by The Leopard
“And what did happen?”
Astra took another deep breath. “First, he kissed me. Then he undid my bodice and pushed me against the wall. I stood there, watching him. When he pulled me into his arms, I could feel him.” She closed her eyes at the memory.
“And that’s when the King found you?”
Astra nodded. “Richard pulled away as the King spoke. I’m certain he saw...enough to know that we...” She bit her lips, choking back another sob. “Henry was livid. He chastised Richard and then ordered him to marry me.”
She met Marguerite’s gaze. “I was so shocked, I didn’t say a thing. After Henry left, Richard shouted at me to go away. I knew then that he thought I had planned the whole thing.”
“Well.” Marguerite’s voice was matter-of-fact. “I must say I am astounded. The scheme worked beautifully. Of course,” she added as Astra started to protest, “I did not urge the King to follow you to the chapel. That was a bit much. Whoever involved His Majesty likely had a different result in mind than what actually occurred.”
“What do you mean?”
Marguerite gave her a thoughtful look. “Isabel. I overheard her a few days ago suggesting that the Queen might be interested in what Lady Astra and Richard Reivers did when they were alone together.”
Astra leaned back against the bedpost. “She wanted to shame me.”
“No doubt. Instead, she lost Richard forever. It’s rather ironic, isn’t it?”
“But Richard...” Astra sighed. “He hates me. He believes I betrayed him, betrayed us.”
Marguerite shrugged. “Tell him it was all a mistake, that you never intended to entrap him.”
“He’ll never believe me. I’m not sure I even believe it myself. There was a moment when... when the King said we would wed immediately... I felt happy, relieved.” She shook her head. “I was willing to sacrifice Richard for my own ends. I am guilty, Marguerite, nearly as guilty as he believes me to be.”
Marguerite put her arm around her. “Don’t fret, sweeting. Richard’s temper is a fleeting thing. His mood will pass, and then he will remember that he loves you.”
“I think not. I have hurt him too badly.”
“Hurt him? How have you hurt him? The King did not cast him into disgrace. His career is not ruined.”
“I have proven him right about women, and about me.”
“Nonsense,” Marguerite said briskly. “Deceit has always played a part in the pastime of love. We tell the men we do not desire them, that we have no interest in their caresses. They tell us they do not wish to wed, that they have no hearts to break. We both lie. It is a frolic, a game.”
Astra shook her head morosely. Marguerite did not understand. If love were only a game, perhaps that was worse. For Richard, she knew, hated to lose at anything.
Twenty-six
The gown hanging from the wardrobe was beautiful. Cloth of gold shot with threads of silver—Astra had never seen the like. It amazed her. The Queen had offered it to her for a wedding dress. But then, everything the Queen had done today was amazing. She had hovered around Astra since the morn. Offered to loan her things. Fussed over her hair and waited on her as if she was the maid and Astra the queen.
It was all for naught, Astra thought grimly. Even the Queen’s attentions could not ease the despair that clung to her like a noxious mist. It made her eyes burn with tears. Her throat feel so achy and full she could not eat or scarce talk. It was her wedding day, but she felt as if she was preparing for a funeral.
She had not seen Richard, nor heard anything from him. While Marguerite and the Queen assured her tradition did not permit the groom to see his bride until the wedding, Astra knew what Richard’s silence meant. He had not forgiven her. He hated her. She had seen the look on his face when he ordered her from the chapel. It was a look of shock, of betrayal, of utter loathing.
Astra sighed and reached out to stroke the lovely gown. She had been afraid to touch it before this, for fear she would stain it with her tears. It seemed as if she had cried the whole night through. Finally, her tears were spent.
She turned as Marguerite entered the room. Marguerite’s bright smile faded as she saw Astra’s face. “Astra, you must lie down. There are only a few hours until the ceremony, and you look most fatigued.”
Astra nodded numbly and allowed Marguerite to help her into the bed. They were in the bedchamber where she had feigned sickness. It felt familiar, safe. She wished she need never leave it.
