Lady of Fire (36 page)

"So you married Roger de Brione to escape Robert Talvas?"

"Nay—I wed with him because I love him and he loves me. Earl Richard gave his blessing to the union."

"But you were pledged to Count Robert."

"I was not pledged to Count Robert! I feared and detested the man and I was determined to resist wedding with him! I would have taken the veil rather than have been given to him!"

"Lady Eleanor, you had some seven years in which to give yourself to Christ," the papal legate interrupted, "and you did not choose to do so. Yet you would have us believe that you were ready to give your vows when Count Robert saw you at Fontainebleau?"

"Aye! I did not want to wed with Robert of Belesme!"

"Why did you not honor your mother's dying wish and dedicate your life to Holy Church?"

"Because I was not suited!"

"Why?"

"Because I dreamed of getting out and of having a lord and children of mine own. But not Belesme!"

"Your father chose him for you."

"Excellencies, you surely cannot have lived in either England or Normandy and not know what manner of man he is—everything he is is against all the Church teaches. I could not wed with him!"

"Perhaps you did not realize that you were pledged to Count Robert—or perhaps you did not consider your pledge binding because it was given under duress," the Bishop of Durham suggested.

"Nay—I gave him no pledge."

"He says he took your maidenhead."

"He does not tell the truth," Eleanor answered evenly. "I went to my husband a virgin, and there is proof." She reddened and added, "I bled on my marriage bed."

Belesme was on his feet in an instant. "I do not accept that as proof," he asserted. " 'Twould not be the first time sheep's blood was used for such a purpose."

"You know you have borne false witness, my lord." Eleanor stood and faced him. "As God is my witness, I tell the truth!"

"We have no further questions at this time, Lady Eleanor," the Archbishop of Canterbury announced as the room broke into excited chatter.

She nodded and moved to Roger's side. He clasped her hand and together they faced the dais. "Excellency," Roger spoke out, "there are good men and true in this room who can attest to my wife's virginity at the time of our marriage."

"Nay," Belesme countered, "they can attest to having seen bloody sheets, but they cannot testify as to whose blood stained them."

For once, the prelate ignored Belesme. "Lord Roger, if you will give the names of your witnesses, the clerks will take their testimony for our review."

"I name Rannulf of Chester, Walter of Hereford, and my father, Richard de Brione, Earl of Harlowe."

"Harlowe isn't here—I see him not," Robert sneered.

"I believe the earl is in Normandy at Duke Robert's court," the papal legate answered, "and I see no reason that his statement cannot be taken there or when he returns."

"Nay! I'll not wait forever!" Belesme exploded. "I demand justice! And I would have it now! You cannot drag this on for months and let her live with him when she belongs to me!"

"Silence! My lord of Belesme, we will take all of the testimony into consideration and we will review all statements before we make any decision," Canterbury pointed out reasonably. " 'Tis no light thing you ask of us and we must proceed carefully and thoughtfully to sort everything out." He stood to indicate dismissal. "With the exception of…" He looked to one of the clerks, who read the names, and then he repeated, "With the exception of Rannulf of Chester and Walter of Hereford, we ask that everyone leave us."

Belesme was not to be denied. Fixing the archbishop with his cold green eyes, he fairly bit off the words, "And when might we expect your excellencies to make some disposition in this matter?"

"My lord count," Canterbury answered, "I can promise that something will be determined within the week."

"Lea, I have failed you," Roger told her even as he followed her up the stairs to their cramped Tower room. "I should not have brought you here."

" 'Tis not over yet," she reminded him.

"Aye, but they will drag this on in spite of what Anselm, our good archbishop, says, and we will live under the taint of Belesme's charges for months, maybe even years. Henry was right." He dropped dispiritedly to a low bench and reached for a wineskin on the nearby table.

"Roger, they cannot but rule for us," she reasoned as she came up behind him and began massaging his shoulders. "If you believe in God's justice, you have to believe that." Her words echoed hollowly in her throat—too often in these last weeks she had voiced Roger's pessimism herself and it had been he who had braced her courage. "Aye, we will win."

