The Bride Tournament

by Ruth Kaufman

  Mere hours ago Eleanor stood firm in her love for another. She couldn’t have changed her mind, developed feelings for him so quickly. What was her ploy?

  “Do you hope Arthur will be at court, too?”

  “He’s not my main concern,” she replied. “As you’ve said, you and I are wed. We should be together.” As she rested her hand on his sleeve, her wedding ring sparkled.

  The first time she’d touched him of her own accord. He liked that.

  “I don’t believe you’re going just to be with me.”

  “You’re right. There is another reason. I can’t stay here with my traitor father. This is no longer my home,” she continued. “And since I haven’t yet been to Glasmere, that isn’t my home, either.”

  If she joined him, he could be escorting his wife to the man she said she loved. Not a pleasant prospect. Blanche would likely return to court as well. He didn’t want Eleanor anywhere near her, either. Between his business with the king and his and Eleanor’s former betrotheds, he’d have his hands full. And he’d have to postpone his search for his father’s missing alchemy scrolls.

  But he wanted his bride to get to know him better, and he had to well and truly consummate this marriage. Neither could occur if they were separated.

  Which was least selfish, to bring her or leave her behind?

  Chapter 5

  “I can’t go to court!” Alyce cried. “Now that you’re finally wed, I am for the Church. ’Twasn’t only your life affected by delays. Politics and war kept you from Arthur and me from following my path.”

  “Now who sounds like a spoiled child?” Eleanor demanded.

  They walked to the small chapel where Alyce would spend the rest of the morning in prayer. Regular services weren’t enough for her devout sister.

  “Obviously you haven’t made up your mind about what you truly want,” Eleanor said. Morning sun set the sapphires on her ring aglow. She dropped her hands to her sides. “Remaining here was an excuse. You could’ve gone to the convent at any time and returned for a visit. You kept putting off your departure. Why?”

  “I—”

  “Your chamber reflects your interest in taking the veil, but your words and actions don’t. Who did I catch eavesdropping on two of the maids last week as they engaged in frank discussion not meant for a maiden’s ears?”

  “You listened with me,” Alyce said.

  “I needed to know, as a woman about to become a wife. We have no mother or aunt to explain such things. But you, only this morning, wanted to hear about my wedding night.” Eleanor could have kicked herself for bringing that up again. “This journey could help you make your decision. Going to court will give you a taste of the secular world. If you enjoy it overmuch, mayhap the life of a nun is not for you.”

  “It’s what Mother wanted.”

  Their footsteps echoed on the stone floor of the chapel. Sun filtered through a round stained glass window of Mary and child, enhancing the quiet reverence.

  “But is it what you want? What harm can a few more weeks do?”

  “None, I suppose.”

  “You say marrying Richard is my duty. To whom do you owe yours?”

  “God?”

  “Ha. If you have to ask, mayhap you need to think on it a bit more.”

  Alyce tapped her fingers against her chin, which meant she was tempted.

  “I can’t do this without you,” Eleanor admitted.

  Her sister tilted her head back and closed her eyes, as if asking God to help her choose. “Since you need me, I will go.”

  Minutes later, she reached her—and now Richard’s—room to change into her workaday gown to spend the afternoon tallying supplies. Eleanor paused in the doorway. Daylight poured through open windows on the wall opposite the bed, revealing Blanche on her knees beside one of Richard’s chests.

  “Blanche. What are you doing in here?” Eleanor was glad that her trunk filled with intimate goods had already been removed.

  Blanche closed the lid and stood. “Richard borrowed something of mine long ago. I sought to learn if he still had it.”

  A weak response. Mistrust seeped through the walls of her new friendship. Had Blanche slipped anything up her wide sleeves? Eleanor caught of whiff of her perfume, sickly sweet as an overripe pear.

  “Did he give you permission to enter our chamber?” A sudden streak of possessiveness made her emphasize “our.”

  “I didn’t want to trouble him with a trivial matter.”

  “Let’s ask Richard whether he has this item, instead of you prowling through his belongings.”

