TheWooingofLadyElisa

by Rosemary Laurey

  What a question! “He gave me bride gifts, yes.”

  “You will return them at once.”

  “Patience, my friend. Patience. This will all be decided,” John replied before she could object, refuse or agree.

  “We have the prior agreement,” Sir Mark reminded him.

  “Of that I am aware, come.”

  Elisa was so numb in her heart she scarcely noticed the cold as she walked back. How could this have happened? For Edwin to return from the dead on the eve of her wedding was the cruelest twist of fortune. She was happy for Sir Mark and Lady Margaret, who now had their only son restored to them, but for her sake, why could he not have stayed dead and missing one more day? If she were married to Marco already, nothing could put that aside. As it was, the fear that she would now be forced to marry Edwin chilled her soul.

  How could she, after knowing the heat of Marco’s embrace?

  How could she not to uphold her family’s honor? A betrothal was a solemn and binding agreement. Negated only by death.

  Elisa made herself ignore her anguish and concentrate on her duties in the hall. She gave orders to Eoward that the acrobats and jugglers were to begin as soon as possible. If the company was occupied with the entertainment, John’s absence was less likely to be noticed.

  For herself, she wanted to run, to flee, to beg Marco to abscond with her into the night. But that was unthinkable, Edwin would then be within his rights to pursue them and slay Marco, and that would be a thousand times worse agony than seeing him ride away.

  “Elisa,” Marco said as she took her place beside John’s empty chair. “What is the matter?”

  “Unexpected visitors,” she replied, struggling for words through a throat tight with misery. “Sir Mark and Lady Margaret of Polsden. Edwin’s parents,” she added.

  He must have caught her distress. “They were discourteous? Hasty with you?”

  She shook her head. “No, not that.” How could she say this? But she had to. “Edwin is with them. Seems he was not killed after all.”

  The full implication hit him at one. His brow creased until his eyebrows all but met and he reached over to take her hand, ignoring any who might see. “You are promised to me!”

  “And I want to be your wife,” she whispered back, “but what can we do? It was a solemn betrothal before the bishop.”

  He muttered a curse that she’d heard often from John’s lips but never with such vehemence. “Where are they?”

  “In the parlor. John is with them. Oh! Marco, I fear there is nothing we can do.”

  “I must talk to them.” He stood but kept hold of her hand, enclosing it between both of his. “Whatever occurs, never forget that Marco de Bella Vista loves you and always will.”

  At that her heart sank even lower as she fought back the tears stinging her eyelids. There was nothing to be done. “And remember,” she replied, “Elisa of Thorncroft has given you her heart and I will never take it back.”

  He raised her hand to his lips, turned and was gone.

  She wanted to scream, to cry, bang her fists on the table and revile the heavens for this hideous injustice, but instead she nodded to Eoward and gave the signal for the entertainment to commence.

  She sat in her place and presided for two of the turns—and wondered how she’d managed to restrain her tears that long.

  Once the entertainment seemed to be progressing without delay or mishap, unable to contain herself any longer, Elisa left the table. Once beyond the hall, she paused. She had to know what was being said but knew if she as much as cracked the parlor door open, John would order her away. Instead, she went down to the pantries beneath. There was a spot in one of them where, if one climbed onto the top shelf, it was possible to hear all that was said in the parlor above. John had shown her when they were children, and no doubt her father and his brothers had listened to their parents. She pulled over a butter tub and used that to hoist herself up until was she curled up on the high shelf between crocks of pickles and preserved apples and listened.

  And let the tears fall.

  As she’d feared and dreaded. Edwin was pressing his claim. He had the law, custom and the church on his side. All Marco and she had was their love. She wanted to rail against the cruelty of life and the twisted fates who’d brought her Marco only to snatch him away.

  Still, there was little point in dallying here, crying into her new lace collar. Marco’s lace collar, she reflected, and so she climbed back down and was halfway up the stairs when Eoward met her. “Lady, I knew you’d be down here. Sir John has commanded you attend him in the parlor.”

