Stuart, Elizabeth (46 page)

He
gave her a shake. "Listen to me, Elen, and stop this childishness. You're
his ward and he doesn't need your consent. He's a king and will do as he
pleases. But I've won his promise not to act in haste. He's agreed to speak
with me again and I've reason to hope he'll permit me some say in choice of
your husband."

Elen
stared up at him in bewilderment, the fight going out of her at once. Richard
was going to be party to this horrible thing Edward planned to do to her.
"You would do that?" she asked softly. "You would truly see me
given to some other man?"

Richard's
hands bit into her shoulders and his face took on the tormented look of the
damned. "I would sell my very life to keep you from hurt, Elen, but there
is naught I can do to prevent this! The best I can hope is to have some choice
in your husband. There are many who would treat you honorably."

She
jerked away from him. "I don't want honor!" She broke off in
confusion, fighting back tears. What did she want? Nothing she could ever have.
She wanted Enion and her family restored to her alive. She wanted relief from
the war in her land and this one in her heart, from the overwhelming guilt and
pain of loving a man she should not.

Richard
caught her close in his arms. "Elen... please, love. Please don't
cry."

She
closed her eyes against the hurt. "Kiss me, Richard," she whispered.
"Please don't say any more. Don't ask me to be reasonable—just kiss
me."

His
mouth covered hers for a searing kiss, brutal in its power but satisfying by
its very need. It was a devouring kiss, a kiss that spoke of violent passions
too long held in check, of raw emotions too long undeclared. There was nothing
of honor or chivalry in that embrace, but its very roughness was reassuring in
a way no gentleness would have been.

Elen
clung to him, forgetting her fears and guilt in the need that flamed so
suddenly, so powerfully between them. She couldn't get enough of him, of the
strength of his arms crushing her against him, of the warmth of his hands and
mouth. She didn't care that they stood in the castle garden where anyone might
see. She wouldn't have minded if a hundred people had stopped to watch. She
only knew that she wanted what was happening to go on and on, that she was
terrified of the black emptiness that would return when he released her.

She
leaned into Richard's body, blindly seeking his mouth, touching her tongue to
his, then boldly slipping between his lips with the same movement he used to
set her on fire. She heard the uneven rasp of his breathing, felt the taut
urging of his body against hers. The knowledge that she could move him to such
passion no longer frightened her. It was exhilarating.

With
a groan, Richard drew her closer. His head dropped to her bare throat, his lips
sending waves of pleasure shivering through her body. His hands ranged down her
back, cupping her hips and lifting her tightly against him. She pressed upward,
instinctively seeking satisfaction from the empty aching inside, lost to all
considerations save the blood that ran hot and fast in her veins and the sound
of her own uneven breathing in concert with his.

Richard
groaned again. "Elen... Elen, before God, we must stop. We must stop or
I'll take you now beneath the nearest bush!"

"No,
don't stop, Richard. Just hold me."

"Elen,
stop tormenting me lest I forget both my honor and yours!" He held her
away from him with shaking hands. "We must never do this again. Never!
You'll soon belong to someone else and it's hard enough to bear as it is."

Elen
kept her eyes tightly closed, struggling to regain control of her spinning
world. Richard's kiss was still warm on her lips, the exquisite feel of his
mouth still branded on her senses. Suddenly, she knew the pain of
wanting—wanting against all reason. Richard was right though; anything more
would be madness.

But
the thought of some other man holding her, of some rough Englishman touching
her intimately made her sick with dread. And it was going to happen. Despite
her brave pretense just now, she knew her future was not her own. If she didn't
escape Edward, her husband would own her just as he would her castles and
lands.

She
glanced up. Richard was obviously tormented by that thought as well. The
realization gave her new hope. He knew how unhappy she was. Perhaps he would help
her escape.

She
studied his handsome features. The bruises he had taken for her showed dark
against his bronzed skin and his green eyes were narrowed with despair. She
wasn't the only one who suffered.

