Mary Gillgannon

by The Leopard

  “Aye, if he had some property, Sir Richard would no longer have to amuse himself with cheap little country wenches.” Isabel looked down her long nose at Astra, and then both she and Nell began to twitter.

  Astra felt her face flame, and she fought to come up with a dignified response to defend herself. She had no chance, for Marguerite rose and said pointedly, “Perhaps Sir Richard finds such women refreshing after the conniving opportunists he has met at court.” She gave Lady Isabel a sweetly innocent smile and then gestured to Astra. “Come, ma belle. It appears the Queen no longer requires our company, and besides, it has grown unpleasantly close in here.”

  “Oh, Marguerite, thank you,” Astra whispered when the two of them had escaped to the hall. “I never know what to say when Isabel attacks me. It seems so unfair. I’ve done nothing to her!”

  “The ill-tempered little wasp is so jealous of you, she near sickens with it.”

  “Jealous!” Astra exclaimed in surprise. “Is that why she is so cruel to me?”

  “Of course. I think she’s half in love with Richard herself, and she knows he’ll never spare her a second glance as long as you’re around.”

  “Then her fears are groundless. Richard has obviously tired of me.”

  “Perhaps not.” Marguerite shrugged. “From what Will told me, Richard has been too ill-disposed to think of pursuing women.”

  “Richard’s ill!” Astra’s eyes widened with alarm.

  “Not seriously,” Marguerite reassured her. “A stomach ailment, Will said. He’s much better now. Will thought they would both dine in the banquet hall tonight.”

  Astra stiffened. The thought of seeing Richard again panicked her.

  Marguerite discerned her discomfort and laughed. “What is it, Astra?” she asked teasingly. “Has something distressed you?”

  “I’m not distressed. Indeed, I am relieved to know Richard is not seriously ill.”

  Marguerite raised her dark brows. “Why should you care? I thought you were finished with him, that you intended to snub him the next time you see him.”

  “I could not do that, not if he’s been ill!”

  “How clever it was of Richard to guess there is no surer way to Lady’s Astra’s heart than to arouse her pity.”

  Astra glared at her friend. Marguerite laughed again. “I wonder what Richard will do when he discovers he has a rival. From what I’ve heard, Richard and Guy Faucomberg despise each other. It should be interesting to see what happens when they find themselves in the same room—with you.”

  “I’m sure Guy was merely being polite when he offered to sit by me the last two evenings.”

  “Polite!” Marguerite gave an unladylike snort of amusement. “He was all but drooling over you. I’d watch out for that one. Rathstowe’s even slyer than Richard.”

  Astra nodded. She’d been startled and a little flattered when the Earl of Rathstowe sought her out and asked her to dine with him in the hall. It had seemed innocent enough at the time, but now she wondered. Guy had been persistently flattering and charming, but she found she trusted him even less than she did Richard. There was something calculating in the way the earl attempted to turn her head with pretty words. Faucomberg wanted something from her, and her instincts told her that his intentions were more sinister than simple seduction.

  “Sweet Mary,” Astra muttered as they entered the tiny bedchamber. She sank down wearily on a stool. “If I had my way, I’d skip the banquet tonight altogether. I’m not sure I’m up to dealing with Faucomberg or Richard—either one of them.”

  Fourteen

  It was worse than going into battle, Richard thought grimly as he walked to the banquet hall. He hadn’t even seen his enemy, and already his body throbbed with tension. It took more courage to face that gloating bastard Faucomberg across a trestle table than it did to fight a dozen murderous soldiers.

  His hand went instinctively to his side, feeling for the sword that wasn’t there. It was probably well and good that no one was allowed to enter the King’s Hall carrying anything more dangerous than an eating knife. It would help him resist temptation. Although he suspected he was strong enough and ruthless enough to tear Rathstowe’s throat out with his bare hands if he had an excuse.

  No, he thought resolutely, his fingers twitching with strain. Will was right. He could not let Faucomberg goad him into losing control. If he did that, his enemy would win. He must rein in his temper at all costs.

  He paused in the anteroom outside the hall and braced himself for the stares and whispers. He should have arrived earlier. There would have been fewer people to gawk at him. As it was, it appeared most of the courtiers were already seated. All eyes would be upon him as he entered.

