Forbidden Lord (29 page)

Not to be defeated so easily, feeling Godfrey's grasp slacken, the captive seized on the opportunity to escape down a narrow flight of stairs at the back of him. William's eyes settled on the departing Sir Richard with cold fury tearing through every pore of his body. Like a panther he shot after him, spurred on by the image of Sir Richard's rough handling of Eleanor earlier. Sir Richard had reached the bottom of the stairs when all at once he staggered and fell under William's weight as he hurled himself at him.

Hardly able to believe the evidence of her eyes, Eleanor watched in astonishment as William threw himself on Sir Richard and once again the two men rolled on the floor, locked in a desperate struggle. Sir Richard fought, moreover, with all the fury and desperation of a man cornered. He uttered inarticulate cries of rage as William's fist not for the first time slammed into his jaw, before Godfrey stepped in and brought him to his feet, struggling and gasping.

‘Nice work. Bind his wrists,' William gasped as men came to his aid. ‘Cease struggling, Grey. You cannot escape. Take him out.'

Even firmly in the grip of the strong men, Sir Richard continued to fight like a demon. He was white-faced and foaming with rage, his eyes, filled with madness, glaring murderously at William, as he was dragged out of the house.

William crossed to Eleanor. He stared down at her, his gaze probing hers and finding fear and distress within their depths. Reaching out he gathered her in his arms as she came to him and softly cried her relief against his chest, becoming more intense as the stress of the last hour was released and her fears put to rest. William kissed her head and lovingly brushed a silken tress from her cheeks.

‘It's all right now. The worst is over,' he murmured with a tender smile.'

‘Thank goodness Godfrey and those men came in time,' Eleanor whispered brokenly against his chest. Trembling with relief, she clung to him, wetting his doublet with her tears and she felt his lips on her hair and the gentle stroking of his hand as he held her close. ‘Where will they take him?'

‘To the Tower for questioning.'

‘He confessed to killing my stepfather and Martin. Will—will he be executed?'

‘I expect he will, which is no more that he deserves.'

When Eleanor quieted, she looked up at William's anxious face and smiled. ‘I'm sorry. I was afraid for you. I thank God my baby will not grow up without a father.' Her heart wrenched at the sight of the bruises and cuts on his handsome face. They were a brutal reminder of what he had been through. She forgot her own discomforts in witnessing his. Tenderly she touched a raw spot at the side of his jaw, her expression one of deep concern. ‘I think you should let the physician take a look at you.'

William took her hands in his. ‘Don't be alarmed by my appearance. The bruises are superficial and will fade soon enough. I'll live.' Looking around him, he shuddered. ‘Dear Lord, how I hate this place. Come, let's get out.'

‘How did you know to come here?' Eleanor enquired, going with him to the door.

‘I knew this would be where Grey was hiding. What I didn't expect was that I would find you here.' He paused and glanced at her. ‘Why are you here, Eleanor? I would have thought Fryston Hall to be the last place you would be.'

‘I came with Catherine. She had some things of her father's to collect and she didn't want to come by herself. I wonder where she is.'

‘Here,' said a voice beside her.

Eleanor turned and saw her stepsister and smiled with relief. ‘Catherine! Thank goodness. Where have you been?'

‘In Father's rooms, looking through his things. There is far too much to take back with me today. I really must arrange to have them removed. Although what I will do with them I really don't know. What was the commotion all about, by the way?'

Eleanor and William looked at each other simultaneously and smiled.

‘I'll tell you on the way back,' Eleanor said, laughing and linking her arm through Catherine's. ‘Come, let's go home.'

 

Eleanor and William were married very quietly in the small chapel in Catherine's house in Chelsea. It was festooned with garlands of flowers, the heady scent of honeysuckle and lavender so intoxicating it made Eleanor's head swim.

William was already inside the chapel when Eleanor arrived with Catherine. She paused in the doorway to look at him. Resplendent in a doublet of midnight-blue velvet and a small white lace collar, he was standing with Godfrey, his head leaning to his as they exchanged words. Eleanor knew the moment he became aware of her presence. His words died on his lips and he turned his head to look at his bride.

Her snow-white satin dress was ornamented with tiny pears, the sleeves ending at her elbows edged with deep lace. Her hair hung free down her back, her honey-gold tresses tumbling to her waist.

Striding towards her, William took her hand and drew her to him, unable to define the mixed emotions he felt as he looked at her. She was beautiful, utterly lovely, his bride.

‘Eleanor, you dazzle me.'

Eleanor felt herself blushing under his intense regard and her own eyes never faltered in returning his gaze. ‘I wish my mother and father were here this day to see me wed to the man I love so dearly,' she whispered, unable to believe her happiness.