She
glanced miserably away. All about them the garden shrubbery bent with an
increasing wind, and her heavy skirts billowed and snapped about her ankles.
Could she ask such a thing of Richard? He had already suffered pain and
humiliation on her account.

A
raindrop struck her cheek and the air grew heavy with the smell of the coming
storm. She thought of her father, of Owain and Enion—even Rhodri. She had
always been able to bend men to her will. And Richard was susceptible now. It
was obvious he was torn between duty and desire.

But
could she ask this of him? Would he defy his king for her?

The
realization came at once. She would never know the answer, for she couldn't
cause him the hurt of asking. She reached up and touched his face. "The
storm is come," she whispered. "Take me in before we both say things we'll
regret."

***

The
next day dawned clear and cool following the storm. The air was filled with the
pungent mustiness of the mud flats left by the ebbing tide. Elen stood at her
window, trying to convince herself that Richard was wrong, that no true churchman
would marry her if she was violently opposed to her groom.

But
she took little comfort from her one-sided argument. Bishop Vespain and Father
Edmund had both been party to Hugh de Veasy's plot. And if that could happen,
Edward of England would have little trouble finding a priest to perform the
ceremony—with or without her consent.

Her
door swung open and one of the queen's ladies peeked round the panel. "The
Queen's Grace sent me to fetch you. You're wanted in the king's audience
chamber at once."

Elen's
breathing quickened painfully. The king? But she didn't wish to see Edward. She
didn't wish to hear his hateful plans for her.

"Come.
Quickly, child! The king mustn't be kept waiting."

Elen
gave a quick glance to the wimple and veil she had tossed on the bed. Eleanor
had gifted her with appropriate clothing—a lovely gown of rich scarlet cloth
and an English wimple of finest linen. But she had not been able to bring
herself to don the hot, confining headdress. And all at once she was glad. Her
bare head would show her contempt for proper English ways. She would wear
neither veil nor wimple—let Edward think what he would.

"Very
well," Elen responded, moving forward with a show of obedience. She
followed the woman along Rhuddlan's twisting corridors but took little stock of
their direction. She was about to meet the most dread lord of England, the man
she had been taught to hate above all others. And she could admit it to
herself, at least. She was afraid.

The
woman paused outside the arched doorway of a room where several pages stood in
attendance. They stared at Elen, curious, amused. She took a deep breath.
Seizing the latch, she flung open the door and strode inside with an air of
haughty bravery she was far from feeling.

The
king stood at the end of the room, leaning indolently against the fireplace. A
small peat fire burned against the damp chill of thick stone walls. He said
nothing as she crossed the floor toward him, but his shrewd blue eyes traveled
over her, lingering on her face and form in the way of a man who appreciates
women.

She
sized him up as well. He was tall—taller even than Richard—and his broad chest
and powerful arms spoke of the legendary warrior he was. His thick hair had
once been golden but was now frosted with silver. She came to a halt before him
but refused to bend her knee. "You sent for me," she stated coolly,
lifting her chin to gaze up at him.

He
shifted away from the wall and moved slowly around her, saying nothing. She
stood perfectly still, his silence making her nerves taut. "Now that we
have both satisfied our curiosity, may I go?" she snapped.

Edward
broke into a laugh. Ignoring her, he shot a glance over her shoulder. "I
can better sympathize with your foolishness now I've seen the girl,
Richard."

Elen
swung around in surprise. Richard sat across the room at a carved oak table.
His hair was mussed as if his fingers had ravaged it repeatedly, and he had the
look of a man who hadn't slept.

She
felt a quick surge of relief. She didn't face Edward alone.

The
king glanced down at her, his eyes bright with amusement. "And no, you may
not go, Elen of Teifi. As I must be back in England tomorrow next, we'll decide
your future today. You have already caused no little trouble. And since I've no
desire to have you brewing mischief in my household, I'll not take you with me
as no doubt I should."

