Immortal Champion (30 page)
“Perhaps he wants nothing,” said Eleanor, trying to convince her hands to stop trembling before anyone could see. “Perhaps he only comes to visit.”
“Perhaps,” said Lucy doubtfully. “But what if it is more, my lady? What should we do?”
“We will make him welcome, of course. He is my lord father.” She turned a warning eye on Lucy. “And you will say nothing to him of consequence.”
“I will say nothing to him at all if I can help it, my lady. And I will smile while not saying it. But—”
“Then put on your smile,” said Eleanor as they rode through the gate.
Now, if only I can do the same.
Now, if only I can do the same.
Of course she could. A smile was a simple thing compared to some of what she’d had to do over the past years. So as the door of the hall opened—her hall, curse it,
her
hall—and her father strolled out like he owned the place, she conjured a broad, welcoming smile out of naught but thin air and sunbeams and turned it on him.
her
hall—and her father strolled out like he owned the place, she conjured a broad, welcoming smile out of naught but thin air and sunbeams and turned it on him.
“My lord! Welcome.” She let a groom help her down, then shook the dust out of her skirts before she approached to do courtesy. “Forgive me for not being here to welcome you properly.”
“You had good reason.” Westmorland stood aside so she could enter the hall past some of the selfsame archers she’d sent home last fall in one of her first acts as widow. “I take it Richard is properly laid to rest now.”
Her smile fell away and she stripped off her gloves. “Aye. At his father’s side.”
“You should have had him put elsewhere. Thomas le Despenser was a traitor and a fool.”
“And he was Richard’s father. It is what my husband wished. I owed him that honor.” She passed her gloves and traveling cloak to the serving woman who stood by silently. “When did you arrive, my lord?”
“Midday. I thought to ride out to meet you, but I was told you would be back by halfway Nones. You are late.”
“My mare picked up a stone. I am starved, Lucy. Have them lay the tables immediately.”
“I would prefer to sup alone with you,” said Westmorland.
Alone. The last time she’d been alone with her father, he’d beaten her half senseless. Ignoring the phantom pain that throbbed in her cheek and nose, she turned to Lucy. “Have our meal carried up to the solar. And we shall have a measure of the Poitou wine, as well.”
The corner of Lucy’s eyes tightened, but she smiled and nodded. “Yes, my lady.”
Upstairs, Eleanor settled into her chair with a sigh that belied the knot in her shoulders and motioned her father toward the other, a subtle gesture that reaffirmed her as lady and he as guest. “’Tis good to be home, even though I have been gone only the one night. My lady mother is well, I hope?”
“Very. She insists she will birth this one by the end of the month, the sooner to try the new mare I bought her.”
“A new mare? Oh, tell me about her.”
Family and horses—he’d also presented young William with his first mount—provided safe talk through the meal as servants carried dishes in and out. At last a plate of honey cakes arrived, and as the boy left and pulled the door shut behind him, Westmorland pointed at Eleanor’s middle. “I was hoping to find you round with a posthumous child. Richard had better than two years to get you breeding. Did he not do his duty as husband?”
“Richard’s dedication to the task was never in question, my lord. Nor was mine, if that was your next question. We swived like pigs every night the Church did not forbid it.” She met her father’s rude bluntness with her own just to watch his eyes widen in shock. “I never caught. It seems I am barren.”
“I questioned that, but your mother says it is too soon to know. Pray you are not, lest you leave Alnwick without an heir, too.”
“Alnwick?” A chill settled over Eleanor, colder than the rain that had killed Richard. There it was, the reason he had come in person. “You mean for me to marry Henry Percy.”
“I do. ’Twas Bedford’s idea, but I favor it, as does your mother. The two of you are well suited, and it will help us bring Percy back into the fold. We need his influence with Albany and . . .”
Her father’s voice faded away, muffled by the drumming of Eleanor’s heart.
Not again. And not Henry. Never Henry. Oh, poor Lucy. How could her mother be a part of this, knowing it would break Lucy’s heart? How could
Henry
? Unless he intended to marry her in order to have Lucy within easy reach. Was he truly so scurvy?
