Eleanor stared at him, and then flung aside her sewing and rose swiftly to her feet. ‘Is that so?’ she demanded, the issue that so vexed her and their marriage suddenly rearing its ugly head. ‘And which wife would that be, Troye?’
‘Eleanor—’ he growled a note of warning.
‘Nay, Troye, I will not go! I will not live with you, nor lie with you and breed like—like a cow with a bull just to suit the King!’
‘It is not like that—’ He reached out then, trying to embrace her, but she flung her arms up and struck away his hands.
‘Is it not? I think it is, Troye! From the very first day we were wed you have had no feeling for me, and you have bedded me like you would a whore! With no love and no tenderness and no passion!’
He took a step towards her, his voice firm. ‘Stop. It grieves me to hear you speak so.’
‘Well, it grieves me to be treated so! I will not do it, Troye, I will not go with you to Scotland, nor let you have the use of my body to please the King of England!’
‘Eleanor, please—’ His ribs ached, but when she went to flounce away from him, he grabbed hold of her and pulled her close, smothering a grunt of pain. ‘Listen to me, please.’ He grasped her chin between his fingers and forced her to look at him, subduing her struggles as she tried to pull away. ‘I am sorry for the way things have been between us, but it is not true that I have no feeling for you. ’Tis not easy to forget…the past…but I have missed you these many weeks away from home, and I would try to make amends. In Scotland, away from here, we could start afresh.’
Eleanor strained in his grasp, arching away from him, reluctant to trust that he would not hurt her as he had before. He pulled her closer and his head lowered, his shoulders stooped as he reached down. She felt the heat and strength of his muscular body, the firm contours of his lips as they captured her own. She surrendered then, sagging against his chest, his mouth moving firmly yet gently on hers, and when her lips parted and accepted him, his tongue slid between and entered her mouth, seeking out her tongue, drawing from her a response with his kiss.
Her body remembered the feel of his, knew each contour as she knew her own, and the heat that flared within her was white hot. His kiss deepened, his hand supporting the back of her head, and she pressed her aching breasts to his chest, her arms sliding around his back, her hips swaying to meet his, all too aware of his male arousal. And yet, as she clasped him, and he groaned, wincing, flinching away, she struggled through the haze of passion and became aware that his groans were those of pain.
‘Troye…’ She pulled away, and looked up at him, at the grimace on his face, and then down as she felt through his tunic the thick wadding of bandages. ‘You are injured! Why did you not say?’
‘’Tis nothing—’ he tried to pull her back ‘—just a few broken ribs.’
‘Broken ribs!’ Eleanor exclaimed, shocked. ‘Why, you need to be abed!’
He smiled at her, his gaze lingering on her kiss-reddened lips, and moving down to the swell of her bosom, his hands firmly holding the curve of her hips as he drew her to him. ‘Aye.’ His voice was a warm whisper as he kissed her neck, aware that it had been so long since he had flirted with a woman that he had almost lost the knack, yet he tried, caressing Eleanor’s ear with his lips as he murmured, ‘Aye, bed is what I need.’
Despite the fever his kisses had woken in her blood, she still feared to yield to his lust when it was his love she wanted. She seized upon the excuse of his injury to delay matters. ‘My lord is in need of attention—’
He nibbled her ear, pushing aside the strands of silky hair. ‘Indeed.’
‘Oh, tush! You stink, my lord, and I only hope that it is dirt and not festering wounds.’
Troye sighed and feigned an expression of great offence. ‘My lady adds to my wounds.’
‘Nonsense. Get you upstairs to our chamber.’ Eleanor pushed him away, and then hurried to the kitchen and roused the serfs, urging them to heat water and bring the bathing tub to the master’s bedchamber.
They were little pleased with this activity, but they obeyed. Once it was all set up, the tub of hot water steaming before the fire hearth of the bedchamber, she thanked Dylan and Simon for their efforts and then dismissed them.
‘Shall we return to empty the water, my lady?’ Simon asked, glancing with curiosity at Troye as he stripped.
‘Nay—’ Eleanor too was aware of Troye shedding his clothes ‘—leave it until morning.’
