Chosen for the Marriage Bed (16 page)

He left the room, leaving Elizabeth torn between guilt at her own stubborn stance and frustration that she could see no way forwards.

‘He’s right, you know,’ David stated. ‘We can do nothing against Sir John.’

‘You will condone Lewis’s death?’ Sharp, intolerant. And Elizabeth immediately regretted her baseless accusation.

David snorted inelegantly. ‘Hardly. Do you need to ask?’

‘No. But I think we should—’

‘I’ll not be party to murder—or whatever else you’re thinking.’

‘You’re as uncooperative as Richard!’ But she smiled at last.

‘And I thought you would receive me here at Ledenshall with unalloyed pleasure. Now why did I think that?’

As Elizabeth moved to snuff out the candles before they parted for the night, David stopped her. ‘One thing, Elizabeth.’

‘What is that?’ Still preoccupied with her task.

‘When Master Capel asked the day of your birth, he also asked about Richard’s. I didn’t know, so couldn’t say. I thought I should tell you.’

Elizabeth abandoned the candles, her fears suddenly leaping fully formed. ‘Yes. You should.’ But kept her thoughts veiled. No point in disturbing David further.

Elizabeth immediately delved into Jane Bringsty’s wealth of knowledge.

‘Jane. If you were to practise the secrets of astrology and seek to cast a horoscope…’

Despite the late hour, Mistress Bringsty was engaged in folding Elizabeth’s shifts into a clothes press, but at this her whole body stilled, her hands flat on the soft linen. ‘Do you wish me to do so, lady?’

‘No.
If
you were to do so, would you need the day and time of my birth?’

‘I would. To determine which planet you were born under.’

‘And what would be your purpose in casting such a horoscope?’

‘Well, now. I have rarely done so.’ Elizabeth’s brows rose at the admission that Jane had
ever
done so. ‘And not at all in recent years. But I would do so to discover the state of your health. Of body and mind. The effect of the planets on your life and temperament. I would also use it—’ She stopped, frowned.

‘How?’ Elizabeth found breathing suddenly difficult. Would Jane confirm her worst fears?

‘To plot the day and time of your death.’ The reply was distressingly blunt.

Elizabeth simply nodded. ‘So I think.’ And gave herself over to some unsettling thoughts. So Sir John’s necromancer was dabbling in astrology, was he? But to what purpose? And why would he desire Richard’s day of birth as well as her own? She did not like the direction her thoughts took, nor could she share her concerns. She would not tell Richard. There was enough between them to cause friction—bringing Sir John to justice—without this to muddy the waters further.

As for Sir John—he was guilty with blood on his hands. If Richard and David would not help her, then she must take his punishment on to her own shoulders. She had patience. She would wait and plan until the perfect moment arrived. No secretive poisonings or casting of dubious spells, as Jane would be quick to advise. Sir John must answer for his des pi cable sin in full public eye.

Except, her heart heavy, she knew she must have a care, must devise some means that would not bring shame on Richard.
I would never forgive myself if anything harmed you in any way,
Richard had said to her, simply a statement of a possessive husband to his wife, without, she accepted, the burden of love. Elizabeth carried that burden, willingly, joyfully, despite the pain it brought her. With all the weight of that emotion on her soul, she could echo Richard’s words. Richard must not be implicated; she would never forgive herself if any action of hers brought condemnation down on him. He might not love her, but her love for him coloured every decision she made. Richard must not suffer for any action of hers.

Chapter Thirteen

E
lizabeth sat in the solar, feet neatly on a foot stool, making her intention clear. She wished her breath did not feel quite so constricted in her chest, that her heart did not thud so loudly in her ears. Surely Richard must hear it. It was June, Midsummer Eve, the traditional occasion for festivities and feasting, for trials of strength and skill in the March, the perfect opportunity for her revenge against Sir John, yet to achieve it she must lie to Richard.

She swallowed against a dry throat and looked up to where he waited for her. It was difficult to meet his eyes, but she forced herself to hold the keen gaze. ‘I have decided. I will not go.’