  “Sir Richard.”

  He turned and felt his grim mood softening as Lady Astra rushed up. It was obvious she had been running. Her face was flushed, and she still held her skirts clutched in her fingers.

  “You’re late.”

  “I know.” She blushed an even deeper shade of rose. “And you? Are you well?”

  Richard cocked a brow. “Am I well? What do you mean?”

  “I heard you were ill. Will told Marguerite you were suffering from a stomach ailment.”

  Richard smiled and silently blessed Will for his tact. “I am completely recovered. Thank you for your concern.”

  He watched her blush again, and a wave of longing swept through him. She was so sweet, so beautiful. It did not seem fair he could not have her. But then life was not fair, not fair at all.

  He extended his arm. “We should go in. We can sit in the back if you wish.”

  She hesitated and stared uneasily at him. “I do not think...” She swallowed. “I am supposed to sit with Marguerite and... and some gentlemen.”

  So, she had found another paramour. The thought infuriated him, but he refused to let his anger show. He had no claim upon her, no right to be jealous. He shrugged. “As you wish, demoiselle.”

  She gave him a stricken look, then turned and entered the hall with a flurry of her saffron satin skirts.

  He followed after her, struggling to appear nonchalant and composed. Entering the hall, he forced himself to meet every eye. He was a warrior going into battle, proud, dangerous. There was not a man in the place who could defeat him.

  The strategy worked. People gave him wary glances and then went back to their food and conversation. He walked over to a table of knights near the rear. They nodded and made a place for him in their midst.

  “Reivers—good to have you back.”

  “Aye, we’ve missed you.”

  “Rumor was that you’d given up on Henry and turned mercenary—went and hired yourself out,” one man said mischievously.

  Richard grinned and shook his head. “Not yet. Henry has my loyalty for a while longer.”

  He took a gulp of wine and felt himself relax. It had not been unendurable. He would ignore them, the arrogant nobles who had made his life miserable for so many years. This was where he belonged, surrounded by the companionship of honest, stout-hearted fighting men. To hell with barons and kings.

  A broad, freckled-faced knight leaned across the table. “You shouldn’t have stayed away so long, Reivers. I don’t think you’ll be pleased to see who has taken your place at Lady Astra’s side.”

  Richard felt the sudden tensing of the men around him, and a chilling dread clutched at his heart. Unable to stop himself, he jerked around and faced the direction the knights were looking.

  Astra was near the front, surrounded by ladies and noblemen. Directly beside her sat a man with vivid red hair. Richard swallowed. He could feel his facade of cool confidence shattering like Venetian glassware. It could not be a coincidence. Faucomberg had found out about his interest in Astra and deliberately singled her out for seduction.

  “If it’s any consolation, Reivers,” a man beside him murmured, “I don’t think any woman who’d let that whore-son cozen her has much value. Faucomberg’s a rich bastard, but he’s a cow
ard. A good knight like you is worth a dozen of him.”

  Richard’s mood slumped further. The little fool would let Faucomberg charm her and flatter her. Innocent Astra would fall right into his trap. For a moment Richard couldn’t decide who he was more furious with—Faucomberg for cruelly using Astra, or Astra for being so gullible she would let him. “Damn,” he cursed. “Damn them both.”

  “Is something wrong, Sir Richard?” a lilting female voice cooed beside him. Richard looked up to see a plain-faced young woman dressed in an extraordinary costume of alternating bands of crimson and gold. Even her headdress was fashioned of the gaudy fabric. She fluttered her sparse eyelashes at him and said demurely, “We’ve missed you at court, Sir Richard. It’s delightful to have you back.”

  For a moment, Richard was too startled to speak. Then a brittle smile curved his lips. “Lady Isabel. How kind of you to remember me.” He moved aside on the bench. “Pray sit beside me and tell me everything I’ve missed.”

  Astra kept her head lowered, pretending to concentrate on her food. She dare not look up and meet Lord Faucomberg’s gaze. He had given her such a strange look a few moments ago. It was almost as if he guessed she’d met Richard in the antechamber and spoken to him. Was he jealous? Did that account for the dangerous glance he’d given her? Jesu, if he only knew!