  “That won’t be necessary. He’s been busy, with the wedding and preparing to go to court,” Blanche hedged.

  She was hiding something.

  Richard and Blanche’s shared looks and subtle undertones and the way she constantly watched Richard had made Eleanor wonder what they’d been to each other. Not that she cared. ’Twas but natural curiosity as his present wife.

  “I gather you’ve known Richard for some time,” she began.

  “Yes. ’Twas years ago,” Blanche replied. “But he was very much in love with me.” Her smug smile grated on Eleanor’s nerves. “We were betrothed.”

  The remnants of her morning meal curdled in her stomach. Yet Richard hadn’t seemed pleased when Eleanor invited her to stay on at Middleworth. Last night, their wedding night, he’d let her talk about Arthur, about wanting to end the marriage, without saying a word about Blanche. What if both bride and groom wanted to be with other people?

  He’d remain married to her for the sole purpose of discharging his duty. To Eleanor, no obligation was worth a lifetime of suffering. Not after what had happened to her mother, Maud, and most other women she knew, forced through the sacrament of marriage to live with and bed a man they didn’t want.

  Why did women have to accept their fate so blindly? She would be different. She’d choose the man she spent the rest of her life with.

  Thank goodness she’d taken matters into her own hands and thought of her bridal tournament. ’Twas the only way for both of them to be free.

  “Yet you wed Lord Latimer,” Eleanor said. The key protruded from the chest’s lock. She turned it with a satisfying click, then put it in her pocket. “Why?”

  “Why do most women marry? Because they must. As you did.” Blanche took a breath as if she was about to say something else, then worried her lip between dainty teeth.

  Eleanor’s curiosity had taken on a life of its own. “And after your husband died? Did you and Richard still love each other?”

  “By then Richard was too engrossed with the Duke of York’s death and Edward’s struggles to gain the throne to consider marriage. As you’ll learn, he lives to carry out his duty. After Edward became king, he made Richard an earl and commanded him to marry you,” Blanche continued with a shrug. “Richard had no choice.”

  Why did those words burn hot as fire?

  At least Blanche wouldn’t travel with them to court. Eleanor would be spared days of wondering about hidden meanings behind every word or glance she and Richard exchanged. Not that it should make a difference to her what they said or did.

  Richard meant nothing to her. Nothing at all.

  Inspiration struck after Blanche left. If she and Richard once loved each other, perhaps their feelings could rekindle if Blanche was one of the potential brides.

  That way, all four of them could end up with the spouses of their dreams.

  As she hurried back to her chamber, Blanche’s heart sped faster than Thistle, her favorite mare she’d had to sell.

  Caught by Eleanor searching Richard’s things…what a disaster. She’d been so busy fuming over Richard’s marriage she hadn’t heard his new wife approach. Had Eleanor accepted her excuses?

  Well, she’d tread with more care. And cultivate Eleanor’s friendship so she’d have more reasons to see Richard. And find ways to win him and his father’s alchemy secrets.

  “Here’s my plan,” Eleanor whispered t
o Alyce.

  They sat in a corner of Middleworth’s large solar, the deep blue silk gown Eleanor would wear to court spread across their laps. Each worked a needle with costly silver thread to form a glistening flower border along the hem. The same thread she’d used to embroider her and Arthur’s initials. She wished she had gold, instead.

  Richard and her father sat on a cushioned bench on the opposite side of the room, entrenched in conversation. Congratulating each other on their success at wedding her off, no doubt. They’d best not be plotting the best approach to extract quintessence, thought to be the fifth element after earth, fire, air and water.

  Eleanor said, “You’ll help choose six promising contenders from the available unwed ladies. You write faster and more neatly than I, so I’ll rely on you to keep track of each lady’s qualifications and progress.”

  She bade herself focus on her delicate stitchery, yet found herself looking at Richard. Why did he have to be so handsome? Why did his smile warm her heart?

  “What if they don’t want to participate? What if none of them wants to marry Richard…in general, or in particular because he’s married to you?”

