by The Leopard
Astra sighed, remembering what she had endured in the darkened alleyway, imagining herself as helpless prey for the brutal predators of Southwark. Part of her was angry enough to seek revenge for that experience, but her conscience held her back. “No. It would not be right. I must think of some other means to convince Richard to marry me.”
Marguerite stood up abruptly. “Have it your way, Astra. Continue to mope around the palace, longing for a man you could easily have if you put your mind to it. Rest assured that if I was in your situation, I would do whatever I could to see to it that the man I loved married me. But if you are too much of a coward...” She gave Astra a pitying glance, then quit the room.
Astra stared after her friend, anger and doubt warring in her breast. Was Marguerite right? Was she a coward for not taking a firmer stance with Richard? After all, he had compromised her. By rights he should make her his wife.
She sat down on the bed and considered the man who so tantalized and infuriated her. She was sure Richard loved her. It was only his odd ideas about women and marriage that held him back from asking for her hand. He seemed to think he must be wealthy before taking a wife. Perhaps if he knew how little fine gowns and jewels meant to her, how modest her needs really were—perhaps then he would change his mind.
A sense of resolution filled her as she stood and adjusted her bliaut. She would meet Richard and plead with him. This time she could not let anger muddle her thoughts and force childish ultimatums from her lips. She would explain how much she loved him. She would tell him she wanted to give herself to him, but she loved him too much to demean them both by becoming his mistress. Richard might be cynical and worldly, but she did not think he was so hard-hearted that he would refuse her argument. She would appeal to his sense of honor, his passionate pride.
A smile curved her lips. Marguerite believed seduction and trickery were the way to win a man’s heart. How surprised she would be to find that persuasion and honest sentiments could work as well.
Twenty-five
He would never understand women, Richard decided as he poked at the heaping trencher in front of him. He could have sworn Astra was furious with him, so angry she would not speak to him for days, and then only if he coaxed her with fond words and wistful smiles. Then, this morning, she had sent him a message saying she regretted her harsh words and wished to meet him alone in the Queen’s chapel after dinner.
He glanced around the hall, searching for a glimpse of her. Then he turned back to his food. The chapel was hardly a likely choice for a romantic tryst, although perhaps that was the point. Mayhaps Astra had in mind a tearful reconciliation, followed by another discussion of their future together.
Richard grimaced. They were clearly at an impasse on the subject. He would not wed Astra, nay, could not, until he felt more secure in his future. And obviously, if he would not wed her, she would not let him bed her. There seemed little point in their meeting.
He almost dreaded seeing her again. Astra’s very presence enflamed him so painfully he could not trust himself to be alone with her. He had been on the verge of losing control and ravishing her several times already. If he continued to see her alone, he was likely to stumble into the abyss of his passion and not come to himself until he was buried deep between her virgin thighs.
He shifted uncomfortably on the bench, his body reacting instantly to the image in his mind. God’s blood, he was in a sorry state if the mere thought of Astra gave him a stiff one! He could only hope the peaceful, holy setting of the chapel would quell his lust so he could keep his hands to himself.
The meal was finished by the time he spied Astra at a table near the doorway. She looked very pale, although perhaps it was her gown. It was a deeper color than she usually wore—almost blood red. He had a rapid vision of Astra’s beautiful breasts spilling from the bodice, her fair skin contrasting irresistibly with the deep color. He wiped at his forehead with his sleeve. If he did not get some satisfaction soon, he was likely to slip into madness.
The entertainment that evening was a troupe of brightly-dressed youths who performed daring feats with knives. As the court watched with bated breath, one man flung knife after knife at a winsome young woman, the deadly blades coming so close they impaled strands of her hair and the filmy costume she wore. Ordinarily Richard would be interested in such an amazing display of skill, but tonight he had other things on his mind. He glanced at Astra repeatedly, waiting for her to rise and leave the hall. When she made no move to do so, he wondered if she was so enchanted by the knife throwers she had forgotten their assignation.
