It has to be a trick, Tad thought. Men do not fire without seeing the target. Foolish old man is going to spear someone with his impossible method!
Puzzled and outraged, he opened his mouth to protest the knight's firing technique when Richmond suddenly released the string and let the arrow fly. Tad's head snapped sharply as he watched the arrow carve a path through the blue sky, drawn to the mark as if some unseen force was reeling it forth like a hooked fish. The wooden missile plowed into the target lashed to a sturdy bale of hay and the entire crowd of onlookers cheered happily at the display of talent.
But the enthusiasm rapidly faded into an uneasy silence as the second marshal took his time examining the bulls-eye. Arissa watched, forgetting to breathe, until the official turned his attention to the expectant crowd.
"Through the eye!"
The crowd roared their approval. Richmond, for the second time that afternoon, cast a lingering glance at Arissa. With a confident smile, he blessed her with yet another saucy wink. Arissa simply stood, rooted to the spot, and grinned like a fool.
"He’s going to beat him!" Penelope shrieked. "Riss, he’s going to win!"
Arissa couldn't divert her attention long enough to respond. She clutched the ribbon to her breast, praying fiercely that Richmond would emerge the victor. She did so want to award him the ribbon. If she possessed any courage at all, she would have dispensed a congratulatory kiss, too.
Back on the field, Tad let out a disgusted sigh. Casting a baleful glance at Richmond, he assumed a striking stance.
"I am going to cut your arrow in half, le Bec."
"Be my guest."
The crowd began to hoot and roar as the ready signals were passed between the field marshals. Richmond stood back, leaning on his bow, as Tad took aim. Tensions built as the noise level increased, an almost unbearable excitement filling the air.
Arissa bit her lip, Penelope chewed her nails, and Emma and Regine were reduced to clutching one another's hands. 'Twould seem that their competition for the same man was forgotten in the heat of their enthusiasm. The earl and Carlton, a private wager between them, wait restlessly to collect their money from one another.
Just when Arissa thought she couldn't stand another moment of anticipation, Tad released his bow string. His arrow screamed through the air, piercing the designated mark with a dull thud. Chaff and dust billowed into the air as the audience proclaimed their favor for yet another fine display of skill.
Impatiently, the multitude began to surge forward as if to read the results for themselves. Several Lambourn soldiers were forced to push them back, away from the field, as both marshals scrutinized the target. Shouts and cries abound from the eager observers, demanding to know the outcome as the marshals pointed to the bulls-eye and chatted between themselves.
Even the earl was demanding to know. Richmond and Tad remained where they stood, waiting with thin patience as the officials came to a decision. Finally, and after much discussion, the first field marshal faced the crowd.
"Center mark, high and to the right!" he announced loudly. "Sir Richmond le Bec is the victor!"
The crowd went mad with approval. Arissa was smiling so broadly that she swore her face would split in two. Her focus was riveted to the massive knight politely extending his best wishes to the loser of the match. She was not surprised when Tad appeared to ignore him.
Beside her, Lady Maude and Lord William rose from their chairs, preparing to congratulate the winner.
"You must commend Sir Tad for a fine match, Arissa," her mother said quietly.
She nodded graciously, eyeing Tad as he approached on Richmond's heels. But her attention to him was brief; the moment Richmond stepped before her, all else seemed to fade. His blue eyes were tender on her, and with the expression she had seen before, but there was an added element this time. Something reserved only for her.
The earl held up his hands for silence as he moved toward Richmond. "Good ladies and gentlemen, 'twould seem our winner is none other than Henry's Great One. Certainly not a surprise." When the crowd laughed in agreement, William slapped Richmond on his broad shoulder. "Congratulations, Sir Richmond. There was never any doubt in my mind who the victor would be."
Richmond acknowledged him with a faint smile, his attention returning to Arissa. When the crowd began to grow noisy again, he held up a hand in an unusual show of public control. Richmond could handle a thousand men with ease but, as William had pointed out, a cadaver was better suited to host a crowd of guests.