“It’s all arranged,” Marguerite went on with a kind of frantic cheerfulness. “The Queen insists you must have a private bedchamber for your wedding night. I don’t know which baron or earl she expelled from it, but the room she’s chosen is exquisite. She’s there now, seeing to all the little romantic details. You would think it was her daughter’s wedding night, the way she carries on.”
“The Queen has been most kind,” Astra responded weakly.
“She wants you to know she does not blame you for what happened. She told me she feels guilty for not looking after you more. I think everyone realizes now exactly what sort of man Richard is. The very idea... ravishing a young woman in a chapel!”
“If you recall, Marguerite, you once encouraged me to seduce Richard.”
“Well, I may have suggested something along those lines, but I never dreamed he’d go so far.” Marguerite lowered her voice to a husky, conspiratorial whisper. “The gossip is he had your gown down to your waist, his prick in his hand, and he was backing you up against the wall.”
Astra shook her head wretchedly. “Jesu, Marguerite! How can you listen to such vile gossip?”
“Well, even you said the man was a beast. Of course,” Marguerite continued, her eyes glittering. “That may not be such mischance tonight when he finally takes you to bed. You must tell me all about it, Astra, every naughty little detail!”
“He may not have the heart to touch me after what I’ve done to him. I will be surprised if he even speaks to me.”
Marguerite shook her head. “Richard may punish you with silence, but he dare not fail to touch you. There must be proof of consummation on the morn. The bedsheet must be bloodied, or it will go worse than ever with Richard. If the King thinks Richard has taken your maidenhead before tonight, he will truly be wroth.”
“Dear God,” Astra whispered. The disaster seemed to worsen minute by minute, her private shame becoming more public every passing hour. She had not realized Richard would be duty-bound to consummate the marriage. The idea horrified her.
“There now, I’ll let you rest. The bells have rung for sext, so it will not be long now.” Marguerite let herself quietly out of the room.
Astra lay back on the bed with a groan. She wondered if she could refuse to attend the wedding. Perhaps she could pretend the ague again, or simply die of shame in the next few hours. At the moment, death seemed a pleasant alternative.
She shuddered as she thought of facing Richard alone in a sumptuous bedchamber. A mere day ago she would have been aroused by the thought. Now she was filled with anxiety. Would he rage at her? Threaten her? She did not think Richard would dare do her physical harm, but there were undoubtedly other ways he might hurt her. She gripped herself in dread, imagining what it would be like to be alone in the dark with the enraged Black Leopard, more beast than man. She imagined his eyes glowing black as midnight. His dusky skin flushed with the fever of his hatred.
At the image, she climbed out of bed, knelt beside it and began to pray.
* * *
An angel! Curse his foolishness for ever conceiving such a thing! She was an evil temptress in the guise of a goddess. Her radiant countenance masked a witch’s soul. Her exquisite flesh overlay a heart as black as sin.
Richard gritted his teeth as he told himself these things. But as he stood beside her in the Painted Chamber, a part of him remained in awe of Astra’s beauty. She fairly glowed like the sun in that miraculous gown. It matched her hair... almost. The fabric was a trifle less roseate than her
long wavy tresses. Still, the effect was the same, a golden gown for a golden-haired wench. The thought reminded him of Stroket’s remark about a gold-plated pussy. He dare not think of her that way, not now. He would not let his lust for her weaken him. Would not let himself forget what she had done.
She knew he was wroth with her. Every time he looked at her, she trembled. The rest of the wedding party probably thought she had a touch of maidenly nerves. He knew better. She was quaking in fear at the thought of facing him.
Good. He wanted her afraid, wanted her to worry and agonize and suffer. Let her know what it was like to be a powerless pawn, as she had made him before the King.
The witnesses and the King and Queen were arriving, the priest following after them. Without looking at Astra again, Richard took her hand. It was as cold and rigid as that of a corpse.
* * *
Black and silver—he’d worn naught but black and silver. It made him look like he was in mourning, but it suited him, too. Her bridegroom looked like the Prince of Darkness in his plush black velvet hose and tunic ornamented with silver embroidery. It set off his sleek dark hair and eyes and made him seem even more like a lithe, graceful, dazzling beast of prey.