The entertainment continued. One man had himself bound to a circular board that rotated like a wheel. The board was raised upright, and as the bound man spun around, the other man flung knives at his whirling form. There were gasps and exclamations of fear from those watching, but when the spinning board came to a stop, the man was unhurt. The knives had all struck between his outstretched arms and legs.
When Richard looked again for Astra, she was gone. He felt a twinge of embarrassment his attention had been diverted by the knife thrower. But he also relieved she had finally left. He would wait a few moments and slip away himself.
The troupe prepared for their most impressive feat. The knives were dipped in pitch and then set aflame. The hall echoed with cheers of excitement as the young woman took her place against a battered wooden board and prepared to face the blazing implements. Richard got up slowly, his eyes scanning the enrapt crowd. They would never see him leave. He padded stealthily from the hall, casting one backwards look to see the first flaming knife sail across the room and miss the woman’s hair by inches.
The royal complex was quiet, the air still and ominous. As he walked through the filmy darkness, the only sound was his own footsteps echoing on the stonework and the thud of his misericord against his hip. Ahead, the elegant shapes of the tall stained glass windows in the Queen’s chapel beckoned.
He expected to find her praying, kneeling at the rail before the altar. She was not there. He walked slowly into the dimly lit chamber.
“Richard?”
She stepped out of the shadows, her face pale. He walked to her and took her ice-cold hand. “What is it, demoiselle? Did you fear I would disappear before you had a chance to torment me again?”
“Richard... I... I must apologize.”
“For what, beloved? Calling me a slimy toad?”
“I did not mean that! I was angry.”
“So you were,” he agreed, his voice becoming more sober. “You were very angry at me.”
He pulled her closer to a flickering candle so he could see her face. She looked tense, strained, but still surpassingly beautiful. His eyes lingered over the pure, delicate line of her cheeks, the wide-set blue eyes, the delicate shape of her mouth.
He wanted to kiss her, but he restrained himself. Grasping her other hand, he entwined his fingers with hers, using the distraction of her small, chilled fingers to keep his hands occupied.
“I’m sorry, beloved. Nothing has changed. Your anger has altered nothing. I still cannot wed you.” His voice faltered slightly on the last words. He hated to hurt her, but he was unwilling to lie. He would not promise her marriage in order to gain her bed.
“Richard, please. Listen to me. Your plans to win a title and wealth—they are not necessary. I would marry you even if you were a beggar.”
He sighed. They were back to this same tired argument. “Beloved, I don’t question your convictions, only your lack of experience.” He gripped her hands more tightly. “Sweet Astra. Don’t you realize how cruel and bitter life can be? Beggars make poor husbands.” He released one of her hands and reached up to touch her petal-soft cheek. “Even your extraordinary beauty would vanish in a year on the London streets.”
“I don’t care,” she said stubbornly.
“I care. I won’t see you ruined because of me.”
“Ruined?” She drew away from him, and he saw the flash of anger in her eyes, the evide
nce of her charming fiery temper. “I am ruined already. You have seduced me, compromised me, cozened me shamelessly. And now you have the audacity to speak of marriage as being my ruin!”
“Astra, dearest, I did not mean...”
He saw her draw a deep breath, as if fighting to restrain her anger. When next she spoke, her voice was calm and deliberate. “Have you no sense of honor, Richard? Of common decency?”
He stared at her. Longing near choked him. How could he explain his terror of marriage without burdening Astra with the misery of his past? It was hopeless. She would never understand. Not unless he told her about his mother, his boyhood, the taunts... He closed his eyes. Nay. He could not bear to shatter her illusions.
“I don’t want to fight with you, Astra,” he said wearily. He opened his eyes and released her other hand. “There is no purpose to this conversation. I will not change my mind.” He gave her a sad smile and turned to go.
“Wait!”
