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Authors: Serenity Woods

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BOOK: Two Passionate Proposals
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Henry watched her silently. She could not
tell what he was thinking. When had he learned to hide his feelings so
skilfully?

He frowned. “You forget; Henry is no longer
king. Edward, Duke of York, was crowned before Towton, and the Lancastrian
weakling fled to Scotland with his wife.” This time, he didn’t hide his
feelings. His scorn for the defeated Henry, sixth to rule by that name, was
quite evident.

Eleanor moved her horse forward between the
brothers so her knees brushed Henry’s. She looked up at him. “Then I concede
Woodford to you. I do not ask anything for myself. Do with me what you will.
But I do ask that you and your men do not harm my people. They merely followed
my orders; they are themselves innocent of any wrongdoing. Do not punish them
for my actions. If our relationship ever meant anything to you, I ask you to
treat them kindly.”

It went against all her instincts to plead
in such a manner, but she knew she must, for the sake of the inhabitants of the
castle who were watching fearfully from inside the gates. Over the past few
days, much talk had circulated about instances where attacking armies had raped
all the women and put every defender of a besieged castle to the sword, and
although she’d tried to reassure them this would not be the case, she’d not
been able to dislodge the seed of doubt that had planted itself in her stomach.

A slight frown appeared between Henry’s
eyes. He looked, she thought with surprise, insulted. “Do not beg, my lady.
Neither you nor your people will be mistreated. The past has nothing to do with
it. I am not a man who takes the lives of innocents.”

Relief swept over her and, briefly, she
closed her eyes. Her people were safe. When she next looked, Henry had already
turned away, barking orders to his men. She looked across at Richard, trying to
blink away the tears threatening to fall. He gave her a small smile before also
turning away to direct his men.

She waited for a moment, wondering what she
should do. Should she head back to tell her people what had happened? Or were
they expecting her to wait for them? As she hesitated, Henry moved his horse
alongside hers.

He glanced at her. “Come with me. Ask the
castle guard to lay down their arms, and they will not be harmed.”

Eleanor nodded, suppressing the urge to
tell him not to order her around. He had every right to now. She turned her
horse and, side-by-side, they crossed the drawbridge into the castle.

*

Henry organised the surrender of the castle
guard and moved his own men in to garrison in a semi-dream. Outwardly, he
worked as efficiently as ever, but his stomach had knotted and he struggled to
concentrate. He still couldn’t believe the wife of Geoffrey de Woodford and the
Ella he’d known as a young man were one and the same.

He half-listened to his men relaying
details about repairs to the damaged walls, his gaze sliding across to where
Eleanor stood talking to Richard, discussing the food and supplies remaining in
the castle. Sometimes, it seemed like only yesterday he’d been standing by the
lake with her in his arms. At other times, it seemed like a lifetime. Though he
could remember vividly the way he’d felt when he promised her he would love her
forever, he found it difficult to relate that inexperienced, innocent youth to
the man he had become.

He should never have expected their parents
would let them be together. It seemed like such a foolish notion now, and he
couldn’t believe he’d been so naive. Maybe if he’d been a stable hand and she a
milkmaid, they might have stood a chance. But theirs were not the sort of lives
where one chose to whom he or she were married. Marriages were political
alliances, made between men who sold their children to the highest price; the
idea of love never entered the equation. At the time, they’d both assumed that because
their families were of a similar level in society, their fathers would think
their match ideal. But ten years ago, the houses of York and Lancaster were
starting to collide like jousting knights, and with the families supporting
opposite sides, neither would have approved of the marriage.

Ten years.
And
she was still the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. But she was no longer
the fourteen-year-old girl he’d fallen in love with; that much was clear. Her
hips had widened and her breasts were fuller, heavier, and the innocence he’d
loved so much had disappeared from her eyes. Almost, but not completely. He
thought about her husband, and wondered what the oaf had been able to teach her
about love. Had she enjoyed his touch? Or merely borne it with the same passive
endurance Maud had borne his own gentle hand?

He shook his head. Once Eleanor had looked
at him, her eyes filled with love. Now, she knew him only as the enemy. Much
had changed since they first declared their affection. He had to live in the
present, not in the past, where his mind kept pulling him.

At that moment, Eleanor looked over at him.
His heart beat faster, and the surge of blood to his groin as he surveyed her
curves surprised him. He turned away and strode out of the Hall. Perhaps a fast
walk around the castle in full armour would help steer his mind back on track.

*

Eleanor watched Henry’s tall form as he
marched outside, her insides twisting at the angry look he’d thrown her. She
wasn’t sure why he was so cross, but it was something to do with her. Did he
dislike the fact she reminded him of a time when he was young and
inexperienced? Perhaps he thought of his past actions as a weakness, something
he wanted to forget.

She didn’t see much more of him for the
rest of the day, and it crossed her mind that maybe he was trying to keep out
of her way. As darkness fell, the men started filling the Hall for the evening
meal. His squire—a youth who followed Henry around like a puppy—informed her
that his sire wanted a bath before he ate.

Eleanor considered telling him to ask his
master to take a dive in the moat if he wanted to get wet, but refrained from
saying the words. She’d always considered herself a good hostess, and decided
for the moment she would think of him as her guest—perhaps that way she would
avoid getting herself into too much trouble.

She ordered two serving lads to fill the
wooden tub resting in the corner of one of the guest chambers with hot water,
and was busy laying out towels and fresh clothing when Henry appeared in the
doorway.

He looked around the room, his face
expressionless, and she realised her error. “Oh. Of course. You should have the
master chamber.” She cursed herself for her idiotic mistake. “My apologies, my
lord.” Being deferential to him irked her greatly. Yet the precariousness of
her situation—and that of the other inhabitants of the castle—necessitated her
good behaviour. She didn’t want to provoke him into throwing her out or, worse,
throwing her to his men.

