Lady of Fire (33 page)

As she rounded the top of the winding tower stairs, she was struck at first by the silence. At this time of day, she could ordinarily expect to hear the chatter of half a dozen maids gathered by the west-side window slits to ply their needles. Instead, she found Roger alone. His tunic lay discarded in a heap beside the table that held the washbasin.

"I sent your women away, Lea, so that I could wash the dust off me in peace." He favored her with a crooken grin. "I heard the cloth merchant you were expecting had come at last and I thought you'd be up." He dropped his washing cloth into the basin water. "Come show me what you've bought, so long as you've not beggared me."

"Ralph said you told him that I could buy the whole if I wanted, but I did not," she laughed. "Aye—I've cost you some gold this day, husband, but 'twas well spent." Ignoring his invitation to show her swatches, she laid them aside and moved closer. "Were you done, or would you have me finish for you? I could order a washtub, you know."

"Nay, if you could but rinse off my back, I'd be grateful—'tis more dust than sweat, anyway. I was showing the squires how quintains were made at Nantes and the straw was full of it." He pulled a stool close to the basin and sat leaning forward while she wrung out the rag he'd been using. As she began wiping his back, he ventured casually, "I have heard from Henry."

"When?"

"While you were in the hall with your merchant." She stood still and silent for a moment before daring to ask, "And what said he to our marriage? Was he angry that you did not tell him?"

"He said that if he'd known you would take just anyone, he'd have pressed his own suit—that he might not be heir to an earldom but he had some prospects."

"He did not!" She tugged a lock of hair.

"Ouch! Vixen! Nay, he did not, Lea, but he was all that was gracious. He wished us well."

"But what did he say?"

"If you would know, ask him—he comes tomorrow."

"Tomorrow! Sweet Mary! We cannot be ready for him so soon."

"You obviously have never traveled with Henry, my love. He moves at whim and often rides with as few as two or three men at his side. Aye—and he will stay at all manner of hostelries without a care for luxury. I'll warrant it has been a while since he's enjoyed anything half so nice as I know you'll provide for him here. Nay—do not fret yourself over it."

"But he's a prince!"

"He allows himself few friends, Lea, but we are among them. You serve him better by letting him just be Henry."

"But he was not surprised by our marriage? He is not angry? What if he comes in anger?" She returned to her basic fear that something could mar her happiness with Roger.

"He was surprised, but he approves your choice of a husband, Lea. He actually wrote that if it could not be Henry, then it ought to have been me." He caught at her waist and pulled her against him where he sat. Pillowing his head against the softness of her breast, he tightened his arm around her and murmured softly, "I did not send your women away to talk of Henry, love. Is it over?"

She knew immediately what he meant and nodded. "Aye, I am sorry it came yet again." Her pulse quickened as she caressed the thick, waving blond hair. "I pray daily that I may conceive."

"I told you 'twas early days yet, Lea. I would have you to myself as long as possible. Besides, God will send us a child when he is ready, and not before." He burrowed his head against her. "Ahhhh, now there's an idea I like—rub my head."

She let her fingers furrow the thick hair, parting and massaging, savoring the feel of it. Even after more than two months, it was a marvel to her that this big strong man was her husband. At night, when she would awaken beneath the weight of his arm around her, she could clasp it and thank God for the gift of his love.

His hand moved from her waist to smooth her gown over the curve of her hip. As if sharing the same thoughts, he half-whispered against her, "Sometimes I think I must be dreaming, Lea, and I am afraid I'll waken and you'll be gone—I cannot believe you have come to me."

She clasped his head tightly. "Aye, 'tis the same with me."

"I want you so much that I fear I disgust you with my needs."

Even as he spoke, both his hands slid over her hips in a caress that kindled desire. Her mouth went dry and her whole being responded to his touch. "And I fear that you will think me wanton," she answered softly, "for I never tire of this."

He pushed the bench back and stood at the same time. "Let me bar the door and then I'll help you undress." He released her to pad barefoot to the door, where he slid the heavy wooden beam through the iron rings. " 'Twould take the whole garrison to bother us now, love," he announced as he turned back to her. She stood naked above the pile of her hastily discarded gown and undershift, her slim white body gleaming in the semi-shadows of the stone-walled room.