  “I’m coming,” she replied, tightening her kerchief. Would Edwin be as accepting of her shorn locks as Marco had been? A wild glimmer of hope flickered at the thought he would cast her aside on that account. No, her dowry was too large and the agreement too advantageous to let a few missing tresses negate it.

  She smoothed her skirts, straightened her bodice and ascended to the parlor and her sorrow.

  * * * * *

  The air in the room was cold with anger and discord, even though the fire burned brightly. As she entered, everyone glanced her way. John barely met her eyes as he said, “Ah, Elisa, we have reached a resolution.”

  Lady Margaret stepped toward her. “This must be distressing to you, child.”

  Edwin spoke sharply. “You will marry me as was agreed before I left for the Holy Land.”

  Elisa acknowledged them all with a nod then walked over to Marco. “Good signor, I am so regretful of what has happened.”

  “I too, Elisa,” he replied, “but an agreement before the bishop is binding.”

  Edwin grabbed her arm. “Enough! We are betrothed. Seems you forgot that.”

  “Give her peace, son!” Sir Mark said, stepping behind him. “She thought you dead, as did we all. She broke no word, betrayed no one.”

  “So I trust. I take no foreigner’s leavings to be my wife.”

  Elisa gasped in horror at the snarl Edwin threw in Marco’s direction. She blushed in shame that he could say that aloud.

  “Sir,” Marco spoke quietly, but even a deaf man could have caught his fury. “Lady Elisa is a maid of unquestionable honor and unimpeachable reputation as you, having known her since childhood, must surely be aware.”

  Edwin schooled himself, looked from her to Marco and grunted. “So be it,” he said, “so be it.”

  “Enough, son,” Sir Mark said. “Signor Marco has been gracious beyond belief, considering you have snatched his bride from him.” He bowed to Marco. “Signor, my thanks for your consideration and understanding.”

  He didn’t thank her for hers! But of course her duty was to go where she was told and marry where she was ordered. What cruel fate had offered her Marco and snatched happiness away, and why had Edwin returned today of all days?

  Foolish to speculate and wish.

  Marco bowed in return. “Sir Mark, it is with a heavy heart that I retire from my courting.” He turned to Edwin. “Sir, I ask a boon. May have a moment to speak to Lady Elisa ere I leave in the morning?”

  “No! I forbid it! She is mine, promised and agreed. She speaks to no one.”

  How dare he! But he had the right. Edwin raged on, turning his creased brow in her direction. “Did you accept gifts from this man?”

  “For our betrothal, yes. He gave me several gifts. They will be returned, Edwin.” Parting with them was a trifle compared with losing Marco.

  “Indeed you will!” He stepped so close she could see the dark hairs in his nose and a sprout of bristle he’d missed when shaving. He reached and grabbed her pearls. “These for a start!” He yanked so hard, the cord broke and pearls fell and skittered over the floor.

  Elisa grabbed for the cord, trying to save at least some of them, but he snatched her hand away, holding it in his fist. “Let them fall, Elisa. You will not wear them now.”

  Something froze deep inside her. She looked him straight in his eyes, refusing to let the anger in them in
timidate her. “Those pearls, Edwin, were my mother’s. Given to her by my father on their marriage. John gave them to me to celebrate the day you and I were betrothed, but seems you do not remember that.”

  He had the grace to look away but seemed it was not from shame but doubt. He looked at John instead. “Is this true?”

  “Every word as she speaks.”

  “You acted harshly, son,” Sir Mark said.

  Elisa chose to ignore them all and stooped to pick up what fallen beads she could. She still wore Marco’s golden bracelets. She would have to part with them and soon, but for now she wanted to feel the weight of them against her wrists.

  John bent to help her. “Here, sister,” he said, “give me the others. I will have them restrung for you. I know how you valued them.” The last he said clearly and loudly. Seemed she was not alone in her distress at Edwin’s behavior.

  “Son, you have not behaved as befits a Doune,” Sir Mark said.

  “Father! What else can I do if my promised wife wears another man’s jewels!”

