Chosen for the Marriage Bed (20 page)

Richard swooped, hands gripping her shoulders. ‘No, you will not. Not when it puts you in danger. Not when your loyal ties conflict with mine.’ He shook her, but was still sufficiently in command, just about, to temper his strength.

‘Ah, so that’s it.’ She frowned. ‘Did you think I was going to join my uncle, to engage in Yorkist plots against you with my de Lacy family?’

‘No. Of course not—’

‘How completely unwarranted!’ So where was fairness now? ‘How dare you dishonour me.’

‘Be silent—’

‘I will not!’ She wrenched herself from his grasp to sweep across the room, from where, at a safe distance, she turned to glare. ‘I have had enough silence from you these past days. It’s time you talked to me and told me what is making you as ill tempered and edgy as an autumn wasp amidst a glut of apples.’

‘Elizabeth, I warn you. I’ll not tolerate—’

‘Will you not, Richard?’ Elizabeth stalked back across the room, took hold of the furred neckline of her lord’s tunic, tugged and kissed him full on the mouth. ‘Will you not? What is it you will not tolerate?’ Again she took his mouth with hers.

It took them both aback.

Elizabeth recovered first and spoke what was in her mind. What had she to lose? ‘I care about you. I care that you are troubled and unhappy. I hate that you are distracted and preoccupied. I hate that you shut me out as if we mean nothing to each other, even if it is only that we share a bed and disagree over who should wear the crown.’

She kissed him again. Fast and fierce. ‘So, what have you to say now?’

‘Ah…very little.’ His thoughts had scattered into the air. ‘Elizabeth…’

‘Richard!’ She scowled at him, still not satisfied.

And Richard found himself trans fixed by the brilliance of her eyes, and was suddenly speaking the words and thoughts that had distilled in his heart on his ride back to Ledenshall. That had driven him to unreasonable fury when he discovered her absence.

‘Do you not realise that I love you?’
How should you. When I did not even know it myself?
‘That the thought of losing you or allowing harm to come to you destroys me. It’s not your politics or your family allegiance that drives me to intemperance. I care not whether you are Yorkist or Lancastrian. If you were attacked, harmed, I would be wounded, too. If you were killed—living with out you would be too painful to contemplate. I love you…’ It was unnerving to hear it spoken aloud into the silent room. Unnerving to watch her response.

‘Ah, Richard…’

He could read nothing in her face, which became care fully guarded. She touched her tongue to lips gone suddenly dry. He closed his hands firmly over hers, held them wrapped close. ‘I love you, Elizabeth. Why I should find a need to love a woman so opinionated and wilful, I have no idea.’

‘The same reason I should love a man who is arrogant and dominant and would command my obedience, I suppose.’

He heard her reply, lethal to the heart. Took a moment to take in so astonishing an avowal of love. Much as his had been for her. But Elizabeth again recovered the faster. She huffed a breath, her exasperation more evident than her professed love. He still did not seem to take her meaning. Why was he so
slow
? So she would make it plain enough, to hammer a nail into a plank of wood!

‘I love you, Richard Malinder, God help me! I dare you to remain silent now.’ She shook her head. ‘You fool, Richard. You beloved fool!’

And then she was in his arms and they were closed fast around her. Who moved first was unclear, but the outcome was the same.

‘I am filthy.’

‘I don’t care. So am I.’

They tumbled to the bed.

‘I was afraid for you. I could not bear to lose you. I love you.’

‘Show me. Show me now!’

‘I can do that.’

Minds played little part in what followed, only touch, demand answering demand. Only an unspeakable need, a fire to burn hot between them, to scorch and consume all their differences. Desperate kisses, a fast race of hands, a furious dragging away of garments until there was nothing to separate them. Elizabeth’s hands, smooth as silk on chest and belly, over hips, wrapping around his hard erection, all but robbed him of control.

‘No…! Not yet!’ A harsh intake of air as he struggled to command his body.

Capturing her wrists, Richard pinioned them above her head as his mouth ravaged hers, his tongue seeking and discovering that dark, inner sweetness. Then, anticipating that same hot sweetness between her thighs, and because he could resist her no longer, with one thrust he entered her, hard, sure.

‘Richard…’ Elizabeth’s voice hitched on a ragged breath, her body arching in demand as sensation bloomed to make her shiver on the edge.

‘Watch me, Elizabeth. Stay with me.’ The kiss he placed on her lips was all tenderness, all delicacy, despite the tumult that had brought them to this moment.

