by The Leopard
Richard held out the necklace, waiting. When Astra reached for it, he shook his head. “I’ll put it on you.”
Stiffly, Astra turned and gathered her veil out of the way. She felt Richard’s calloused fingers on her neck, and the chain slid down her chest. The gold was still warm from Richard’s body. The thought made Astra flush. There was something strangely intimate about donning something that had just rested against his skin. She knew Richard felt it, too. He grinned and his eyes glowed with delight. She looked down and felt her flush spread. The necklace was really too long, and the glass jewel had settled deep between the cleft of her breasts. Richard’s eyes focused there with a fascination that unnerved her. She could feel the pendant—hot, burning, an emissary for Richard’s own erotic imaginings.
Irritated with herself and him, Astra reached into her bodice and yanked out the necklace. It dangled wildly, swinging back and forth across her bodice, then came to rest at a point below the swell of her bosom.
“It suits you well, madame,” the shopkeeper offered. “It is the perfect complement to your own beguiling beauty”
Astra gave the little man a distracted smile. She had almost forgotten he was there.
“Will there be anything else?” he added in a timid voice.
“Not today. Perhaps another time we will return and the lady will choose something else.”
The shopkeeper bowed as they departed, his small furrowed face lit by a vague smile. Astra felt relieved to be back on the streets, as squalid and filthy as they were. The small shop had begun to seem too small, almost oppressive, and Richard’s presence so close filled her senses to bursting. She could not seem to escape the breathless ache his nearness aroused.
They wandered back to the market, but saw nothing that matched the splendors of the tiny glass shop. Richard paused by a cart of ripe apricots, and Astra leaned against it with a sigh.
“Are you weary, Astra?”
“I am not used to...” she gestured, “... all of this.”
“My poor little butterfly. I forget you are not yet accustomed to the bustle and stink of the city.” Richard brought his hand up to touch her shoulder and then slid his fingers beneath her veil to rest on her nape. He began to stroke her neck, his strong, probing fingers skillfully easing the tension away. Astra closed her eyes and sighed again, oblivious for a time to the noise and confusion that swirled around them.
“I know a place we can go,” Richard murmured. “Would you like to see the Tower of London, Astra?”
Astra opened her eyes, considering. The Tower was one of the oldest buildings in London, dating back to the days of William the Conqueror. It had served as the King’s palace until only recently, when Henry had moved most of his household to the new palace at Westminster shortly before he wed Eleanor.
“It is not too far,” Richard coaxed. “We can take a wherry back to Westminster from there.”
Astra nodded, her curiosity making her forget how hot and sweaty she was and how much her feet hurt. She allowed Richard to take her arm and guide her through the maze of the marketplace. They turned southeast toward the river. In the distance they could see the Tower, the royal standard waving from the highest turret. When they reached the quays, they walked along them for a while, watching the ships: wine ships from Gascony, scuts from Slander, Essex and Kent, the great vessels of Almain and Norway. Finally, they entered the royal complex and beheld the Tower rising above them, majestic and gleaming white.
“The King spends most of his time at Westminster, but he’s renovating the Tower and building up the defenses around it,” Richard explained, gesturing toward the busy courtyard where workers were unloading stone and gravel from wagons. “Once it is finished, the Tower will be a well-defended palace. A moat and stone wall will surround the north and west, and the river will guard it on the south.”
When Astra coughed from the dust and held her veil to her face, Richard added: “Queen Eleanor stays away because the dirt and noise of construction bother her, but Henry visits the site fairly often. Sometimes he brings Prince Edward to see the animals in the royal menagerie.”
“The menagerie?”
“The Emperor of Germany sent Henry three leopards in honor of the three beasts emblazoned on the English flag. Since then the King has added a tiger, some water buffalo and several bears. There was an elephant, but he died. The King insisted he be buried at Westminster as if he were royalty.”
Astra could only nod in amazement. She had never heard of such animals existing outside of books.
“Would you like to see them, Astra?”