He glared at her. “Stop being so damned
subservient, Ella. It does not suit you. I will not change my mind and stick
everyone’s heads on stakes because you gave me the wrong room.”

“Fine.” She was about to snap back at him,
then realised he’d called her by her childhood nickname and her anger vanished
as quickly as it had arisen. She saw through his irritation; he was tired and
probably desperate for his bath. She poured a goblet of wine and held it out to
him as he approached. “The bath is ready if you would like one.”

He stopped before her and looked at the
wine. She realised he was wondering if she might have poisoned it. “Oh God’s
teeth. Do you think me as vindictive as that?” She took a mouthful of the wine
and swallowed it, then stuck her tongue out at him. “You looked hot and grumpy.
I thought you might like a drink.”

He eyed her testily. “I am hot and grumpy
because I am wearing all this cursed armour on such a hot day.” He faced her
with hands on hips. “Do you promise you are not going to try and stick a knife
in my back at the first opportunity if I take it off?”

Eleanor raised an eyebrow. “If I come at
you with a knife, Hal de Tracey, you will be awake and facing me, and with a
weapon in your hand, believe me.”

For the first time since they’d met, the
corners of his mouth tugged with a smile. “Nobody has called me that for ten
years.”

She lowered her eyes with fake humility. “I
apologise, my lord.” She sank into a deep curtsey.

“Oh, get up.” He fumbled with irritation at
the straps buckling the breastplate onto his leather doublet. “And for the sake
of all that is holy, get me out of this metal oven.”

“Um, should we not wait for your squire to
come and help?”

“I could not find him, and no, I cannot
wait.” He glared. His manner made it clear he was used to being obeyed.

Eleanor took a deep breath and let it out
slowly as he turned and drank his wine in one gulp, then refilled his goblet.
She’d been married for seven years. She was not a blushing virgin; of course
she could cope with this.

As he faced her, she examined what armour
he wore. It had been a struggle to fasten plate pieces over Geoffrey’s stout
frame. Helping Henry, however, proved another matter. She was well aware that muscle
and not fat lay beneath the metal plates. Earlier, he’d removed the bits he could
manage himself, including his gauntlets and the pieces covering his forearms
and legs. Now, she undid the straps buckling the breastplate and the backplate
together at the side, and then held the cuirass up so he could slide from under
it, trying not to catch his hair on the mail attached to the bottom. She then
untied the pauldrons on his shoulders, and the pieces covering his upper arms
and elbows.

“And this.” Henry grunted when he was
finally free, beginning to unlace the thick-padded doublet giving his body some
protection from the armour. Eleanor caught the bottom and helped him lift it
over his head.

Free at last, Henry put his arms above his
head and stretched his torso with a sigh before leaning over the barrel to test
the water. Eleanor swallowed, seeing how the linen under-tunic clung to his
body. He was all muscle; the youth had turned into such a breathtaking man. He
smelled of fresh sweat and leather, a mature, manly smell that made her head
spin.

She watched, suddenly frozen, as he grasped
the base of his tunic and peeled it up, lifting it over his head and dropping
it to the floor beside him with a sigh. His naked torso rippled with muscles
beneath skin tanned by the sun. Her gaze rested on the edge of a wound under
his arm, and as he turned, she realised the scar went right around his ribcage.
Instinctively, she reached out and touched it, frowning and saying, “That looks
painful.”

“It was.” He studied her. “It is better
now. It has had three months to heal.”

She looked up at him, realising the
relevance of the timeframe. “Towton?”

He nodded. “Your husband did this.”

“Geoffrey?” She looked at him in surprise. “I
did not realise he knew which end of the sword to hold.” The words were out
before she could stop them.

Henry burst out laughing, and although she
glared at him, eventually she could not stop a rueful smile sneaking onto her
face. “I am sorry he wounded you,” she said quietly.

“And I am sorry, for you anyway, that I
killed him.”

Eleanor looked up into his calm and honest,
deep blue eyes, and she realised he’d meant what he said. “Do not be. It is no
great loss for me.” She looked around her and sighed. “Although I will miss
Woodford Castle.”

“Do not worry about your future, Ella. I
will make sure you are provided for. I will not let you be destitute.”

His words reminded her that her future lay
in his hands, and she was, ultimately, his enemy. “Thank you.” She withdrew to
the doorway. “I will leave you now so you can have your bath.”

Before he could protest, she slipped out the
door, pulling it half shut behind her.

Outside, she leaned against the wall,
cursing under her breath. Tears threatened to overwhelm her. What a cruel twist
of fate this was, as if Father Time taunted her with what could have been,
before he spirited her off to the next dull, tortuous phase of her life.

From in the chamber, she heard a similar
expletive to the one she’d just uttered, which surprised her. Perhaps Henry was
as affected as she was by this chance meeting. Was he angry, or upset that this
ghost from his past had reappeared? After a moment’s hesitation, she turned and
looked through the crack in the door between the hinges.

She caught her breath. His breeches lay in
a heap on the floor, and he stood there in all his glory, six-foot-three of
resplendent male. Her mouth went dry, and her cheeks burned. Geoffrey had
always undressed beneath the bedclothes. She’d seen him unclothed, of course;
it was difficult to remain completely covered all the time, but as she stared
at a naked Henry, she realised the reason Geoffrey may have wanted to remain
covered. Henry was
a lot
more…generous than her husband had been, she
thought, with some amusement and more than a little awe.

She couldn’t believe she was prying like
this, but she couldn’t seem to drag her gaze away. He stretched, then sipped
his glass of wine before finally stepping into the tub. He lowered himself
carefully into the hot water and leaned back with a sigh.

BOOK: Two Passionate Proposals
8.99Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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