by The Leopard
He looked very weary, and for the first time, she was aware of faint lines etched in the tanned skin around his dark, compelling eyes. His gaze was -unreadable, mysterious, but there was naught in it of anger or contempt. She relaxed slightly and leaned back on her pillow of fallen leaves. He continued to watch her, his gaze burning over her body. She had the sense he was trying to memorize how she looked.
He eased himself up to a sitting position, then leaned over and gently patted her between her thighs, as if he could not resist touching her there one last time. After pulling her skirts down, he helped her sit up, his fingers brushing over her breasts almost wistfully as he straightened her bodice. Then he patiently redid her laces, and retrieved her veil and hair pins from the ground.
He stood up and adjusted his worn chausses, then helped her stand. To Astra’s surprise, he did not appear ready to leave yet. Instead, he led her over to a large oak tree and sat down beneath it, pulling her down at the same time. Leaning back against the tree, he pulled her near so her hips rested between his thighs, and her head and shoulders were against his chest. He sighed contentedly, and Astra nestled herself against his warmth, giving in to her own lazy, satiated lethargy.
* * *
Richard sighed softly as he inhaled the fragrance of the woman in his arms. It was the aroma of contentment and security, the soft, safe sanctuary of childhood that beckoned unnervingly to a man the rest of his life. He had thought he was beyond the longing, but he was not. For years he had kept up his defenses against it. He had used the harsh excitement of battle, the thrill of danger and death to distract himself from his need to be loved. He had tried for years to be strong and tough and uncaring, to struggle and rage against the deadly mire of domesticity and weakness.
Now he was torn, tormented. Every fiber of his being longed to lose himself in his love for Astra. To bury himself in the velvety, fragrant warmth of her. It was a longing beyond the fever to press his shaft into her body, a hunger greater than the burning hum of lust in his veins. It was a deep ache unto his soul, a passionate craving for some elusive dream of tenderness and hope.
But he could not give into it. To do so would be to risk the shame and despair of his childhood. If he had learned one thing at his mother’s knee, it was that it was dangerous to love. The world had no place for love. The harsh brutality of life always conspired to destroy it. Astra did not know that yet, and he did not want her to learn it. To protect her, he must leave her. The thought choked him, filling him with the burning sickness of despair. Desperate, he clutched Astra more tightly against his chest. He would not leave her yet. Just a few moments of holding her, feeling her heart beat so close to his.
She stirred slightly, and he realized he was likely crushing her. He released his grip, and exhaled his grief in a long, drawn-out sigh.
Thirty-six
“It is unlike you to lead a lady off by herself, Will,” Marguerite said seductively. “Dare I hope that you’ve finally come to your senses and seek a favor of me?”
Will shook his head and guided his horse deeper into a grove of blazing maples. He was far too distracted to respond to her teasing.
When he felt certain that they had eluded the rest of the hunting party, he dismounted and waited for Marguerite to join him. She gave him her usual bright, vivacious smile, then drew her dark brows together. “Mon Dieu, but you are serious today. What’s wrong? Has something happened between Astra and Richard?”
“Nay, it’s not worry for Lady Astra that troubles me,” he answered impatiently. “But for you, lady.”
Marguerite gave him a startled look and then laughed. “Has my father been burning up your ears with tales of my adventures?”
Will shook his head. “Astra told me you are with child, and the father cannot marry you because he is already wed.”
“That is yesterday’s gossip, Will.”
“And yet it is true.”
Marguerite gave him a piercing look, her mouth quirking. “I am surprised Astra told you of my indiscretion. Usually she has better sense.”
“She came to me because she wanted me to wed you.”
“Wed me!” Marguerite laughed. “Oh, what an innocent she is! Of course she would ask you to aid me that way. She has entertained hopes of marrying us off ever since the day we visited the city with her and Richard. What did you tell her?”
“The truth.”
Marguerite arched a dark brow. “What did she say?”