She bid them both goodnight and closed the door. Then she went to her medicine chest and sought out healing creams to apply to the cuts and blisters on Troye’s body. From the corner of her eye, she glanced at him, concerned at how thin he seemed, how battered and bruised. She could only imagine how rough a soldier’s life must be, and she longed to hold him in the soft comfort of her arms.
Troye sank down into the hot water of the bathing tub, with an audible moan of pleasure. He washed with the bar of fragrant lavender soap that she handed to him, commenting wryly that he would smell like a woman.
‘’Tis better than stinking like a pigsty,’ Eleanor retorted.
‘My lady’s tongue is sharp tonight,’ Troye replied, eyeing her with wary thoughtfulness as he sat back to enjoy the luxury of a hot bath. Eleanor seemed different…more grown-up…more of a woman…he could not quite put his finger on it, but his suspicions were aroused, and he asked casually, ‘I am sorry that you have been left alone these months past, with the likes of Sir Malcolm to deal with.’
She paused as she laid out her jars on the table, glancing across the room at him. ‘It has not been easy.’
‘I hear from my Lord Charteris that he has been of assistance to you.’
‘Indeed. He is a most kind gentleman.’
‘And…were there others?’
‘Other what?’
‘Gentlemen?’
‘Oh, indeed,’ Eleanor scoffed, ‘I was quite inundated with them!’
Water splashed as Troye sat up. ‘Name them!’
‘Why, there were so many I cannot recall their names!’
Troye rose from the bath, stepping out of it naked and powerful as he strode to her side, heeding not the puddles of water that he dripped, and grasping her wrist as he snatched her close to him. ‘Have you lain with other men, Eleanor?’
Too late she remembered his jealous streak, and with a small gasp she strained away and stared up at him. ‘Why do you say such a thing to me?’
His glance fell to the pink swell of her lips, and the curve of her breasts, that seemed fuller than he remembered. Was she with child? By another man? ‘It is not unknown that while a knight is far from home others will take advantage. And you seem…different…as though…’ he paused, trying to pinpoint what it was ‘…as though you have learned the secrets of womanhood.’ His glance was dark and brooding as he looked her in the eyes. ‘Which I know you have not experienced with me.’
Eleanor blushed hotly. It was true, she had experienced her own womanliness, and she might have known that Troye would so easily have sensed this, yet how was she to say that it was by her own hand? That was taboo, and her eyelashes cast down as she glanced away from his penetrating stare.
‘I have not lain with any man, except you. That I can promise, Troye.’
He stared at her for long, hard moments, but then he released her wrist and seemed to accept her word. Quickly, to distract him from the subject, she reached for a linen and patted him dry, then applied arnica cream to his wounds, and fastened clean bandages to support his ribs. At the end of her ministrations he thanked her, and climbed between the covers of the bed. He lay back with a sigh, exhausted.
Eleanor moved about the room, tidying away, delaying the moment when she must undress and lie beside him.
‘Come to bed, Eleanor,’ Troye’s voice commanded, his patience utterly worn, and yet he could not fail to note the hesitation on her part, ‘Have no fear, I am in no fit state to play the bull. The hour is late and ’tis time to sle
ep.’
Quietly she blew out the candles and unlaced her gown, shrugging it off, and her shoes, sitting on the edge of the bed as she slid off her hose. Then, still wearing her shift, she lifted the covers and slid into bed beside him. He felt so warm, and the smell of his musky maleness overlaid the scent of soap. She lay back, not at all sure how she should respond if he touched her. She wanted him, but not here, not in this bed, not in this house. She almost jumped when she felt his hand touch her arm.
‘Eleanor?’
‘Hmm?’
‘I—’ He did not know how to voice his thoughts, his feelings, so he leaned down and pressed a kiss to the curve of her shoulder, the skin soft and smooth beneath his lips. ‘I thought…mayhap…that is—’ He cleared his throat, frustrated with his own lack of practice when it came to wooing a woman. He tried another approach. ‘You are very beautiful, Eleanor.’ He ran his hand from her shoulder down the length of her body, over the high mound of her splendid breasts and down the slender curve of waist and womanly hip. ‘Very desirable—’
Eleanor sighed, resigned to her wifely duty, turning her head slightly away as she parted her thighs for him, her voice wooden as she murmured, ‘As you wish, my lord.’
