, Richard would at last have the land and power he desired. Then he could marry her!

  She met Richard’s eyes, smiling tremulously. “It is said the Queen is fond of me, and I know she has great influence over her husband’s decisions. Perhaps if I went to the Queen and asked for her help, she would speak to Henry on your behalf.”

  Richard’s voice was soft. “You would do that? You would solicit the Queen for my sake?”

  “Of course, Richard. I love you. I would do anything for you, anything so we could be together.”

  He reached out and took her face in his hands. “My sweet, darling Astra. How generous you are... and how innocent. Think you the King hands out castles every day?”

  “I... I’ve been told he does, to his relatives at least. Why not to one of his loyal knights?”

  Richard removed his hands, and his face grew hard. “Why? Because I’m no one. I have no fine family behind me, nor does the royal blood of Henry III or Eleanor of Provence flow in my veins.”

  Astra stepped back, startled by the bitterness in his voice. “But you said... you said the rumors...”

  “They are rumors, nothing more. I don’t believe for a moment Henry really means to award me property. It could be years before he decides I’ve earned anything beyond a fond pat on the head.”

  “But if I went to the Queen...”

  Richard shook his head. “No. It’s very kind of you to offer, Astra, but I won’t have you groveling to Eleanor.”

  “I don’t mind, Richard. I would do anything I could to help you.”

  “No! I don’t trust the Queen, and I won’t be beholden to her as well as Henry.” He gave Astra a sharp, probing look. “I don’t want you to become involved in court politics. The things I’ve done are bad enough. I won’t have you reduced to the level of the rest of the she-vipers who surround the Queen.”

  “But I want to help you,” Astra said in a frustrated voice. “Why won’t you let me?”

  “Have you considered, Astra, that my pride might be involved? I don’t want a woman, any woman, to go begging for favors in my name!”

  Astra stared him. Richard was surely the most exasperating man she’d ever met. “Does your pride matter more than our future? You’ve told me you won’t wed me until you have a demesne of your own, yet you refuse to do all you could to reach your goal of possessing property!”

  Richard’s dark eyes met hers fiercely. “If you knew the things I’ve already done to win Henry’s favor... if you only knew...”

  “I care not what you have done in battle. I want to know what you mean to do now, here in London, to gain Henry’s goodwill.”

  Richard spoke through gritted teeth. “I will bide my time and hope that Henry doesn’t send me off somewhere else to fight for him.”

  “No,” Astra breathed softly. She looked down at the fresh rushes strewn on the floor. A cold dread moved in her veins. The thought of Richard being sent off to war again was nearly unbearable.

  “Astra, I don’t want to fight with you. I brought you here so we could be alone... so we could enjoy each other.” She looked up. The fierceness
had left Richard’s face. His expression was tender as he moved toward her.

  Astra felt her body responding to his nearness. If he gathered her into his arms, she would be lost. She took a step back. “Will you wed me before Henry sends you away?”

  Richard’s face softened even more. “I would if I could, but it is not possible. I have no land, no money, no prospects. I spent nearly my last penny on this room.”

  “But surely you have some material wealth. I saw the chest in your tent, the chess set, the jewels and weapons.”

  “Booty, aye, I have some booty from the wars I fought. But it’s not enough to buy a decent piece of land, let alone pay to build a manor.”

  “There is the manor Lord Fitz Hugh will give me,” Astra whispered hopefully.

  “It could not support us in anything but modest comfort. I want you to have much more than that, beloved. Therefore, I cannot wed you until I amass my fortune.”

  “Yet you refuse to do all that you could to win the land and property you covet. You refuse to let me go to the Queen for help!”

  Richard’s jaw set in a hard line. “I’ve told you, I don’t want you begging to that bitch.”

  “She’s not a bitch! Eleanor’s been nothing but kind and sweet to me.”

  “She’s using you, Astra,” Richard said coldly “You’re simply too naive to see it.”

  “And you’re too stubborn and pigheaded to believe the human heart is capable of true affection.”

  “Perhaps,” Richard said softly. “Although you’ve done much to change my mind in that matter.” There was an amused glint in his eyes, a half-smile on his lips. “Beloved.” His hands sought her waist, drawing her to him. “We did not come here to fight. We can discuss this later.”

  His lips brushed her hair; his arms embraced her possessively. Tears welled in Astra’s eyes. He felt so warm and strong and safe. She wanted so much to give herself to this man. But she could not, not yet. “No!” she cried, pushing his hands away. “I won’t let you touch me! Not until I know you mean to wed me.”