‘Why will you not go?’

‘I feel unwell.’ She bit her lip. ‘My head—and my stomach feels uneasy.’

‘You have the headache.’ He failed utterly to disguise his incredulity. ‘Enough to keep you from the Midsummer Fair?’

Elizabeth’s determination all but wavered in the face of Richard’s disbelief. ‘Yes.’

Richard tilted her chin. ‘Why do I not believe you?’

‘I have no idea, my lord. It is not in my nature to dissemble. Don’t you trust me?’ It hurt that he might not, even as she accepted that she deserved his censure for what she was planning.

Richard looked askance, his blatant refusal to answer deepening the hurt further. ‘Are you breeding?’ he asked instead.

Elizabeth flushed to her temples. ‘No,’ she replied smartly. ‘You’ll be the first to know if I am.’ But she could not deny the sweet flutter of anticipation.

‘Then I can’t persuade you to come with me?’

‘No!’ And she prayed he would not question her further. Lying to Richard made her heart ache as well as her head.

‘As you wish.’ She thought he had accepted at last. Then he swooped, fast as a hawk, leaned an arm against the high chair-back and kissed her full on the mouth. ‘You seem well enough to me, lady.’ He kissed her again, hard, demanding, his tongue owning the soft fullness of her lips, his hand clasping the nape of her neck to hold her captive. ‘In fact, you seem far too delicious for an ailing wife. We could, of course, stay here together and celebrate the Midsummer Solstice entirely privately. It’s high time you quickened. What better time than this?’

Lips parted, eyes wide, Elizabeth could think of no reply.

‘Nothing to say? Why did I hope you might invite me to your bed? Take care, Elizabeth.’ Another kiss to steal what breath she had. The speculative gleam in his eye as he left the room thoroughly unnerved her.

Elizabeth’s face burned, her heart lurched, her breath hissed out between softened lips and her whole body felt tender. Had she detected the faintest shadow of disappointment in his face? Why did she have to dissemble and send him away? She breathed out slowly, accepting the need for it. Because Richard could not, must not, be involved in the momentous step she was about to take.

Alone, she bent her mind to her plan, focusing on the enticing tale of an ancestress, back in the distant days of the Conquest. Sybil de Lacy, a glorious heroine of Elizabeth’s childhood, the subject of endless fascination, had taken a dagger to the murderer who had killed her lord because he desired her in marriage. Could she, Elizabeth, emulate Sybil? If she could not act within the law, then she would act outside it and take her revenge, by her own hand as Sybil had done. And that would take the burden from Richard and from David. As for the repercussions for herself, at that moment she neither knew nor cared. All she knew was that her brother’s blood would be avenged. His soul that cried out to her would be laid to rest.

‘Are they gone?’ she asked Jane Bringsty.

‘Yes.’ Jane leaned forwards, watching, at the window. ‘I still don’t see why you would not—’

‘Never mind that.’ Elizabeth stood, her distracted air quite vanished. ‘If you are of a mind to be useful, come with me.’

She took the steps at a brisk pace and vanished through the door of Richard’s chamber where she began a hasty and selective search of the coffers and chests. The results were wrapped into a rough parcel with a cloak.

‘Take this.’ She handed over the parcel. ‘Meet me in the stables within the half-hour. Arrange for two horses to be ready.’

‘Leave well alone is what I say!’ Jane clicked her tongue against her teeth. ‘I don’t know what you intend, but I see danger…’

Elizabeth rounded on her serving woman, all patience at an end. ‘Leave well alone, indeed. Do nothing, my lord says. For once the pair of you are in agreement. But I will not allow my uncle to escape without retribution for spilling Lewis’s blood! If Richard will do nothing, than I will.’

Then Elizabeth was already on her way to borrow a few necessary items from the soldiers’ quarters. Within the quarter of the hour they were riding out in the direction of the Midsummer Fair.

The whole of the March had come together for the Midsummer Fair. Striking livery was evident on all sides, banners drifting in the warm air, both York and Lancaster well rep resented. But for this day, allegiance to York or Lancaster would be put aside. The sun shone and the ale flowed, conflict put aside in the cause of local unity and frivolous celebration.