Astra could not help shivering as he took her hand. It was warm and hard, the palm ridged with calluses from holding reins and weapons. She could recall those rough fingers touching her, caressing her most tender parts. Now he gripped her firmly, impersonally.
The exquisite gown was wasted on him. He would never notice how perfectly it fitted her, how closely the color matched her hair. All the women had commented on it, oohing and ahhing. Someone had said she looked as if she had been dipped in liquid gold.
She did look better than she would have imagined. The women had bathed her in rosewater, then rubbed her skin with silky cloths until the color came back to her cheeks. Her swollen eyes they had treated with hazel water and leeks, easing away the puffiness and redness. She wore her hair long and loose, swirling over her shoulders, proclaiming her status as a virgin bride.
The thought of it distressed her. She was a virgin, aye, but only barely. Richard had known much of her already. She had allowed this man scandalous intimacies. And yet, he was a stranger now, a grim, distant stranger. The teasing laughter in his eyes was gone. The dazzling smile had vanished. She was wedding a hardened warrior, a deadly, dangerous man.
The thought made her knees go weak. Without thinking, she grasped Richard’s hand more tightly and leaned against him so she would not falter.
* * *
God’s wounds! Was she going to faint? She was gripping his hand for dear life, had moved even closer to him. He could feel the heat of her body against his, the softness of it. She was a small woman, for all the voluptuousness of her form. Being so near her made him feel protective.
Damn! He would not allow her to make him feel sorry for her. She was a wicked, scheming bitch.
He moved away, and she turned and looked at him, her eyes full of sorrow. He met her gaze with all the cold bitterness he felt. She glanced away, looking stricken.
Even so, her shoulders straightened and her posture grew more erect. She appeared determined get through the ceremony with dignity.
The priest said his words. They answered. Astra’s voice was clear and soft, his own virtually emotionless. It was time to kiss her. He turned towards her. She lifted her face up, looking like a lovely flower seeking the sun. He fought back the tenderness he felt and kissed her with a savagery that drew shocked laughter from the people behind them and made the priest clear his throat.
There was a tap on his shoulder. Richard drew away from Astra’s and turned to see the King staring at him ominously.
“There will be time for that, Reivers. I think you have scandalized the Court sufficiently as it is.”
* * *
She could hardly keep from crying. There had been no hint of love in Richard’s kiss, only a grim possessiveness. He had shown everyone watching that she was his chattel, his belonging, to use as he saw fit.
It was so hard to smile, to accept the kisses and congratulations from the people gathered in the Painted Chamber. It was even worse after they arrived in the King’s Hall for the wedding feast. She and Richard had been seated on the dais near the King and Queen. Everyone was looking at them, and she suspected they were commenting on Richard’s coldness. He heaped food on her side of the trencher but spoke not a word to her. She forced down some of the roast peacock and quail pie and then pushed the food away. Her head throbbed. She did not see how she would endure the rest of the evening—let alone the night.
* * *
“Richard! I cannot tell you what a beautiful pair you and Astra make.”
He looked up, smiling numbly at the next well-wisher. Then he saw who it was, and his smile faded. “Beautiful pair, indeed!” he responded coldly. He glanced across the room to where his new wife was chatting with the Queen. “Astra and I are yoked together in eternal misery. I suspect I have you to thank for that, Lady Marguerite.”
“Me?” she exclaimed innocently. “Whatever are you speaking of?”
Richard brought his face close to Marguerite’s and gazed at her threateningly. “I can’t believe this scheme was all Astra’s doing. She must have had help. Where else would she turn but her closest friend?”
“You know you were destined to wed Astra,” Marguerite answered, seemingly unperturbed. “If you could forget your foolish pride for a moment, you’d realize you’ve been blessed as few men ever are.”
“Blessed? And why might that be, Marguerite? Because I’ve wed a woman as fair as an angel?”