  She took another bite and forced herself to calmly chew the cod in sauce. She was still shaking from her encounter with Richard. It had only taken a few moments alone with him, and it had all come back to her—the vivid recollection of his tongue teasing her lips, his possessive hands stroking her breasts. The mere memory of that afternoon made her body ache. It was shameful, obscene, and yet she could not forget it. Worse yet, she could not seem to stop hoping that it would someday happen again!

  But not with Guy. Her lips pursed in involuntary distaste. As much as Richard drew her, Guy repelled her even more. There was something unappealing about his strange green eyes and stubby white fingers. It was difficult not to flinch when he kissed her hand, and the thought of him taking further liberties made her queasy

  Her glance flickered briefly to the man beside her. He smiled. “I believe there will be dancing later. Will you be my partner?”

  “I think not. I’m sorry, my lord. Perhaps it is the rich food. My stomach feels rather out of sorts.”

  “There is an ailment of that nature going around I believe.” His green gaze slithered over her, cold, reptilian. Astra stood, hastening to disguise the shiver of loathing the man aroused in her. She had to get away. As much as she longed to see Richard, to reassure herself that he was really well, she could endure Lord Faucomberg’s company no longer.

  As soon as she was out of the hall, Astra lifted her skirts and raced across the courtyard to the main palace. She slowed as she reached the narrow but elegantly wainscoted hallway. She should go back, she thought abruptly. She should not be such a dismal coward. Better a coward than a fool, she decided as she hastened up the stairs to the tiny bedchamber. She needed time to think things through.

  She entered the bedchamber and clutched her hands to her head. Sweet Mary, she had a headache. She had not lied to Guy; she truly did feel ill. All this turmoil, this worry, was undoing her.

  She struggled out of her gown and then washed her hands and face before lying down on her small pallet. She had begun to relax when she heard voices in the hallway outside the door. One of the voices belonged to Isabel. Its shrill unnatural tone floated clearly through the heavy door.

  “It was so nice of you to escort me to bed, Richard.”

  “As I said, it was on my way, and I wanted to see to Lady Astra. She departed the hall quite abruptly, and Lady Marguerite said she’d taken ill.”

  “I’ll tell you a secret,” Isabel murmured seductively. Astra sat up, straining to hear. “Astra isn’t ill at all. That was only a ruse to get out of the hall and meet Lord Rathstowe alone later.”

  “Rathstowe? She’s seeing him alone?” Astra could hear the outrage in Richard’s voice. She threw the blanket aside, ready to open the door and show herself. Then she realized she wore only her chemise. She could hardly burst into the hallway half-dressed. She fumbled for her clothes, gritting her teeth as she heard Isabel’s lying response: “Of course. Astra has been busy while you were away. She thinks she has Guy wrapped around her little finger. But we both know better.” Isabel sniffed loudly. “A high-born knight like Lord Rathstowe would never wed a poor little country mouse like her. Still, if Astra is too stupid to see through him, she deserves whatever befalls her. She must be a wanton anyway, she’s so free with her favors.”

  Silence. Astra heard Richard’s harsh breathing, could almost feel his fury. “So, Lady Astra is not the sweet angel I guessed she was.”

  Isabel laughed shrilly. “Angel? Surely you can see through Astra’s false ways. Although she may have been raised in a convent, that doesn’t mean she’s some guileless saint. I assure you, Richard, Lady Astra knows exactly what she’s about. Have you not noticed the tight dresses she wears, the disgusting way she flaunts her body? She means to marry well, and she’ll do whatever is necessary to reach her goal.” Isabel’s voice trailed off, and Astra imagined her leaning close so Richard would kiss her.

  Astra suppressed a gasp of fury. She wanted to strike Isabel. To knock her down and pummel her pale, insipid face. But of course she could not do such a thing.

  Hurriedly, she scrambled for her pallet. When Isabel entered, Astra feigned sleep. As Isabel undressed and crawled into the bed she shared with Marguerite, Astra struggled to think of a way to repay the devious witch. She would be clever and sneaky, exactly like her wicked adversary.