“Could I?”
Richard shrugged. “Why not? Hardly anyone goes there. Most of the nobles think the menagerie is only another of the King’s foolish extravagances.”
The menagerie was housed in a separate building, called the Lion Tower. Richard was right, Astra noted, for as busy as the rest of the complex was, the dreary stone building where the animals were kept was deserted. They had gone a few paces inside when a deafening roar emitted from the darkness ahead of them. Astra froze, her limbs rigid, the hair on her neck prickling with fear.
Richard laughed. “They’re in cages, Astra. There’s no way they can eat us.”
Astra nodded, but gratefully clung to Richard’s hand as he led her forward. The first cage housed the bears. They looked much like the bears Astra had seen at bear baitings, except they appeared to be better fed and more docile. Indeed, there was an air of lethargy, almost melancholy about them.
She scrutinized the small space the animals were crowded into, a dank dark room with only one small window. “Are they happy here?” she asked. “For all that they are well-cared for, they must miss the forest, the fresh air and freedom they once knew.”
Richard laughed. “My sweet, tender-hearted Astra, they are only animals. It not as if they can reason about their lot in life.”
“But they can feel,” Astra protested. “Look at their eyes—do you not see the hopelessness there?”
Richard laughed again, but this time he sounded less confident. He led her on to the next room. The cage there held only one bear, a gigantic creature with fur of creamy white. “This is ‘Bruin,’ the King’s favorite. Is he not a handsome specimen?”
Astra nodded, still troubled by the regal-looking creature’s gloomy surroundings. Another rumbling roar came to their ears—even nearer this time. Astra shivered.
“The big cats are next.” Richard pulled at her hand. They moved on to another chamber. As they entered, the torches on the wall flickered, casting eerie shadows into what appeared to be an empty cage. There was a low growl and a large spotted cat lunged forward, snarling at them through the bars of the cage. Astra stepped back quickly and even Richard flinched.
“This is the male; the two female leopards are smaller. Is he not magnificent?” Richard asked.
“Aye,” Astra whispered. She had never seen such beauty and power melded into one form. The cat’s eyes were like brilliant jewels, his fur as rich and finely-ornamented as the most expensive cloth. Yet he was not merely a lovely object or an elegant plaything. His sleek flanks quivered with strength. His huge, hungry-looking mouth opened to reveal gleaming ivory teeth that looked as though they could easily bite off Astra’s arm. He was danger and death personified.
“Do you feel sorry for him, Astra? Do you worry that he is unhappy in his bare, boring cage?”
Astra didn’t answer. The leopard growled again, then began to pace, padding delicately from one end of the cage to the other. There was a restless frustration in the cat’s movements, and Astra again found pity arising in her.
“I do feel sorry for him. All his beauty and grace is wasted. Such a creature is meant to be free, not caged up in some gloomy tower.” She turned to Richard. “Can you not feel it? They call you ‘the Leopard’. How would you like to be imprisoned in a place like this? Would it not make your soul grieve, your heart ache with discontent?”
“I am a man, Astra. This animal d
oes not have a soul, or a heart as you speak of it. He has no conscience, no morality. He is a cold-blooded killer, an instrument of death.”
“Are you so different from him?” Astra demanded. “I saw you kill those men in the forest—without a care, without even a twinge of regret. You are a killer too!”
Richard stared at her, looking startled. “I am a knight. It is my duty, my Christian duty, to protect defenseless women, to smite down evil with my sword.”
Astra sighed. She had started an argument she could not win. Richard had been trained from boyhood to believe in the rightness of violence and war, while she had been taught the opposite.
There was silence between them for a moment. Then Richard put his hand on her arm. “Do you want to see the rest of the animals?”
Astra shook her head. She could not really explain why it distressed her to see beasts in cages, but somehow it did.
“There is another place you must visit while we are near the Tower, Astra,” Richard said, his voice again soft and mesmerizing. “And I promise that this place will not grieve you, but gladden your heart.”
