Two Passionate Proposals (9 page)

Outside, the daylight was fading, and the
doors were closed to stop the mosquitoes from coming inside. Servants lit the
rushlights, and the hall took on a festive atmosphere. Heady with relief over
the fact that Henry had not cast them out—or worse, ordered their deaths—the
residents did not seem particularly concerned that Woodford was now a Yorkist
fortification. She supposed that which side the castle belonged to made no
difference to their daily lives, and if their current circumstances meant they
no longer had to fight, why shouldn’t they celebrate?

She indicated the happy troops below them. “Your
men seem very cheerful.”

Henry nodded. “And why not? They will not
have to sleep in a tent tonight.”

She smiled. “And I suppose they are pleased
the siege is over?”

“The war is over, Ella. Edward is king, and
the Lancastrian army has been soundly beaten.”

She frowned. “I am surprised at you.
Supporting a rebel against the ordained king. Henry of Lancaster was honest and
pious—did he deserve to be deposed?”

His face darkened. “England needs a firm
hand on the reins. Her land is divided among powerful, arrogant men. Those men
need to respect their leader, to believe he will lead them into battle and
emerge victorious. Henry is weak, his wife grasping. He was not a good king.
Good men died in his name, and it was a great waste.”

Was he referring to her husband? Surely
not. However else she might have described Geoffrey, she would not have called
him a “good man.”

“Then I suppose it has ended well for
everyone.” She looked across the Hall where all the men, along with the women
they could lay their hands on, were drinking and dancing in merriment. “Everyone
except me,” she added softly. She looked up at Henry, now pouring himself another
glass of wine. “What will you do with me?”

“Truth be told, I have not decided yet. I
will be leaving tomorrow for London to see the king; I shall talk with him
about your plight.”

She nodded, sipping her wine.

He turned to study her. “You have no children?”

Her face heated up again. “No. I am barren,
I am afraid.”

His forehead creased a little. “Did your
husband sire any children by other women?”

“Yes, he had a son by a local woman in the
village.” It had been a major embarrassment for her when she’d found out, and
although she’d never reacted when Geoffrey boasted of it in front of her, she’d
never forgiven him, either.

For a while, she leaned back and watched
the festivities. Henry talked to Richard and a couple of his men, and she
listened to them discussing military matters. Her mind phased in and out of the
conversation as the hour grew late, and gradually, everyone in the hall grew
drunk. She tried sipping her wine, wanting to keep her wits about her, but she
knew she was drinking too much. Some off-key singing broke out and, at one
point, so did a fight amongst the men. Henry only laughed. They all seemed very
at home in her castle; more so than she felt at that moment, it seemed.

What did his home look like? Who kept it
for him? Was he married? Of course, he must be, at his age. Should she ask him?
He was playing with the stem of his goblet, watching her, and she couldn’t
resist.

“Are you married?”

He lowered his gaze. “I was. She died last
year.”

“Oh, I am sorry, Henry, I did not know.”

He smiled. “I know.”

“Do you have any children?”

“Alas, she died giving birth to our first
child. The baby died too. As yet, I have no children, no heir.”

She wondered if he missed her. “Was she
beautiful, your wife?”

He hesitated. That told her more than any
words could have. She brought her hand up to hide her smile, but he spotted the
gesture, and his own lips curved in response.

“Did you love her?” Eleanor asked, unable
to stop herself.

He shrugged. “She was a difficult woman. I
was fond of her, at times. But I do not think she loved me. She never pushed me
away, but she was never enthusiastic, she was only obliging, if you know what I
mean.”

Eleanor wasn’t sure she did. She covered
her confusion by pouring herself another goblet of wine. The first time she’d
made love with her husband, Geoffrey had explained what was expected of her.
“Lie
patiently and do as you are told.”
And she’d done so, assuming that was the
way of things. Henry implied, however, there were other options. She felt
breathless. What had he meant?

With him talking to Richard again, she let
her gaze wander across the hall. The servants had brought up pallets and spread
them behind the benches, and everywhere she looked, people were retiring for
the evening. Lots of giggling floated up from underneath covers, and she
suspected nearly every pallet was shared. The servants had also extinguished
most of the rushlights, and the main light came from the fire in the hearth,
illuminating everyone in a golden glow.

To one side, she saw Henry’s young squire
pull a blanket over himself and one of her kitchen girls. They kissed for a
while, and then she saw him move on top of the girl, manoeuvring himself
between her legs. The girl giggled, then sighed, and the young man began to
move slowly as the girl’s legs wrapped around him.

Eleanor felt a heavy weight on her heart.
She’d been aware of lovemaking in the Hall before, but she’d always turned a
blind eye. Now, however, she watched them, more than a little sad. She’d never
known a man before marrying Geoffrey, and he’d not been the world’s greatest
lover. She’d never felt as the young kitchen girl obviously felt. Eleanor
watched the girl sigh with pleasure and move with the young man, obviously
enjoying his touch. The girl’s face appeared blissful, ecstatic at the lad’s
skilful touch. How could such a youthful boy pleasure a girl so, and yet
Eleanor had been stuck with a lumbering, sweating oaf?

Why was it bothering her so much? Why did
she feel so bereft, as she thought of Henry pleasuring himself?

She felt as if she were only just now
discovering a world of secret pleasure that life had previously denied her. A
world of love and passion and emotion. A world she was cut off from, like a
castle surrounded by a deep moat.

“Goodnight, sweet Ella.” The voice came
from behind her, and she turned to find Richard, his eyes warm from the wine,
holding the hand of a giggling serving wench. “I am heading up the stairs to
Bedfordshire.” He took Eleanor’s hand from her lap and kissed her fingers. “It’s
good to see you again,” he said quietly. With a nod to his brother, he and the
girl disappeared behind the dais.