  Taking a deep breath, she sought to relax. In the morning she would talk to Marguerite. Somehow they would think of a way to deal with Isabel.

  * * *

  “Marguerite,” Astra said, leaning over the curtained bed. “Wake up. I need to speak with you.”

  Marguerite sat up. “Ma belle, what is it? What’s wrong?”

  “It’s Isabel. Last night after I left the hall, she convinced Richard to escort her to bed. She told him lies about me. I heard her through the door. She implied I was offering my favors to Lord Faucomberg. Oh, Marguerite, she all but called me a whore!”

  Marguerite made a disgusted sound. “I’m not surprised. I suspected the scheming wench was up to something.”

  “I don’t know what to do. Richard sounded angry, and then he... I think he kissed Isabel.” Astra clutched her arms around herself, feeling sick again.

  “Mmmm. So, that’s Isabel’s plan. She means to make Richard think you were using him, then offer to console him with her own scrawny body.”

  “She wouldn’t! She wouldn’t dare! Not after taunting me for letting him have his way with me. How could she be such a hypocrite?”

  “Apparently it is quite easy for someone like Isabel,” Marguerite noted dryly. “She hates you, and likely sees Richard as a way to hurt you. Then again, she might really want him for herself. Richard is a handsome young gallant, a good catch, for all that he is poor. I’m surprised no woman at court has trapped him into marriage yet.”

  “Marriage! You can’t mean that! You said yourself Richard was a fortune hunter. Why would he marry someone like Isabel?”

  “She is cousin to the Queen, and I’m sure it’s not lost on Richard that the royal family is very generous to their relatives.”

  “She can’t have him! She doesn’t deserve him!”

  “Really, Astra. Why do you care? Are you in love with Richard?”

  “Of course not. Richard is a deceitful knave, a wicked rascal. How could I possibly love someone like that?”

  “How, indeed? Tell me then why you feel impelled to rescue Richard from Isabel’s clutches?”

  “Because I... I... I hate her!” Astra’s eyes widened as she heard her own words. “Mother of God, that makes me as sinful and wicked as she is!”

  “Hardly. Hate is a normal emotion, Astra, no matter what
you’ve been taught.”

  “But I...” Astra paused, feeling distraught and confused. “Perhaps I should go back to Stafford, Marguerite. I’m not strong enough to guard my thoughts and feelings anymore. I fear I am becoming a terrible person.”

  “Certainly. Go back to Stafford. Life will go on at court as it always has. Isabel will probably marry Richard, but that will be no concern of yours.”

  “No! She can’t have him!”

  “If you feel that way, then you must fight back. You must make certain Richard knows what Isabel is up to.”

  Astra nodded. “The Scriptures teach that it is right and good to fight evil, and I believe Isabel’s intentions are evil. I will do it! I will make sure Richard knows exactly what kind of person she is.”

  “Good. Let’s see then, how will we go about this? I can get a message to Richard’s squire that you want to meet with Richard alone. But where...?” Marguerite glanced doubtfully at the small room. “Not here. It would cause a scandal if you were found alone together. The Queen’s garden perhaps. It’s surrounded by people and guards, but quiet enough for private conversation. Wipe your tears, Astra,” Marguerite ordered sternly. “And change into your new blue gown—the one with the silver embroidery on the bodice. If you mean to fight, we must use all the weapons at our disposal.”

  Fifteen

  It was odd, Richard thought as he walked toward the Queen’s garden. He had been on the verge of sending a message to Lady Astra, asking her to meet him, when a page had arrived from her requesting the same thing. His grievance with her he knew of, but hers with him, he could hardly guess.

  When he saw her among the flowers, her back turned, he hesitated. His anger was still fierce, and he wondered if he could trust himself to be civil. If what Isabel said was true, he had been fooled by Astra, duped by her guileless demeanor into believing she was different from the rest of the female vipers at court. It had been a long time since he had been taken in by a woman, and the thought that Astra had deceived him made him feel like a callow boy. Still, he had decided he must go through with the assignation. Someone needed to warn Astra what kind of man Guy Faucomberg really was. Even if she was as calculating as Isabel said, Astra was no match for the likes of Rathstowe. He stepped forward briskly.