by Ruth Kaufman
With her hands braced on his thighs, she raised her head, a slight question in her gaze.
“Praise the saints, yes,” he murmured.
Eleanor smiled, then leaned over him, her hair falling over her face and tickling his legs. The shimmering curtain of hair exhilarated him because he couldn’t see what she was doing yet frustrated him because he wanted to see her perform this most intimate deed.
Then her mouth closed over him. His head fell back against the sheets as her wet heat encompassed him. He could no longer think, only drown in pleasure. A moan escaped him as her tongue licked up and down. As she gently sucked him. He was going to—
“Stop!” He sat up abruptly.
“What’s wrong?”
He took her in his arms. “Nothing, sweet, all is more than well. Your kisses please me more than I can say. There’s only one thing I want right now. You.”
She fell back onto the bed and drew him to her. He lavished attention on her breasts, drawing sighs of delight. But he had to taste her. As she had done, he kissed his way to her stomach. Gently he spread her thighs, then touched her woman’s flesh. As his arousal pulsed, he stroked her.
Eleanor sighed louder.
He slipped a finger inside her, enthralled by the moisture easing his way. He dipped his head. His tongue stroked in and out as her hips rose and fell beneath him.
The splay of her golden hair on the pillows, the sensual look in her deep purple eyes, her full breasts filled him to near bursting.
Quickly he moved over her. One smooth thrust sent him past her barrier to the place he so longed to be. Inside her. He wanted nothing more than to move, but forced himself to hold still, to allow her time to adjust.
“Richard,” she cried. She froze, clenching around him.
He paused. Had he hurt her?
She squeezed him, then tilted her hips, pushing him deeper still.
On the verge of release, but fearing she wasn’t ready to join him, he clasped her tight and held his breath. A moment’s pause might make the urge subside enough so he could satisfy Eleanor as she satisfied him.
She moved against him, making him slide in and out of her as he longed to do.
That did it. Her sensuous undulations sent him soaring. In the midst of surging bliss, he heard her gasp and felt her shudder beneath him as she called out his name.
His ecstasy was complete.
Eleanor rested beneath Richard, replete in a way she’d not known possible. The pain of entry had been sharp, but brief. Nothing could’ve prepared her for the fullness and joy of having him inside her, the rapture making them one.
His warm weight on her was comforting. He toyed with her hair, then kissed her, softly yet with passion. He showed her he cared without cluttering this special moment with words. She felt protected and cherished. And happier than she had ever been.
What had she done?
She’d done exactly as she wanted. The minute she’d touched his hardness, all thoughts of restraint vanished. She’d wanted to succumb to need, to passion, to everything Richard could share with her.
He raised himself on one elbow. “We must wed. Again. Immediately.”
For once Richard reacted as she expected. He hadn’t asked her to marry him, but told her she must. Always, always, he acknowledged his duty.
She rolled to her side. The way he looked, with his ruffled hair falling over his cheek, the muscled expanse of his bare chest, brought tears to her eyes. She’d never have the delight of him in her bed again.
“Why? Everyone thinks we did this long ago. Remember your blood on the sheets? No one has to know.”
“I know,” he said. “I know I just took your virginity.”
“You didn’t take it. I gave it to you. Besides, should I wed again, my husband would think it most strange if I were still a virgin, knowing I’d been married. And that would reflect poorly on you.”
He sat up and glared at her, the indolent lover gone. “So you did this for me? This bedsport was a sacrifice to preserve my reputation?”
“No, not at all,” she protested.
“That’s what it sounds like. You never cease to amaze me, Eleanor, with your strange reasoning.” He pulled on his clothes as quickly as he had shed them.
“Why are you angry? I wanted you, you wanted me. Neither of us is bound to anyone right now.”
Eleanor had done exactly as she wanted, and being with him had surpassed her imaginings. Her only regret was they’d only made love once.
“Then why now? Why now?” he demanded. “Why not any of the other nights we’ve spent together?”
“What difference does it make?”
“It makes all the difference to me.”
“Then you should already know. Because this is the first time I could believe you chose me, for me, as a desirable woman. You didn’t make love with me because we were legally wed, because the king gave you to me or as part of your duty,” she said.
His touch combined with hope to melt the ice the annulment encrusted over her heart.
“ We’re no longer duty-bound by marriage. At last you chose me. You wanted to be with me. Well, I choose you, too.” Eleanor smiled, her first real smile in days. “How can we can cancel the tournament without offending the king?”
Eleanor would do anything for the man she truly loved.
The realization pierced her with a force of a jouster’s lance. Why did she have to acknowledge her love for Richard now, to spend mere moments with and send him off to another wife? When she couldn’t rejoice in finally feeling what she’d longed for most of her life?
Richard wanted to recoil from the lovelorn look in her eyes. Marriage—being bound in the eyes of God, king and man—hadn’t been enough for her. She’d only be happy if she ensnared him in the one way certain to defeat him. She sought to trap him with love.