Not again. And not Henry. Never Henry. Oh, poor Lucy. How could her mother be a part of this, knowing it would break Lucy’s heart? How could
Henry
? Unless he intended to marry her in order to have Lucy within easy reach. Was he truly so scurvy?
As her thoughts raced, Westmorland watched her as though she were a mouse and he an owl, his sharp eyes all but daring her to speak one word of protest, to show one glimmer of refusal.
But she had learned much about hiding her true feelings in the past three years, so even as her dismay turned to fury, she let a slow smile spread over her face. “Will Henry come here, or shall I go to him?”
“You are in agreement, then?” He sounded vaguely surprised he’d won her over so easily.
“Why would I not be, my lord? He is Percy of Northumberland, and he is my friend, Henry. As little as he and I have been around each other, we have always found ourselves like-minded.” She grasped at bits of honesty where she could find them, the better to hide the larger lie. “An alliance between our two houses can do nothing but good for both. A woman would have to be a fool not to welcome such a match.”
“Exactly what your mother said.”
“I assume you—and she—have plans for bringing the earldom back.” A knowing smile curved her lips. “Perhaps a request from my lady to convince her nephew, the king, to return the county to Henry?”
“Already written and awaiting her seal. I will send it by fast horse as soon as you are wed. I doubt it will be a struggle. The king and Percy were fast friends as boys. The king is much disposed to forgiving what his father was so anxious to punish.”
“I’m sure Henry will be appropriately grateful. And if he is not, I will remind him. When is this all to happen?”
“I will carry you to Raby straightaway to help your mother with the birthing, and then on to Durham to meet with Henry and sign the contract. You can marry in the cathedral there.”
“That would be agreeable, but . . .” She tilted her head as if a new thought had struck her. “Would it not be better if we marry in Alnwick? The village has a lovely church, and if I am to be Countess of Northumberland, I should marry on county soil, before Henry’s people. It will better serve his cause with them. And thus our own.” And give her that much more time to find a way out of this snare.
“Quite right. Quite right,” said Westmorland, rubbing his hands together. His clear avarice almost made Eleanor laugh aloud. His plans to bend Richard to his will had been one thing, but did he truly think he could trifle with a Percy? “You have become quite cunning in your widowhood, Eleanor.”
“I have had good instruction, my lord,” she said blandly. “Now, your pardon, but I must retire. I am tired from my journey and must rise early to begin preparation for the next.”
“Of course.” He rose with her and held his arms wide. “Come to me, Eleanor. It has been too long since I had a kiss from you.”
Of course he would want a kiss, if for no other reason than to prove she was well and truly in his palm. Once more the lessons she’d learned with Richard came into use, as she went easily into his arms and made him believe the kisses she traded with him were sincere. For an instant as he looked down at her, his smile seemed to hold honest affection, almost as though he loved her as a daughter and not as a pawn on his chessboard. Alas, she didn’t believe it for a moment.
“I’m glad the bargain meets your approval.” He pressed a final kiss to her forehead and released her. “I expect you to present me with a grandson within the year.”
“I pray I can oblige you.”
Not that she meant for it to be Henry Percy’s get.
“Good night, my lord.”
Not that she meant for it to be Henry Percy’s get.
“Good night, my lord.”
“God’s rest to you.”
As soon as the door closed behind her, she let her smile fall away. Knave. Just because he’d sired her, he thought he could still whore her out to increase his power.
Lucy met her in the passageway. Her brows drew together when she saw Eleanor’s scowl. “Was it terrible, my lady?”
It was certainly going to seem so to her. Eleanor assessed her cousin quickly. Lucy had learned a great deal about hiding things and lying in the last three years, too, but this would test her sorely. If she failed . . .
No, she had to trust her. There was no one else. She curved one arm around Lucy’s waist and gave her a reassuring hug. “Come, I will tell you where we have some privacy. We have much to do.”
Cunning, indeed.
He had no idea.
LADY JOAN GAVE
birth to a healthy girl—her sixteenth child and her husband’s twenty-third—on the third day of May, producing the infant with so little labor that the midwife nearly didn’t arrive in time.
birth to a healthy girl—her sixteenth child and her husband’s twenty-third—on the third day of May, producing the infant with so little labor that the midwife nearly didn’t arrive in time.
