Telepathy of Hearts (2 page)

Lady Bruce
's fingers tightened on her stepdaughter
's arms. As she continued to speak
,
her face loomed large and agitated in Eleanor
's. Her eyes glittered as if enchanted.

Silently, Eleanor met her challenge.

Takes more than a mere bull to master a wolf.

Eyeing her stepdaughter Lady Bruce grinned. Her voice now almost a cackle she continued,
“You would never be able. There is fire in your blood, an itch to err. Wolf is too strong, the lamb too weak.
'Tis no mind to you or I whether you love him
…what pray foolery is that. Love has little to do with marriage. Do you think I love your father and he me? Daughter, heed what I say. You will yield to my will
…married and bedded as the King decrees it before St Stephan
's Day. I assure you, you will be.
”

Eleanor knew who and what she was taking on and de
i
fying. To Lady Bruce, her stepdaughter
's refusal was a pe
r
sonal insult. Not only was it befitting for her to beat her stepdaughter to get an acceptance, it would be her pleasure to encourage her daughter to yield to the king.

The king who commanded this union was himself chil
d
less. It had been fifteen long years since the Queen had given birth to a still-
born son. There had only been the sorrow of miscarriages since. This and his ill-
health of recent times, had started to make his crown feel a little heavier and his throne cold. The cousins of the houses of Lancaster and York had been quietened through most of his rule. But with the royal crib of Lancaster empty, the threatening Yorkists were making ready to challenge his throne.

The ever-
growing gathering of court ladies were enjo
y
ing the show, taking great pleasure in the battle of wills
—the sight of the mighty against the seemingly meek. All had an opinion to offer. Whispers and mutterings filled the cha
m
bers, intentionally loud enough to meet Eleanor
's ears. Their chides tickled Eleanor
's temper. Her lip was caught between her teeth, and her brow pinched she snarled at them,
“I see goats in fine gowns and shrews in silk slippers. Hags all of you.
”

“You do right Lady Bruce, for that child has an ornery nature just like her mother had. The King
's sister should have had the birch more often on her noble nates.

“Yes, the birch should go a far way in breaking that will.
”

“Her mother had a wild nature. For sure Lady Bruce, she is ripe for a birching. They say he is a handsome man
…yet she refuses
…the folly of girls.
”

“He is that, Lady Norse, for
'tis not only his armour that shines, his eyes do glitter something wicked. And his lance is not the only length about him.
”

The women laughed, devilishly delighted as they e
n
joyed their lewd play.
“Marry for love? Ha what folly is that? I had birthed three babes before my eighteenth, and I have never loved my husband. Loving your husband is as important to marriage as the birthing of babes is the business of men. Minutes of his pleasure that costs us dear in hours of labour
's pain.
”

“Minutes you say, Lady Seld. Ha, ha, seconds more like
…I have had three husbands. Never liked none of
'em e
i
ther, let alone loved em
… Listen well, child, the folk say they make love to you.
'Tis not the deed, best you lay there and let him cover you. The love. That is in the babies they give you, child. You want babies
,
don
't you? And yours could be King.
”

Lady Bruce was known as the Mother Bear. A title b
e
stowed on her because of her infamous temper. Her fury could be baited to the point that she would bite. The noble women were willing her to bite with the birch she swished so impatiently.

Lady Bruce needed little more encouragement. Having the agreement of the court ladies in Eleanor
's thrashing would also mean her husband, the earl, could say very little.

So Eleanor found herself upended upon the wooden horse. The shame of her predicament did not phase her.

She didn
't blush or fight. Not even as her skirts were pinned up and her smock raised to expose her naked to the gathered crowd of women. Eleanor had been told how i
n
domitable and stoic the Bull of Lincoln was.

I can do that. I can do indomitable; just watch me.

The birch came down on Eleanor with a tremendous force. There was a wickedness to Lady Bruce that Eleanor was quite aware of. It was almost as if she wanted to see her stepdaughter
'
s skin smart and blister.

You cannot break me, madam, for I have born
e
worse.

She mouthed the words silently.

It was true. Eleanor had wondered how she had borne the loss of her betrothed, Edmund. Her childhood swee
t
heart. From boy to young man they had been sprite and pi
x
ie. Encouraging the wicked in each other, from climbing trees to racing the knight
's best destriers, their play was wayward and their actions foolish. Often out in the moo
n
light catching rabbits or dancing bathed in its beams, E
d
mund always a foot soldier under Eleanor
's command. A
l
ways in her shadow in the waves of her wake.

