The Dragon and the Jewel (5 page)

When she politely refused any wine, his mind flew back to their wedding day. His lips twitched with amusement as he thought she must have given up drinking since then. She drew his eyes again and again. Simply observing her gave him pleasure. He watched as she daintily dipped her fingers in a bowl of rosewater and dried them on a linen serviette.

Suddenly he realized the king had addressed him, and reluctantly he withdrew his attention from Eleanor and gave it to Henry. “The Bishop of Ferns in Ireland has written to me.

Apparently there is a dispute over land he claims your father took from him. It’s a trifling matter of two manors so I think perhaps it would be expedient to give him title if only to shut the old fool up.”

“Absolutely not!” said Eleanor, her sapphire eyes blazing.

All heads swiveled in her direction. “How dare you ask such a thing, Henry? When you reply to the bishop inform him you cannot disregard the obligations of your office. You cannot play fast and loose with the Marshal of England who laid his life on the line repeatedly to put you on the throne; nor can you slur the memory of his great father.”

Henry immediately backed down and William Marshal realized Eleanor was not simply decorative. She had a fine grasp of things and could handle the King of England as if he were an unruly puppy.

Before the hour grew late the Countess of Pembroke begged the gentlemen to excuse her. William, unwilling to part with her until the last possible moment, said, “I shall escort you to your apartment if you will permit it, my lady.”

She gave him a playful look. “Ah, sir, only Franciscan monks are allowed into the ladies’ quarters of Windsor; you made the rule yourself.”

“Rules are made to be broken.” He smiled and took hold of Isabella and Eleanor’s arms.

“I shall remember that,” she teased lightly.

Eleanor was small, of a height that made it necessary for her to look up to a man. It made him aware of his masculinity. William could not help but notice that her breasts were full and pointed, upward tilting. Her fragrance stole to him. He was unknowledgeable about such feminine things, but he knew he liked the scent of her. When they reached Eleanor’s apartments William realized they would not be private for a moment. Females were everywhere in abundance—companions, servants, handmaids, and chaperons. Almost desperately he asked, “Would you care to ride with me tomorrow, my lady?”

“It would give me the greatest pleasure in the world, my lord.” She sank down before him to bid him good night and he caught the merest glimpse of décolletage, but it was enough to arouse his manhood. Desire flared in his loins momentarily
before he controlled it with an iron will. Then she was gone. The females withdrew, permitting the Marshals to speak privately.

“Have you come to take Eleanor to live with you?” Isabella asked expectantly.

William was shocked at her words. “She’s only fifteen. What sort of a man do you take me for?”

“You wed me to de Clare at fifteen,” she pointed out daringly.

“My dear, he was your own age. I’m past forty … old enough to be her father.”

“You will always be that,” she said softly, lowering her eyes.

Yes, thought Will, more’s the pity. Then he was filled with guilt, for he no longer felt the least bit fatherly toward Eleanor.

The Countess of Pembroke pressed closely to the other side of the door listening to the words of the brother and sister. Her hand covered her mouth to prevent a sob from escaping; a lone tear slipped down her cheek. The marshal still did not want her.

E
leanor awoke at the crack of dawn and fought the urge to rouse the household to prepare her to ride out with William. Instead she lay quietly recalling his every feature and gesture. His light-brown hair, though clipped very short, had a boyish tendency to curl. His eyes had been warm whenever his glance had fallen upon her. Sherry, she decided; their color was definitely sherry, and she loved the way they crinkled with laugh lines when something amused him. He was stronger, wiser, more mature than other men. He had an air of quiet authority that earned him respect. She would simply die if he did not want her!

She breathed deeply to calm herself. Over the last years she had learned to mask her inner feelings. She had mastered the art of poise so that she was able to present a picture of serenity; no matter that beneath the surface of her calm, her emotions seethed passionately. When she began to grow up she had questioned why she felt so passionately about things and concluded that she was different from others. To Eleanor everything was crystal clear. Her mind was quick and decisive and she knew exactly what she wanted from life. Right and wrong were sharply defined in black and white. She did not like or dislike;
rather she loved or hated with a passion. Her feelings ran so deep that sometimes she frightened herself.

Mother Superior had schooled her to show moderation, but Eleanor never did anything by half measure. She committed fully to things … all or nothing … life or death. She determinedly pushed away the thought that William Marshal did not want her. He had no choice. They had not simply been betrothed, they had been married, and a marriage could not be broken. She set her goal. By the time she was sixteen he would take her to live with him. She would suppress every fault and strive with all her heart to become exactly what he wanted, rather than being herself.

Her mind made up, she rang for Brenda, the copper-haired maid she had stolen from Margery de Lacy. “I’m riding with my husband this morning. I know exactly what I shall wear, but I want you to help me with this bloody, unruly mass of hair.” She had had to stop swearing, of course, and limited herself to cursing only in the presence of Brenda.