She soon heard their footsteps going up to
the bedchambers, and looked back along the table. The men had all disappeared;
only she and Henry remained in the semi-darkness, lit by the flickering glow
from the hearth. He sat, watching her. How long had he been staring? His deep
blue eyes were intense, slightly amused, he finished off his goblet of wine,
but he didn’t rise.

She licked her lips. “So you are leaving
tomorrow for London.”

“Yes.”

And then she might never see him again. The
new king would find an old man to marry her off to, someone who already had an
heir, who wouldn’t care she couldn’t bear children, and her life would be over.

She cleared her throat. “So we have one
night together.”

He studied her thoughtfully, with interest.
“I suppose so.”

She felt such a mixture of emotions. Her
past blended with the present, and she couldn’t seem to sort out her feelings.
It might have something to do with the wine, she thought. She could remember
the honest, child-like love she’d felt for Henry, but the more she thought
about him in the bathtub, and the longer he kept watching her with those
taunting eyes, the more her youthful adoration for the boy became intermingled
with a very adult desire for the man. She’d hated making love with Geoffrey; he’d
made her skin crawl when he touched her, but Henry…the very thought of him kissing
her, touching her…

She sipped her wine. “Have there been many women,
since Maud?”

He looked amused. “One or two. None since
Towton, though. It has been a while.” He grinned. “You?”

She laughed. “Nobody since Geoffrey.” She
had not even thought about it—until she met Henry.

He leaned forward and twirled his goblet in
his fingers. “My father locked me away for a fortnight when you left.”

“What?”

“I went mad when he told me they were
sending you away. I would have got on my horse there and then and followed you,
and he knew it, so he had me beaten, and then he locked me in my room and
refused to let me out.” He placed the goblet on the table. “I would have come
after you, but he told me your father had arranged your marriage with a French
count, and you had agreed willingly.”

Eleanor stared at him, appalled. “Lies,”
she whispered. “All lies. They did try to arrange a marriage to a Frenchman,
but he died before anything could come of it. My marriage to Geoffrey was
organised later. I had no say in any of it.”

Henry smiled sadly. “I did think as much. I
hoped as much. But I had no proof. My father told me he would disinherit me if
I hunted for you. I did not know where you were, what had happened to you. He
took me up to Yorkshire and left me with an uncle to learn the ways of warfare.
In the end, I gave in and accepted you were lost to me.”

He took her right hand in his left. “I wish
I had not. I am ashamed, Ella, that I did not try and find you, and left you to
be married to that selfish oaf.”

“It is not your fault.” She blinked back
tears. “I never blamed you. We are but playthings for our parents, I know that
now. We should have known better, but we were so naïve back then.” She smiled. “Regrets
are useless. Time has moved on; we should live for the present, not regret our
past.”

His gaze dropped to her mouth. She
moistened her lips instinctively. Dark as midnight, his eyes returned to hers.
He wanted her. The thought made her head spin. She should not have drunk so
much on an empty stomach.

He sat back in his chair, picking up the
goblet of wine in his right hand, and slid the fingers of his other hand under
the braid she’d plaited earlier in the day. He caught the end between thumb and
forefinger, then wound the blonde rope around his hand. Slowly, he wound
tighter, watching her all the while, as the distance between them grew less and
less.

Eventually, his actions forced her to shift
in her seat, to lean toward him, until they were but a foot apart. Eleanor saw
the fast pulse in his throat, the rise and fall of his chest, although
outwardly, he seemed calm and unhurried.

Now he had her close, he released her
braid. When she didn’t move away, his lips curved in a smile. He raised his
hand and brushed a strand of hair from her forehead. “You are still the most
beautiful woman I have ever met.” His voice was low, husky.

Eleanor melted inside. She’d never wanted
anything as much as she wanted him to kiss her. “I suppose I am your captive
now,” she said, burning where his hand brush her skin.

“That is correct.”

“And you are free to do with me as you
will.”

“Whatever I wish.” He stroked her neck. His
eyes suddenly lit with amusement. “Did you like what you saw in the bedchamber?”

She stared at him, eyes widening.
He
knows. He knows I watched him.

“I am sorry,” she whispered, mortified.

He gave a small laugh. “It matters not.”
His eyes were intense as he asked her again. “Did you like what you saw?”

He didn’t look angry or annoyed.
Apparently, the thought of her watching aroused him. This was a world she hadn’t
ventured into before, a dangerous, exciting world; this was
Here be Dragons.
“Yes,” she breathed.

He studied her, and she let her mind
consider that he must have bedded many women, and would be skilled in the art
of lovemaking. Watching her with a hint of the mischievousness she remembered
from the youth she’d loved, he raised an eyebrow. “Will I be gifted a similar
demonstration?”

She kept her gaze fixed on his. Something
passed between them, invisible but incredibly strong, like the thread spun from
a silkworm. Her heart pounded. He teased her as if she were still fourteen. But
she was a grown woman, and although she might not be experienced in the
bedchamber, she wasn’t an innocent.

She wanted him to feel as unsettled as she
was. Remembering how the serving maid brushed his arm with her breast, Eleanor
felt a surge of wickedness, knowing she possessed the power of Eve. Leaning
forward in her seat, her elbows on her thighs, she pushed her breasts together,
offering him a clear view down her cleavage. His gaze dipped there and
lingered, and she felt the heat of it as surely as if he’d touched her with his
fingers. She ran her hand across the swell of her breasts. “You want to watch
me?”

His gaze returned to hers; she’d hooked
him. For a moment, only they existed, as if nobody else were in the hall, in
the world even, just the two of them, and the past and the future were nothing;
only the here and now mattered, and the strength of her desire for him.