Eleven
They traversed the busy courtyard and followed a pathway behind the Tower. It led to the neglected ruins of what once must have been a splendid garden. Formerly elegant hedges had returned to their wild, sprawling state, and masses of knee-high vegetation encroached upon the pathway. Most of the flowers and herbs had been choked by the rampant weeds, but there were still roses, gillieflowers and daisies sparkling among the disordered green. Their perfume mingled with the soft scent of earth and sunshine.
“In the days of John and Isabella, this was the Queen’s privy garden,” Richard said. “It has been abandoned since then, but it is still a pleasant refuge from the city.”
“It is wonderful! You would never even know we are in London. It reminds me of the woods near Stafford. It even smells like it—the scent of flowers and water, rather than dung and garbage.” Astra wrinkled her nose in disgust at the remembrance of the stench of the markets.
Richard laughed. “I suspect you will never be a city girl, Astra de Mortain. You belong here, a bright butterfly among the flowers.” He idly picked one of the daisies that grew in profusion and used it to tickle her under the chin.
She giggled, then paused, uneasy. A disturbing tension moved in the air between them, and her heart had started to race again. Richard was only inches away. She could smell the salty, sweaty maleness of him. Up close, he was even more astonishingly handsome: soft black hair curling around a sculptured, arrogant face, dazzling dark eyes, a sensual, expressive mouth. His tanned velvet skin was marred only by the pale scar on his cheek. Without thinking she reached up and traced the faint line it made, slanting sharply across his cheekbone.
“How did it happen?”
“An unlucky sword thrust. Or perhaps it was lucky after all.” He grimaced. “Usually when a man gets his weapon under your helmet, he drives it straight through your skull.”
Astra could not repress a shudder of horror. “I hate war. I don’t understand why men insist on fighting stupid battles over land and kingdoms.”
“If there were enough land and wealth for everyone, there probably wouldn’t be any wars, but there isn’t. A man has to fight to protect the things he cares about.”
Richard’s fierce words surprised Astra. “What do you care about, Sir Richard?”
“Wealth and power, of course. What else is there?”
“Much more! There is love and children... peace... happiness... security... living a Godly life... caring for the less fortunate—”
“Spoken like a true little novice,” Richard interrupted, his voice suddenly sharp. “You live in a dream world, Astra. Outside of Stafford, many of those things don’t exist. The real world is made up of greedy, selfish men who don’t give a fig for your pretty ideals. They take what they want, and if you aren’t strong enough to fight them, you’re left with nothing “
Astra stared at Richard for a moment, startled by the bitterness in his voice. She could hardly reconcile this harsh philosophy with the playful, easy-going man who teased and flattered her.
Richard caught her watching him and smiled. “Here we are quarreling again. Surely this is too pleasant a place for an argument. Why don’t we find somewhere to sit and rest?”
Astra nodded. For all that her slippers were made of soft leather, they were still new and stiff enough to rub her feet raw in a day of walking. As they reached the trees that grew between the overgrown garden and the river, she looked longingly at the soft grass beneath a sprawling chestnut. “I’d delight in sitting, but I’m not sure I dare. I’m certain to get grass stains on my gown.”
Richard glanced at the elegant rose velvet bliaut she wore and then jerked his tunic over his head. He shook it out and arranged it carefully beneath the tree. “Your couch, my lady,” he announced with a grand gesture.
Astra gaped at him. Richard’s torso was completely bare, the smooth brown skin glazed with a faint sheen of sweat. She could see the sleek muscles rippling across his chest. The sight made her feel strange.
“Please, Richard, it’s not decent!”
“Why not? I’m sure you’ve seen peasants laboring in the field without their tunics. Why is this different?”
Astra shook her head. She didn’t know why it was different. Perhaps it was because she found Richard so irresistibly attractive. Surely it was sinful to be alone with a man who made her feel so exhilarated and alive.