Anxious as she was to slip away and go find Gunnar, Eleanor stayed for the confinement afterward and bided her time, continuing to play the willing bride in order to lull her father into relaxing his guard. Lucy mostly avoided him.
One evening a fortnight later, Eleanor was holding little Cecily when she caught her mother watching her with an oddly wistful expression. “What is that look?”
“Nothing. Nothing. I was merely thinking how well you look with a child in your arms. But then everyone looks well holding Cecily.” A proud smile lit Lady Joan’s face. “She is by far the fairest of all my babes.”
Eleanor shot her a teasing frown over Cecily’s head. “Why, thank you,
madame
.”
madame
.”
“Oh, you were all fair enough. Excepting poor Robert. He was a most awkward infant—all ears and nose.”
Eleanor thought of her young brother and grinned. “He still
is
all ears and nose, and I fear he always will be.”
is
all ears and nose, and I fear he always will be.”
“Alas, you are likely correct. But look at Cecily. Skin like a peach, a rosebud of a mouth. And those eyes. Blue as cornflowers.”
“Do not all babes have blue eyes?”
“Cecily’s will stay blue,” said Lady Joan firmly. “She shows her Plantagenet blood, through and through. There is a grace to her, even to her hands.”
“Stop,
madame
, lest you make her too proud.” Laughing, Eleanor chucked the baby beneath her too perfectly dimpled chin. Her mother was correct about the babe’s beauty, down to the tiny, flawless fingernails. “Do not listen to our mother, Cecily. Whatever she says, remember that you are bald beneath that chape. And you have no teeth.”
madame
, lest you make her too proud.” Laughing, Eleanor chucked the baby beneath her too perfectly dimpled chin. Her mother was correct about the babe’s beauty, down to the tiny, flawless fingernails. “Do not listen to our mother, Cecily. Whatever she says, remember that you are bald beneath that chape. And you have no teeth.”
“She will have, and they will be as perfect as the rest of her. And her hair will be pure gold.”
“And her clouts will stink only of rose water and cloves,” added Eleanor, biting her cheek to keep a straight face.
“Oh, I do love rose water and cloves,” said Lucy as she came in the door at the end of the sentence, sending Eleanor, her mother, and the attending maids into fits of laughter. Flushing in confusion, Lucy bent a knee to the countess. “The earl waits in the hall, my lady. I reminded him you are lying in, but he said—”
“He comes to speak with me, Lucy, not to bed me. Let him in and then leave us, all of you.”
Eleanor handed little Cecily over to her nurse and gathered her sewing to leave with the others, but as her father came, he motioned for her to stay. He did not look happy, and he wasted no words explaining why.
“I have just had word that the king will sail for France this summer. He will likely order Percy to go with him to prove himself. I want you married and a child on the way before he leaves. I just sent word to Percy to meet you in Durham. You are to start north as soon as you can make ready.”
Did he intend to go with her?
Eleanor couldn’t tell. She edged toward the door. “By your leave, then. I have much to do before we start.”
Eleanor couldn’t tell. She edged toward the door. “By your leave, then. I have much to do before we start.”
“Not we,” said her father. “You.”
“Pardon, my lord?”
“I will not be going with you.”
“But you said—” her mother began.
“Things have changed.” Westmorland pulled a folded parchment out of his sleeve and waved it irritably. “Henry also says that he wants me at court within the week. If I delay, I both risk his ire and increase the likelihood I will have to sail to France to attend him. Eleanor is happy with the arrangements. She can give herself.”
To Eleanor’s ear, he put a slight stress on those last two words, a subtle reminder, perhaps, that he had not entirely forgotten what had happened with Gunnar.
But if he meant to shame her, his effort went awry. Just the thought of that giving, the one and only time she had truly given herself, made Eleanor’s body sing to life. Hoping the heat in her blood didn’t show in her cheeks, she looked up at her father with pleading eyes and murdered the last of his suspicions.
“Can you not ride at least to Durham with me, my lord? I can be ready in only a day or two, and—”
“In two days, I shall be past York. No, you must go without me. But I shall send Sir John Penson to accompany you. You need an extra man or two anyway, and he can go all the way to Alnwick to witness the wedding and then carry a true copy of the contract back here for safekeeping.”
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