"Harry! Thank heavens the fighting is over and you are safe."
"What rubbish! I am a soldier; I enjoy fighting. I now lead my own troop of men from Cornwall. There is nothing like a Welsh campaign to turn adolescents into men. Have you seen Edward?"
"Yes, he is greatly changed, but not nearly so much as Rodger de
Leyburn I did not know him!"
"Rod is two years older than Edward. He came to manhood before the rest of us. The ladies are mad for him, cannot resist that dark, dangerous face."
"I can resist him! He is paying unwanted attention to me, and I need you beside me at supper to make him keep his distance."
"You must be daft in the head, Rosamond. Everyone loves Rod; he makes friends easier than any man I've ever met. He has qualities that
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THE MARRIAGE PRIZE
make others genuinely like him. He's Edward's favorite and the undisputed leader of the bachelor knights. You should consider yourself lucky to receive his attentions."
"Well, I do not. In fact I wish to end the betrothal."
"Has a maggot eaten your brain? He can have any woman he desires; he doesn't have to settle for you, Rosamond."
"Settle for me?" She lifted her chin and kicked at her train. "Harry, you still have a very blunt tongue. I should box your bloody ears."
He grinned boyishly. "Ah, but you need me at supper."
Richard de Clare, Earl of Gloucester, clapped Harry on the shoulder. "Behave yourself, little brother, I've got my eye on you!" Richard was Isabella Marshal's eldest son from her first marriage, to Gilbert de Clare. Harry was her son by her second husband, the king's brother, Richard of Cornwall. Richard de Clare was twelve years older than Harry, and though both had inherited their mother's fair complexion, Richard had florid cheeks that quickly turned even redder whenever his famous temper flared out of control.
"Richard!" Rosamond gave him a kiss of welcome. "I had no idea you were here; I expected you would ride straight to Gloucester."
"I am here to demonstrate my support for Simon. More nobles will ride in every day, and the names of those gathered at Kenilworth will be reported to the king. If he sees that we are solidly united against him, he will not dare make trouble."
Rosamond's sparkling eyes clouded. Why couldn't everyone live in peace? One fight was barely settled before they were discussing the next. Her brows drew together. If Earl Simon and the king were again drawing up sides, what the devil was the king's son doing at Kenilworth? It was inconceivable that Edward would turn against his father. It occurred to Rosamond that Lord Edward and his men could be spying. Then it came to her that perhaps that was exactly what Earl Simon wanted them to do. He was far too clever and seasoned to allow a pack of arrogant young wolves to outwit him.
Suddenly, Rosamond's hopes soared. If lines were being drawn between the earl and King Henry, then surely Simon and Eleanor de Montfort would not allow their ward to marry Rodger de Leyburn, who would be in the enemy camp.
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With a sense of relief and a renewed confidence that her betrothal would be broken, Rosamond placed her hand on her cousin Harry's arm and allowed him to lead her up onto the dais. When de Leyburn greeted her with a bow and held a chair for her, Rosamond walked past him as if he were invisible.
Harry led her to Lord Edward's side, intending to seat Rosamond between the prince and himself, when suddenly he caught an unmistakable look of royal disapproval. Harry did an immediate about-face. "Rod, would you take my seat next to Rosamond? I see my brother Gloucester summoning me."
"Be damned to you, Harry," she hissed, chagrined that he put loyalty to his friends before her.
Edward's blue eyes glittered with amusement. "You may have the airs of a lady, but you still have that blunt Marshal tongue." He winked at his friend. "Rod, it seems you will have your work cut out for you, trying to curb her. I don't envy you."
"I wager every other man in the hall envies me, my lord." His words were gallant, but the devilish gleam in his green eyes told her plainly he would relish the challenge of bringing her to heel.
"A spirited young filly needs a strong hand and a touch of the spurs," Edward teased unmercifully.
"And unruly young stallions are in need of the horse whip," Rosamond retorted.
"Touché! My lord, the lady has wit." Rod's mouth curved with appreciation. He gestured to his squire, Griffin, to pour them wine, then he lifted his goblet to salute her.