He exclaimed softly on a curse, reaching out to grasp her jaw and turn her back to him, wishing that in the dark he could see her eyes, ‘I did not mean it like that! Besides, with my ribs broken I am far from capable of mounting you.’
‘You wish me to go on top?’ She half-turned towards him, lifting the hem of her shift.
‘Nay!’ His fingers circled her wrist, pulling her shift back down into place, covering her silky limbs, even though the feel of her, so close, was arousing him. ‘What I am trying to say, Eleanor—’ he raked one hand through his still-damp hair, wondering why he was stumbling like a callow youth rather than a man full grown ‘—I—I want to…start again…woo you…court you. Let us see if, mayhap, we can love each other, as a husband and wife should.’
Eleanor turned towards him then, her voice soft and gentle as she whispered, ‘I do love you, Troye. I have always loved you.’
His hand reached up and gently stroked her cheek with his thumb as he cupped her face, murmuring in reply, ‘I know. I cannot understand why, for what have I ever done to make you love me?’
‘Love needs no reason. It just is.’
‘Aye.’ He thought of Isabeau for a moment, and by her silence he sensed that Eleanor knew where his thoughts strayed. ‘I cannot ever stop loving her. She will always be a part of me. Can you understand that?’
Eleanor nodded, terrified that now he would speak the words that would for ever separate them, and she trembled, holding back the tears that were so close.
He felt her shiver, and his arms went around her, gathering her close, as he kissed her temple, her cheek, her lips. ‘But I can understand and begin to accept that she is my past. And you are the future. I need time, Eleanor, please, time to let go and time to become accustomed to you. It will not be impossible to love you, for I hold you in great respect and admiration and I hope we are the best of friends, but that is something I must to learn feel again.’
It was more than she had ever hoped for, and with a tremulous smile, Eleanor nodded, unable to trust her voice to speak a word. They held each other for a long while, and then fell asleep.
Chapter Fourteen
T roye wasted no time, now that the decision had been made, in packing up his family and his chattels, in preparation for their removal to Scotland. He was urged on by the need to put the past behind him and start afresh, as he had promised Eleanor, and yet constrained by the fact that he could not bear to forget Isabeau. Every time he looked at Joan, he was reminded of her, and the manor house too bore silent witness to their love and marriage. It was a long relationship, stretching back to his childhood, and he felt that he could no more forget Isabeau than he could forget himself.
Yet there was Eleanor to think of now. He had no wish to hurt her with the memories of a woman she had never known, and he did truly want her, them, to be happy together. So it was that he had to reach a compromise, and one that brought much consternation from neighbours and friends. He decided to take Eleanor and Joan, and the nurse Agnes, with him to Scotland, but to leave behind Simon and Meg, and cut all his ties with York. The manor house was a burden he no longer wished to carry, so he gifted it outright to Simon and Meg, the two servants who had remained faithful and loyal to Eleanor in her time of need, and made them free persons, no longer bound in service to the de Valois family.
‘On one condition,’ Troye told the stunned young couple, as he handed them the deeds, ‘that you hold in safekeeping my late wife’s wedding coffer. One day Joan will want to know about her past, and her mother, and she will come to claim it.’
Simon took the parchment papers in his hand, staring at the red ribbon binding them, quite overwhelmed at Troye’s generosity, until Meg nudged him and they both offered their profuse thanks, mere words seeming too small for such a great gift. Yet already Troye had turned away, his attention moving on to the next hurdle that stood between him and Scotland.
Eleanor spent every moment of her day sorting through her clothes and possessions and those of Joan, to decide what they would take with them. She constantly asked Troye if they would need this, or that, but he seemed vague and had little idea what provisions would await them at Castle Currie.
‘And what of the Scots who live there?’ Eleanor asked, a worried frown creasing her brow. ‘Will they not be angry to have an English knight take command of their keep? Will we be safe?’
Troye stared at her, realising that she had little understanding of the situation. He sat upon a chair, sorting through a box of letters to do with his mother’s estate, but he paused a moment. ‘I will not lie to you, Eleanor. It is hostile territory we go to, but I will have a company of knights and at least fifty foot soldiers to hold Currie. Have no fear for the Scots who live there, for they have either been slain in battle or fled. That is why the King settles his own people in these places, so they do not fall back into rebel hands.’