"I pray you are right." He poured himself a cup and drank deeply.

"Did you think I did poorly today—is that what worries you?"

"Nay." He reached to pat the hand on his shoulder reassuringly. "You told the truth, Lea. What more could you do? 'Tis just that I do not believe they will rule when they say they will. Do you think any of them wants to risk Belesme's wrath? He will make it so they delay and we will have to live like this. 'Tis not so bad for me, but I cannot stand what it does to you." He slumped beneath her hand. "Do you think I cannot see you cringe when even a few call you harlot and cast stones and spit when you go out?"

"So long as we are together, I do not care."

"You are my wife, Lea—I will not have it said you are my leman." He ran his fingers through his hair and stared distractedly into the shadows. He seemed tired and vulnerable. "I would that my father were here."

"What could he do that we have not already done?"

"Stand openly with me. Henry does what he can, but he does it secretly. Just once I would have someone with power come forward and say Roger de Brione is right."

She had never before heard him express dependency on anyone and it alarmed her. For all of his twenty-three years, he had made his own fortune and taken charge of things for her. "Send for him, then," she advised.

"I fear 'tis too late," he answered soberly. Abruptly he rose and walked to the arrow slit. Outside, angry clouds had rolled in, darkening the sky and threatening a winter storm. "Ah, Lea, do not be minding me. 'Tis most probably the weather that makes me feel like this."

A gust of cold wind blew in heavy with the smell of rain. She shivered and moved to block it with his body, coming up behind him and laying her head between his shoulder blades. "Roger, you are all there is for me," she whispered against his back. Her arms slid around his waist and she pressed against him for warmth and security. He stood still and stared out into the gathering storm.

She could feel the weight of Gytha's amulet against her breast as she pressed even closer. "Roger, please…"

"I am sorry, Lea. I should not worry you with my foolish fears." He shivered against the wind and reached to bang the shutter into place even as the first spray of rain hit. Behind them, the brace of candles flickered and then went out, leaving the room lit only by the coals in the brazier. Outside, the wind began to howl more violently and the rain came down as though the sky poured. He turned. "You are cold, Lea—let me put more wood on the fire."

"Roger…" Her hand slid up the velvet of his sleeve, where drops of water stained the fine fabric. "You once said it was my right also." She smiled softly.

"What?"

For answer, she slipped her arms around his neck and pulled him to her, her lips parted invitingly for his kiss. His response was immediate and wholehearted. There was no gentle exploration, no slow savoring of the nearness of each other this time. The chilliness of the room was forgotten, obscured by the heat between their bodies as she clung to him, molding herself to him. A low, animallike moan rose from deep within her and she tore herself away from him, whispering breathlessly, "Now. Roger, love me now."

For answer, his hands unfastened the girdle at her waist and freed her gown to hang straight from her shoulders. His mouth possessed hers hungrily while he worked the fabric of gown and undershirt up over her hip to feel the bare flesh beneath. She shivered against him, but this time it was from the heat of desire rather than the cold of the room.

Her hands worked at his belt. "Love me as I love you, Roger," she whispered as the leather loosed "Please."

"Sweetheart, I'll love you any way you want," he answered while slipping both gown and shift over her head. "Jesu, Lea…" His voice dropped to a hoarse whisper as he stared at her. "I've had you many times now and yet each time is new—I cannot have enough of you." His fingers trembled with desire, tangling in the cords that held his chausses. He muttered a mild oath when the knot tightened.

"Let me get it," she offered. Her head rested against his chest while she worked the cords. His hands caressed her bare shoulders and back, dropping to slide over satin-skinned hips. The knot came loose and allowed the stockings to bag down about his cross-garters, She slipped to her knees and began unfastening the leather bands while he stretched to pull his tunic off his shoulders. Naked now, he pulled her up and kissed her deeply, molding their bodies together until he could feel rather than hear the low moan of passion that rose within her breast. She twisted against him urgently now, her body straining for that ultimate closeness. "Please, Roger…" She was breathless when at last he released her mouth. "Now."

