Mary Gillgannon (22 page)

W
hen they arrived at the palace, Richard bowed, bidding Astra adieu as if they were the most casual of acquaintances.

Shaking with fatigue and cold, Astra slipped in by the back way and made her way to her sleeping chamber. No brazier or lamp had been lit, and the room was dark and frosty cold. Her numb fingers struggled with her ruined gloves and the laces to her gown. At last, still wearing her chemise and stockings, she climbed into the bed and pulled up the blankets and fur throw.

She wondered if she would ever be warm again. Her limbs were like icicles, and the pile of bedcovers did little to ease her shivering. She thought at first she might be ill. Then she realized that at least part of her uncontrollable shuddering was a reaction to the strain she had endured. On this night she had risked her reputation and likely her life. Worse yet, she had done it all for a heartless knight who did not have the decency to wed her!

Her anger returned, warming her slightly. She’d been mad to ignore the stories about Sir Richard. Her own experiences should have taught her what a rogue he was. What kind of man spied on young women bathing in the woods? For that matter, what kind of man took a young maid out alone in London and sought to deflower her in a stinking sewer like Southwark? Richard was everything people said he was: a scoundrel, a philanderer, a fortune hunter.

Astra nursed her anger and indignation. Wallowing in the heat of her outrage helped drive away the anguish that lingered in the pit of her belly. If she wasn’t so furious, she’d start thinking about how much Richard’s rejection hurt. Even more frightening, she’d have to face the awful knowledge that Richard Reivers might be an unredeemable rogue, but she seemed to love him anyway.

Despair stalked her and she turned her face to the dark, featureless wall of the sleeping chamber and willed herself not to cry. The night had been long, and she was dreadfully tired. Very slowly, her body warmed, and her fevered thoughts eased. As night crept toward the milky dawn, she nestled deeper into the soft blankets and slept.

She did not awaken until very late, stirring only when there was a commotion in the room. She opened her eyes and beheld the Queen herself looking down on her.

“Astra, my dear, can you hear me’?”

Astra sat up abruptly, shocked to find Her Highness stroking her forehead.

“Your Grace!”

“Thank the heavens you are better. Your skin is cool. The fever must have broken in the night.”

“You should not be here!”

“Nonsense, I have no fear of contagion. I have nursed my children through many ailments. Besides, Lady Marguerite has been seeing to you, and she has not taken ill.”

“I... I... I...” Astra stammered, utterly flabbergasted by the Queen’s concern.

“Lie back. You are still very pale. I’ll have some gruel brought. Perhaps I should have the court physician look in on you later. He might need to bleed you.”

“No, please!” Astra gasped. “I am much improved. In fact, I feel quite well!”

She struggled to sit up, endeavoring to look like a paragon of health. The Queen frowned, but did not press her to lie down again.

“You do appear heartier than I expected. Perhaps you will be well enough to join us in the Great Hall tonight. I have some charming entertainment planned.”

“That would be lovely. I will look forward to it.”

The Queen left. Astra sank back on the bed, near faint with relief. She had an absolute terror of physicians, and the sight of blood affected her distressingly. She intended to look surpassingly healthy by tonight, even if she had to paint her cheeks with rouge to manage it.

She’d risen and dressed when a faint knock sounded at the door. Marguerite entered, her eyes bright. She closed the door tightly and then sat down on the bed.

“You must tell me everything, simply everything! Did he propose? Did you let him bed you?”

Astra flushed. Considering the events of last evening by the cool reason of daylight did not make her feel any better. Nay, she felt worse. “I’m afraid it did not go exactly as planned. Richard and I quarreled most intemperately.”

“Quarreled? Whatever did you quarrel about?”

“He will not wed me. He has a dozen excuses if he has one.”

“And so, you did not let him bed you?”

Astra shook her head. “He was quite angry. In fact, he threatened to abandon me in Southwark.”

“Southwark! Surely he did not!”

“No, he capitulated and brought me back to Westminster. Otherwise I likely would have perished in some filthy alley.”

“Jesu, Astra, what a disaster!” Marguerite exclaimed. “I count myself partly responsible. I felt sure Richard was so enchanted with you, he only needed a little nudge to succumb completely.”

“You were wrong. Richard Reivers is the most stubborn man I have ever met. He says he will not wed me until he is wealthy, and I believe he means to stick by his words.”

Astra sighed. Marguerite reached out to touch her cheek. “Poor sweeting. You truly love him, don’t you?”

Astra stared miserably at her friend and nodded. As much as she wanted to deny Marguerite’s words, she could not. No matter what Richard did, no matter how he angered her, she could not change how she felt about him. He had stolen her heart, nay, her very soul. Without him, the world was a gray and cheerless place. She could scarce think of life without him.

