The Bride Tournament (31 page)

“My views on that issue haven’t changed since we went fishing. Besides, you were the one who found him. You saved him, you belong by his side.”

Eleanor shook her head. “I don’t want his gratitude. I just,” her voice cracked, “I just want him to get well.”

“You want more than that,” Owen said softly.

“Yes. I want him to be content.”

“I’ll let that go for now. Are you up to telling me what happened? Your missive was short on details,” Owen said.

Eleanor related their adventures.

“That’s quite a tale. What happened to the others?”

“They’ve been arrested and sent to prison. Blanche, too.”

“Good. All while I was away on Richard’s fool errand. I found nothing. There may never be an answer to the mystery of what my father thought he discovered.” Owen sighed.

That was a relief. “No sense worrying about the past.” She’d look only toward the future. The one she prayed she’d have with Richard.

“Where is he? Take me to him this instant,” a familiar shrill voice cried.

Oh, no.
Eleanor and Owen shared a glance.

“Isabel,” they said in unison.

“Why wasn’t I notified immediately? How dare you keep this from me, his soon—”

She stormed into the room like a captain leading a charge, but stopped short when she caught sight of Eleanor. Richard’s steward, Henry Watson, almost rammed into her.

“Eleanor. What are you doing here? Get out. I’m the woman he’s going to wed.” Isabel strode to the bed, the skirts of her burgundy wool traveling gown brushing against Eleanor. “I will hear the whole story. Then I demand that you leave.”

Owen stood. “Who sent for you?”

“No one, more’s the pity,” Isabel screeched. She glared at Henry, a tall, balding man, and Owen in turn. “Can you think how embarrassing it was for me to hear about Richard’s injuries from someone at court? Me, soon to be the earl’s wife?”

Eleanor bit her lip to keep from snapping. Had she made a mistake in choosing Isabel as a potential bride? She’d focused on the prospects’ outward qualities and talents. There hadn’t been much time to spend worrying about their personalities.

Clearly Isabel’s concern for appearances and possessiveness outweighed her concern for Richard’s well-being. She wasn’t good enough for him.

Isabel turned to Eleanor. “You look quite a sight. Have you no other gowns? And who allowed you to sit by my soon-to-be husband’s side?”

“I did,” Owen said. “She rescued him. And Richard isn’t yours yet. You aren’t even officially betrothed.”

Eleanor looked up in surprise.

“Richard has been busy.” Owen answered her unspoken question with a shrug.

She couldn’t resist a smug smile. Without a betrothal to bind them, Isabel had no more right to be here than Eleanor did.

But which of them would Richard want to see when he awoke? Eleanor steeled herself against the pain that would undo her should he ask for Isabel.

“It’s just a matter of time until we are bound to each other. I’m staying, too. Steward, fetch me a chair.” Isabel snapped her fingers.

The portly man rushed to do her bidding.

The vigil continued.

All Richard knew was that every muscle ached and his eyes were stuck together. He wanted to speak, but his mouth was gritty and dry as desert sand.

It took all of his strength to force his eyes open. At least his mind worked. He hadn’t gone mad as he’d feared. He remembered being chained in Pengormel, and Eleanor rescuing him. He knew he was at Glasmere Castle, in his own bed, though he had no recollection of how he’d come to be here.

He turned his head, sending streaks of pain resonating through him. Owen and Isabel dozed in their chairs, mouths open. A third chair was empty. Eleanor’s, he couldn’t help but hope. A long, narrow table held platters of food, while jars, small pots and piles of cloths cluttered a smaller table.

“Owen.” He couldn’t even manage a whisper. He swallowed, then tried again. “Owen.”

His brother’s eyes flew open and a smile creased his face. “Richard, at last. Our prayers have been answered.”

“Water.”

Owen filled a cup. He slipped one hand behind Richard’s back to help him drink.