Rosamond sipped her own wine, then ran the tip of her tongue over her lips. "Nay, it simply passes for wit when I banter with those who are witless."
"She must mean you, Rod; to call a prince of the realm witless would be tantamount to treason." Clearly, Edward was enjoying himself.
Rodger smiled into her eyes. "Very likely I was witless when last we met. I was only seventeen."
She was seventeen! Was the damned fellow insulting her? "I don't recall anything about you. What do you remember about me?" she asked pointedly.
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His mouth curved. "You trailed about with the dogs, wading in the mere, looking very bedraggled. When Harry called you a drowned rat, you pelted all of us with stones."
"Cursing like a demon," Edward added.
Rosamond blushed at the picture they painted of her. "If my manners were so appalling, then it must have been my manors that you found so appealing." She had the satisfaction of seeing Rodger de Ley-burn stiffen at her insinuation.
The smile also left Edward's face. "What the devil are you getting at?"
She continued heedlessly. "Why did he offer for me? There is only one answer: because I am an heiress," she said bluntly.
"No, Rosamond, you are quite mistaken," the prince retorted, his voice sharp with annoyance. "He offered for you because I asked him to. It was an arrangement that pleased everyone. The barons were forever screaming about our heiresses being given to foreigners, so I made sure you went to an Englishman."
Her lashes fluttered to her cheeks in dismay at Edward's annoyance. She had brought this humiliation upon herself. It was her cursed insecurity raising its ugly head. A sense of inadequacy had dogged her since childhood. Losing her parents and brother had made her feel unworthy of a family and somehow undeserving of love. Suddenly, Rosamond felt her hand being covered by another. Its comforting warmth seeped into her.
"You were a prize beyond belief. It was my great honor to betroth a lady from the noble Marshal family."
Was Rodger de Leyburn sincere or was he mocking her? she wondered wildly. At least his words had restored the prince's good humor; Rosamond saw that Edward was once more grinning.
"I am the only married man among my bachelor knights; it is time that I had company," the prince said.
"But you are married in name only," Rosamond pointed out bluntly. She felt de Leyburn squeeze her fingers in warning.
"Not for much longer. Eleanora of Castile will soon be sixteen. Elegant quarters have been especially designed for her at Windsor."
"Do you even remember her, my lord?" Rosamond challenged.
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"I certainly remember the splendid entertainments at the wedding in Castile—the vivid colors of the costumes. The tournaments they held were spectacular. I was knighted by King Alphonso and gifted with a magnificent Spanish charger. It served me well in the jousting; I unseated every challenger."
At the mention of jousting, Rosamond snatched back her hand. "Well, the horse made a lasting impression, if the bride did not," she said with exquisite sarcasm.
Lord Edward was distracted from the conversation by the presentation of the dessert, which Lady Eleanor had arranged in his honor. A dozen huge plum puddings, floating in syllabub, were brought in on silver salvers. A lit torch was touched to each, setting them ablaze, then they were carried around the hall as the flames turned to blue fire. Musicians followed, playing the beautiful, haunting melodies of Wales to celebrate the success of the recent campaign.
Rodger de Leyburn was acutely aware of the young female who s
at beside him. He studied her lovely profile in the flickering blue light and could only guess at her thoughts. The gods must surely have been smiling upon him the day he betrothed the unremarkable twelve-year-old. Edward had arranged the match for him as a reward because the Marshal girl was an heiress. Who could have known she would turn into a cool beauty with a hot temper—an utterly tantalizing woman? He knew she wanted nothing to do with him and would do her utmost to end the betrothal. But what she wanted made not the slightest difference to him. Now that he had seen her, he intended to have her. And sooner rather than later.
His glance moved over to the prince's profile. What Earl Simon said was true: he and Edward were much alike. They were both cursed with insatiable ambition. That was the reason for their deep friendship, that and the fact that they knew each other's secrets, and would keep them at any cost.