"Jesu, but you are beautiful—all of you, Lea."

Prince Henry followed his messenger not by a day, but rather by a matter of hours. It was nearly dusk when he ordered his companion to sound his arrival at Harlowe. He'd ridden hard on his journey from his brother's palace outside London to warn that Belesme had landed in England in the company of William Bonne-Ame's representative and the papal legate to England. At least Rufus had not been in London to welcome them. Henry was uncertain of their business, but he was uneasy to see the Church in any sort of alliance with Robert of Belesme. It could not augur well for Roger and Eleanor.

As he awaited the raising of the iron gates, his thoughts turned to her. He would see her again, this girl of his youthful dreams, and she would be his friend's wife. A sigh of regret escaped him as he asked himself how fate could have allowed Eleanor of Nantes to slip out of his reach. Nay, he had to own the truth—his own ambition had cost him the woman he still believed he could have loved. Had he been willing to gamble his chances for England's throne, he could have had her. But he'd decided several years back when Rufus first mentioned he intended to name Henry his heir that he would have to have a Saxon bride to unite the country behind him in the face of what would surely be Curthose's rage.

But for now, he would see Roger and Eleanor and wish them well. A smile curved his generous mouth as he remembered his shock, then his anger, and finally his acceptance of the news that they had wed. It was hard to fault someone for taking one's advice, and that is exactly what they'd done. He'd told Roger to find her a strong husband and he had found her the strongest man available—except for Robert of Belesme. Jesu, what he would have given to be there when Robert received the news that his intended bride had wed the man they all thought her half-brother.

In front of him, the first gate slowly creaked upward and he urged his horse onto the floating bridge. His eyes traveled upward to the marvel that was Harlowe. Well, if Belesme meant war, Henry could not imagine a better fortress for it. Aye—and he would see to it that Rufus did not stand for the amassing of too many troops on English soil.

They were standing there within the inner gate, smiling and eager to welcome him. His breath caught in his throat and his heart gave a rush when he saw her. He'd not thought it possible, but each time he saw her, she was more beautiful than his memory of her. He tossed the reins of his horse to a waiting stableboy and dismounted. Careful, Henry, he told himself, do not give yourself away—she is his now, and you might need him later.

When Roger would have knelt at his feet, Henry stopped him and enveloped him in a tight embrace. Giving the kiss of peace on both cheeks, he stepped back for a better look at his friend.

"Jesu, but the wedded state is good for you, Roger. You look well."

"Aye—come give Lea a kiss, my lord. She would have it that you are angry with us for deceiving you, but the fault was mine. She did not know."

Eleanor came forward smiling, her arms outstretched to clasp his hands. Henry caught them and pulled her closer to plant chaste kisses on her cheeks before releasing her and stepping back. There was a glow of happiness about her that he'd not been privileged to see before, and it gave him another pang of regret.

"My lord Henry…" She dipped a graceful curtsy before him. "In the absence of Earl Richard, we bid you welcome to Harlowe."

"In truth, I could not stay away, Lady Eleanor. I had to come and see for myself that Roger was indeed heir to all this and that you had wed."

"Aye—'tis unbelievable, isn't it? I pinch myself black and blue to prove 'tis not all a dream."

Reluctantly he tore himself back to Roger. "Well, my friend, I have much to tell, but first I need a bath and a pitcher of wine to wash the dust from my throat. I've ridden direct from London."

Roger nodded and clapped for a page. "Take my lord Henry to my father's quarters," he ordered. To Sir Ralph he added, "And send up the tub."

Arm in arm, Roger and Eleanor watched Henry follow the boy. Then Eleanor pulled away. "I'll send one of the boys up with his wine while I change my clothes."

"Change your clothes?"

"Aye—you would not have me get this gown wet, would you?"

"Lea, I would not have you bathe him."

"Nonsense, Roger. To do otherwise would be an insult."

"You do not know him around women."

"Well, I am your wife. Surely he would not dare lay a hand on his vassal's wife, would he? Oh, Roger, do not look like that! This is Harlowe and I know what I am about now."

