Mary Gillgannon (10 page)

She nodded.

“I’d rather not eat standing out in the street. Let’s go inside.”

He guided her to a dingy-looking building with a gaudy sign announcing it as The Red Lion. The cookshop was crowded and looked none too clean. Astra paused in the doorway, noting with distaste a group of rough-looking men dicing in the corner. As Richard led her past them, they stopped their game to stare at her with bold, assessing eyes. Astra pressed closer to her escort, wishing her clothing was not so vivid.

“Must they stare so?” she whispered.

“They’re admiring you,” Richard whispered back. “They’re probably trying to decide how much you’re worth.”

“Worth? What do you mean?”

“For a tumble in bed.”

Astra felt her face flame. It was repulsive—all these men having carnal thoughts about her! She wanted to leave. Then she realized that if she did, she would have to walk past them again. As Richard led her to a table in the back, Astra kept her face down, struggling to control her mortification.

“What’s wrong, Astra? Your face is as red as a poppy.” Astra glanced at Richard, infuriated by his obvious amusement. She wanted to slap him. Instead, she fixed him with a look as cold and disapproving as any Mother Marie had ever given an errant novice. “It was very unchivalrous of you to bring me here, Sir Richard. I want you to escort me out of this place—by the back entrance if possible!”

Richard sat down and continued to smile at her benevolently. “Never fear, Astra, I will guard your beauty with my life.” He reached out his hand to help her down to the bench. Without thinking, Astra slapped it away.

Richard laughed delightedly. “Why, the kitten does have claws!”

Astra brought her fingers to her lips, appalled by what she had done. What was wrong with her? She was behaving like a spoiled child! Shaken, she slid into the seat by Richard.

“Are you all right, my lady?”

Astra nodded. “Please, Sir Richard, will you make it quite clear to these men that I am not for sale?”

“Richard... call me Richard.” He shrugged. “They already know that. They can tell from your manner and bearing that you are a lady. And since you’re with me, you’re completely safe.”

Richard’s voice was calm, matter-of-fact. Astra felt even more foolish. Was she being too sensitive? Marguerite had told her more than once that it was natural for men to stare at an attractive woman. It was rather a compliment of sorts. She sighed. “It does not seem right that men should look at every woman as if she... as if she set a price on her virtue.”

Richard’s eyes narrowed. “But they do—all of them. I know no woman—from the highest-born princess to the poorest peasant—who does not have her price.”

“I certainly do not!”

“Oh, no? Would you marry a beggar, Astra? Can you tell me that a man’s wealth or lack of it does not influence whether you will consider him as a husband?”

“But you’re speaking of marriage. Not men’s filthy thoughts “

“Marriage is an exchange of property, and use of the woman’s body is part of the man’s share. When a man takes a wife, he buys her favors in bed. How is that different than what a whore does?”

Richard’s harsh words shocked Astra, but she could not deny there was some truth to them. Many marriages were little more than business transactions.

Richard’s mouth twisted scornfully as he continued. “To me, an heiress who barters her body like a rich prize is no better than the whore who sells herself on the street. Nay, she is worse, for at least the whore honestly admits what she is doing.”

“How cynical you are! Marriage does not have to be like that. It can be a sacred bond between two people who truly care for each other.”

“Are you speaking of love, my lady?”

Astra looked away, unable to meet Richard’s laughing dark eyes. She knew he thought her a foolish, silly romantic.

“Please don’t mock me, sir.”

“For shame that I should ever mock someone so sweet and good.” As he spoke, Richard reached out and took her hand. Astra glanced down shyly, watching his gloveless fingers cover her own. There was something startling in the contrast between his calloused brown skin and her own pale delicacy, and the sight of her small fingers enveloped in his big hand made her feel weak.

She shook off the strange, giddy mood just as their food arrived, served by a bulky woman with a bored, plain face. Richard had ordered them each a meat pie and a glass of ale. Astra looked at the pasty suspiciously, worrying about the cleanliness of the inn’s kitchen. Richard had no such reservations. He bit into his pie eagerly, a trickle of juice dribbling down his chin.

“It’s good, Astra. Think you that I would take you somewhere that served bad food?”

Astra took a dainty bite and found the pasty was indeed delicious. The crust was tender, the filling piping hot and succulent, full of exotic flavors and spices.

They did not talk at all for the next few minutes. Astra watched Richard between bites, noting that he ate with the swift, serious concentration of a boy. With a trickle of meat broth still embellishing his chin, he seemed touchingly young, not dangerous or threatening at all.