‘Yes.’ She gasped as he began to move within her, to fill and own, and she shuddered beneath his weight, his urgency. ‘I know who you are, Richard.’ She returned the gentle caress in some thing akin to awe.

‘As I know you.’

It was the last softness, the last words between them for some time. Richard proceeded to drive them both to mindless oblivion before burying his face into her newly grown hair.

Breathing settled, blood cooled. Their minds took longer to recover, stunned at the explosion of passion that had swept all before it, carried them with it. Until the underlying scents tickled Elizabeth’s senses. She wrinkled her nose. Dust and horse, leather. It was not unpleasant, but she now thought longingly of scented water. Even so she had no desire to move, so turned her cheek against Richard’s chest, enjoying the sensation of his heart beating strongly beneath her ear.

‘I love you, Elizabeth. I could worship the ground you step on. Why did it take me so long to see it?’ Richard lifted her more firmly against him as his mind took control from his body once more. He had lived with her, argued with her, God knows he had disagreed with her. And at some point he had simply fallen in love with her. Cradling her face between his palms, he took in every beloved feature. How had he not seen her beauty beside Gwladys, who had blinded and wounded him against other women? And there she was all the time, hair silken soft against him, eyes dark, mysteriously enchanting. A beauty all her own. Why had he not seen it, acknowledged it, until now? Her delicious curves, firm yet soft. Seductively smooth under his hands, his mouth.

‘Because you did not want me,’ Elizabeth answered gruffly, truth fully.

‘I don’t think I knew what I wanted. But now I do.’

‘I didn’t match up to Gwladys.’ Elizabeth sighed. ‘You can’t deny it.’

‘No. You are nothing like her, thank God!’ Richard placed his fingers lightly on her lips when they parted to ask. ‘No. No more about Gwladys tonight. Have I told you how beautiful you are?’

‘No.’ She would have looked away if he had allowed it. ‘No one ever has. And I was a poor thing when I came to you.’

He touched her mouth with his own, whisper soft. ‘Then it is for me to tell you. You shine as the sun on my horizon. You glitter as the most costly of all my jewels. You are more precious than all my lands, all my estates. You are my whole life.’

Elizabeth could not reply, too full of emotion, satisfied to lie beside him and drift for a little time in a sea of immeasurable contentment. So they loved each other. A miracle, as bright and precious as her Book of Hours. One that she could not quite believe—but had he not said the words? So had she. Had he not proved it with his body, that hot possession? As she had responded. Elizabeth felt the deep flush stain her skin at the knowledge of her response. She tucked the delight away to take out and study, to think about later. But the business was not done. She would not quite let the Lord of Ledenshall off the hook yet, even if he could worship the ground she stepped on.

Had he really said that?

‘Richard—tell me why Henry’s defeat troubles you so. Why you cannot—
will not
—support York, if we have to accept a Yorkist Plantagenet king.’

‘Hmm?’

Elizabeth prodded his ribs, achieving an instant wince. ‘I need to know.’

‘When did you ever not?’ he murmured. ‘I thought you were asleep. I was.’ He stirred enough to plant a slide of kisses along her shoulder. ‘But now I’m not,’ he murmured, his breath warm against her neck.

‘Richard!’ She shivered, was tempted to abandon every plan but the one clearly in his mind—but set her will to resist. ‘Richard—will you tell me? What troubles you. Why is York an anathema to you as king in place of Henry? Both can claim royal blood.’

Richard groaned. ‘I see love hasn’t mellowed you.’ But he cur tailed his kisses. And because it was in his mind and because some thing had loosened round his heart, he told her the whole. His despair over Henry’s in stability, his in ability to rule the country. The wanton destruction of law and order in his own lands. All the concerns that had made such uncomfortable travelling companions on his ride through the March. All of which she knew. But then, what she had no presentiment of, he told her of the Duke of York’s outrageous actions after the battle at St Albans, laying it all out for her to examine and judge. When Richard Plantagenet, the then Duke, had ordered the execution of Sir Thomas Malinder, Richard’s father, ordering the striking of his head from his body in bloody retribution.

‘There was no need for my father to die,’ he finished. ‘He could have been imprisoned, ransomed, as were the other Lancastrian leaders. Instead he was dispatched like any common criminal. It was a political murder to remove a rival in the March. Vindictive and bloody. I cannot forgive it, but forgive me for shutting you out. It’s a habit—keeping my thoughts close—not sharing them.’