At any cost... the words echoed in his mind as he glanced about the hall, counting the men who would let nothing stand in their way to achieve a goal. How many were prepared to do anythingor sacrifice anyone? There were only two. Simon de Montfort and Edward Plantagenet. What of himself? he wondered. In the dark depths of his soul he suspected that his
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own name would raise the count to three. He had already committed most of the seven deadly sins in his twenty-two years. He was guilty of all but sloth. That had been his father's sin, and because of it his family had been reduced to grinding poverty. Thank God his uncle had ambition. Through his influence at court, he had secured his nephew an appointment as page and told Rodger his future was in his own hands. Rod looked down at those hands now and he smiled. There was no way he was going to let Rosamond Marshal slip through his fingers.
The talk of marriage unsettled Rosamond, and the moment the servitors began to clear the tables, she made her escape. The Demoiselle joined her, filled with breathless curiosity. "Oh, Rosamond, he is so handsome! What did he say to you? "
"Lord Edward?" Rosamond teased.
"No, silly, Rodger de Leyburn."
"You think him handsome?"
"Oh yes. Tall, dark men are so compelling. When I looked up into those green eyes, I went weak at the knees and felt my heart turn over. What about you? "
"Yes, he had a similar effect on me ... I felt my stomach turn over."
Demi laughed. "Oh, Rosamond, you are so bad."
"I know. I deliberately accused him of betrothing me because I am an heiress."
"But that is the only reason any of us receive offers of marriage. The daughters of noble families are not married for love. Is that what you secretly long for, Rosamond?"
"Love? " Rosamond scoffed. "That's the last thing I want!" She had lost everyone she had ever loved. She would never let herself care so deeply about anyone ever again. "I shan't sit with him tomorrow night," she vowed fiercely. "I shall find some way to break off this accursed betrothal. He is obviously a determined devil, but if he thinks I will wed him and hand over my dowry, he is doomed to disappointment!"
******************
Simon and Eleanor's apartments were high in Kenilworth's great Caesar Tower. After the banquet, when he climbed the stairs and opened the door to their private sanctuary, he saw that his wife had lit scented candles and placed them on the hearth before the crackling fire.
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Simon's blood began to throb with anticipation. He knew that Eleanor liked the warmth of a fire in their bedchamber so that she could walk about nude. He felt his pulse beating heavily in his throat, and in his groin, as Eleanor came through the adjoining door. She had removed her jewels and gown, but still wore her shift and stockings, so that he could finish undressing her. He opened his arms and she ran to him eagerly.
"Welcome home, Sim." She used the diminutive of his name, as she always did when they made love.
He enfolded her against his heart and murmured, "You make my life complete." Then he held her at arm's length to gaze down at her. He dipped his head and kissed her closed eyelids, amazed after all these years that his need for her was as great as it had been when he had persuaded her to wed him secretly. "Have you any idea how much I missed you?"
"Of course! You showed me when you arrived home in the middle of the night. Now it's my turn to show you." Her tone was deliberately teasing to mask the intensity of her emotions. Whenever Simon rode off to war, she was afraid she would never see him again. Over the years, she had schooled herself never to show him her fear. How could he believe in his own invincibility if she doubted him?
She clung to her beloved fiercely, knowing deep in her soul that one day he would not ride home in victory. She pushed the thought away and laughed up at him. "I always forget how big you are."
"Let me refresh your memory," he said with a suggestive smile, pressing his arousal against her soft belly.
"Not just there," she said, laughing, "everywhere."
His hands were impatient as they removed her shift and then, one by one, her hose. "Walk about for me," he urged.
Eleanor took the pins from her hair and let it fall about her, cloaking her body. Then, prideful as a cat, she walked across the chamber to the far corner. Though she was over forty, she knew that in Simon's eyes, she would remain forever young, forever beautiful.
He undressed and followed her, unable to resist the tempting invitation of her body.
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"Carry me to bed," she whispered, and when he swept her up in his powerful arms, she exulted in his strength and his passion. When he was away on campaign, she had to be strong, but now that he was here with her in the big bed, she could be soft, and clinging, and feminine. The things he did to her made her deliriously weak. His hands sought out all of her body's sensitive places and touched them intimately; he knew exactly how to arouse her with his fingers and his mouth, and she reveled in the sensuality and desire his hard, powerful body evoked when he pulled her beneath him. Then with total male assurance, he filled her with his great passion.