‘I believe they would be well pleased, Eleanor. You must have thought fate struck you a harsh blow when your father died, but things have a way of coming right. I would not have
asked you to be my wife if I did not think I was capable of making you happy.'

‘How I wish it was for the first time.'

‘You yourself decreed our parting. I hated what you did for a while, but then I saw why you did what you did. I shall love you till I die. So come, my love, and marry me.'

The ceremony took hardly a moment in time. Plighting their troth, they both felt the solemnity of the priest's final blessings, which faded away in a final amen. Eleanor raised her eyes, eyes shimmering with tears in orbs of amber and laced with love and hope for the future she would have with this man who was now her husband.

William's strong hands closed on her arms and with his throat tight with emotion almost too great to be borne, he murmured, ‘Kiss me, Eleanor.'

She raised her mouth blindly for him to place his lips on hers, then, after he pulled her hand through his arm, they turned from the altar and together walked out of the chapel, while Catherine and Godfrey, arms entwined, looked on, envisioning their own wedding day in the near future.

 

By tacit consent, the newly-weds stayed with Catherine and Godfrey for a few days before setting out on the long journey to Yorkshire. The parting for William and Godfrey was a difficult one, having been through much together, but Godfrey, intending to take Catherine to his native Glasgow, promised they would call at Staxton Hall when they travelled north.

 

If William's family had expected him to bring Catherine home to Staxton Hall as his bride, they hid their surprise and rejoiced in his marriage to Eleanor.

Lady Alice kissed them both when William took his bride on his arm and presented her as his wife, daring his mother to dispute him or disparage Eleanor in any way for being so far on with child when they had only been wed three weeks.

‘I am delighted for you both,' Alice said. ‘This is indeed a joyous time for all of us—and I see there are more surprises on the way.' She raised her eyebrows slightly at Eleanor's advanced pregnancy but asked no awkward questions, being content to await the birth in anticipation of an easy delivery and a healthy child.

They were an impressive couple—William as handsome and proud as a man should be, and Eleanor as beautiful and content as a woman could be.

 

Eleanor settled into life at Staxton Hall with ease. With the two men who had set fire to Hollymead and attacked her in York executed for their crime and Sir Richard Grey having met his end on the block, she felt that life as she had known it at Fryston Hall was over for good. William's mother and his sisters fussed over her and watched her constantly; when she jokingly complained, they laughingly told her that she'd better make the most of it, since they were leaving Staxton Hall to take up residence in Alice's brother's house in Pickering when the baby was born.

For William, life with Eleanor was everything he ever hoped it could be, and more. A surge of tenderness and profound pride swept through him at her sweetness and her candour, and she filled him with joyous contentment. She was a rare woman and everything he had ever wanted. He loved her, all of her—her intelligence, her sensitivity, her gentle, passionate nature, but most of all he loved her courage, the kind of courage that had enabled her to confront adversity time after time.

Without it she would not have left Fryston Hall, and she would have been lost to him.

 

Eleanor's labour began suddenly and fiercely in the first week of November. Contractions gripped her body and, after a moment's panic, she was struck with the enormity of the situation.

‘It's too soon,' she cried, panicking as another pain gripped her. ‘The child is not yet due.'

Coming into the room, William's mother calmly assessed the situation and ordered Eleanor to be taken to her room. ‘It's not unusual. The child is obviously in a hurry to see the world.'

With dawning alarm William gathered Eleanor into his arms and mounted the stairs and carried his tender burden to their room. Everything was blotted from her mind, the centre of her being focussing only on getting the baby out as soon as possible.

As the pain assaulted her in a continuous wave, with the birth of the child the relief was enormous, but short lived, for quickly there was another agonising pain and Eleanor's second child was born. Twins. A boy and a girl.

 

Later, holding her babies—small and as soft and light as thistledown—she looked sleepily at William, who had come in to the bedchamber and was leaning over her. ‘We have two babies,' she whispered, ‘just like you said we might. Two beautiful, perfectly formed babies.'

Settling himself beside her on the bed and taking the boy in his arms, Eleanor smiled through her tears of happiness as he looked proudly down into the tiny, wrinkled face of his son.

‘Are you pleased with our children, William?'

His eyes glittering with unsuppressed pride and joy, William smoothed the curls off her cheek stained with a rosy blush. His sensual lips quirked in a half-smile. ‘Pleased is an understatement. A boy and a girl—how wonderful is that? They are beautiful. Just like their mother,' he said, his voice raw from the emotion of the past twelve hours.

Knowing how hazardous childbirth could often be, William had lived the horrors of the things that could go wrong. Leaning forward he covered her mouth with his own, the gentle kiss eloquent of the profound love he felt for her, and relief that her ordeal was over and she was well.

‘Thank you, my darling,' he breathed against her lips.

Settling her cheek against the tiny head in her arms, she closed her eyes and whispered, ‘You're welcome.'