All night William had carried a picture of her crimson velvet skirts spreading across the gray stones. Now that picture was wiped out and replaced with the vivid image of her mounted upon a sleek, black mare. Over a white underdress she wore a brilliant emerald-green tabard slit up the sides to the armpits to permit ease in riding. Green boots and riding gloves made from soft leather matched the emerald green exactly, and her silken mass of black curls had been gathered into a gold mesh snood embroidered with emerald jewels.

William said, “You look exceeding lovely this morning, Countess. I have brought you a small token of my affection.” He maneuvered his mount close and placed a small brown merlin upon her gloved wrist. “She is from our own wild mountains of Pembroke in Wales, but she has been trained to a lady’s hand and will be well mannered, I trust.”

“Thank you, my lord; I love presents.” Eleanor removed the ornate hood then looked directly into the fierce yellow eyes of the merlin as they challenged each other. After a full minute she murmured, “The pigeons at Windsor will be tame fare for you, my beauty, but someday I shall take you back to Wales.” The merlin ruffled and decided to accept Eleanor.

William smiled. When even a winged predator could not resist her, what chance had he? They rode out into the forested park of Windsor with only William’s devoted squire Walter in attendance. Eleanor was overjoyed that he dismissed the usual throng of attendants mandatory whenever she rode out.

She was fiercely determined to display her riding and hunting skills, secretly thrilled that she performed for his eyes only. The speed of their horses flushed a covey of woodcock, and they removed the hoods from their hawks and flung the birds skyward. “Which bird do you consider best for hunting, my lord?” she asked.

“Well, the peregrine falcon is the fastest raptor in the entire world. Did you know it kills its prey by striking it hard with a foot balled-up like a fist?”

“No, I assumed it used its beak and talons like other predators. Why are you not flying a falcon today?” she asked curiously.

“The hunting here is unworthy of a peregrine. We’ll only bag snipe and such. It’s too bad owls are nocturnal; they are much better hunters than hawks. Owl feathers are specially adapted so that owls can fly silently and approach their prey without warning. The leading edge of the feather is downy, which eliminates the flapping noise.”

“How fascinating. I love birds, tell me more,” she urged, thinking I love the way his eyes crinkle when he glances into the sun to watch his hawk.

“Well, let’s see.” He searched his mind for some obscure piece of trivia that she’d never heard. “’tis rumored that when vultures are pursued by a predator they have a unique defense. They vomit on their predator, and it is said to be so foul-smelling it spoils the appetite of their assailants.”

Eleanor’s trill of laughter echoed through the glade, startling birds into flight, and they cast their hawks after them.

“I like to see you laugh,” William confided. “You throw back your head and let the laughter escape freely.”

“Not very ladylike,” Eleanor confessed.

“From my observation most ladies cover their mouths with one of those infernal trailing kerchiefs to hide their laughter.”

“That, my lord, is to hide their rotten teeth, not their laughter,”
Eleanor said solemnly. It was William’s turn to laugh. She gave him back his words. “I like to see you laugh. You throw back your head and let the laughter escape freely.”

“Perhaps we are birds of a feather.” He smiled, feeling happier than he had in years.

“Did you know that male and female eagles grasp each other’s talons and tumble through the sky?” In that moment she longed for William and her to be eagles so they could cartwheel through space.

When she described the courtship ritual of eagles, he felt unbidden fire snake through his loins. He knew he wanted to mate with the vividly beautiful creature who rode at his side. Yet he also knew he must protect her from his lust until she was old enough to become his wife in more than name.

He felt quite guilty that she had been kept a virtual prisoner at her brother’s castle of Windsor for years. It had been necessary while she was still a child, but now that she was almost a woman grown, she should have her own manor and household as befitted the Countess of Pembroke. He owned such vast estates that it would be most ungenerous of him if he did not deed one to her. Keeping her penned up to preserve her innocence would be selfish of him. That had already been accomplished, and now she deserved a taste of freedom. He decided to go over the smaller estates with his land steward and choose something within easy riding distance of Windsor and London.

They had enjoyed each other’s company immensely, and he was once again loath to let her go. “I should like it very much if you joined me on a visit to one of my estates. Do you think you could be ready three days hence, my lady?”

“Oh, yes, my lord,” she breathed, excited. “In fact, I could be ready in two.”

William laughed happily. “Two days it shall be then.” When they handed their birds back to the falconer, William helped her dismount. “You are an accomplished horsewoman, my lady.”

“On our wedding day you made me promise to sit a horse superbly.” Then she repeated word for word the things he had asked of her almost six years before.

A lump came into William’s throat when he realized how
seriously she had taken his suggestions to heart. She had fervently dedicated years to master the things that would please him. He felt unworthy. He also felt his years weigh heavy. How intense and enthusiastic the young could be.

