“I cannot, my lady. He will not listen to me if you are in his arms, I promise you. And it is imperative that he listen to my words.”
Arissa blinked, fat tears rolling on to her cheeks. Wiping the moisture away with shaking hands, her gaze trailed to Richmond’s pale face. “When you are finished, then?” she whispered pleadingly. “Can I go to him when you are finished?”
Owen sighed; certainly, it seemed against the natural order of the heavens to keep Sir Richmond and his lady apart. The two were a part of each other, that much was evident. Even though the maintained distance was necessary in his opinion, he still felt as if he were being unusually cruel.
“Mayhap when I am done.” More than likely, he realized his cousin would receive her wish.
He grasped Arissa by the arm, gently, and moved to within several feet of Richmond. His dark eyes were intense on the massive knight, who was entirely focused on Arissa. In his grip, he could feel the young woman quaking.
“I will reiterate my words from earlier,” Owen said softly. “You will ally with Hotspur and myself, and the three of us will prove unbeatable against Henry’s rule. Is this clear?”
Richmond was lost in the depths of the pale green eyes, barely aware of Owen’s words. But he heard them nonetheless. “And if I refuse?” He couldn’t help himself from expressing one final act of rebellion; after all, he was sworn to Henry to the death. His allegiance to the king had always been his stronghold, but gazing into Arissa’s eyes, he realized that his loyalty to the king was a pale comparison to his love for Arissa.
“Then you shall never see her again,” Owen said frankly. “Choose your private hell, le Bec. Henry or the lady.”
There was no choice and they all were aware of the fact. But as Richmond gazed at Arissa, a million thoughts were flashing through his mind with dizzying speed and he fought to concentrate on one particular line of thinking; he had established that Hotspur was allied with Owen, and he had furthermore vowed to Henry that he would destroy Northumberland’s heir if the man had turned against the crown. To meet Henry Percy on the battlefield could prove hazardous; Richmond knew the man would be surrounded by warriors and to kill him would not be easy.
As Richmond pondered the situation, realization began to dawn; he knew how he could defeat Hotspur and keep his promise to Henry, thereby gaining Arissa’s hand. Certainly, it did not matter whose side he was fighting on, so long as Hotspur and the rebellion were terminated.
If he were fighting alongside the man, eliminating him would be considerably easier. It did not matter that his reputation risked irrevocable damage; it did not matter than he would be placing himself in the utmost danger. All that matter was disposing of Hotspur in order to gain Arissa’s hand, any way he could.
Piece by piece, block by block, he could weaken the rebellion if he was placed on the inside and considered a valuable ally when, in fact, he would proceed to disembowel the resistant faction from the inside out. Sometimes external threats were not nearly as deadly as internal assaults – a disease to destroy from within.
He would become that disease. By the time Owen realized he had brought about his own downfall with his clever blackmail, it would be too late. Richmond would kill them all.
But he had to know Arissa was safe before he was able to commence. Drowning in his treacherous thoughts, he was aware that the Welsh prince was expecting an answer. And he realized he had only one answer to give, the only possible choice.
“I am yours,” he heard himself utter the fateful words. After a moment, he focused on Owen. “Providing one factor – that you release Arissa.”
Owen held his gaze for a long moment, pondering the compromise Richmond was suggesting. “What guarantee do I have that you will not refute your vow if I release the very woman who would insure your loyalty?”
Richmond swallowed. “I am a knight and my word is a good as my reputation. If you cannot trust my word, then we have nothing more to say to one another.”
Hotspur interrupted Owen’s careful reply. “He’s given you his word. You do not need the lady.”
Owen faced a moment of indecision; it had taken him a very long time to secure the king’s daughter. As much as he desired to use the girl against her father, something far more important had resulted from her possession; Richmond le Bec had sworn his service. That in itself was the most powerful achievement he could have hoped to accomplish. The girl had already served her purpose.
Owen was unwilling to insult Richmond by declaring distrust in his word of honor. As reluctant as he was to release Arissa, he realized he had no choice if he were to show faith in Richmond’s pledge. But his display of compromise did not come as easily as he had hoped.
“Do you swear to me that you will pledge your service to my cause if I release the lady?” He hated himself for sounding so distrustful.
Richmond sighed heavily, his body weary with emotion and fatigue. “I already told you I would. You would insult me by doubting my pledge?”
Owen was left with little choice; he would have to trust him. He stared at the man a moment before releasing his grip on Arissa.
“I would not,” he said softly, eyeing Arissa as he turned for the tent flap. “I shall give you five minutes alone with the lady. She will leave this night.”