Nonetheless, the group hushed. Richmond reached out and took Arissa's hand and, with a widening grin, took a knee before her in a display of chivalry rarely seen. Every woman viewing the scene went soft with the romance of the gesture, the inherent gentleness. The great Richmond le Bec was on bended knee in front of the birthday girl, the beautiful Lady Arissa; what a lovely, delicate picture of genteel grace it presented.
Arissa gazed into Richmond's beautiful eyes, almost eye-level with him. His smile, terribly tender, was nearly the only thing she was aware of. All else about her was distant and faded.
"I have honored my lady this day by winning the archery competition," he said loudly, but Arissa could have sworn he was speaking only to her. "In tribute to her most momentous day of age, I humbly bow at my lady's feet in homage as her champion."
Arissa cheeks were flushed a lovely pink, tendrils of black hair caressing her face in the faint breeze. Suddenly remembering the ribbon she had all but mashed in her hand, she extended it to Richmond.
"For a contest well executed, my lord," she said softly.
He took the award from her, noting that it was crumpled and stained because she had gripped it so tightly. Clutching it against his heart, he kissed Arissa's hand sweetly.
The crowd roared. Still grinning, Richmond rose to his full height, Arissa's hand enveloped tightly in his fist. Arissa would have been content to allow him to hold her hand for the rest of the day, but she could feel her mother nudging her from behind.
Knowing the gesture's meaning, she reluctantly removed her hand from Richmond's grasp and moved toward Tad. His expression was hard, like a pouting child. All tolerance and good feelings vanished, Arissa's gaze was equally as hard as she curtsied stiffly before him.
"A match well fought, sir knight," she said as evenly as she could manage.
He cocked an eyebrow at her. "I would have won, too, had I cheated like Sir Richmond."
Arissa lost her thinly-held patience. "Sir Richmond did not cheat. He beat you with sheer skill alone, and if you had better manners, you would acknowledge the fact that he’s a greater knight than you could ever hope to be."
Audible gasps could be heard. William pushed forward, taking Arissa into a protective embrace. "Forgive her, Sir Tad. It has been an exceedingly taxing day and her composure has suffered."
Arissa irritably yanked herself away from her father, an unusual action. "The only thing that has suffered is my patience with Sir Tad. I was forced to endure his company earlier and I am not at all ashamed to declare him to be an obnoxious, dull-witted boor. I shall not pretend to think otherwise." Gathering her skirts, she dipped a rapid curtsy to her parents. "If you will please excuse me."
William, aghast, watched his daughter's straight back as she marched away. Sputtering, he glanced at his ashen-faced wife, whose features mirrored his own. As Tad worked up a head of steam, Richmond quietly excused himself. He had to; he was far too close to succumbing to snickers.
"I shall see to her, my lord."
William was not given the chance to reply as Richmond went in pursuit of Arissa. Instead, the earl found himself faced with a humiliated and outraged Tad de Rydal.
The earl had no idea how deep the vein of shame ran. First Richmond had bested Tad in a highly one-sided duel, and where Tad had envisioned an opportunity for revenge in the archery contest, he found himself cleanly defeated. Two crushing blows in the same day, from the same man no less, was far more than his ego could accept.
/> Where vengeance had once been a sweet taste upon his tongue, it was now a consuming hunger. Dark hatred began to blacken his heart. Short of calling le Bec out in challenge, he began to sort his options.
There would be a time and a place; he simply had to be wise enough to take advantage of it, and lovely Lady Arissa would meet his wrath as well.
It was a promise.
* * *
Richmond found Arissa in the place where she usually went when she was upset. Seated in her father's solar near the lancet windows inlaid with precious Venetian glass, she was picking harshly at her fingernails. It was a bad habit she had, especially when bored or moody.
"Stop nibbling your nails," he commanded quietly as he entered the room.
Her hands dropped to her lap. "Did Father send you to spank me?"
"He did not. But I should take my hand to your backside at the very least for that insolent spectacle. I do believe Tad de Rydal was in the process of bursting a vein when I left."