Truly his loss had broken her. Just as the bodies of the sailors had against the Kent shores.

The pain as the birch marked her was savage. But it had neither the depth nor bite of that felt by a young girl bereft of her sweetheart.

Unfortunately, at barely eighteen years Eleanor did.

Upon the whipping-
horse, tears were pooling in her eyes, reflections on her grief. She brought to mind how her father
's words had wounded her. Not all injuries were caused by a blade, and not all wounds bled. Eleanor
's wound was left festering.

“The souls of all hands on
The Lady Anne
are anchored in the safety of God
's harbour now child.
”

Eleanor had imagined the flesh and bone, of hand and master lying broken on the shore. She shuddered as her mind revived the emotions.

I might have well joined them that day as I too was b
e
ing broken by the sea. It took the life of my beloved and the soul of me.

And my father, what words of comfort did he offer me?
“
Eleanor, I bore your mother
's loss with no public tears. My pain at her passing was no less because I bore it so. I expect no less of you. You are alive with the blood of princes. Your tears can be cried until they dry tonight and no longer.
Child, you will marry this year and soon have children to tend. Look at me daughter.
”

She remembered how her chest tightened and her sto
m
ach heaved. Overwhelmed by emotion. Only to hear her f
a
ther dismiss the love she craved.

“
Edmund will be but a sweet memory in time. Your duty is to the House of Lancaster and the king. An heir is needed, and you
will
provide on
e
.
”

Now only months later, upon the eve of what would have been her wedding, she found herself in tears once more.

Lady Bruce was smirking. As he
r g
aze wandered over her stepdaughter
's tear-
stained face. Eleanor
's cheeks were as red as the wheals that blistered her bottom. It was a job well done, Mother Bear mused.

“See good ladies how she weeps. The sting of my birch has broken that defiant will. See her face is meek, once more cleansed of that haughty grin and pinched brow. What say you now, child? Are you ready to tell the King aye?
”

But the Mother Bear was mistaken. It wasn
't the pain of the mauling, nor the shame of her nakedness. It was the final tears of grief that Eleanor cried. It had hit her, just as sure as the birch had, that her life would never be as she had wished.

As Edmund was lost to her, so now was that life.

She was ill versed in the ways of men. But could the pain of a love stolen from her and a life lost to her be any less unbearable than a loveless marriage? With that in mind Eleanor lowered her head and whispered.
“I will say aye
…I will say aye.
”

Mother Bear was delighted. For once nature
's daughter, the child of mountain and moorland, had been broken.
Pur
r
ing with pleasure, she dragged her stepdaughter to the king.

“
Come forward, niece, and be seated at your uncle
's knee.
” The king
's beckoning hands encouraged her to the stool at his feet. His welcoming, broad smile was a soothing sight. His eyes were kind, but the weight of their lids seemed heavy.

Eleanor loved the rich colours and silks of the court, e
s
pecially the throne room. Tapestries hung depicting scenes of chivalry. Torches flamed with amber hues. The air hung heavy with the scent of perfume. The beautiful sound of lute and drum charmed her ears.

Heavy, silk-
damask curtains of copper and gold hung behind the royal throne. The smile of past pleasures ligh
t
ened her face as she remembered how she had played amongst them.

Was it really eight years ago that I found myself co
r
nered by the king
's hound?

Eleanor touched the raised scar upon her arm where the hound had marked her. Still standing proud upon her flesh.

The wolfhound had been fierce with rage that day. Its heckles raised, eyes focused and breath stale as it snarled. The beast had been twice her size and she had been frozen with panic. She had struck it with her hand but it lunged and pieced her skin. An army of teeth bared at her, and she had screamed in panic.

Just when she had feared that it would savage her, a boy had jumped in through the arched window, putting himself between them.
“Get upon his majesty
's throne, and quickly my lady.
”

His voice calm, his instructions direct. As if rescuing a damsel was an everyday occurrence. And had become se
c
ond nature.

“I cannot
…n-
n-
no one may sit upon it but the king. It is forbidden. He will have us flogged or worse sent to The Tower
…our heads on pikes on London Bridge.
”