  Eleanor forced her gaze from her husband to Alyce. “What woman wouldn’t want to marry Richard? Except me, that is. And he won’t be married to me for long. Alyce. I must tell you something. We haven’t yet…consummated.”

  “What?” Alyce’s squeal drew the attention of Richard and her father. “I thought—”

  “All’s well!” she called before lowering her voice. “I don’t know how much longer I can hold him off.” Or how long I’ll want to.

  “Are you sure you want to?” Alyce annoyingly echoed her thoughts. Her sister knew her far too well. “Eleanor, please, stop this foolishness.” She set her needle aside. “How did you get Richard to agree to—never mind. You’re letting what you think is your right to marry Arthur blind you to what must be.”

  Eleanor’s needle paused. “I need time to plan. I can’t feign illness, nor can I think of another way.” She smoothed a stray thread from a shimmering flower.

  “You can’t choose a trail of deceit.”

  Eleanor raised her head in defiance. “It was chosen for me by our father and our king who attainted Arthur. I but follow in my own way. For the greater good.”

  Richard was looking at her. Her heart beat faster as he walked toward them.

  He bowed and handed Eleanor an engraved leather pouch. “For you, my lady. This belonged to my father’s mother. He would want my wife to have it.”

  Alyce gathered up the yards of silk as Eleanor took the pouch.

  “My thanks.” She lifted the flap. “Oh, my,” she breathed as she pulled out the most stunning brooch she’d ever seen. Made of embossed gold, the heavy piece boasted nine large cabochon rubies.

  “I hoped you’d like it. ‘Your mouth provokes me, Kiss me, kiss sweet!’ Each time I see you so it seems to me,” Richard said.

  A sweet frisson of delight shot through her. She couldn’t help but remember the heat of his kiss, the surprising need he evoked. She felt herself blush.

  “’Tis a quote by Charles d’Orleans,” he added.

  The thoughtfulness of his gift touched her. She couldn’t dissemble in her thanks, no matter that she might encourage his pursuit. With a smile she couldn’t suppress, she said, “This is the finest gift I have ever received. I refer to both the brooch and the quote.”

  Richard smiled back, clearly pleased. His eyes gleamed, now more green than gray, making him even more striking. “I shall see you anon.” He bowed again and left the solar.

  “Don’t you see? You’re the most fortunate of brides,” Alyce said. “Your husband thinks to court you!” She smiled wistfully as she ran a finger over the rounded stones.

  First the wide sapphire wedding band and now this. Two spectacular pieces of jewelry from Richard in as many days. She couldn’t help but be flattered. Suddenly she wished she had something to give him in return.

  “What are you doing for him?

  “The most thoughtful thing of all. Finding him a better bride.”

  “Hmm. I wonder what else he has planned,” Alyce said. “Surely he doesn’t think even a beautiful gift will sway you from Arthur.”

  “Exactly what I was thinking,” Eleanor answered. She pinned it to her gown and admired the glow of the rubies.

  In all their years of betrothal, Arthur had given her but two presents, both of which she had treasured: a pair of hawking gloves and a rather plain belt. Gifts didn’t make the man. She was churlish to compare Richard and Arthur based on generosity.

  She shouldn’t compare them at all.

  “You can’t keep it, you know,” Alyce said.

  Instinctively her hand flew up to cover the brooch. “Why ever not? You saw Richard give it to me.”

  “And you heard him. He gave it to his wife. You’ll have to give it to his new bride when you choose her,” Alyce said matter-of-factly.

  That night, Eleanor stayed on her side of the bed as Richard packed. He’d removed his tunic, and moved about the room in his hose and shirt. The fabric clung to his broad shoulders as he added a few items to his baggage.

  His sword leaned against the wall beside his chests, some of his clothes hung on her pegs next to her gowns. His presence dominated the space. The novelty of having a man share her room hadn’t worn off. Nor had the trepidation of having to spend another night with Richard in her bed.