She turned away from him, toward the window. "You should have punched him in the nose when he accused you of cheating. He’s an insufferable, pompous whoreskin."
"Mind your tongue, lady. I shall not hear those words from your mouth."
She did not reply to his reprimand and he moved to the chair opposite her. Lowering himself to sit, his gaze never left her beautiful profile. She seemed pensive and distant.
"What is the matter, Riss?" he asked softly. "Do not tell me that Tad de Rydal has upset you so terribly that you would allow him to ruin your birthday?"
She shook her head faintly, her chin resting in her hands as the multi-hued glass cast warm, erratic color across her face. "He’s not upset me," she sighed heavily. "But I would be lying if I said I was glad he has come."
Richmond smiled faintly. "As would I. Mayhap he’s suffered enough humiliation from me and will opt to leave before the feast tonight. One can always hope."
She turned her gaze to him, a smile on her lips. Bright blue eyes blazed upon her and she was suddenly aware that they were alone, far removed from the rest of the household and festivities.
How many times had they sat alone, talking about items both trivial and important? How many times had they been together, just the two of them, laughing or playing or simply sitting in silence? Certainly, more times that she could count. But this time, it was different.
Richmond’s smile faded as she lowered her gaze, staring at her hands. She seemed ill at ease, uncertain somehow. Since his arrival yesterday, their relationship hadn't been the same and he was deeply perplexed by the situation. He knew that his own confusion and guilt had cast a fog between them, causing her discomfort. Of course she'd been skittish in his presence; he'd given her good reason to be. It was all his fault.
But one thing was clear; he'd always been able to speak to Arissa. Communication between them was an important factor to their relationship and he had always gone to great lengths to preserve their openness. Now, in the heat of his bewilderment, was not the time to sever the lines of contact.
"Is Tad the only item bothering you?" he asked softly. "You have seemed very disturbed since I returned yesterday. Is there something I can do?"
She continued to stare at her hands. Is there something I can do? She had no idea why tears began to sting her eyes. Mayhap it was her own sense of helplessness, the power of a love that refused to die, of a love that would never be nurtured. It was a love that would be forced into obscurity when she was committed to Whitby. If only he could do something; if only he could return that love.
A single hot tear dripped onto her hand. Richmond saw it; immediately, he was out of the chair and kneeling before her.
"Riss, what's the matter? Won't you tell me?"
His gentle voice struck deep. The single tear turned into a flood and she dissolved, falling forward against him.
"I.... you cannot help," she whispered, her voice constricted with sobs. "No one can help."
He clutched her fiercely; somehow, she managed to fall out of the chair and ended up cradled in his lap as he sat on the floor. Richmond held her as if to never let her go.
"I can help, I promise," he murmured into her hair. "Tell me and I shall do everything in my power to ease your ache."
Ease your ache. Sweet St. Jude, if it were only possible! But it was not. And she would rather die than tell him the true reasons behind her tears.
"Tell me," he urged tenderly, squeezing her. "What is so terrible?"
Arissa knew from experience that he would not let the subject rest until he had received a satisfactory response. Aware that it would be futile to resist or refuse to answer him, she thought carefully on her reply. Certainly, it was not a lie. But it was only a small measure of the truth.
"I...." she coughed, wiping at her eyes. "I do not want to go to the convent."
He did not say anything for a moment. Arissa swore his embrace tightened. "You have been pledged to the abbey since you were an infant."
"I know," she sniffled. "I was never given any say in the matter. I do not want to be shut off from the world for the rest of my life, Richmond. I do not want to go."
He shifted her in his lap, sliding over a few inches to the hard stone wall. Reclining against it, he cradled her to his chest.
"Why not?"
She blinked thoughtfully at his question, her tears fading somewhat. She couldn't very well tell him the truth.
"Because I do not think I am suited for life at the cloister. I like parties, and pretty things, and good food and entertainment. I have only been devout to the religion because mother and father have forced me to be rigid in my practice," she sat up, wiping her cheeks and looking him in the eye. "I do not want to wear gray wool and wimples for the rest of my life. I want to be married, to know the security of a home and family. Richmond, I want to live."