‘I’ll forgive you—but only if you don’t do it again.’ Elizabeth kept the moment light, even as it touched her heart that he should share so personal a burden of bitter residue of loss and grief with her. She stroked a hand across Richard’s chest, as if she could smooth out the rough edges for him and make the future plain. The old Duke had been killed at Wakefield back in December, his title inherited by his seventeen-year-old son, Edward, Earl of March. ‘I think we can only wait and let it play out. Perhaps Edward, the new Duke, will be an easier man to follow.’

‘Perhaps he will.’

Richard captured her hand, to press his mouth to her palm in a wave of gratitude. Elizabeth under stood. Why had he held back for so long? But he would not tell her of the ambush set for him. Nor of his suspicions of its instigator. They were still uncertain, and now was not the time to burden his new love with such fears for his safety.

Chapter Sixteen

Y
uletide festivities. Elizabeth was now certain. She carried a child. She had said nothing yet, as too often a child was lost before its existence was even recognised, but her monthly courses had stopped and although she suffered from no unpleasant or obvious symptoms, thanks to an infusion of sweet balm leaves steeped in wine, she
knew
.

‘Did I not say so?’ Jane smirked as she helped her mistress into a sumptuous gown of jewel-like amethyst brocade with over sleeves to sweep the floor in luxurious extravagance, lacing the low-necked bodice, looping the beaded girdle. And Elizabeth forgave her. It was a very precious knowledge and she could not but rejoice. So, she decided, it could be in the way of a Twelfth Night gift for her lord. It pleased her to wait a little longer and to anticipate his pleasure.

At the feast, they drank, exchanged cups, drank again, lips claiming the imprint of the other’s lips in deliberate possession, as eyes held and expressed every emotion they did not put into words. A loving cup such as was never shared at their wedding feast.

Then, leaving those who would to drink and roister until dawn, they withdrew to their chamber. Elizabeth poured the wine and came to sit beside him, bringing with her the pewter goblets and a carved and inlaid box, smiling as he raised his brows in query.

‘I have a Twelfth Night gift for you, my lord.’ She smoothed her hand over the fine wood of the box on her lap.

‘Have you now? And what might that be, my lady?’

‘When we were wed you gave me gifts. I wanted to give you some thing. As a symbol of my love.’

With a brush of lips against her hair, Richard took it from her, opened the ornate lid. Turned back the soft velvet wrapping and lifted out, to sit on the palm of his hand, a little ivory chess piece, cunningly carved into the shape of a knight astride his horse, arms raised to grasp sword and lance and shield. Perhaps, looking at the intricately worked mail coat and carved folds of a linen surcoat, a crusader from years past. It was beautiful and a mere herald for the exquisite castles and bishops and pawns that followed to be lined up on the table at his side.

‘They’re magnificent.’ Richard turned the figure of the king in his hand, complete with crown and sword and staff of office, his robes swirling in stiff folds to his feet. ‘York or Lancaster, do you suppose?’

Elizabeth sighed and leaned against him. ‘In truth, I don’t know. And at this moment—dare I admit it?—I don’t know that I care.’

‘What a conformable wife you are tonight!’ He placed the king next to his stiff-backed ivory queen with her severe and unsmiling expression. ‘Now, what should I give you in return, my wife?’

‘You’ve already given me a gift.’ Her lashes hid her smug complacence from him for a little time yet. But not much longer. She burned to speak out.

‘Apart from the cloak and the brooch. I gave you those before I came to love you.’ His arms slid smoothly round her so that she fit against his hip.

‘That’s not my meaning.’ She eased her dry throat with a sip of wine, put down the cup. Then looked up, gaze open on his and steady. ‘You have given me a child. I carry your heir, Richard.’ The emotion built as she saw the realisation of her words strike home, to his very heart. Her smile lit her face with joy, an inner glow that brought a flush and a sparkle, as if she had won a victory in battle.

‘A child!’ There it was in his face. The delight. Then the quick concern for her safety. How she loved him for that. ‘How long…? How long have you known?’

‘Ha! I swear Jane told me within a week!’

‘A witch’s prediction?’

‘No.’ The clasp of her hands on his soothed and reassured. ‘She’s skilled in reading the signs. But now I am sure. My body tells me. Three months, I would say.’

He turned her so that they were facing. ‘Since I can’t think of the words to say to you, I think I must kiss you.’ And did. Pouring into the meeting of lips all the tenderness and fierce possessiveness he felt for her and their unborn child.