“Aye, and as kind-hearted and sweet as well. Astra is a rare jewel, Richard. I’ve worried for a long time that you aren’t good enough for her. I hope you prove me wrong.”
“Good enough for her? Ha! Once I might have worried about that, too. But now I know Astra’s true character. She’s as calculating and manipulative as the rest of her sex.” He glared at Marguerite, daring her to contradict him.
“Nevertheless, she is your wife now,” Marguerite answered. “I advise you to treat her with respect.”
“Or else, what? What will you do to me?”
Marguerite shrugged and started to walk away.
“By the by,” Richard called after her. “Will should be back at court soon, and I intend to tell him what you’ve done.”
Marguerite stiffened. “Leave Will out of this. He and I are friends.”
Richard laughed. “I thank God Will is immune to your devious charm. Imagine, not being susceptible to the wicked lure of women. It almost makes me envy him.”
Marguerite gave him a long, cold stare and walked away.
Richard turned back to his wine cup. He seldom drank to excess, but tonight he didn’t care. Mayhaps he could get so drunk he wouldn’t be able to perform and he could use that excuse to shun Astra.
When she returned to the table, he regarded her with appraising eyes. The color was back in her cheeks, warming her flawless creamy skin. As he watched her breasts rise and fall rhythmically beneath the snug, bright gown, he realized no amount of wine would shield him from her incredible allure. He’d have to be dead not to want her.
* * *
She prayed silently in the quiet room. If she concentrated, she could almost forget Richard’s coldness during the banquet. When he looked at her, he’d reminded her of a predator stalking its prey. Thinking of it, she shuddered.
Thank heavens the women had finally come for her and led her away to prepare for the marriage bed. For all their giggling and sly remarks, there was something comforting in the way the women had cared for her. They had gently removed her bridal gown and dressed her in a delicately embroidered nightdress. After brushing and carefully arranging her hair, they gave her another goblet of wine to drink—to steady her nerves, they said. Then they helped her into the massive canopied bed and left her to wait for her bridegroom.
It was a beautiful room. The walls were covered wi
th finely-carved wainscoting. Flowers, vines and scrolls danced in the soft light from the bronze candelabras. The upper walls were a fine, cool blue that matched the carpet on the floor. Around the large square room, chests and cupboards had been placed for storage. The huge bed was a work of art. Each post was intricately carved into a design of writhing beasts. Lying under the ornate scarlet and blue canopy, Astra could make out the forms of dragons, wyverns, and serpents on the massive supports.
She moistened her lips, tasting the wine. It had helped to relax her. She felt almost sleepy. The terrible dread was gone, and she had at last gained some mastery over her emotions. Richard was still angry, but perhaps if she let him vent his fury, he would finally get beyond his bitterness and forgive her.
It did not seem possible that what Richard had felt for her could turn entirely into hate. There must be some faint ember of love left. She would find that spark and nurture it. She would endure whatever punishment he chose to mete out. She would be calm, patient, forbearing. She would wear down his hatred with the force of her love.
A sense of determination filled her. Christ had taught that it was blessed to turn the other cheek, to meet cruelty with kindness, hatred with love. She would follow the Blessed Savior’s example. Her love for Richard was surely stronger than his anger. She would prove it to him. Closing her eyes, she willed the lingering tension in her limbs to ease.
She must have dozed. The candles had burned low; they flickered from an unseen draft. She was cold. The chill night air easily permeated her thin lawn gown. She sat up slowly and wondered if the brazier had gone out. She slid to the edge of the enormous bed and peered out from the curtained space.
Her husband sat in a high-backed chair across the room, watching her.
Twenty-seven
She froze. They stared at each other. His eyes seemed sleepy, languid. Even from across the room, she could smell the wine on his breath. She suspected he was drunk.
“Come here.”
Nervously, she obeyed him. He still wore his wedding attire, but it looked rumpled and soiled. Up close, the warm smell of sweat mingled with the wine. He watched her coolly, eyeing the delicate white gown. “Take it off,” he ordered.