"Aye." He lifted her easily and carried her to bed, laying her down gently. When he would stretch out beside her, she slid beneath him and twined her arms about his neck. Her hips moved invitingly and he could deny his body no longer. Her eyes were closed, her body restless with yearning. He raised himself to watch her as he entered her, savoring both the feel of her as she received him and the sight of her pleasure. A moan escaped her and her brow furrowed in concentration even before he began to move within her.

She clutched at him, her hands grasping, kneading, raking the flesh of his back, while her hips thrashed, rolled, and strained greedily against his. The heat, the intensity of her response to him feeding his own passion, he thrust deep and rhythmically for that elusive fusion of body and spirit. Her hands drove him further and further until he could stand it no longer.

She had never experienced such acute pleasure before. Her moans turned to cries of release that mingled with his as together they found ecstasy. Both struggled to catch their breath, collapsing against each other. Roger rolled over and pulled her to rest in the crook of his arm. She pillowed her head on his chest and tried to master her racing heart.

"Art a mystery to me still," he managed between gulps of air, "the way you lie with me, sometimes lying beneath me gently and sweetly, waiting for me to give you pleasure, and other times nearly burning me with your fire." He stroked the smooth skin of her shoulder and arm and murmured, "Today, Lea, you were fire itself."

"Mmmmmm." She settled contentedly against him and fingered the relic that still twined at her neck. "Mayhap I'll conceive of you this day."

"I hope not." He could sense her disappointment and he rolled on his side to face her. "Nay." His fingers touched her lips as though to still the protest that rose there.

"Roger, 'tis right that I give you an heir of your body—to do less is to fail you." She struggled to sit up.

" 'Tis unimportant to me now, I swear. I would rather have Harlowe go to the Crown and the Condes to Normandy than to lose you, Lea." He could see she did not understand. With a sigh, he voiced his deepest fear. "Women die in childbed," he said simply, "and I would not live without you."

"Men die in battle and leave wives to mourn them," she told him quietly.

"But you are so small."

"Aye, and so was Queen Mathilda—yet 'twas not from that she died." She half-turned in the bed to stare into the near-darkness. "Roger, I love you. I pray daily to God that I can bear your child. I would look on your son and see you and me in his face and know 'tis right that we have taken each other."

"It is right."

"Is it? Then why does God deny me this? Does my mother's curse make me barren?"

"Three months is hardly a lifetime, Lea. Besides, children are a gift of God, yes—but that does not mean he withholds them for punishment. Think on it—there would be no bastards if that were so." He reached up and tweaked the nearest braid. "Lie back down and warm your husband's bones, love."

"Aye," she sighed as she settled back into the depths of the feather bed and let him draw her close. "But I do not see why I must pray for your child and you must pray against it, Roger. How can God know which to favor?"

Pulling her cloak tightly about her for warmth against the chill dampness, Eleanor walked Tower Hill alone before supper. The household guards, having grown used to her solitary walks, paid her little heed as they stood sentry over the complex that served as seat to England's government.

Out of the corner of her eye she caught sight of a man whose walk seemed familiar, and she paused to study him as he crossed the open area past the White Tower. Surely it cannot be, she told herself even as she gathered her skirts and began to run after him.

"Aubery!"

The man spun around to face her, his face breaking into a broad smile at the sight of her. He waited until she reached him before he dropped respectfully on one knee.

"My lady."

"I knew it was you—but how came you here?"

"Jean, Hugh, and I came with Earl Richard and Lady Glynis." He caught her surprised expression and nodded. "Aye, we were at Curthose's court when word of Count Robert's claim to you reached us. Earl Richard would not rest until he'd sent his own emissary to Rome in your behalf, and then he insisted on coming here to support you." He roses gracefully even as he spoke and favored her with a scarce-concealed appraisal. "You look well, Lady Eleanor."

"Well enough if this thing were over. Tell me—does my lord know you are come?"

"Nay, we are but arrived a few minutes ago. The earl would seek out the king first and test his mood."

"Prince Henry says Rufus stands with us." She rested a hand on his arm. "But Glynis—she is here?"