‘You’ll have an heir before the end of the summer,’ she whispered when she could.

And then nothing would do but for him to take her to bed and repeat the relevant act all over again. Elizabeth felt she could never be happier. Surely the future would smile on them.

The future scowled in the form of a royal messenger, a hastily delivered document, driving Richard into immediate action.

‘Elizabeth. I have to go. There’s to be a battle and I’m summoned to join the Queen, in the name of the King, with any force I can muster.’ He was suddenly swamped with the logistics of travel with armed retainers over water-logged roads. Until he realised that Elizabeth had not replied. He looked up from the parchment. A deliberate smile. ‘I’ll not die, I promise. I’ll be back before you know it.’

‘You can’t know that. I’ll pray for your safety.’ Face strained, she walked to stand close. The little knot of anxiety that had been present since the first days of their marriage, and even after the bright glory of their love for each other, still remained firmly lodged, a piece of grit in a pearl. This was not the best of times to ask, but she knew she must. Selfish it might be, but there might never be another opportunity. Ask Lord Malinder, Jane had said, so she would. ‘Richard—will you tell me one thing before you go?’

‘Anything.’ He could not read the stillness in her face.

She bit her lip, could not meet his eyes for fear of what she might see there. ‘I know it’s foolish but—tell me about Gwladys. You never speak of her.’

She could sense his wariness. ‘What do you want to know?’

Elizabeth frowned. ‘Did you love her? Does she still hold a place in your heart?’

Of course. Carelessly, he had not thought, had not even considered the possibility. That Elizabeth, in her vulnerability when she had first arrived from Llanwardine, had lived with this fear that his heart remained in Gwladys’s keeping. Richard discarded the letter to draw her close, so that he might rest his brow against hers with a little sigh.

‘Did you love her?’ Elizabeth repeated.

‘Love her? No. I did not.’

‘I thought you loved her,’ Elizabeth stated gruffly, ‘loved her too much to love me. She was very beautiful.’

‘Elizabeth! Have I not said that I love you?’ Richard stroked her hair, letting it fall and curl through his fingers. ‘You need not fear Gwladys. She is not some wraith who demands my loyalty, who will haunt and step on the edge of your gown whenever you turn your back.’

‘I didn’t know. Gwladys seemed to be a for bid den subject.’

Elizabeth waited and he knew he would have to explain. So he did, as simply as he could, struggling to prevent the old hurt from re surfacing.

‘Gwladys was lovely beyond question. But any intimacies in marriage terrified her. She put up with my demands because she saw it as my right, but there was no joy in it for her. She shrank from me, hated every minute of it—which made me feel like an uncivilised bar barian. I tried to be gentle, considerate. It did not make much difference—I doubt the lady could see the difference between a seduction or a rape. She felt only relief if I did not come to her bed. My only consolation was that she would probably reject any man, no matter whose arms held her. But I was very young and there was always that doubt…that
I
was the problem.’

‘Oh.’ Elizabeth could think of nothing to soothe so deep and personal a wound. Her eyes darkened at the sadness and silently cursed the lovely Gwladys for the pain she had un wittingly inflicted. Then sharpened. ‘I remember. When you first took me to bed. When I flinched when you would have stroked my hair—or lack of it. I was embarrassed.’

His lips twisted in wry pain. ‘And I thought—well, you can guess what I thought when it seemed you did not wish to be touched. I could not bear it again. I had known Gwladys for ever, since we were children, you see.’ Sliding his hands down her arms, Richard drew Elizabeth by the hand to sit with him in the window-seat where the sun gilded and warmed them both. ‘I thought we had a close friendship, certainly enough affection to pass for love in what was considered by our families as a desirable marriage. I was wrong. Even the friendship died. Gwladys gradually retired into her own world of embroidery and prayers. She fulfilled her duties as my wife and Lady of Ledenshall without question, but only what need demanded. After she quickened with my child—I no longer went to her bed. It was a relief for her and for me.’

Elizabeth bowed her head at the pain she had resurrected. ‘I am sorry to have raised the spectre.’

‘As I am sorry it troubled you. I suppose I should have told you long ago.’ Raising her chin with his hand, he gently wiped a suspicion of a tear from her cheek with the pad of his thumb. ‘Don’t fear her, Elizabeth. You have all my heart. My love and my respect. Do you still not know that?’

‘I do know it.’ Her smile was brilliant and he saw the leap of desire in her eyes.
‘I
do not flinch from you, dear Richard!’