“Ow,” Richard grunted as Owen lifted him high enough to sip. Water had never tasted or felt so good. “Enough.” Slowly Owen lowered him to the pillows. He moistened his dry lips with his tongue. “How long have I been like this?”

“Almost a week. We thought—”

“Richard!” The shriek pierced the quiet. “My love. You’re awake.”

Isabel appeared in his line of vision. “I’ve been so worried. I haven’t left your side since I arrived.” She clasped his hands. “Now our betrothal and wedding can go forth as planned.”

Richard grimaced. He couldn’t think of getting out of bed at the moment much less marrying this woman. Her strident tone grated on his nerves. “I appreciate your devotion, Isabel,” he said. “I’m sure you could use some rest. I need to speak with Owen.”

“Very well.” She sat.

“Alone,” he said.

“I’ll be back soon.” She left with obvious reluctance.

“Eleanor? Is she here?” Richard had to know.

“Yes.”

He smiled. He felt better already.

“Hugh? Blanche? Elizabeth?”

“All in prison,” Owen said. “I think Isabel remained by your side only because Eleanor wouldn’t leave,” Owen said. “She’s in the kitchen making another batch of her special poultice for your chest. I’ll get her.”

“Help me sit first. Then take me to the garderobe.”

“You need to rest. I’ll get you a pot.”

What he needed was to see Eleanor. “No, I’ve been lying here too long. I need to work out the stiffness and get my strength back.”

With great care, Owen eased him into a sitting position. Richard closed his eyes against the pain, then slowly stretched his arms.

“Everything seems to function,” he said. “Let’s go.”

Down in the kitchen, Eleanor stirred a cauldron hanging over the fire. With the back of her hand, she wiped sweat from her forehead. The kitchen staff smiled encouragement every so often as they bustled about, but otherwise left her alone.

The physician’s warning a few hours ago frightened her. If Richard didn’t awaken soon, he might never recover. That wouldn’t stop her from doing everything in her power to help him.

Isabel swooped in, a smile on her face. “Richard’s awake!”

Relief overwhelmed her.

Isabel blocked her exit. “And he was so glad to see me,” she crowed. “He doesn’t need you, his former wife. You gave him away. He has me. His wife to be. I’ll take the poultice to him. I’ll be the one to care for him now. And forever.”

Eleanor let loose an unladylike snort. “You haven’t lifted a finger to help him all week.”

What Isabel had done was laze about in her chair and bark orders at Eleanor, Owen and Richard’s servants as if she were the queen. She’d almost driven them mad with her criticisms and complaints. Isabel was two different women: a happy, if a bit simpering, one at court and a shrew elsewhere.

“Let me pass,” Eleanor said.

“He didn’t ask for you. He doesn’t want you.”

Eleanor wouldn’t let Isabel’s jabs hurt her. “I’ll see for myself what Richard wants. Move aside.”

“No. He’s mine,” Isabel declared.

“Owen and Richard’s steward agreed I should remain. They had authority until Richard awoke. If the only way you can have him is by forcibly keeping other women from his side, then he isn’t really yours, is he?” Eleanor asked, her voice low.

Isabel’s mouth gaped. “What difference will a few more minutes make? He’ll make the right choice.”

“I’m sure he will.”

Eleanor squeezed past her and ran to Richard’s room. Isabel followed close behind.

Chapter 21

Richard smiled as Eleanor raced into his room, her face alight with joy. She wore a plain, stained gown. Her cheek and one eye were swollen and black and blue. Strands of hair tumbled from her simple braid, but she’d never looked more beautiful to him. Not even on their wedding day, garbed in finery and jewels. Because on that day, she’d looked on him with disdain and denial. Now she looked at him with love.

And how he loved her. He’d been a fool not to accept it sooner, but his past wouldn’t let him admit the truth until Death stared him down. He’d spend the rest of his days cherishing her if she’d let him.

The time had come to disclose the depth of his feelings.

