FLAME OF DESIRE (22 page)

“You will hear me out!” As Edward Courtenay moved forward, Richard nodded his head in the Plantagenet’s direction. “Tell him to leave. What needs to be said is between us and not for others ears.”

Edward Courtenay casually toyed with the neck of his doublet, in no hurry to move away. “Shall I stay?” he asked Heather.

“No,” she whispered, mortified at the gossip they were no doubt causing at the moment.

Courtenay bowed gallantly. “I will go, but if you have need of me, you need only call out my name.” In five swift strides he had left them alone.

“What is it that you have to tell me?” Heather asked, retreating to her doorway, holding the door only halfway open.

“I was married by proxy to a woman I had never met. An arranged marriage….” He began.

“An arranged marriage. One of convenience, so to speak,” Heather interrupted. “Yes, I know all about your marriage.

“You know about my marriage?” Her words confounded him. He had not been prepared for this, yet he continued on, forgetting all his flowery speeches that had been prepared for this moment.

“I have sought to have the union nullified….” He began, only to have his words drowned out in a ripple of feminine laughter. Sweeping forward, taking his arm, was Catherine Todd.

“Dickon. There you are, you naughty boy.” She held on to him possessively.

“Catherine. Not now. Leave me,” Richard ordered, a scowl masking his handsome features. Of all the times for this woman to make her entrance,  just when he had begun to tell Heather his story. In annoyance he tried to shake off her clinging hands.

She pouted prettily, flashing her green eyes in Heather’s direction. “Why, I only wanted to thank you for the flowers.”

“Flowers? What flowers?”

“Why, the roses of course.”

“I didn’t…”

“Red and pink. My favorite colors. You are so thoughtful. But then, you always were the perfect lover.” She smiled at Heather. “I do hope I haven’t interrupted anything, but I just had to see Dickon to offer him my gratitude.”

“There was nothing to interrupt,” Heather answered quickly. “We were quite through. Good day.” Closing the door, she locked it from inside, ignoring his pleas for her to open it. At last he went away and she was reminded of those times when he had waited so patiently outside her house in London. To think that she had felt sorry for him, had nearly been ready to go to him. She had nearly been ready to offer him her heart again despite all he had done.

“Fool. That is what you are, Heather Bowen,” she said aloud to herself. “Catherine Todd is right. You are a child. A stupid, optimistic dreamer.” Her eyes swept to where the roses stood, red and pink petals opening to the light of the sun, just as she had opened to his love. How many other women at court had he given them to? A collector. That was what Catherine Todd had called him. Had he a blond amid his harem also? He was no better than some infidel sultan, and all the while he had a wife at home too.

I want no part of his gifts,
she thought, reaching for the flowers in anger. They would be given to the chambermaid at the first opportunity.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

In the next few days Heather skillfully avoided not only Richard but also Catherine Todd. She had no need of further heartache or any reminders of her naiveté. Yet even seeing Richard caused her pain—the pain of longing, of unfulfilled desire and the grief of her loss. She had never known that the sight of a man could cause such sorrow.

Of course, there was always a great deal to keep her occupied. The routine was always the same. Up early to help the queen dress and for morning Mass, breakfast, reading to Mary from among the stacks of letters which were always piled atop the large carved desk in the queen’s solar, and then lunch.

In the early afternoons Heather was free to do as she pleased and often took advantage of the queen’s generosity in allowing her ladies to ride horses from the royal stables. On the days when she did not ride, there was dancing or court games, which included a game called tennis, card games, and shuttlecock. Heather could sense Richard’s piercing blue eyes upon her wherever she was and knew that he watched her. In these moments she felt her pain again, longing to be with him. What was the use of dancing? She only wished it were with him. How could she laugh when it was his smile she wanted to see? She fought hard against the love in her heart, but she was powerless, for when in his company for even the briefest of moments all was lost. Yet her pride would not let her reveal the sorrow in her heart. She laughed and flirted with Courtenay as if to show Richard that she would not be one of his collection. But how could she gain oblivion from this hopeless love she carried in her heart when she must be reminded of it daily? In a crowded room she was aware of his presence. Indeed, she did not have to look his way to know where he stood, what he wore, or what he was doing. Her sense told her and she was consumed with her love at every beat of her heart.