After great deliberation he decided upon Odiham, twenty miles south of Windsor. It would be impractical to leave a large garrison of men-at-arms there, but he must make certain that the Countess of Pembroke and her household were adequately protected when she was in residence. With this in mind he selected Rickard de Burgh for the task along with half a dozen of his best men and dispatched them to Odiham with messages for the steward. It would be an easy assignment for them after the fighting in Ireland and Wales.

William brought yet another gift for his countess for her journey to Odiham. It was an ornamental harness and saddle of black Spanish leather, chased with silver. Rows of tiny silver bells hung from the bridle and stirrups. It caused a stir of admiration in the stables as Eleanor’s groom Toby saddled her mare.

Although Eleanor had not invited her ladies-in-waiting, but took only her maid Brenda and Isabella’s maid, the party traveling to Odiham began to swell as Richard discovered Isabella was going and invited himself along. He took only his squire and page, since William’s escort was a company of Welsh archers captained by Sir Michael de Burgh. Richard was in high spirits. Who knows, he thought, perhaps his beloved would yield to him tonight if Eleanor and William had eyes only for each other. God’s tears, it had been an eternity since they had been intimate. He rode up beside William and winked at him. “I hope you don’t mind my intrusion on this romantic little jaunt, but who better to play chaperon than brother of the bride?”

William flushed. He had had nothing indiscreet in mind and opened his mouth to protest, but Richard winked suggestively and laughed. “Don’t worry, my lord earl, I won’t play gooseberry.” William was relieved when Richard fell back to ride with Isabella.

Eleanor wore striking black and white. The bells on her harness tinkled musically as she came up to ride at her husband’s side. “Thank you for the lovely present, my lord. I must be
psychic to have chosen this matching outfit. Or perhaps we are beginning to communicate without words.”

Will’s cheeks warmed. He certainly hoped not. The lusty thoughts she provoked whenever she drew nigh would have made her flee from him in shock. Only last night he had dreamed of her the moment he fell asleep. Probably because he was anticipating their ride today, except in his dream she sat before him. The wind caused her hair to blow and brush against his cheek. Then her warm breath had touched his throat. He remembered he had kissed the eyelids that covered her jewel eyes. It was so sweet and pleasurable, he wished it could have continued through the night.

It did not, however. It was replaced by a second dream, which he remembered now with discomfort. That dream had been hot, sexual,
explicit
He had taken her maidenhead, and her cries of pain were soon replaced by cries of pleasure as she writhed beneath him. He felt shame for his lust for a fifteen-year-old girl.

He quickly changed the subject. “You did not bring your ladies along. I assure you Odiham is large enough to accommodate them.”

“Eve de Braose and Margery de Lacy are leaving me to be married. They are busy with wedding plans at the moment. Fortunately I’ve inherited Margery’s maid, Brenda, who has elected to remain in my service.”

William could hardly credit his little nieces were to be wed. “Eve and Margery are children,” he protested.

“They are my age,” Eleanor said pointedly. “Their mothers —your sisters—certainly think they are old enough to become wives, if you do not.”

Now that he thought about it, he realized he’d given his approval for the matches, but he also recalled their bridegrooms were no more than sixteen.

Behind them Isabella wore a worried frown. “Richard, your boldness terrifies me,” she murmured. “If my brother suspects your motives, I will die of shame.”

“And I will die of night starvation if you don’t yield to me soon. I won’t make do with servants and sluts any longer.”

“If I yield to you whenever you will, I too may be branded a slut!” she hissed, tossing her pretty chestnut curls.

“Not by me, my heart’s desire,” he coaxed lovingly.

Farther down the line Brenda had big eyes for Sir Michael de Burgh. Mick was aware of the copper-haired wench’s hot glances, and he was not impervious to the invitation he saw writ plainly in those eyes. The darkly handsome knight rode between Richard’s squire and Eleanor’s groom Toby, who grinned at each other knowingly as if they shared some secret knowledge.

“All right, you two, what’s the jest?” Mick demanded good-naturedly.

“Shall we warn him for his own good?” asked Richard’s squire, Geoffrey.

“Let him learn the
hard
way, no pun intended. It brings the male conceit down a notch or two.” Toby laughed.

“This concerns the fiery wench with the luscious tits, I presume,” Mick said.

“She devours men as if they were dessert,” Geoffrey said.

“If she had as many pricks sticking out of her as she’s had stuck in her, she’d look like a porcupine!” Toby joked.

“An experienced wench can be rewarding.” Mick grinned.

Geoffrey’s tone changed and became earnest. “There’s something wrong with her. She’s insatiable … can’t be satisfied.”

“Well, there’s a challenge, if ever I heard one,” said the virile de Burgh, licking his lips.