  “Yes, her dead father’s,” Lady Margaret added.

  At last Edwin did have the grace to look shamed, but he still glared at her as she rose.

  “Sir Mark and Lady Margaret, may we give you hospitality for the night?” John asked. To ease the atmosphere no doubt.

  “Gracious of you John, as always,” Sir Mark replied. “Thus we will be all ready in the morning.”

  “But Edwin does not have his wedding suit,” Lady Margaret said.

  Elisa bit back the gasp. “Tomorrow,” she began.

  “We will be wed,” Edwin replied. “It is agreed, and since all is set and ready, why delay?”

  She had many reasons but none that would count. “Then if you will all excuse me, I will speak to Eoward and make sure rooms are prepared.”

  Head high, eyes stinging from unshed tears, Elisa left the room. She could not even bear to glance in Marco’s direction.

  Outside, she fled to the small alcove above the great hall and, to the sounds of merriment and the laughter at the tumblers, she wept bitter, salt tears.

  But she could not so indulge for long. She had responsibilities and the germ of a plan grew in her troubled mind.

  She dried her tears, found Eoward and gave orders for her parents’ old rooms to be prepared for the Dounes then stopped by the still room for a vial of sleeping potion and the pantry for a jug of cider. Asking for warm water to be sent up, Elisa repaired to her chamber.

  The feasting might well go on into the night, Eoward was more than able to supervise the servants and she had a mission in mind.

  She washed carefully. She’d bathed yesterday but wished to be clean and sweet in her body. She made sure her cloak was folded on top of the chest, so she could find it without making noise and placed her soft slippers by the bed. Then, wearing a clean shift, she poured herself a glass of cider and tipped the contents of the vial into the jug.

  When Marjorie and Anne arrived, Elisa begged them to share a mug of cider with her and let them chatter on. To their questions about Edwin’s ill-timed return from the dead, she replied that John was closeted with them and they were staying overnight.

  All that was no lie. But Elisa spoke little, claiming weariness, and as the potion took effect and the others began yawning, they all went to bed. Elisa lay awake, heart pounding, asking herself if she truly dared what she planned. She did. Did she not deserve one night of bliss with Marco before she was bound to Edwin for life?

  Once she heard the others’ snores, Elisa slipped out of bed, Marjorie stirred by her side. “Sleep,” Elisa said, wishing she’d added two vials to the jug. “I must visit the privy. I ate overmuch tonight.”

  That was a lie, but she’d confess it later, when she’d have a much bigger sin on her soul.

  Gathering up her cloak and slippers, she went out, closing the door carefully. John and the Dounes slept on the floor below. Far enough away not to hear her footsteps as she climbed upward. Once at the top of the tower, she wrapped her cloak around her against the night chill and crossed the narrow stretch of deserted battlement to the top of the tower where Marco slept.

  Walking carefully in the dark—would do her no good to fall and twist or break a limb—she counted the floors to Marco’s. She’d feared some of his men-at-arms might sleep outside his door but luck was with her. She took the iron latch in her hand, opened the door a little way and slipped inside, closing it quietly behind her. The room was less dark than expected. In the light of a tallow candle sat Marco, a flagon of ale in his hand, and across from him sat John.

  Both men stood, almost as if joined together. Both gasped, “Elisa!” But so differently.

  She stood and stared, her courage faltering, but just a little. “John, I did not expect to see you here.”

  “Nor I you, sister!” He frowned at Marco. “You gave me your word.”

  “Marco is not forsworn.” She tried with all her might to keep her voice steady. “He was not expecting me.”

  “Indeed, you surprise me, Lady Elisa,” Marco said. “Is something amiss?”

  Almost everything in creation, but he knew that already. “I come to you now, Marco. Knowing I will never see you again.”

  “Aye,” he said, “but, Elisa, if your brother were not here.”

  “If John were not here, I would only have to explain myself to you.” She had to go on before courage wilted and John’s frown silenced her. She stepped across the room to where they both stood. “I come to you, Marco.”