He yearned to escape his feelings for her, which frightened him to the core. If he spent more time in her company, he might surrender to her feminine wiles and intelligence, and fall in love with her. He couldn’t allow that. Not even to make Eleanor happy.
Nor could he lie.
“We can’t, Eleanor. This is what you wanted. ’Twas you who pined for someone else and refused me. I thought you’d grown up,” he said. “But you remain lost in girlish dreams and believe in romantic nonsense. You’re a beautiful woman who just threw herself into my arms. Why wouldn’t I take what was offered?”
Her face fell. He steeled himself. His harsh words were for the best. But the sting of what he’d just done was sharp as a bee’s. And wouldn’t fade.
She snatched his ring off her finger and threw it at his chest. It bounced off his tunic and landed on the floor with a dull thud.
He had to take another bride. Whoever she was, she’d be better than Eleanor. Not because she was more beautiful, talented or wealthy.
Because she wouldn’t tempt him to love.
By first light the morning of the tournament, Eleanor was dressed and waiting outside Hastings’s office. She had to be the first to talk with him on this all-important day. As she paced the hall, nerves on edge despite deep breaths, she hoped he’d agree to see her, much less grant her wish.
At length he arrived, walking briskly. Not certain of the protocol, Eleanor followed him into his office.
“Countess of Glasmere.” He bowed. “Forgive my error,” he said with a slight smile. “Lady Eleanor. Have you come to offer encouragement for today’s spectacle? If so, I accept your good wishes. If not, I fear you’ll have to leave. You are not on my schedule. I must head to the grounds shortly and have quite a lot to accomplish before then.” He was already engrossed in a pile of documents, sifting through them, signing a few.
“Lord Hastings, this will take but a moment of your time,” she said.
He sighed heavily and pursed his lips, as if to convey how much aggravation she caused. “Very well. You have one minute.” He inverted a small hourglass. “Begin.”
“I wish to enter the t
ournament.”
Eleanor hadn’t told anyone, even Alyce, of her new plan. She’d surprise them all. She wanted Richard enough to risk losing to the others even in the most public of forums. Oddly enough, his cruel words the day before had strengthened her resolve. She’d show him that what they shared meant far more to him than he’d admitted.
Though she’d personally selected women who’d be superior to her in some way, not one was superior in them all. She stood a good chance at victory, for the Overall aspect carried the most weight. The prize was well worth the attempt.
That got Hastings’s attention. He even set down his pen. “You know the rules. No one can enter a tournament the day it is held.”
“That rule applies to jousts. This event, as you have said, is different. I hoped you’d make an exception in light of my unique situation.” She clasped her hands at her waist to avoid wringing them.
A man in the king’s livery hurried in, bowed, and handing Hastings a document. He reviewed and then signed it as the seconds he’d granted her dripped away. The man bowed again and left.
“Typical woman, ever changing her mind. So you want Glasmere back, do you?” He shook his head. “I cannot assist you. ’Tis too late.”
Her hopes sank. Typical man, exerting his authority over a woman. That was the way of the world. Men thrived on ruling their domains, whether the man be a peasant in his cottage or a lord in his castle.
“Then I formally request that you cancel the tournament,” she said.
He picked up his pen and pointed it at her. “Who do you think you are to suggest such a thing? After the king called stepped in to procure a speedy annulment for you, after twenty-four carpenters spent two days constructing the tournament pavilions at some expense? I think not. The entire court is looking forward to this. Edward, too. There’s been nothing like it in ages. Do you really expect me to disappoint the king, and hundreds of others, on your whim?”
“But, Lord Hastings—”
He cut her off with a wave of his hand. “There will be a seat for you near the king. You will be in it.”
Chapter 16
“I cautioned you to think first,” Alyce said as they traversed the corridors on their way to break their fast. “If you’d heeded my advice, none of this would’ve happened.”
The last thing Eleanor needed was a reminder that her sister had been right yet again. Wasn’t it bad enough that Richard meant more to her than anything, and she couldn’t have him? That soon she’d have to watch other women compete for the opportunity to live with, kiss and touch him?
She shuddered. “How was I to know Lord Hastings would get involved, insist on holding the tournament at Smithfield and invite everyone, even the king?” Shock jolted her anew at the thought of the king attending her tournament.
Could she have anticipated the public spectacle her bride search would become? “For certes I would’ve found a way to avoid all of this embarrassment. This mêlée. ’Tis awful. I’m the victim of snide comments and insinuations from men and women alike. What can I say when they ask, ‘Is not Richard man enough for you?’ or ‘Think you to look higher than an earl?’” Her voice rose in mockery of her tormentors. She’d thought she was above being hurt by gossip, but obnoxious jokes and laughter at her expense made her stomach churn.
Eleanor didn’t appreciate being put on the defensive. She couldn’t tell them a combustible mix of pride and hatred of alchemy had led her to this place. Who would understand that her determination to control her life and not be subjected to a man’s will induced her to act thusly? The ultimate irony was that control had been snatched from her. Control of the tournament by Hastings, control of her emotions by Richard. The only thing she remained in charge of was maintaining her composure in public. She hoped she could handle the task.