“She has too kind a heart to condemn anyone, even an unnatural man such as myself. But she did agree that such a marriage would likely satisfy neither of us.”
Marguerite nodded. “Astra is a saint, but not a complete fool.”
There was silence between them for a moment. Then Marguerite recovered her usual nonchalance. “It does not matter anyway, for my father has already found a husband for me.”
“I know.”
“Jesu! What has become of the quiet little Astra I once knew? I swear being in love has set her tongue to flapping like a Cheapside vendor.”
“Don’t be angry with her. It’s fortunate she told me. This way I have a chance to warn you.” Will grasped her arm. “I fear for you, lady. The man your father has arranged for you to marry is a cold, selfish brute.”
Marguerite regarded him with a steady ebony gaze. “Most men have flaws, Will. And gossiping tongues tend to exaggerate the worst of those who are rich and powerful.”
“This isn’t gossip. I know the man, Marguerite. He deserves his reputation. He’s the sort who seeks out the weak and defenseless and delights in torturing them.”
“I am not exactly weak and defenseless.”
“You will be his wife, and you well know how most noblemen consider their women. Even your father cannot gainsay him if he abuses you.” Will took a deep breath and continued. “Faucomberg is an arrogant man, as full of his own self-importance as some puffed-up barnyard cock. When he discovers you carry another man’s child, he will be enraged that you have duped him. Any hope he might treat you with respect and consideration will be gone. He will regard you as no better than a whore, and he will feel no need for restraint in his cruelty.”
Marguerite tilted her head. “I had my doubts once I learned my husband-to-be was young and proud. It might have been better if my father had found me a doddering old fool who would be pleased to have a healthy young wife and an heir on the way. But I have not met the man—young or old—that I am not able to bend to my wishes eventually.”
“You must not wed him!”
“My father is very pleased with this match. Moreover, I must marry someone.” She touched her midsection tenderly. “I am two months gone with child, and I would not inflict such shame upon my family. I have brought them enough trouble and worry already. I would not do that to them.”
“Two months, that is not so long. There is still time to...”
Marguerite gave him a look of horror. “You suggest I should get rid of it?”
“It is done.”
“No!” She clutched her stomach. “The babe is all I have left of Baldwin. I will not give that up too!”
“If you love the father...” Will began solemnly. “If you care for his child.... Consider this, if Faucomberg guesses the truth before the babe is born, he might do something to make you lose it.”
Marguerite’s dusky skin paled slightly. “I can’t believe he would abuse a pregnant woman. Is the man really so great a fiend?”
“I believe he is, and you dare not gamble that I accuse him wrongly. If he beats you until you miscarry, there is a grave risk you will die as well as the babe. By the rood, Marguerite, it could mean your life if you marry him!”
“You’re as bad as the Queen’s gossiping women, Will. I’m a great heiress, and Faucomberg is not going to murder me and risk losing my lands. Besides, he is not such a fool that he expects me to be a virgin. If I have to, I’ll tell him the truth about the babe. He’ll simply have to accept it. As long I do not make him a cuckold aft
er we are wed, he has nothing to complain of.”
“Can you do that, Marguerite? Can you promise you will never bed another man but your husband? What if this man, Baldwin, what if both of you attend court again? Can you promise you will not give in to the temptation to see him alone?”
Marguerite’s dark eyes flashed. “Jesu, do you think me such a slut that I would stoop to that?”
“I don’t mean to hurt you, Marguerite, only warn you. You are merely human, and once tempted it is easy to give in again. Faucomberg might kill you if he found out you betrayed him, or lock you away in a nunnery as old King Henry did with Eleanor of Aquitaine. It would be better if you married a more tolerant man. Perhaps one who has a soul,” Will added bitterly.
“I can hardly refuse my father without a good reason. Would you have me tell him I am with child?”
“It would be better to anger him now, rather than cause him despair later. I know enough of Lord Fitz Hugh to believe he would hate himself if he found out he had wed you to a brutal, vengeful man.”