‘I am aware.’ She felt the rumble of a laugh deep in his chest as he pressed his lips against her temple. ‘As
you
should be aware, my Amazon—that you are more beautiful to me than any woman, past or future.’

The remaining sliver of ice in Elizabeth’s heart, that whisper of doubt that she was not worthy of his love, dissolved into joy. There was no one in Richard’s mind but her.

The day of Richard’s departure arrived. Elizabeth woke. It was still early with only enough grey light to create shadowed outlines in the still room. At some time in the night she had turned to Richard and his arm, although lax in sleep, was curved round her to hold her close. Her hand, which she had spread against his chest, made her aware of the slow rise and fall of his breathing. Turning her head gently so as not to wake him, she could make out the clean profile, the fan of dark lashes against his cheek, the ruffled fall of dark hair. Wished for the light to brighten so that she could see more clearly, could study his face without his being aware and fix this moment securely in her mind. Considered and then rejected the temptation to stroke the dark wave where it lay on the pillow. It mattered. Heart-breakingly it mattered. For today he would take his retainers and ride to inevitable battle in the name of the imprisoned king. Death or glory.

The darkness paled further. Elizabeth revelled in the warmth, his closeness, breathing in his scent, the imprint of his flesh on hers. Oh, how she loved him. And the miracle of it was that he loved her. And even more of a miracle that Gwladys no longer haunted her. The icy jealousy around her heart had quite melted away. Perhaps if King Henry was restored to his throne, then Richard could come home and they could try to live with some semblance of normality. But God knew when she would see him again. She could not even think of any other alternative. Unable to resist any longer, she lifted her hand to touch the silk of his hair, then with a finger to trace the outline of his lips. And felt them curve in response.

‘So you are awake,’ he murmured, turning his face into the soft angle between her neck and shoulder, pressing light kisses there.

‘Yes.’

‘I can hear you thinking.’

‘Only how much I love you,’ she murmured in delight that he was awake. ‘I shall miss you, dear Richard.’

Drawing her close to savour her smooth skin and the sharp perfume of herbs in her hair once again before he left her, Richard allowed himself to be steeped in her. Held her so that she might experience the strength of his desire for her once more. So that she stretched, sighing, as he slid so perfectly inside her. And Richard deliberately controlled the pace as they rocked together in the warm sanctuary that was their own. Gentle, tender, with none of the scorching passion that some times consumed them when they came together, it was a long, slow loving, to remain with them when the days and miles stretched between them. Until Elizabeth shuddered against him, driving him into his own dark surrender. Until both lay with heightened breathing, but content at the last.

She wrapped her arms around him as if she would still hold him, yet knowing that she must not. It was the burden of women to wait and fill their hands and minds so that they would not contemplate the dread outcome of battle.

As if he could read her mind, Richard pushed himself to his elbows so that he could look down into her face. His was serious, the lines strongly marked. ‘I need you to hold the castle for me, Elizabeth. In my name and that of my heir. To protect my people and my land. Will you do it?’

‘With all my heart, my dear love—’ A hammering at the door cut off her words.

‘My lord, my lord…’ Such was the tone, and the voice very young, that Richard leapt from the bed, stopping only to snatch a robe for modesty’s sake before he opened the door to one of the kitchen lads.

‘Master Beggard sent me, my lord.’ The child was out of breath, his eyes wide with shock and excitement. ‘He says to come at once. We are beset.’

‘Beset? What’s wrong?’

‘A force, my lord. Master Beggard says to tell his lordship it’s not friendly, by God!’

‘Did he now? Tell him I’m on my way.’ The lad sped off.

‘What is it?’ Elizabeth asked anxiously, suddenly remembering a previous occasion when Richard had been summoned from her side to the tragedy of Lewis.

‘I don’t know. But I soon shall.’

The battlement walk provided a perfect vantage point from which to view the problem. Richard leaned beside his commander with narrowed eyes. Before the castle, already deploying around the walls in both directions, was a considerable force of men-at-arms and archers. Baggage wagons could be seen where a camp was being set up. There was no pretence at taking the in habitants of the castle by surprise. Orders were shouted, curses floated on the damp air, as men jostled and manoeuvred equipment into place or unloaded baggage animals. It was a formidable force, prepared to stay.

‘A siege, my lord?’ Richard felt an echo of the amazement in Simon’s voice.

‘Must be. They’re digging in.’

Robert joined them, alerted by the commotion and the growing noise.