Eleanor found Prince Henry already nearly undressed, sparing her the necessity of removing his clothing. Only his chausses and cross-garters remained and, when she knelt to attend to them, he stopped her.

"Nay, I can undo them faster than you can." He felt strange to be standing naked in front of her. Stop this, he chided himself—you have had a hundred women—how is it that this one is so different? She turned to lay down the linens she carried and he hastily slid his body into the steaming water. Still, he was unprepared for her touch.

She moved behind him and started with his back. She lathered and rinsed him quickly before leaning over him to get his chest. Her dark braid fell forward to brush his shoulder and he could smell the soft scent of roses. A sense of loss overwhelmed him. Almost involuntarily he reached to clasp her wrist against his wet chest. She dropped the soapy cloth into the water in surprise.

"You are happy?"

"Aye."

"I am glad for you."

"My lord… please …" She tried to pull away gently.

He did not seem to notice as he mused aloud, "I think I have loved you since that day we met at Nantes, Eleanor."

"My lord, do not—"

"Nay, let me have my say—'tis only this once I can say it." He let her loose enough to slide his hand down to clasp hers. "Aye, I could have loved you differently, Eleanor of Nantes," he continued so softly that she could barely hear, "and there would have been no need for others."

He seemed younger, more vulnerable, almost boyish as he cocked his head upward to look at her. She resisted the urge to brush back his hair and soothe him as one would a disappointed child. If any chanced to come in, the worst would be thought.

"Henry," she said gently, "do not say anything that will stain your honor or mine."

"Nay." He shook his head and fixed her with warm brown eyes. "What I feel for you, Eleanor, cannot be dishonorable, for 'tis the purest thing I have ever felt. I would see you happy above all else, and if I cannot have you, then I am glad 'tis Roger who does. He loves you and will treat you well. Just remember—should anything happen to him, I will ever stand ready to hold for you and yours. There—I have said it." He released her hand and leaned back against the rim of the washtub with a sigh. "I would not say anything else to distress you."

"My lord, there was a time when I could have loved you, too."

"Those years in Fontainebleau?"

"Aye—you and Roger were all I had then. Your letters and your visits kept me alive."

"Nay—you were his in spirit even then. I think my hopes for you died with your mother, but I did not know it."

She leaned over and retrieved the cloth from the water and began to soap it anew. "I will always remember what you have said, my lord, and I am grateful for your friendship." She reached for a pitcher of water to wet his hair and poured a little over his head. "Let me finish this so that you can get your supper."

If the prince had intended to broach the subject of Robert of Belesme quietly with Roger over his cup, he was denied the opportunity. The covers had scarcely been lifted from the tables and the mummers had just begun their acts when a dusty rider was escorted in with a letter for "Roger of Harlowe." Roger stepped out into a corridor to better read the message and then returned white-faced and grim to the hall. When Eleanor tried to question him, he brushed her aside and turned to Henry.

"I would have a word with you in private, my lord."

"Roger, I would know—what is it?" Eleanor demanded.

"Nay, not yet—I will tell you the whole later," he promised grimly.

Henry nodded and rose to follow Roger. "You pardon, Lady Eleanor," he murmured as he passed her, "but 'tis nothing, I am sure."

Not to be left behind, she gathered her skirts and went after them, catching them on the narrow, winding stairs that led to her solar. By now, she was well aware that whatever the messenger brought, it was not nothing.

"Roger, I demand to know—what oversets you so?"

"Belesme."

"Jesu!" She exhaled sharply and crossed herself. "He comes to fight us?"

"I would that he had—I could beat him here at that."

"Then?"

Henry intervened smoothly. "Eleanor, can you not see he is disturbed? Pour us all some wine and let us look at what is to be done." He gave her a gentle push on up the stairs. "Nay—we are right behind you."

She finished the climb and lit the brazier with a torch from the stairwell with shaking hands. Belesme. What could he possibly do to them now unless he provoked a quarrel with Roger? She fastened the torch in an empty iron ring and went to a cupboard to get cups. Behind her, she could hear Roger speaking low to Henry. She poured the rest of the contents of the wineskin into three cups and turned around to watch the prince read the message. He was shaking his head in disbelief.