"I
am of age and can decide my own future," Elen remarked in what she hoped
was a reasonable voice. "I will pay any fine you name, but it is my
decision to take the veil."

"Women
do not decide," he responded dampeningly. "I do."

Richard
had moved to stand beside her. He caught her shoulder, giving it a warning
squeeze. "Forgive her, Sire. She has been much indulged."

"So
I see. Someone spared the rod in her upbringing. Save for Builth, I always
thought Lord Aldwyn a wise man. But I wonder at such foolishness."

Elen's
voice brimmed with bitterness. "You dare speak my father's name?"

"Elen,
hush!" Richard whispered.

Edward
gazed at her enigmatically. "Yes, I dare speak of him. He was a man I respected,
as were many who fell at Builth. I did not wish them dead, but they chose their
paths as I chose mine." He caught a gleaming strand of her hair, tugging
it gently between his fingers. His keen blue eyes held hers. "As I will
now choose yours," he added softly.

Elen's
heart accelerated painfully. Edward's words sent a chill of dread through her.
Her defiance was futile. She could do little against any order this man
decreed.

Turning
away from her, Edward moved back to the fireplace, where he stooped to warm his
hands. "As it is, you are too much temptation for my ambitious knights,
Elen, and I can't afford personal quarrels among my men. Such petty fights have
spilled England's lifeblood too often. You must be married off quickly to
someone strong enough to rule your lands and keep your own willfulness in
check." He straightened, his face grave. "I must give you to a man I
deem ruthless enough to do both."

Elen
held her breath while Richard gripped her shoulder painfully.

"After
much thought, I believe Sir Richard Basset best suited to the task,"
Edward continued smoothly. "Though after meeting you, I question if I do
him more ill than good."

Elen
let out her long-held breath with a gasp. Richard... he was giving her to
Richard!

Beside
her, Richard stood painfully still. Edward was jesting, surely he was jesting.
But the king had never been so cruel. "M-my lord?" he stammered.

"You're
surprised, Richard? I've determined this the wisest course. I've spoken to your
Welshmen. They're a surly lot but seem united in loyalty to you—at least for
the moment."

Edward's
eyes narrowed and he gazed pointedly at Richard. "Some say you've grown
soft, Richard, but they are far from the mark. I say you are shrewd. And I need
that. I need someone who can pacify Wales. There's a strong possibility I'll
soon be in Scotland and I can't afford rebellion in the west the moment my back
is turned—not again. And to that end I also grant you seisin of the demesne of
Gwenlyn. You'll do homage to me for the lands in a ceremony this afternoon.
Burnell is drafting the papers now."

"B-but
Your Grace..." Richard protested, still reeling from the shock.
"Gwenlyn is a royal keep. I've nothing to offer in return for such a
gift!"

"You've
given much already. I told you once—in my father's day, you'd have been an earl
several times over. I cannot give you lands in England, but Wales is yours for
the taking." Edward smiled cynically. "And I've learned men hold
their own more readily than they hold for their king. End the rebellion in the
north once and for all. Rule quietly and well. Show me my confidence in you is
not misplaced."

Richard
dropped to one knee, still unable to take in his good fortune. Elen, he would
have Elen! And lands beyond his wildest dreams. How like Edward to take him
from near penniless soldier to one of the largest landholders in Wales with a
marriage and the simple stroke of a pen. "Before God, Your Majesty, I'll
not disappoint you!"

Elen
stared at Richard, a dozen conflicting emotions tearing through her. Richard...
she'd never dared hope it might be Richard! But marriage?

Enion's
face rose up to haunt her and she saw his bloodied corpse at Richard's feet.
Richard Basset—the man responsible for Builth, the man who'd slain Enion, for
God's sake! The blood of all her kinsmen would cry out at such a union. And
besides, the marriage bed would all too quickly reveal the lie she had spun to
protect Owain—the lie she now had such cause to regret.