Marguerite thought a moment and then gave Will an icy look. “It is time to rejoin the others. If we dally here any longer, there will be gossip.”
Will nodded reluctantly. He could see that he had not swayed Marguerite. But he consoled himself that he had done his best. What else could a man do?
* * *
“You missed the kill,” Marguerite announced accusingly as soon as she saw Astra. Then, apparently observing Astra’s expression, she added: “Or did you subdue another quarry, perhaps a dark, dangerous beast you have been pursuing for some weeks?”
“Oh, Marguerite,” Astra whispered, unable to keep her happiness from her friend. “I think Richard has begun to forgive me.”
“It would seem so. You look as contented as a cat full of cream. I am pleased for you, ma petite. Did I not promise your tender love and loyalty would eventually win his heart?”
“You were right. I am so happy... That is...” Astra gave Marguerite a sudden guilty look. “I do not mean to gloat. I know your circumstances are not nearly so blessed as mine. Did Will talk to you?”
Marguerite did not answer, but led Astra from the press of steaming horses, bloody-muzzled hounds and harassed servants. The King’s party had returned to open country to rest and refresh themselves before riding back to Westminster. A veritable banquet was being set up on the trampled field, complete with pewter tableware, a huge spread of cold food, benches and even a dazzling white linen cloth on the trestle table being set for the King and his most honored guests.
Marguerite glanced around uneasily. Then she said, “Aye. He warned me that my soon-to-be-betrothed is a vicious sort. He advised me to tell my father so he can halt the wedding negotiations.”
Astra gave a relieved sigh. “Mother of God be praised. I was worried you would not listen to him.”
“I have not said that I will do anything of the sort,” Marguerite retorted sharply. “I am still considering it.”
“What is there to consider? You cannot wed a monster like that!”
“Would you rather I shame the Fitz Hugh name by bearing a bastard child?”
“Oh, Marguerite, I did not mean that. Surely your father can find you another husband, one who will deal with your predicament in a reasonable and compassionate manner.”
“Ah, but there’s the rub. I must tell my father that I am enceinte or he will not understand my reasons for refusing the match with Faucomberg.” Marguerite bowed her head, her voice trembling slightly. “Can you not see how badly the truth will hurt him? He is so delighted with the match he has made, and for once we have not been quarreling over everything. I had hoped I could finally do something to make him proud of me instead of causing him heartache and embarrassment.”
Tears gathered in Astra’s eyes. Poor Marguerite. It seemed her friend had finally plunged herself into a dilemma that even her nimble wits could not remedy.
The two women walked back to where the others were eating. Astra saw Richard lounging against a tree with a capon drumstick in his hand. He smiled at her, and for a moment she considered asking him for his advice on Marguerite’s problem. No, that would not do, she decided. The intimacy they shared was still new and fragile, and she also worried that her husband would not be sympathetic to Marguerite’s plight. Instead she would talk to Will again. Surely if they put their minds to it, they could find some solution for poor Marguerite.
She meant to go to Will immediately, but Richard gestured her over to eat with him. She walked toward her husband, experiencing the familiar flutter of excitement in her chest. Would she ever grow accustomed to the thought that this magnificent knight belonged to her?
* * *
The King was watching him, Richard noted uncomfortably. It was well that Astra was behaving as if they were the most happy of couples. No one at court had guessed at the abuse he had heaped upon his lady wife in the first few days they were wed. The dull ache of guilt pressed on his chest. Now he was about to hurt her again. It was painful to contemplate. The only way he could bear to think of his departure the next day was to remind himself that it was all for Astra’s good. He would go away to France, and the King would declare him a traitor and a criminal. With the Queen’s help, Astra could easily get the marriage annulled and be free to wed another man.
He gave Astra a quick glance, noting for the thousandth time how very fair she was when she smiled. Her eyes were blue and tranquil as the clearest sky, her mouth like a blooming rosebud. He gritted his teeth, suppressing the longing that swept through him. He had one more night, one more night to love her.