The salty food made Astra thirsty, and afterwards she downed her glass of ale quickly. Too quickly—the bitter liquid was more potent than she was accustomed to. She felt the blood rush to her head and her body relaxed so completely she felt as if she might slide off the bench.

“Astra, what’s wrong?”

She shook her head, trying to banish the languorous, dreamy feeling that had overtaken her.

“Perhaps you need some fresh air.”

Astra nodded and let Richard escort her from the crowded tavern. When they reached the street, Astra leaned against him and took a deep breath, her head spinning slightly.

“You are ill,” he murmured, sounding alarmed.

“Nay, I am fine. It is only... the ale.” Astra felt another wave of weakness overtaking her. She clutched at Richard’s tunic, leaning her face against his chest. “Oh, I am sorry. You must think me a terrible nuisance.”

“Nuisance! You must be jesting! I am enjoying this enormously.”

Astra straightened and jerked away from Richard’s warm, reassuring body. One glance at his sensual smile told her that he had indeed been taking pleasure in touching her.

“How crude of you! To pretend that you are helping me, when all you have on your mind is...” She stopped, unable to finish. She dare not even think about what Richard likely wanted of her. Unbidden, the image sprang to her mind of him lying on top of her, her skirts asprawl around her bare legs.

She swallowed hard and looked down at the street, watching the flies buzz around the garbage in the gutter. It had been a mistake. She should never have agreed to be alone with this man. He was simply not to be trusted.

“Take me home,” she said coldly. “Take me back to Westminster.”

D
amn his wicked tongue! Richard cursed silently as he and Astra walked toward the quays. What was it about this woman that brought out the worst in him? He couldn’t seem to help mocking Lady Astra’s sweetness, her innocence. It was hardly the way to win her favor, to entice her into allowing him to bed her.

He looked side-ways at her, wondering again at her beauty, at the sheer perfection of her delicate form. He wanted her—in the worst way he wanted her—but so far he had succeeded in angering rather than charming her. He’d never had so much trouble seducing a woman before. His tongue kept betraying him, letting slip cynical, hard-bitten words that revealed the ruthless side of his nature. It was as if a part of him was trying to warn Lady Astra away, to keep her from falling in love with him.

Could it be true? Did he really want to protect Astra from himself? Why should that concern him? She was a woman, and likely as deceitful and manipulative as the rest of her sex. Besides, his intentions were not really dishonorable. He wanted her wealth, but he would not ill-use her to get it. She could do worse than him for a husband. He would appreciate her beauty and give her a great deal of pleasure.

The thought made him smile, and when he looked over, he found Astra watching him, a puzzled look on her lovely face.

“I was thinking,” he said softly. “There is much of London you have not seen yet. Perhaps you would allow me to escort you again sometime?”

Astra’s eyes widened. She opened her mouth, as if to protest. For some reason, though, she said nothing.

* * *

“Visit London with them again tomorrow? Surely you jest! Sir Richard is one of the most ill-mannered men I have ever met! I have absolutely no desire to endure another day in his company.”

“Please, Astra,” Marguerite cajoled. “I need more time alone with Will. I’m convinced it is only a matter of time before he falls under my spell.”

“Mayhaps he doesn’t want to kiss you. As a gentleman he may consider it improper to seek favors of a young woman he has only recently met.”

“My point exactly. Will is likely afraid I will be offended. Once he grows used to my company, he will relax and grow bolder.”

“If you were a man, Marguerite, you would be a despicable rogue. You view every knight you meet as a conquest.”

Marguerite shrugged. “What if I do? It does no harm and keeps me entertained. So, will you?” she asked again. “Will you agree to Reivers and de Lacy escorting us around the city tomorrow?”

Astra sighed, already suspecting Marguerite’s pleading would win out. “Why must I go?” she protested weakly. “Why can’t you and Will see the sights by yourselves?”

“It would not be fitting for us to be seen leaving the palace alone together. Besides, Will won’t go without Richard. They seem to be fast friends—almost as close as we are.”

“Mother of God, help me,” Astra murmured. “I must be mad to agree to this.”

Marguerite smiled in delight.

Their journey began much as it had the day before. Reivers and de Lacy joined them in the Queen’s chambers and escorted them to Kingsbridge Quay to hire a wherry. They traveled by boat to a dock near the main part of London and disembarked to walk to Cheapside. When they reached the market, Marguerite did not bother to hide her intentions. She grabbed Will’s hand and pulled him off into the swarming crowd. Astra stared after her friend, shaking her head in amazement.

“Lady Marguerite seems quite determined,” Richard observed in an amused voice. “But I rather think she has met her match this time.”

“What?” Astra turned to him with a perplexed expression.