“You would send her out in to a threatening snow storm?” Richmond rose to his feet, imploring. “Give us the night. She will leave come the morrow.”
Owen opened his mouth to staunchly refuse, but Hotspur interrupted him. “Of course we would not send a delicate lady into this vicious weather,” he said firmly, daring Owen to contradict him. He looked at Richmond, hoping the man didn’t hate him too much. “You have her for the night, Richmond. She leaves at dawn.”
They quit the tent, leaving Richmond and Arissa in stunned silence. Dazed and shaken, Richmond let out a ragged sigh before turning to find pale green eyes staring up at him. Arissa was in his arms before he realized he had even moved to her.
“God, Riss,” he murmured against her mouth, listening to her soft sobs. “What happened? How did they find you?”
“Hotspur came for me,” she wept softly, tasting his musk as if she had been starving for him all of her life. “He gave the mother abbess a false missive from the king, demanding that I be delivered to Henry’s death bed. She had no choice but to release me to Hotspur’s custody.”
Richmond’s jaw began to tick again. “He must have probed Lambourn to discover your whereabouts,” he mumbled, suckling her lower lip. “It was no secret that you were destined for Whitby. Damn him, he knew that I would be in London and unable to protect you and, being allied with Owen, he was a willing party in the Welsh bastard’s scheme to acquire you.”
She gasped as his mouth latched onto her honeyed lips, his tongue plundering the depths of her mouth. Her small fingers gouged crescent-shaped wounds into his scalp as she held him to her fiercely.
“What’s going to happen now, Richmond?” she tore her mouth away as he devoured her neck, her jawline. “Are you really going to fight for Owen?”
“I gave my word, kitten,” he whispered, his eager manner slowing. “They knew exactly how to manipulate me with your abduction and I am furthermore convinced that they were planning on holding you captive in order to subdue the English crown. But I turned the situation on them somewhat; I promised my services in exchange for your release.”
Her eyes opened as her eager pace eased. “You shall be branded a traitor.”
He did not say anything for a moment. “Trust me, kitten. I am not a traitor. No matter what you hear or what things appear to be, I swear to you that I am loyal to Henry. And to you.”
“But you are fighting for the rebellion now,” she insisted fearfully. “What will happen when…?”
He kissed her hard to stop her words, the fears that were tearing at them both. He felt as if his heart were being broken into a million little pieces and his anguish knew no boundaries. How could he make her understand the deeper i
mplications of what he was about to do, the betrayal and treachery and murder? He was about to descend into the ranks of the soulless, aligning himself with those who would kill for a price or a cause or a need for blood.
He was about to become a part of the filth. As much as he loathed assuming the role of assassin and betrayer, he had no choice. But she need never know any of it. He couldn’t bear to see her disgust for him in her eyes. He had to do this – for her.
“Nothing will happen, kitten,” he murmured. “All will be well in the end, I promise you. You must believe.”
Her eyes began to well with frightened, exhausted tears. “When…. when will I see you? Richmond, you are going to battle again!”
He kissed her softly, feeling his eyes stinging with tears. “You shall see me very soon,” his voice was hoarse with emotion. “I never could stay away from you for an over amount of time.”
“You stayed away for nearly a year when Henry was battling for the throne,” she reminded him, wiping at her damp face.
“I promise I will not be away for a year,” he said firmly. “Weeks, months. When we are together forever, what will a few short days matter?”
She sighed, shaking her head. “All I know is we are about to face another painful good-bye. When you left me at Whitby, I thought I was going to die. Now I do not believe even death will be strong enough to ease my pain.”
He gazed at her a moment, knowing well the meaning of her words. Suddenly, he remembered a worn fragment of affection he had tucked deeply inside his heavy tunic, a token he kept with him always. Digging into his tunic, he drew forth a wrinkled bit of green satin. Arissa tore her eyes away from his face long enough to recognize the package.
“My flowers,” she whispered.
He smiled, tucking them into her palm. “You gave them to me once and they sustained me. Now I would return them to you, for safe-keeping. So that you will forget me not while we are separated.”
Arissa clutched the parcel to her chest, smelling of leather and Richmond. “I swear to you, I shall keep them next to my heart, always,” releasing a ragged sigh, she grasped at his stubbled face in desperation. “Why must this happen, Richmond? My chest hurts so that I believe I am going to fade away at this very moment.”
He pulled her to the pile of furs by the vizier, sending her to her knees as he knelt in front of her. His face, half-illuminated by the blazing embers, met her anguished gaze and he smiled. He was tired of feeling pain and there would be enough pain in the weeks and months to come. But tonight, he only wanted to feel Arissa, one last time.