This evening she saw him gazing at her across the dinner table, and seeing that Catherine Todd was seated next to him, she looked hastily away. Dinner was always a lavish affair with a great many dishes to choose from, and Courtenay joked that they would soon be “as round as the juggler’s colored balls,” and Heather tried to laugh.

Throughout dinner Catherine Todd was determined to remain the center of attention, and it did not escape Heather’s notice how that green-eyed beauty constantly looked at Richard, smiling at him with her most scintillating smiles. She even went so far as to touch him every chance she got, with a familiarity that caused Heather to seek solace in Courtenay’s attentions.

If Heather suffered, so then did Richard. Trying to remain the gentleman, aware of the queen’s scrutinizing eyes, he loathed Catherine’s touch. His eyes met Heather’s and held for a moment as he tried to tell her that the woman meant nothing to him, that his love was for her, but she looked away, laughing at one of Courtenay’s remarks.

Richard ate, but tasted nothing, drank glass after glass of wine and yet could not relax. He hardly heard the words even the queen uttered; he was aware only of Heather and the knowledge that she scorned him. Had he lost her?

After dinner there was merrymaking and more dancing and it was then that Richard could stand no more. Moving across the room with the intent of talking with Heather, he stood in the doorway, blocking her way, his face a mask of misery. Taking a step forward, he sought to talk with her and she found herself trapped, unable to get away.

“Heather,” he said softly. Her body tensed in expectation, she deliberately looked away, but with every nerve of her body she knew he looked at her, a long look. Her pulse began to beat at neck and temple and she feared that he would sense how completely overcome she was at his nearness. She had not expected that being near him could cause her such pain, such longing.

When he captured her hand, his fingers gripping her slender wrist, she quivered at his touch, but too fresh in her mind was his betrayal of all she held dear, especially honesty. Instead of looking at him, she jerked her hand away and came quickly to Courtenay’s side, and Richard could have sworn that he heard her say the word “collector” beneath her breath, and puzzled at her meaning.

Casting Richard a triumphant glance, Edward Courtenay followed close behind Heather, and Richard heard him say, “I have an excellent idea. Why don’t we go riding early in the morning? There are many wonderful places we have both yet to see.”

Heather started to refuse, but the memory of Richard’s perfidy, her humiliation at Catherine Todd’s words, quickly changed her mind. “I would like very much to go.”

The sight of them together wounded Richard as no stab wound had been able to do. He cursed the blond-haired man beneath his breath, then walked to the door to be about his own duties. If she wanted Courtenay, let her have him! Yet as he watched them together his jealousy knew no bounds, and he resolved to himself that when they went out riding on the morrow, he would be close behind.

Chapter Thirty

The sun streamed in through the window as Richard opened his eyes, flexing his sore muscles as he tried to forget the sleepless night he had just spent. Fearful lest he somehow oversleep and leave Heather in the clutches of Courtenay, he had spent the night in a chair by the bed, from time to time, recalling the way she had moved, the tilt of her head, that glorious red hair billowing about her shoulders, and the sound of her laughter, the laughter she had shared with another.

“Courtenay!” he said in disgust. That silly, shallow, conceited rogue. He wondered that Heather should deem it pleasurable to spend so much time in the man’s company, and again felt the sting of his jealousy. If only he were free he would marry her and take her far from here. He had been thrice a fool to suggest to the queen that Heather be called to court, but he could not undo the wrong now.

Quickly he got up. Having slept in his clothes, he had merely to wash himself and straighten his garments to be ready to go. Making his way to the stables, he saddled one of the horses, an ebony stallion, and readied the animal to ride. The horse flicked his long tail impatiently, eager to be off, and Richard gently patted the animal’s black rump.

“Soon, Soon now.” Hearing the sound of footsteps, he ducked into the shadows, thinking it to be Heather or Courtenay. He felt much like a thief, hiding in the stable, and cursed once more the circumstances which had driven him here. But he had to protect Heather. Only a fool would not guess Courtenay’s intentions in getting her alone, and Richard was no fool.