Before he could welcome her and take her hand, Isabel ran in. The two women caught their breath, clearly waiting to see which one he preferred. They glared at each other with such aggression he thought they might break into a fistfight.

Isabel stepped forward. “Richard, your future wife is here.”

Eleanor moved past her. “Your color has returned. Is there anything you need?”

“I told you I’d see to him now.” Isabel shoved her out of the way.

Owen, Watson, and his housekeeper Agnes crowded into the room, all talking at once.

“Your Grace, ’tis glad to see you up, I am!”

“I’ve brought some nice hot pottage.” Agnes held up a steaming bowl.

“Richard, do you—”

“Silence!” Richard shouted, pleased to find he sounded like himself and not a weakling invalid.

Five faces turned toward him.

He didn’t want to hurt Isabel, but he couldn’t pretend she meant anything to him. He wouldn’t marry her, but would help her to a better groom.

The only person he wanted to talk to, to be with, was Eleanor. “Eleanor, you stay. Everyone else, out!”

Isabel’s face fell. “I’ll be waiting. You put her in her place.”

“That’s exactly what I plan to do,” Richard agreed. Eleanor’s place was beside him, always.

Silence reigned after the others left, but it felt strained, not comfortable. Eleanor hadn’t moved. Only he could make things right between them, but articulating his feelings for her would be one of the hardest things he’d ever done.

“How can I ever thank you for rescuing me?” he began. “You saved my life.”

“I put two and two together,” she replied. “You did the rescuing in the end.”

“I don’t remember.”

“The fever was upon you. Despite that and your injuries, you fought like a madman to free us.”

“We did it together, then,” he said.

More silence stretched as he gathered courage to speak. How had he faced enemies on the battlefield with greater confidence than he had this woman?

“Eleanor, I had many hours to think in that dungeon. Mostly I thought of you,” he said. “I want to ask you something. Will you marry me again?”

For a brief second joy flashed across her face, but deep disappointment replaced her happiness. “So my reward for helping free you is your hand in marriage?”

“No, ’tis because I love you,” he confessed. “I need you with me.”

“What?” She looked confused, as if he’d spoken in a foreign tongue.

Perhaps he had. He hadn’t said “I love you” in years and had told her he never would, much less feel and accept the emotion behind the words.

“Never were truer words spoken. I love you,” he repeated. “I know now that I have for some time, but couldn’t admit it to myself, much less to you. No matter how much it hurt when we parted.” He pushed back the covers and slowly swung his legs over the edge of the bed. “At last I understand the power of love. When love is real, the joy and contentment it brings defeats all doubts.”

Eleanor took a step closer, eyeing him warily, as if he’d gone mad. “Another quote?” she asked, reminding him of the poem he’d once recited.

“No, but I’ll shower you with them should they please you,” he said. “I’ve known I loved you since the day you were packing to leave court. I wanted to stay married to you from the beginning, but I refused to believe my attraction and interest meant anything more than that. I wanted, and want, you and no other as my wife. Never for one minute did I truly consider any of the other brides. I was afraid to let myself love again.

“I can see now the ways you tried to show me how you cared for me. Your stubbornness is greater than mine, for you didn’t give up. ’Twas I who gave up on you.”

For once Eleanor seemed speechless. He’d have to dredge up more to convince her.

“Making love with you should’ve persuaded me you were the only one I’d ever want. Even then I refused to acknowledge what we shared. What we still could have. If you’re willing.”

She stood frozen, as if moving would break the spell his words had woven.

“Your unselfishness wiped away any remaining doubts that true love can exist,” he continued. “You risked your life for me. I’m so sorry it had to come to that end to make me accept my love for you.”

He couldn’t read her expression.

“Do you have any feelings for me? Can you find it in your heart to care?” He didn’t dare hope she loved him in return. If she were willing to marry and live with him, that would be enough. For now. He’d spend every day showing her how much she meant to him. “Will you be my wife? Again?”