Then he must forget her, drive her from his thoughts forever. There was no place in his life for a guileless innocent like her. If she stayed wedded to him, she would likely come to a bad end, much as his mother had. He must break the tie now, while she was still young and lovely. She would find better prospects elsewhere, He had once disdained the thought of her wedded to a clerk, but now it reassured him. She needed a man who would be there for her, who would not always be going off to war, threatening to make her a widow and their children helpless orphans.
The pain of loss burned in his throat, and he closed his eyes to stall the tears that threatened. When he opened them, he saw Will walking towards him. He had thought once to tell his friend his plans, but now he knew he could not. Will would argue and plead and do anything to delay his leaving. It would only make what he had to do all the harder to bear.
“What think you, Will?” he called with a sardonic smile. “Was it a good hunt? Was there enough blood to satisfy the gentlemen and ladies of the court?”
* * *
How was she ever going to get a chance to talk to Will alone? Astra nervously perused the crowded banquet hall. De Lacy was seated next to Marguerite’s father, while she was placed far down the table between Richard and another knight. Across from them sat Marguerite, flirting as outrageously as ever. Astra took a distracted bite of the strong-tasting heron on her trencher and frowned. It was imperative she speak to Will tonight. Lord Fitz Hugh would not wait long in announcing Marguerite’s betrothal. Once he did, it would be too late to stop the marriage without causing great embarrassment to everyone.
She glanced quickly at her husband. Richard smiled at her and touched her knee beneath the table. Astra smiled back, thinking how odd and unsettling it was to have him acting so fond after the anger and hostility he had shown her following their wedding. She could not help wondering what had made him change his sentiments toward her. Had he really forgiven her? Would he finally accept her love for him?
Their eyes met briefly, and again she saw that look in them, that flicker of wistful sadness she had observed during their languid coupling in the forest. It made her uneasy, although she could not say why. It aroused the urge to comfort Richard, to have him lay his head against her breast so she could stroke his hair as one would a child.
She forced her thoughts away from her own marriage and focused on Marguerite’s problems.
She was not certain what she would say to Will, although she meant to once again ask him to wed her friend. It seemed the only solution, the only way to save Marguerite’s honor without dooming her to a bitterly unhappy marriage. Seeing Faucomberg after the hunt had decided it. She could not forget the image of Lord Rathstowe holding up a bloodied fox carcass in triumph. The man was a brute, a cruel and vile man who enjoyed watching other creatures suffer. Will knew that, too. If he cared for Marguerite at all, he would simply have to marry her.
“You are quiet tonight, love.” Astra started as Richard whispered in her ear. “Is something troubling you?” His hand played with her fingers, testing her nails against his hardened palm.
“Nay, I could not be happier,” she told him brightly. Their eyes met again, and a heavy lump formed in her throat. Oh, how she loved this man. And to think that he cared for her, too. The thought filled her with aching wonder.
Servants and pages cleared the trestle tables and the musicians came in and began taking out their instruments. Since the Queen had not been able to attend the hunt because of her pregnancy, Henry had ordered music and dancing this evening for her special entertainment. The soft sounds of lute, tambour and flute soon floated above the murmur of conversation filling the hall.
“I would meet you in the bedchamber anon,” Richard whispered, his hand stroking Astra’s thigh provocatively.
“May I stay a little longer and enjoy a dance or two?” Astra asked. She held her breath, worrying that she had angered him. His dark eyes studied her face and then he smiled.
“Dancing is naught but damn foolishness invented by women, but I suppose it does no harm to indulge their whims occasionally. Would you have me be your partner?”
Astra shook her head. “You have no fondness for the pastime, and I would not force you to join in to humor me. Perhaps I will ask Will to oblige me for a turn.” Richard looked surprised, but did not protest. Astra stood and hurried over to de Lacy.
“I must speak with you,” she whispered. “Would you pretend to dance with me?”