Eleanor knew exactly what he wanted. She wound her arms about his neck and yielded everything, crying, "Sim, Sim!"
When he heard her use his Gaelic name in the throes of passion, it raised gooseflesh on his dark skin. "I love you so much, my precious jewel."
She touched her lips to his. She had never loved him more than she did tonight.
******************
The next day was marked by more arrivals. Two brothers, Lincoln and John de Warenne, Earl of Surrey, rode in with a large train of knights. Then, two hours later, Richard de Clare's son, Gilbert, arrived with his wife. His father had not allowed him to go on the Welsh campaign because he was only fifteen. Instead, he had been put in charge at Gloucester in his father's absence.
Rosamond and Demi were delighted to see the red-haired Gilbert, whom they'd known since they were children, but they stared in disbelief at the dark-eyed beauty who accompanied him. Because of the great de Clare fortune, King Henry had married Gilbert to his foreign niece five years ago, but this was the first time they had seen her. They watched Gilbert greet his hostess, then make a quick escape to seek out his friend, Harry of Almaine. If Eleanor de Montfort was surprised to see the young woman at Kenilworth, she did not show it. "This is Alyce de Clare, Gilbert's wife. May I present my daughter Demoiselle, and Rosamond Marshal?"
"Welcome, Lady Alyce," Demi said dutifully.
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Alyce's glance passed over the younger girl without interest and came to rest on Rosamond. "Not another Marshal... there is no end to them." Alyce spoke with a provocative French accent.
Rosamond's eyes flashed with indignation and she opened her mouth to protest.
"No, no, please do not try to explain your relationship to my husband, it is too, too confusing. His cousins are as numerous as Gloucester sheep!" Alyce turned back to the countess. "Lady Eleanor, you are aware that Gilbert and I keep separate bedchambers, separate quarters?"
Eleanor de Montfort looked her straight in the eye. "I am aware of everything."
Gilbert's s
quire struggled in with a large trunk. Alyce said, "Ah, here is part of my luggage. First, I will need a bath, no?"
With a straight face, Eleanor replied, "You need a bath, yes. Come upstairs with me now."
"To wash off the smell of all those bloody Gloucester sheep!" Rosamond declared before the elegant female was out of earshot.
The king had married his half-brother's daughter, Alyce of An-gouleme, into the wealthiest family of England. No matter that Gilbert de Clare had been a boy of ten at the time of the marriage, while Alyce had been a sexually ripe young woman of sixteen.
"Poor Gilbert," Demi murmured, "it must be awful to be married to an older woman who is waiting for you to grow up."
"She doesn't think him old enough to share her bed, but she's quite willing to share his wealth," Rosamond remarked.
"Yes, I saw that her riding cloak was trimmed with ermine."
"That's to proclaim to the world that she has royal connections. Is it any wonder that the barons hate the king's foreign relatives? They are like a plague of locusts, which outnumber sheep any day!"
Demi giggled. "Mother was decidedly frosty with her. I warrant she will wear something spectacular tonight, to outshine her."
******************
Lord Edward spent the first of what would be many days with Simon de Montfort. They talked for hours, as they walked shoulder to shoulder, exchanging ideas and sharing knowledge of warfare, in which
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Edward had an intense interest. But they talked also about the best ways to govern a country like England.
Earl Simon was a persuasive man, determined to win the heir to the throne over to the side of the barons. He hoped Lord Edward would see the popularity of the cause, as evidenced by the number of earls and nobles who were present at Kenilworth. This time they were determined to force the king to abide by the promises he'd made at Oxford. Englishmen must hold the highest administrative offices, rather than Henry's foreign relatives and favorites.
Simon made sure to compliment Edward on his role in the Welsh campaign. "I believe Llewelyn of Wales was persuaded to sign the two-year truce because we stood together. When a Plantagenet unites with his barons, it is an unbeatable force."
The Marriage Priza Page 3