“I envisioned a small affair, with myself, you and Richard, and a few of the brides’ relatives as spectators. How was I to know gossip would consume the courtiers as flames burn parched fields?”
Alyce shook her head. “Because you thought of Richard even then, not the ramifications. You didn’t even consider that everyone might want to speculate on and be witness to England’s first known tournament of brides. Especially with a handsome earl as the prize.”
“Would you have predicted the chamberlain would take over the preparations?”
“No. I grant you even I wouldn’t have thought of that.”
They were close enough to the hall that she could hear the hum of conversation.
“I’m going back to our—my—chamber,” Eleanor said. “I’m not hungry.”
“This is the first time you’ve left your tiny room in two days. You’re not afraid to show your face, are you? Have you eaten anything? ’Tis not like you to let anxiety restrain your appetite.”
Eleanor opened her mouth to retort but a loud, nasal voice coming from around the corner stopped her.
“Who ever heard of a bridal tournament?” a man asked. “I’ve won rich prizes over the years, from jewels to horses, but cannot recall a tournament where the victor earned someone’s hand in marriage.”
She grabbed Alyce’s arm and pulled her against the tapestry-covered wall.
“And not even a lady’s hand, but a man’s,” said a second man. A shrill giggle followed.
“Eleanor, we must go,” Alyce hissed.
“Ssshhh. You see how it is? I have to listen.” Curiosity glued her to the spot.
“A man who is already married. How do they plan to get around that? And an earl!” This from a third man.
“Tsk, tsk. You obviously haven’t heard the latest. The marriage between the earl and his countess has been annulled.”
“Good timing.” Another chuckle.
“We’re going to watch women engage in a public test of skills. Scandalous.”
“More people are looking forward to this than King Edward’s coronation a year ago.”
The others heartily agreed.
Alyce’s face was full of sympathy. Eleanor’s fists clenched. Pity from her sister, betrayal from Richard, mockery from her peers. How could she have made such a muddle when all she’d wanted to do was provide herself and Richard with the best spouses?
“I heard the king plans to attend because he may hold a similar event to find himself a bride. After all, he is the most eligible bachelor in all of Europe. Can you imagine, princesses competing….”
Eleanor couldn’t take it anymore. She stepped from her hiding place. “Good morning, all.”
The horrified expressions on the speakers’ faces at being caught almost made the suffering worth it. She whispered a prayer for peace, for guidance, but felt no relief.
No one could help her now. She had failed.
At Smithfield, long viewing stands draped in rich cloth and filling with excited, talkative spectators lined the field as if this were a tournament described in the book she’d consulted. Nobles and commoners alike had donned their finest garb. Colorful pennons and banners flapped in the strong breeze.
Eleanor could barely sit still as she awaited the proceedings from her prime location in the king’s pavilion near his throne, which was covered in cloth of gold. She recognized several members of the council. Close by was Hastings, consulting with various minions and sending them off to obey a multitude of commands.
She couldn’t stop her feet from tapping, the only outward display of her roiling emotions. Her heart actually hurt from thudding so hard. She stared straight ahead, forcing herself not to look at Richard, already seated next to the throne. They hadn’t spoken since he’d left her room. She’d spent the time in a swirl of wanting to go to him and wishing he’d come to her. But what more was there to say?
Tears filled her eyes. She couldn’t help it.
“Eleanor, stop. You’re staring at Richard.” Alyce said.
“This may be my last chance to see him. Who knows when we’ll be in the same castle again? You and I must return home to Middleworth. We’ll have no reason to remain at cour
t, and nowhere else to go.”
How would she face her father, survive the mortification of being back under his roof? Her only consolation was that she’d be able to return to his alchemy workshop and investigate his hiding place. For now, she had to get through this day.
All Richard needed to make him look like a king was a crown. He was so handsome in a tunic she’d never seen, fur-trimmed with hanging sleeves. Her heart sank to see that his enthusiasm for his new bride was so great he’d purchased elegant new garments. And in her favorite color: purple. The tunic was in the newer style favored by the king, so short it barely covered his bottom.
She couldn’t read his expression. His square jaw was set and he clenched his chair’s carved arms. His gaze didn’t stray from the as yet empty field. Was he happy about the tournament? Who did he want to win?
Eleanor wanted nothing more than to throw herself upon his mercy and implore him to make her his wife again. Like a defeated knight in a joust à outrance might beg the victor to spare his life. She looked at her hands, the only safe view.
More unpredicted than the elaborate display was the anguish entrenched in her chest. When she’d conceived this tournament, her only thought was to escape Richard so she could wed Arthur. How could she have foreseen the changes in her feelings?
Building a true marriage with Richard had become her heart’s desire, even though he’d never love her. All he had to do was admit that he wanted her as his wife. Finally she realized that would be more than enough.
Witnessing Richard wed another would surely be the most painful moment in her life. But she’d brought this on herself and had to see it through. When this day was over, she’d endure constant torture of imagining him laughing and smiling with the victor. Of touching his new bride as he had her. Every time she closed her eyes.