‘But—’ Eleanor was somewhat perplexed ‘—it is a Scottish castle, in Scotland. Surely ’tis the right of Scots people to hold it?’
Troye snorted and rolled his eyes. ‘For God’s sake, Eleanor, that is treason to speak so! Never say such a thing again.’
She pouted, and he almost laughed at her belligerent frown. ‘Well, I care not for the King’s grand plan. It does not seem fair to me, and no doubt it is the women and children of the land who suffer most.’
He shook his head. ‘They are a tough breed. No doubt they will survive.’
Setting aside the candlestick that she wrapped in linen and placed in a wooden chest, to be conveyed to this far-off castle in Scotland, she asked, ‘What if we did not go? Would the King be angry?’
‘Aye.’
‘But surely he cannot force you to go to this—this Castle Currie.’
Troye stared at her. ‘My duty is to the King, Eleanor. I would never disobey. Besides, where else would we go?’
Eleanor cast her eyes down, and murmured, ‘We could go south, to my family.’
He set aside the box then, and rose from his seat, crossing the room to stand beside her, one hand upon her waist and the other raising her chin, so that he might look her directly in the eye. ‘Is it your wish not to go with me to Scotland?’
Eleanor hesitated. ‘I—I confess that I have no great desire to live in a land troubled with war, where we are strangers, and one that I hear is wild and cold and wet…’ she raised her eyes to his ‘…but I would go wherever you go.’
He smiled then, and leaned down, gently placing a kiss upon her lips. Eleanor closed her eyes, savouring the feel of his lips moving on hers. Though they had not yet resumed intimate relations, often in the few days past he had been most attentive, with the gift of a kiss here, an embrace there, a smile, the touch of hands often. In all honesty she was somewhat nervous about the
time when he would want to claim his rights. She knew that there was pleasure to be had, but would Troye be patient and tender and willing to give it to her? What hope for their marriage if he could not? During the few days before their departure she was glad that he was too busy and too discomforted by his slow healing ribs to make any attempt to couple with her, and he seemed content with a mere kiss goodnight.
At last, they rose early one morn as soon as it was light, and Simon assisted Dylan to load the cart with the chests and coffers and leather bags containing food and drink, linen for the beds, furs and covers. They took also the family Bible that Eleanor had often read with Lady Anne, a few precious possessions like candlesticks and pens and ink and books. They took clothes and Joan’s few wooden toys, Toby the dog, and Agnes the nursemaid, but much of their old lives and old possessions they left behind. Isabeau’s wedding coffer stood locked in the bedchamber, to await the day in a distant future when Joan would come to claim her inheritance.
Eleanor rode Luz, with Dylan driving the cart, his horse tethered to the tailgate. Agnes and Joan sat upon the hard wooden bench beside him, ensconced in thick bear furs, neither looking forward to the long journey ahead, one because she was too old, and the other because she was too young.
Troye was silent as he mounted Merlin and took up the reins of the mighty destrier. He checked that they were all ready to depart, then he glanced up once at the windows of the manor house, nodded a goodbye to Simon and Meg standing in the doorway, and turned towards the road. Eleanor too glanced up at the house, called out her farewell, and then she urged Luz forwards and took her place beside her husband, as together they rode away from York.
It was a long and arduous journey. They spent most nights sheltering at inns and friendly keeps, for the weather was too cold with snow and wind swirling all about to make camp. Eleanor insisted that Joan sleep with them, for she was much disturbed by the rigours and uncertainties of the journey, clinging to Eleanor and easily fractious at any excuse. Troye readily agreed, for entirely different reasons, much aware of the dangers of kidnap and the fragile condition of their marriage. Though he tried to give Eleanor his ardent attention she seemed to shy away from intimacy, a reaction that both perplexed and worried him. It was no surprise, though, given the fact that her experiences so far of the marriage bed had not been all that they should have, and for this he could blame no one except himself. For the moment there was little he could do about it, but once they were safely settled within the solid walls of Castle Currie, he could, and would, deal with the compelling matter of his wife’s satisfaction. In the meantime, it made for a most interesting and provocative subject for his thoughts to dwell on, as he rode at the head of their slow-moving party, a slight smile upon his lips.
The King s Champion Page 25