Richard had anticipated the event with mild pleasure, as he did every year. Now he set the muscles in his jaw as frustration bit deep. He
ought
to be able to enjoy it. Instead, he found his thoughts re turning to Elizabeth’s strangely wayward behaviour and her sharp words. To his own regret that she had not turned to him and begged him to stay.

Don’t you trust me?
she had asked crossly.

Well, no, not always. Even now he was wondering what she was planning. When Elizabeth looked at her most innocent, he feared her the most. Not that she had appeared particularly innocent. As he knew better than anyone, she could be headstrong, fool hardy in her loyalty to those she loved. Difficult, wilful, capricious, and yet he admired her. Was intrigued by her, enjoyed the fire and heat in their physical union… His body leapt to uncomfortable readiness as he imagined her carrying his heir, before he deliberately turned his thoughts away from such pleasures and back to Elizabeth’s unusual recalcitrance. Sharp in tuition told him that some thing was afoot. Yet after the episode of the poison, surely he could trust her to keep her serving woman in check, and herself not to step beyond the line of what was acceptable behaviour for the Lady of Ledenshall? Perhaps there was a very simple explanation, he decided, even if it were not her usual
modus operandi
—that she would stay away to avoid any confrontation with her uncle, who had blood on his hands.

He found himself distracted by the approach of Mistress Anne Malinder, superbly and expensively gowned, magnificently victorious in the company of her newly betrothed husband, Hugh Mortimer of Wigmore, wealthy and well born. Richard did not linger. He could see the calculation in those sharp green eyes even at a distance. For the first time, Richard had to admit to a sense of relief that Elizabeth—and Jane Bringsty—were not present.

So with David at his side, purely male pursuits in mind, Richard made his way across the grassy space to accost Robert Malinder where he stood, cup of ale in hand, to watch the start of the archery competition.

‘Richard!’ Robert snared two passing cups of ale. ‘And David. I heard you were back at Ledenshall. Does your uncle approve of your association with The Enemy or did you escape without his per mission?’ Tactless as ever, Robert grinned.

But David was not listening. He had stiffened, his eyes narrowed on the middle distance. He drew in a sharp breath. Then grabbed Richard’s sleeve.

‘Richard!’

Richard, indulgently, would have brushed the lad off. ‘Go and find yourself another cup of ale and an archer to talk to, and give me some peace. It’s not your turn at the butts for some time. You’re like a flea on a warm dog!’

‘But, Richard! Look. There!’

So he did, if only to keep the boy quiet, following David’s direction. A figure, a tall, slim young man with a cloak draped over his arm, made his lei surely way around the edge of the crowd, his face averted from the spectacle. In a moment of terrible recognition, Richard’s fingers tensed on the cup, blood running cold.

‘God’s blood!’

‘I thought it was Lewis,’ David murmured, ‘but of course, it isn’t. If you were to ask me, I would say that—’

‘I know exactly what you would say,’ Richard interrupted through his teeth.

‘She used to do it when she was a girl—borrow Lewis’s clothes, take a horse and ride out. Until our father beat it out of her. What is she about?’

‘How would I know what my wife is about?’ Richard retorted. They were already in pursuit with elbows and apologies, but the crowd was dense.

‘Why was she carrying a bow and a sheaf of arrows?’ Robert asked, following. ‘Surely Elizabeth would not participate in so public a display as this?’

‘No, she would not.’ Richard’s eyes locked on David’s, horribly aware that the boy’s thoughts mirrored his own. ‘But she might just consider… And if she does, the Midsummer Fair will become a bloody battlefield.’

As the crowd thinned they ran in fear.

Elizabeth marvelled that her blood ran ice cold, her breathing still and calm. From the rise where she took up her position, she squinted against the sun to bring John de Lacy into sharp focus. How easy it would be to wing the goose-fledged arrow towards his arrogant heart so that Lewis’s shade would rest in peace. There were no doubts in her mind. They had all been weighed and discarded. Sybil de Lacy would be proud of her. The slightest smile, stern and controlled, touched her face. With no further thought, Elizabeth selected an arrow.