“So, there you are, Dickon,” purred a voice he knew all too well. “I thought I saw you headed this way.” Wrinkling her nose in disgust at the smell of the stable, picking up her skirts to avoid any contact with dirt and offal on the ground, Catherine Todd swept toward him. She seemed to have a sixth sense where he was concerned, and sought him out at every turn, much to his annoyance.

“What do you want?” he barked, coming out of hiding.

“I wanted to talk with you.” Bending over as if to pick up some object from the ground, she offered him a good view of her décolletage.

He threw his hands up in frustration as his anger boiled forth like a caldron. “How many times do I have to tell you that it is over between us? Your treachery killed whatever affection I might have felt for you. I am in love with someone else, as you well know.

Her answer was laughter. “That simpering flame-haired child? I find that unbelievable and laughable. You need a woman with blood in her veins, not ice water. Besides, I have seen the way she treats you, Dickon. Hardly the actions of a woman in love.”

“Thanks to you. Your playacting about the roses was most skillful indeed. Too bad you are a woman, for a stage is where you belong.”

“Oh, Dickon, don’t be angry,” she said softly, coming up to him and boldly running her hand down the front of his doublet and fondling the thicket of hair there. “We could be happy together, you and I.” Seeing Heather coming up behind them, she moved with the deftness of a striking cobra, throwing herself into Richard’s arms. It was in this embrace that Heather found them, staring soundlessly as her eyes brimmed with tears. Did she need any further proof of the kind of man Richard Morgan was? No. Fleeing from the stables, she did not see Richard pull away from the arms entwined around his neck, did not hear his scathing words.

“Have you lost your mind?” he demanded, seeking to put as much distance between himself and the dark-haired woman as possible.

“Richard,” she implored, “I dream about you…”

“Dream about someone else,” he snapped. “Were you the last woman in England I would shun you!”

“So you refuse me again. Bastard!” Her honey-sweet tone melted as she vented her wrath. “Someday you will be sorry for what you have said today. I promise you that.” As quickly as she had appeared, she now vanished, leaving Richard to face Courtenay, who had heard her parting words.

“Tsk, tsk. A lover’s quarrel. Hasn’t anyone ever told you, Richard, that hell hath no fury like a lover scorned?” He stood with hands upon his hips enjoying Richard’s discomfiture as with a triumphant smile he ordered two horses to be saddled. Leading the horses out of the stables, he tossed his mane of blond hair and tilted up his Plantagenet nose as if to issue Richard a challenge.

In impotent fury Richard watched from a distance as Courtenay helped Heather up onto her horse, knowing that there was nothing he could say or do to claim her for himself. He was married, and Courtenay, damn him, was free. He watched sadly as Heather rode off, her unbound red hair blowing in the wind. Following close behind her, Courtenay looked like a golden-haired satyr, that ancient deity of Greek myth.

Heather rode beside Edward Courtenay in silence, trying desperately to overcome her heartache, to wipe out the memory of seeing Richard in the dark-haired witch’s arms. She would forget him, she had to.

“You ride quite well,” Courtenay said to her, flashing her his boyish grin.

“I fear that it is not my skills,” Heather tossed back at him, “but those of the horse.” She felt the smooth rhythm of the horse’s stride and fought to control her sadness. Courtenay was a handsome man. He had shown her kindness and attention these past few days, had made no secret of his desire for her. Perhaps in his arms she could forget Richard. So thinking, she gently nudged her horse close to his.

They rode into the meadows and beyond, coming to the spreading trees of the forest. Riding side by side, they chatted comfortably about the latest court tattlings and mischief and Heather filled her eyes with the beauty of the forest, forgetting for a time all else as she gazed at the dazzling greenery. Side by side they rode, except where the path grew too narrow; then Courtenay followed her.

“Of course, were anyone to know that we were alone together without proper chaperon, we would be the talk of Greenwich,” he said with a laugh.

“I don’t care!” Heather called back, thinking of Richard’s betrayal. Let the whole world chastise her, for all she cared. Riding amid the splendor of the forest was worth it. It was the first time in weeks that she had felt so free.