He hesitated. There was something desperate in the way Astra looked at him. She could not guess how fragile his control was. Once he went to her and held her warm flesh, his mastery of his lust would weaken, the ferocity of his need overtake him. “Astra, I am sorry.” He turned away again.
“Please, Richard, don’t leave me!”
He groaned aloud, then whirled and pulled her into his arms. She felt soft and warm, her mouth eager and wet. His hand traced the line of her slim neck, then eased down to undo the laces of her bodice. He sighed into her mouth as his hands found bare flesh. He rubbed his palms over her swollen nipples, enflamed by the evidence of her desire, then pressed his aching groin hard against her stomach.
Blind, raging hunger filled him. He maneuvered her to the wall and braced her against it. Astra moaned, a sound of both longing and fear. He pulled away and looked at her, drinking in her stark dramatic eyes, her rosy swollen mouth, her magnificent breasts glowing like alabaster in the pale light. Desire danced along his body like a shimmering flame, and he leaned forward, his body finding hers like an arrow meeting a target.
“Wait,” Astra cried. He met her eyes. They were huge, wild. In their enigmatic depths he could see the flicker of the candles all around them. The flames seemed to dance, as if from a sudden draft. The next instant, he heard sounds behind him. Startled, he released Astra and stepped back.
“Sir Richard, I would have a word with you.”
It was the voice of his monarch, his liege lord, the anointed King of England. Richard turned and dropped to his knees.
“I have heard of your reputation with women, Reivers, but I did not credit it. I thought it a scurrilous exaggeration put forth by your jealous comrades. But it seems it is true. You are a lecher, a villain, a scoundrel.”
“Aye, Your Grace,” he muttered tonelessly.
“I won’t abide it, Reivers.” The King’s voice was clipped, controlled. “I won’t abide it—not even in one of my finest, bravest knights. You will mend your ways. You will leave the maids alone.”
“Aye, Your Grace.”
“From now on, Reivers, you will seek your satisfaction in your marriage bed. Forthwith, I command you to take Lady Astra as your wife. Since you have seen fit to sample her charms already, I see no reason to delay the wedding. You will both present yourselves in the Painted Chamber tomorrow, three hours past sext, to exchange vows.”
Richard closed his eyes. He heard the King depart, and with him the whispering courtiers who had followed him. There was another sound behind him, and he realized Astra still stood there, waiting.
He rose stiffly, his mind a jumble of thoughts and reactions. Then he looked at her, and saw the expression on her face. The truth came to him with agonizing clarity. Astra had enticed him to the chapel, had begged and pleaded with him to marry her. Then, to make sure she got her way, she had arranged this little scene for the King’s benefit.
The numbness faded, and a blazing rage filled him. He turned away. “Get out of here, damn you!” he muttered.
There was a scuffling sound as she raced out of the chapel. The last echoes of her footfalls died away, and he let out a deep breath. He turned and gazed at the spot where Astra had recently stood, her back pressed against the rough stonework. Her eyes had been wide with longing and dread. But also guilt—her face had been full of it.
His hands clenched into fists. He could hardly believe it. His sweet angel had deliberately tricked him. She had lured him to the chapel and seduced him. She had asked to meet him there alone and then tempted him with her irresistible body. When he had tried to escape her, she had called him back.
He glanced down at his disheveled clothes and pictured Astra with her bodice undone. No wonder the King had been so angry. He had been on the verge of deflowering a virgin here, within the sacred walls of a chapel. The King could not know Astra had plotted the whole thing. That she was as guilty as Eve.
He let out a gasp. Once, he had thought of Astra as an angel. But she had turned out to be a demon instead, a starry-eyed, sweet-faced succubus who had stolen his soul and then sold it to that devil of a king. She had made him a fool, a dupe, a witless pawn. And there was naught he could do about it. Henry had commanded he wed her, and unless he fled the court forever, he would be forced to marry the woman who had done this to him.