“Come. Sit down,” Richard coaxed as he settled himself beside the tunic. “Don’t look at me if it bothers you.”
Astra sat down cautiously and leaned back against the tree. She sighed. It felt wonderful to rest, and it was such a tranquil, lovely place. She closed her eyes and listened to the soft sounds of the river and the faint breeze whispering through the boughs overhead.
“Don’t fall asleep.”
Astra opened her eyes. Richard was leaning over her, his face inches from her own. His teeth were very white against his dusky skin, his lips rose-brown and moist.
She closed her eyes when he kissed her. She felt so dreamy, so relaxed. Her body floated away. All she could feel was the warm, gentle pressure of his lips on hers.
She shivered when she felt his tongue on her lips. His arms came around her—hard, imprisoning. She could not move when he put his tongue deep within her mouth. The sensation startled her. In some forgotten part of herself she knew what this bold, probing kiss meant. Her body responded with a restless fire as she fought the doubts that worried at the edges of her mind. It was just a kiss. Wasn’t it?
She was gasping for breath when he released her. She stared deep into Richard’s eyes. They were darker than ever, almost black. The wry, amused softness was gone from his face. He looked intense and serious.
She blinked and tried to catch her breath.
“Did you like it?” he asked His silky smooth tone sent another shiver down her spine.
She nodded, and felt her face flush. He did not wait for more, but abruptly kissed her again. His lips were firm but soft. And then she felt something else, the teasing tip of his tongue probing between her lips. He found her tongue and their wet flesh touched and fondled. It seemed to take all her concentration to think about what he was doing to her mouth. Her body turned to liquid. She hardly noticed that she was no longer sitting, but lying on Richard’s tunic beneath the tree. He leaned over her, and her fingers rested against the smooth, damp skin of his chest. Without thinking, she slid her hands around to stroke his back. It was firm but silky. The thick muscles flexed slightly beneath her fingertips.
His mouth left hers and moved down her neck, nuzzling below her collarbone. Astra let her fingers stroke his thick, soft hair. His mouth found the hollow between her breasts. Astra squirmed. Her breasts seemed to throb. A tingling ache radiated from each nipple and rippled down her body like a fierce, greedy flame.
Her eyes were closed, but suddenly she could feel Richard’s
hands on her breasts. He touched them with a rough possessiveness that she could feel even through the fabric of her gown. The throbbing pleasure she felt unsettled her. She had to stop this. It had gone too far. Soon he would have her gown undone and his fingers would touch naked skin!
The thought brought her to her senses. She pulled Richard’s hands from her breasts and struggled to sit up. “Richard!” she cried and tried to push him away. He released her slowly, looking surprised and rather puzzled.
She wanted to chastise him for making improper advances, but somehow it did not seem quite fair. She had not protested when he kissed her. Nay, she had encouraged him.
Astra pressed her hands to her flushed cheeks, horrified by what had happened—what she had allowed to happen. She had behaved like a wanton. After her priggish words the day before, Richard must think her a terrible hypocrite. Tears gathered in her eyes, eloquently proclaiming her distress.
“Shhhh, lovey,” Richard soothed. “’Tis nothing to cry over.”
“I am a dreadful, sinful creature.”
“Nay, you are beautiful and sweet.”
“I... I don’t know what came over me. I have never been like this before. In truth, I have never even kissed a man until you.”
“And was it so awful that you must cry?”
Astra shook her head. He did not understand. She had liked his kisses. Far too much she had liked them.
“Then what distresses you, Astra? Why do you cry?”
“I...” she started again. She couldn’t tell him. It was simply too shameful. Even with Marguerite she had not shared the extent of her impure thoughts. And this man—she scrutinized Richard through the blur of her tears She was afraid he was not above taking advantage of her fleshly weakness. Hadn’t he already admitted his weakness to her?
“I think perhaps, Sir Richard, we should not see each other again,” she forced out in a quavering voice.
For a moment he just looked at her, as if he were stunned. Then she saw the hurt fill his eyes.