Richard saw her immediately on the little hill. The cloak was laid at her feet with the sheaf of arrows. Except for one, which she was intent on notching to the bow string. Her whole attention was focused on the distant figure of her uncle the murderer, clearly visible amidst the throng in his rich blue tunic, his draped and feathered hat. Richard found that he was holding his breath as she took up her position, lifted and pulled back the bow to her ear. Calm, composed, purposeful. Would she carry out her plan or lose her nerve at the last moment? No, he accepted. He could not rely on her re thinking her deadly scheme. Would she risk endangering others in the crowd? But her aim was excellent. In her eyes it would be a justifiable execution to avenge Lewis. Her face was pale, her lips set in a thin line, all sharp focus. Had she even considered the repercussions if she were to be successful? That she would be taken and brought before the weight of the law for murder, and with all the witnesses to so public an act, would un doubtedly be found guilty.

Richard felt cold sweat prickle along his spine. He doubted that she had given such trivial matters even a passing consideration.

All this swept through Richard’s mind in a blink of an eye as he considered his next move. If he shouted to distract her, it would draw attention to them, some thing that he would avoid. Nor would it necessarily stop her. If he waited until he was close enough to wrest the damned bow from her hand, she could already have released the first arrow with dire results.

Oh, God!

But the faintest tinge of admiration brushed along his tightly wound nerves that she should consider such a plan and execute it so perfectly. Without David’s eagle eye on the crowd, she would now be sighting along the arrow, aiming at John de Lacy’s black heart with no one being the wiser.

The decision over what to do was taken out of his hands.

‘Stop! Elizabeth…’ David shouted at his side, his arms raised in furious gestures to gain her attention. ‘Not that… Don’t do it.’

Elizabeth stiffened, but did not lower the bow, merely turned her head. Richard looked on, appalled, as her eyes, bright with fulfilment, met his.

And then there was nothing for them to do but sprint ahead up the hill towards her. Elizabeth remained exactly where she was, bow still drawn to taut readiness. She sighted again and Richard knew with dread that they would not reach her in time. Answering his worst fears, he could only watch as she loosed the arrow to soar over the heads of the nearer crowd and vanished towards its living target. A sharp cry rang out above the general babble. An immediate confusion in the crowd, voices raised. And Elizabeth calmly fitted another arrow to her bow, drew it back, sighted, as if she had all the time in the world to unleash the arrow at an in animate bale of straw as she had done at Ledenshall.

Impelled by a fear greater than any he had ever experienced in his life, Richard took the only option left to him.

Before she could release the arrow, Elizabeth found herself struck with force from the side, with an impact so great that she was flung to the ground, to be buried under a heavy weight. As a last-ditch effort, Richard had launched himself at her as if she were an opponent and they were engaged in mortal combat. Lacking finesse it might be, he decided, as he lay above her, breathing laboured, but it had provided the solution. Elizabeth lay beneath him, winded, shocked from the unexpected attack, her face white, her eyes dark with thwarted passion. He felt her breath heave against his chest. Fury shimmered round her. It crossed his mind momentarily that she might be injured, but no time for that. Faces in the crowd were beginning to turn in their direction as a clamour of voices rose from the vicinity of Sir John, who might or might not still be alive.

‘I can’t breathe.’ His wife glared up at him, hands braced against his chest. ‘You’re crushing me. How dare you interfere? You’re hurting me! Let me up.’

‘In God’s name, Elizabeth! That’s the least of our troubles!’ He fought to temper the hot words that threatened to pour out and blister them both, pushing to his feet, pulling Elizabeth with him with a jerk of his hand around her wrist. It would be a disaster to be seen wrestling on the grass with his wife, a long bow and goose-fledged arrow on the ground beside them, if John de Lacy lay dead in the crowd with a similar arrow buried in his chest.

‘You shouldn’t have stopped me! Let me finish it.’ Dishevelled and furious, she was beyond reasoning.