For a bitter moment, he toyed with the notion of going to Paris and offering himself to Louis, hiring himself out as a mercenary to the French King. He discarded the thought in disgust. If he went to France now, he would be considered a traitor and an outlaw. He would be asking a boon of the French king, not the other way around. He had not yet sunk so low that he would put himself in such a humiliating position.
No. Better to marry Astra and placate Henry. After all, until a few moments ago, he had wanted to wed her. God knew, he would still be able to muster some desire for her. His traitorous body continued to crave Astra’s flesh even if his heart felt naught for her.
But that was not true. He did feel something—a searing sense of hurt and betrayal. All the love and tenderness he had once felt for her had died, leaving a cold, black emptiness. Over time, he might even come to despise her. For now, he was angry enough to want to make her pay for what she had done. He would use her passion against her, use it to humiliate her as she had him.
* * *
Astra raced down the palace hallway. The blood pounded in her temples. Her breath came in great heaving gasps. But even as she ran, she knew there was no escape. The horror of the scene in the chapel followed her.
She reached the door of her bedchamber and sagged against it. Terrible visions danced before her eyes: King Henry staring at her exposed breasts, his face slack with shock, Richard kneeling as the King berated him. Richard standing, his hands clenched in anger as he ordered her away.
He blamed her. Richard thought she had planned for the King to find them. Believed she had deliberately entrapped him. How could he think such a thing of her?
Except... except, she had very nearly done it. Hadn’t she? She had considered tricking Richard into marriage, had contemplated it very seriously during her discussion with Marguerite. Who was to say that a part of her had not intended for it to happen? Why else had she called him back when he tried to leave her? Why else had she allowed him to undo her clothing and all but consummate their passion against the chapel wall?
Astra rested her cheek on the cool wood of the door, the guilt and regret making her nauseous. She had destroyed things with Richard. He might marry her, but things would never be the same. He would always believe she had tricked him, that she had humiliated him before the King.
The King? Astra straightened. How exactly had the King come to be there? Had Marguerite.... Sweet Jesu, Marguerite must have sent the King to the chapel!
For a moment, anger replaced Astra’s despair. How could her friend have gone against her wishes so callously? How could Marguerite have been so cruel?
A noise from inside the room startled Astra from her thoughts. She opened the door an
d went in. Marguerite was sitting on the bed, braiding her hair. For a moment Astra gazed at her. Then she exclaimed, “Dear God, Marguerite, how could you do such a thing?”
Marguerite gave her a baffled look. “Do what, Astra?”
“Bring the King to spy on us.”
“The King? Spy on you? I don’t know what you mean.”
“Of course you do!” Astra advanced toward the bed. “You couldn’t accept the fact that I didn’t want to trick Richard, so you found out I was meeting him alone in the chapel and sent the King after us anyway. I have to congratulate you, Marguerite. Your plan worked exceedingly well. The King did order Richard to marry me. I now have the husband I always wanted. The only trouble is that he hates me!”
Saying the words out loud undid her and she began to cry. When Marguerite came to comfort her, Astra found her grief was greater than her rage. She collapsed into her friend’s arms.
“There, there,” Marguerite soothed. “It can’t be as bad as that. I don’t know what happened—no matter what you think. But it’s surely not so awful as you suggest. Sit down. Compose yourself and tell me everything.”
Astra looked up through her tears. “You don’t know what happened? Truly?”
Marguerite shook her head. “How could I? I’ve been in this room all evening. My meal did not sit well on my stomach. I left the hall the same time you did.”
“Sweet Maria! That means...” Astra swallowed a sob. “Who could have done it? Why would the King come looking for us?”
“Really, Astra, you’re speaking in riddles. Start at the beginning.”
Astra took a deep breath. She related her plan to talk to Richard, her decision to meet in the chapel where she thought he would be less likely to become amorous. She described their conversation and how it became an argument, how Richard had started to walk away. “And I called him back, Marguerite. That’s the worst of it. I couldn’t let well enough alone. I wanted him to kiss me, to hold me, even knowing what might happen!”