“If you are certain of your feelings, Astra, I know exactly what we must do.”

“What?”

Marguerite smiled enigmatically. “We shall make Richard marry you.”

Astra gave her a startled look. “I thought... you said my getting with child would be unwise.”

“I have abandoned that plan. I have another.” Marguerite smoothed the fur throw on the bed thoughtfully. “Do you know the story of the King’s sister, Lady Eleanor, and Simon de Montfort?”

“I know they are wed.”

“They were forced to wed. The King caught them in a compromising situation and forced de Monfort to marry Lady Eleanor. Henry is quite pious, and even though there was no child yet conceived, he would not allow his sister’s honor to be tarnished.”

“But I’ve heard they are devoted to each other.”

“They are, my dear. In fact, there are those who think the incident was all a ruse to get Henry to allow them to marry. They gambled that Henry would insist on the marriage even though he opposed giving his sister to de Monfort.”

“What does this have to do with Richard and me?”

Marguerite smiled triumphantly. “We will also use Henry’s sense of propriety to force a marriage.”

“How?”

“You and Richard will be found in an improper situation. Although you are not related to the King, I know he feels great fondness towards you and cares for you like a daughter or sister. If the King believes Richard has dishonored you, he will order Sir Richard to wed you.”

Astra could only stare at her friend. Even the fearsome Black Leopard could not deny the command of his liege lord. If the King did make such request, Richard would be well and truly trapped.

“Richard loves you,” Marguerite continued. “His refusal to wed is nothing more than pigheadedness. Once the marriage is inevitable, he will accept that having you as his wife is truly his heart’s desire.”

Astra nodded. Richard had said he meant to marry her. All they would be doing is forcing him to act upon his words. Still, the scheme made her very uneasy. “We should speak to Will,” she suggested. “He seems to have much insight into Richard’s heart.”

“There is no time. Will is in Thornbury visiting his family, and we must act quickly—before the King sends Richard back to Wales or some other godforsaken battlefield.”

A chill went down Astra’s spine. Richard had spoken of the King sending him away. When might that be? Tomorrow? Next week? If Richard went away to war, she might never see him again. Astra chewed her lip doubtfully. “If I were to agree to your plan, Marguerite, what exactly would we do?”

“First, you will send Richard a message expressing consternation at the rift between the two of you. Suggest that you meet to talk. Then, when you and Richard are alone together, the trap is sprung.”

“How?”

“Don’t be dense, Astra. You seduce him, of course!”

“Seduce him? Why would I want to...”

“Relax, sweeting. It will only be pretend. A few kisses and caresses, your bodice and headdress found in
déshabillé
. That will be enough to suggest Richard’s intentions.” Marguerite’s smile broadened. “Someone comes looking for you. They find you in Richard’s arms. He is pawing you, as he is wont to do anyway. The story of the scandal is reported to the King. He is outraged, determined to see Richard do right by the young maiden he has so callously dishonored.
Voilà!
You have yourself a husband.”

Astra shook her head. “Richard would be furious if I did such a thing. He has a great deal of pride. I’m not sure he would ever forgive me if I tricked him into marriage.”

“I know Richard will be outraged. But in truth, it serves him fairly. For years he has toyed with the hearts of young maidens. He deserves to get his comeuppance. Besides, I have no doubt you can convince him to forgive you. Once the two of you are wed, he will be able to indulge all his desires in your bed.” Marguerite raised her brows suggestively. “I’m certain you will win him over in a matter of nights.”

Astra felt herself being swayed. It took her breath away to think of being in bed with Richard, finally able to sample the delights he had oft tempted her with. Her head swam with feverish, erotic images. Richard’s handsome, enticing face pressed against her body. His mouth and fingers teasing, torturing and then satisfying her. The aching hollowness inside her filled with Richard’s stirring, magical flesh.

She forced the delicious thoughts away. If she went through with Marguerite’s plan, she would be deceiving the man she loved. Their marriage would begin with a lie. It was not right. It simply was not an honorable thing to do.

“I cannot do it. I appreciate your offer of help, Marguerite, but it would violate my conscience to trap Richard into marriage.”

Marguerite’s eyes narrowed. “Astra de Mortain, I am surprised at you. Have you no backbone at all? This man has cozened you and manipulated you shamefully. He dragged you off to Southwark and threatened to abandon you there. Richard Reivers deserves to be forced to marry you. You must prove you are not some cheap doxy he can use and then toss aside. You must let him know that you are a lady, a well-born woman who deserves better treatment!”

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.

H
e 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 evidence 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?