  “Has Blanche mentioned that she was in our room earlier?”

  Our room. How strange that sounded.

  His head snapped up. “Blanche was in here?”

  Eleanor relaxed, glad to have found a topic unrelated to their marriage. “I came upon her searching through one of your chests. She said you’d borrowed something long ago and she wanted it back.”

  “Did she say what?”

  “No. I wondered if she was telling the truth. She behaved suspiciously, so I locked all of your chests and took the keys.”

  “Good. Be wary of her,” he warned.

  “Why?”

  He sighed. “I hope the day will come when you do something simply because I say so. Be on your guard.”

  Getting information out of him was harder than pulling weeds from a parched garden.

  “Blanche said you were betrothed. That you were in love with her.” Just repeating the words set off a strange uneasiness.

  Richard froze. “What of it?”

  So Blanche had spoken true, in this at least. The thought of him caring deeply for another woman pierced deeper than it should have.

  “Why didn’t you marry her?” she asked. “Because the king didn’t command you to? Or wasn’t she high-born enough for a man with aspirations such as yours?”

  “What makes you think that?” He flew across the room as if he had wings. Sparks of anger flashed in his eyes. “What else did she tell you?”

  “That she had to marry Lord Latimer and you had to marry me.”

  “As usual, she left out crucial parts of her tale. Can any woman be trusted?” He sat on the bed, brushing against her because she was so near the edge. “I don’t want to discuss Blanche.”

  Eleanor burned to know the whole truth. Had their love been tragic, like hers and Arthur’s, kept apart against their will? Despite Richard’s obvious reticence, he’d revealed a key fact: he didn’t trust Blanche or women in general.

  “I want to discuss us,” he said, his voice low. He reached for her braid and unraveled it. His fingers combed through the strands, soothing yet sensual. “On second thought, I can think of better things to do than talk.”

  He kissed her, a multitude of feather light pecks. Then his mouth grew insistent, claiming hers.

  The way he stroked her hair sent delicious shivers down her spine. His light, sweet kisses set her blood racing. Where would he venture next, what new sensations would he ignite?

  His gaze held hers as his fingers roamed across her neck and over her shoulders, awakening the ski
n beneath. Her nipples peaked as he gently circled them.

  Eleanor wanted more. She wanted him. Sudden need made her tremble.

  He withdrew his hands. “You’re shaking. What you said this morning as we broke our fast about me warming your bed…I thought you were ready.”

  Better for them both that he think she was nervous. She was, but not for that reason. Well, some of that, also. “I thought so, too. I’m sorry. I still need more time.”

  “How much more?” The warmth faded from his eyes.

  Guilt lanced her. How could she utter the truth, yet mislead him at the same time? No wonder he thought women couldn’t be trusted. But as she’d told Alyce, she was doing this for the greater good.

  “Soon.”

  “We must do our duty. I’ll give you until we arrive at court.”

  That wasn’t long enough. She kept her thoughts to herself.

  He turned his back to her and drew up the covers. In minutes his even breathing told her he was asleep, clearly not tormented by a racing mind as she was. Tonight the sound didn’t soothe. Each inhale was a hiss of ire, each exhale an admonishment.

  Hours later, Eleanor bit back a curse as she rubbed her calf to ease a sudden cramp. She’d crouched so long beneath the window outside her father’s alchemy workshop that her limbs protested. Her shoes and the hem of her old gown were soaked from the evening’s rains, clinging and uncomfortably clammy against her legs.

  She peeked inside, fury stinging her veins as she took in two long, polished wood tables with an array of oddly shaped glass containers for distillation and other processes. Scattered about were pages and pages of notes covered with mysterious diagrams, symbols and elaborate drawings.

  This was her last chance before they left for court to put an end to his experiments. Her father’s obsession to find a way turn inexpensive base metals into gold came from the devil and would be his ruin, just as her mother had said.

  He proved it by spending vast sums on tools and implements when the mania overtook him. The need to make himself the richest man alive, more powerful than the king, trounced reason.