“Nothing. I don’t wish to worry about Will and Marguerite. I’m very pleased that you have agreed to give me another chance.”

“Another chance?”

Richard turned toward her. His eyes caressed her with languid warmth. His mouth curved up in a tender smile. “I am afraid I offended you yesterday. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude. I hope you will give me an opportunity to make it up to you.”

Astra stared at him. All her resolve melted away as she gazed into the depths of his black-brown eyes. Despite her haughty words to Marguerite, the truth was that she wanted to see Richard again. There was something about him that made her heart rise in her chest like a soaring bird, her legs turn to quivering aspic. She could look at him for days, admiring the clean lines of his features, the burnished glow of his skin and hair, the formidable grace of his powerful body. He was so shockingly, alluringly male. He seemed to affect her like too much of a heady vintage of wine.

When she didn’t answer, Richard took her hand. “Come, I want to show you something.”

He led her through the jostling marketplace, hurrying her past the busy stalls and heaping carts so rapidly Astra had no time to observe the merchandise. They left the crowds behind them and progressed down a dim, narrow street. Astra clutched Richard’s hand tightly. She was far from comfortable in this dirty, teeming world of the city. The sheer impact of it made her want to go somewhere quiet and catch her breath.

Richard paused before a tiny shop that was almost hidden at the end of the street. He guided her ahead of him through the dark doorway and whispered in her ear: “Welcome to fairyland, Astra.”

She blinked, then drew in her breath. The small shop seemed to glow with light. The shelves and counters were covered everywhere with bowls, cups and fanciful objects made out of clear and colored glass. They caught the faint light from the street and the cresset torches on the walls and turned the room into a glittering spectacle.

“I... I’ve never seen anything like it,” she said.

“It’s from a place called Venice. The shop owner told me how they make it. They heat a special kind of sand, then blow into it to create these beautiful shapes. See, it comes in different colors: blue, red, green, a kind of violet.” He picked up a small cup. “Touch it. It feels cold, but it glows like the hottest fire.”

Gingerly, Astra reached out and felt the delicate object. It was smooth, and as Richard said, cold.

“Sir. Madame.”

Astra started as a small, balding man appeared from the back of the shop. His bland, doughy-looking face contrasted sharply with the brilliance of the merchandise. With his tiny blue eyes, he reminded Astra of a near-sighted mole.

“I was showing the lady your wares,” Richard answered pleasantly.

Astra shook her head in amazement as she slowly walked around the shop. She had never seen such beauty. One shelf held small glass pieces shaped like jewels. Some were round, others oval or teardrop-shaped. She picked one up, admiring how it caught the light. It was exquisite, not much bigger than her thumbnail. She wondered how much it cost.

“Let me purchase it for you,” Richard murmured in her ear.

“Nay, I could not,” she whispered back, disturbed to realize the shopkeeper must think them lovers.

“It is perfect for you,” Richard urged. “See how there is a tiny star floating in the center of it? That is you, Astra—an exquisite star.” When she gave him a surprised look, he added, “Astra means star in Greek. Did you not know that?”

She shook her head. “I learned to read and write Latin at Stafford, but not Greek. The nuns told me that my father chose my name, but I never sought to find out what it meant.”

“Your father chose well. Like a star you are—pure and gleaming, inspiring men to wistful longing and dreams of mystery and enchantment.”

Astra blushed. She knew she should not let herself be affected by Richard’s intemperate flattery. In fact, it was not his words that stirred her, but the sound of his voice—husky and velvety. A shiver chased down her spine at the sound of it.

“Please, Astra, I feel I owe you for the unfortunate circumstance of our first meeting. Let me make it up to you. Let this be my peace offering.”

Astra’s resolve wavered as she held the glass jewel in her fingers, feeling it warm to her touch. How beautiful it was—so hard and perfect. “Perhaps,” she whispered. “If you are sure...” She looked at Richard doubtfully. His eyes glowed deep and dark as jet and his smile was warm.

“Done.” Richard produced a small sack from beneath his tunic and removed silver pennies from it one by one until the shopkeeper nodded, then thrust the bag back.

“Thank you, Sir Richard,” Astra murmured.

“Call me Richard,” he answered, still smiling.

Astra clutched the precious glass teardrop tightly. “How will I keep it safe? What if I lose it?”

“It is meant to be worn on a necklace,” the shopkeeper pointed out.

“I have just the thing.” Richard reached beneath his tunic again, this time drawing out a long gold chain. He lifted it over his head, then took the glass jewel from Astra and deftly threaded it onto the chain. He held the necklace out to her.