He gazed at her a moment, the woman he loved. Absently, a gloved hand came up to touch her hair. "Your entire life is before you and you want to sample all it has to offer."
"Exactly," she said firmly, tears forgotten. "I am eighteen years today, old enough to go to court, or be married, or anything else that young women do. Why should I be deprived of my life simply because my parents saw fit to make me a sacrificial lamb by devoting my life to God? I never had a choice and it was unfair of them not to consider my feelings."
He smiled vaguely, toying with a tendril of raven-hued hair. "'Tis not usual that one is given a choice in one's destiny. Furthermore, 'tis not usual to consider the feelings of a newborn child when deciding his, or her, future."
She pursed her lips wryly. "You are not helping me. I do not want to obey my father's wishes and you make jokes."
His grip on her hair tightened as she tried to move away from him. "I am not jesting, simply stating a fact."
She met his gaze, trying to ignore the rising heat between them by focusing on her concerns. "Will you talk to my father, Richmond? Tell him that I do not wish to join the church."
He sighed, knowing that her betrothal to the church was nearly as binding as a marriage. Furthermore, Henry himself had made it. The only person who would have a remote chance of dissolving it would be, clearly, Henry. And the chances of that happening were close to impossible.
"Riss, it's not that simple," he said after a moment. "You have known since you were old enough to understand that your destiny was to become a nun. This is the first time I have heard you speak negatively on the subject."
She shrugged, looking away from him. “`Tis only because I have realized that I want a voice in my destiny. Why must my father decide it for me? I have never truly been excited about joining the cloister, merely resigned to the fact. Resignation has kept me silent for eighteen years."
He cocked an eyebrow. "But no longer, I see."
She shook her head. "No longer. I do not want to go. If father won't consider dissolving the contract, then I shall.... I shall run away."
"Do not talk like that. You couldn't run far enough away from
me that I could not find you."
She slanted him a long glance. "You would follow me anywhere?"
He gave her a half-smile. "I am my lady's shadow."
She stared at him a moment, observing his well-shaped, masculine features. The grin on her lips matched his own. "What are you going to do when I am forced to enter the convent? Are you planning on lurking about the halls, shadowing me as I prepare for Vespers?"
He pretended to think on the matter. "I look rather good in a nun's habit. Do you think they would suspect?"
She shook her head immediately. "Never. Who would suspect anything peculiar about a six foot nun?"
"I am well over six feet."
Her smiled broadened. "I know. You have told me. Six feet and five inches. You are well over a foot taller than I am."
"Sixteen inches, to be exact. But everyone is taller than you."
"And everyone is younger than you."
He cocked an eyebrow. "You are an impudent, disagreeable wench. Beware, or next time I will refuse to save you from Tad de Rydal."
She sighed, her light mood fading as she returned to picking her nails. "I would marry him if it meant dissolving my contract with the church. I would rather suffer a lifetime of arrogance than a lifetime of unhappiness."
He grasped her fumbling hands, so tightly that she nearly winced. "You shall not marry Tad de Rydal. Is that clear?"
Her puzzled gaze met his darkened blue eyes. "I.... I meant it figuratively, Richmond. As you said, I have no choice in the matter. I must join the cloister whether I want to or not."
His grip relaxed. The heat she had been trying to ignore had increased in strength, growing, enveloping her. No longer able to ignore it, she tried her best to control the power. Mayhap if she disregarding the quivering, it would go away.
But the searing heat refused to fade. If anything, it was growing stronger. When Richmond's gloved hands began to gently caress her fingers, the painful ache his touch provoked bolted the length of her arms.
Richmond felt the heat, too. It was difficult not to. Heat generated by his intense emotions for the woman who was his charge, a princess unaware. A woman he was too weak to fight his feelings for. In faith, he was not entirely sure he wanted to do battle with his emotions any longer. It would be far simpler and far more destructive simply to give in to all of it.
Timeless Tales of Honor Page 44