  John gasped. As well he might. “What if you are missed, sister? Are not Marjorie and Anne with you?”

  “I mixed a soporific in a jug for cider and gave it to them. They sleep, brother, and will not note my absence.”

  “Ye God!” he muttered.

  She turned to Marco as John stood there, shaking his head in shock. “I wanted one night with you before I must live without you forever.”

  Marco took her hand. “Sweet Elisa, do you have any idea what you are saying?”

  “Yes. I know. Edwin as good as accused me of immodesty and indiscretion. I was not guilty, except by thought. He thinks the worst of me. May I not have the best from you? Please do not deny me.”

  “Dear saints, Elisa!” John said.

  She looked at her brother. “You wanted me to marry Marco, did you not? I know I cannot, but please let me have this as it is all I will ever have of him.” What if Marco refused? What if he’d been coerced into taking her? No, that could not be true. “I beg of you, John. For pity’s sake.”

  Her brother swore. “If that damn Edwin Doune had only remained dead one day longer!” He looked at Marco. “And you, my friend, to whom I own my life. What a twist of fate we are caught in.”

  “Elisa,” Marco said. “You truly mean this?”

  “Marco, would I be climbing over the battlements and creeping down from the roof if it was just to bid you a fair journey in the morning?”

  John let out an odd sound. “What am I to do with you, sister?”

  “Go to your own bed?” Where she found the courage, only the saints knew, but seemed wild need drove her to words and acts undreamed of.

  “Aye,” he said and took her hand. “Be good to her, Marco. I will see you at dawn.”

  And he was gone.

  Chapter Five

  Elisa could scarce believe they were alone together but had no doubt when Marco took her in his arms. “My love, this is dishonor you seek.”

  “No, this is what we were both promised. John will never tell, nor will I, but if you honor me thus, I shall bear your memory to the end of my days.”

  “You say I honor you, lady, when you offer me the gift that should go to another.”

  “He will have me for years. As was agreed but, Marco, if you meant one half of what you have said to me these past days, give me this little part of you.”

  “I meant every word a thousand times over,” he replied, sweeping her up in his arms as carried her over to the b
ed. “You are certain about this?” he asked, sitting beside her.

  “Utterly, Marco.”

  He bent and kissed her, his lips hot and gentle on hers, opening her mouth to stroke her tongue with his and easing his hands down to open her cloak and cup her breasts through the fine cotton of her shift. “So sweet, so loving,” he murmured as she reached up to rest her hands on his strong shoulders.

  He ran his hands down her chest, resting the flat of his hand on her belly a minute before drawing wide circles with his fingertips. His touch was gentle and soft as it sent wild thrills through her. Her legs fell open and she let out a little whimper.

  “What is it I feel?” she asked.

  “Your need and mine,” he replied. “Sweet Elisa, you honor me with this. I too will cherish this night until the end of my days. Cruel circumstance has snatched you from me, but we are clutching this moment back from the hands of fate.”

  “Yes,” she replied, and kissed him.

  As his hands stroked her body, a wildness possessed her. A crying, aching need that had her arching her back and letting out strange, little noises that seemed to come from beyond her mind and consciousness. She was floating in the sensation of his touch, flying in his arms as he kissed her again and again, stretching out beside her so she felt his thigh against her. “Dear love,” he whispered. “I must disrobe.”

  It was immodest to watch, she felt certain, but knowing never again would she have this chance, she sat up and found she couldn’t keep her eyes off him. He moved with grace and speed until all he wore was his undertunic and he was back beside her, his arm around her and his lips brushing the line of her jaw. “You are so beautiful,” he whispered in her ear, his breath warm against her skin. “I will miss you forever, my sweetest, but this will be a night for both of us to remember.”

  “Yes,” she agreed as she turned to wrap her arms around him. “Dearest Marco.”

  He kissed her forehead. “Sweet, you must understand one thing. You are virgin, I will do what I can to make this easy but there may be pain.”

  “From you, Marco, it will not be pain.”