“I couldn’t...”

“Why not? It has no great value to me. I found it on a battlefield and began wearing it on a whim. The other knights jest that the chain gives me luck, but I don’t believe in that sort of nonsense.”

Richard held out the necklace, waiting. When Astra reached for it, he shook his head. “I’ll put it on you.”

Stiffly, Astra turned and gathered her veil out of the way. She felt Richard’s calloused fingers on her neck, and the chain slid down her chest. The gold was still warm from Richard’s body. The thought made Astra flush. There was something strangely intimate about donning something that had just rested against his skin. She knew Richard felt it, too. He grinned and his eyes glowed with delight. She looked down and felt her flush spread. The necklace was really too long, and the glass jewel had settled deep between the cleft of her breasts. Richard’s eyes focused there with a fascination that unnerved her. She could feel the pendant—hot, burning, an emissary for Richard’s own erotic imaginings.

Irritated with herself and him, Astra reached into her bodice and yanked out the necklace. It dangled wildly, swinging back and forth across her bodice, then came to rest at a point below the swell of her bosom.

“It suits you well, madame,” the shopkeeper offered. “It is the perfect complement to your own beguiling beauty”

Astra gave the little man a distracted smile. She had almost forgotten he was there.

“Will there be anything else?” he added in a timid voice.

 “Not today. Perhaps another time we will return and the lady will choose something else.”

The shopkeeper bowed as they departed, his small furrowed face lit by a vague smile. Astra felt relieved to be back on the streets, as squalid and filthy as they were. The small shop had begun to seem too small, almost oppressive, and Richard’s presence so close filled her senses to bursting. She could not seem to escape the breathless ache his nearness aroused.

They wandered back to the market, but saw nothing that matched the splendors of the tiny glass shop. Richard paused by a cart of ripe apricots, and Astra leaned against it with a sigh.

“Are you weary, Astra?”

“I am not used to...” she gestured, “... all of this.”

“My poor little butterfly. I forget you are not yet accustomed to the bustle and stink of the city.” Richard brought his hand up to touch her shoulder and then slid his fingers beneath her veil to rest on her nape. He began to stroke her neck, his strong, probing fingers skillfully easing the tension away. Astra closed her eyes and sighed again, oblivious for a time to the noise and confusion that swirled around them.

“I know a place we can go,” Richard murmured. “Would you like to see the Tower of London, Astra?”

Astra opened her eyes, considering. The Tower was one of the oldest buildings in London, dating back to the days of William the Conqueror. It had served as the King’s palace until only recently, when Henry had moved most of his household to the new palace at Westminster shortly before he wed Eleanor.

“It is not too far,” Richard coaxed. “We can take a wherry back to Westminster from there.”

Astra nodded, her curiosity making her forget how hot and sweaty she was and how much her feet hurt. She allowed Richard to take her arm and guide her through the maze of the marketplace. They turned southeast toward the river. In the distance they could see the Tower, the royal standard waving from the highest turret. When they reached the quays, they walked along them for a while, watching the ships: wine ships from Gascony, scuts from Slander, Essex and Kent, the great vessels of Almain and Norway. Finally, they entered the royal complex and beheld the Tower rising above them, majestic and gleaming white.

“The King spends most of his time at Westminster, but he’s renovating the Tower and building up the defenses around it,” Richard explained, gesturing toward the busy courtyard where workers were unloading stone and gravel from wagons. “Once it is finished, the Tower will be a well-defended palace. A moat and stone wall will surround the north and west, and the river will guard it on the south.”

When Astra coughed from the dust and held her veil to her face, Richard added: “Queen Eleanor stays away because the dirt and noise of construction bother her, but Henry visits the site fairly often. Sometimes he brings Prince Edward to see the animals in the royal menagerie.”

“The menagerie?”

“The Emperor of Germany sent Henry three leopards in honor of the three beasts emblazoned on the English flag. Since then the King has added a tiger, some water buffalo and several bears. There was an elephant, but he died. The King insisted he be buried at Westminster as if he were royalty.”

Astra could only nod in amazement. She had never heard of such animals existing outside of books.

“Would you like to see them, Astra?”

“Could I?”

Richard shrugged. “Why not? Hardly anyone goes there. Most of the nobles think the menagerie is only another of the King’s foolish extravagances.”

The menagerie was housed in a separate building, called the Lion Tower. Richard was right, Astra noted, for as busy as the rest of the complex was, the dreary stone building where the animals were kept was deserted. They had gone a few paces inside when a deafening roar emitted from the darkness ahead of them. Astra froze, her limbs rigid, the hair on her neck prickling with fear.