“I shall ease your pain, kitten,” he murmured, moving to release the fastens on her cloak. “This night is ours. Owen and Hotspur and the rebellion have granted us that much. Tonight we will erase all pain and create memories of joy for the future.”
She watched his massive hands as they disrobed her, feeling a mixture of heat and anguish the likes of which she had never experienced. The pain in her chest flowed to her hands, passing through to Richmond. “Then there is nothing more we can do?”
He shook his head, swallowing his sorrow. “Nay.”
Tears came to her eyes again but she struggled against them, offering him a feeble smile. “Promise me we will not sleep.”
The cloak fell away. “We will not sleep.”
“Promise I shall forget all of my pain.”
“I promise.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Year of our Lord 1403
The Month of July
Lambourn Castle
In spite of the heat and humidity, bugs danced upon the surface of the water like a thousand happy fairies, frolicking endlessly. In the reeds, frogs burped and water lilies hovered silently as small fish nipped at their ragged edges. All was peaceful and serene in this delightful, sticky little world as The Horde infiltrated the shores of the tranquil sanctuary.
Laughter floated about the joyful haven, peppered by the squeals of those who were unfortunate enough to become the recipient of water to the face. As Emma and Regine waded up to their knees in the cooling relief, Arissa and Penelope sat on the shore beneath the shade of a large oak tree in various degrees of discomfort.
“Sweet St. Jude, it’s hot,” Arissa mumbled, lying on her back and staring up at the massive branches creating futile shade in the face of such sweltering humidity. “I can hardly stand this heat. It’s merciless.”
Lady Penelope Ellsrod fanned herself furiously in response. Her husband was undoubtedly cooking within the confines of his armor, patrolling his station somewhere within the rebuilt bailey of Lambourn. In command of the massive structure with the earl off fighting the Welsh rebels, Daniel was as arrogant as if Lambourn were his very own fortress. Penelope wished he’d pay as much attention to her as he did to Lambourn’s security.
“Daniel’s going to die of heat exhaustion before our son is even born,” she muttered, rubbing her slightly rounded belly. “I do believe his armor has somehow become physically attached.”
Arissa smiled, sitting up with effort. In fact, Penelope had to reach out and pull her into an upright position. “He’s the earl’s captain now, Pen. Of course he’s busy with Lambourn’s security while Father is away.”
“There is nothing more to worry over now that Ovid de Rydal has ceased his hostilities,” Penelope insisted. “Good Lord, I thought the man was going to die of pure shock when he was told his son had violated Whitby. He’s apologized for Tad’s attack more times than I can count, and still he sends gifts and tokens of esteem to make amends for the actions of his impetuous heir.”
Arissa nodded faintly. “I am glad the man has finally come to reason, especially after Gavan reiterated that Richmond had nothing to do with Tad’s ambush. Father thought Ovid would go mad with the knowledge that his son had been killed in his attempt to abduct me, but I am pleased to see that his assumptions were wrong. Ovid realized Tad’s vengeance was misplaced, as we all did. I am so very tired of battles, of fighting. I simply want to know a measure of peace.”
Her smile faded as Emma waded back to shore, the soaked hem of her surcoat clinging to her ankles. Slender and beautiful at seventeen years of age, her cheeks were flushed a delicious pink in the humidity as she sat gracefully before her two friends.
Arissa’s gaze moved to her closest friend, truly at peace for the first time in her life. She remembered when she had sent Gavan to retrieve Emma from Whitby. Emma had returned seated in front of the knight, as happy and as lovely as Arissa had ever known her to be. And Gavan, in spite of the violent circumstances surrounding the Welsh rebellion and Richmond’s defection, had seemed very much content with Emma in his arms. A situation that Arissa hoped would develop to a pleasing end.
Emma did so love the man, and she knew that Gavan was in desperate need of comfort after his wife’s death. But as Arissa pondered the passing of Gavan’s wife, she inadvertently began to ponder her own emotional state should Richmond meet his fate upon the cold hills of the Welsh border. Lingering on her darker thoughts, she couldn’t help her expression from dampening.
Emma shifted herself on the cool grass, gazing into Arissa’s gloomy countenance. From the melancholy settled upon the beautiful features, Emma could guess the subject of her friend’s thoughts.
“Have you heard from him at all, Riss?” she asked softly.
Arissa shook her head. “You would have known the minute I received any missive. I have not heard from him since February, when Owen was preparing an offensive. Father took the missive from me and burned it in a fit of anger,” her throat constricted with sobs, but she swallowed them away, forcing down her sorrow and longing. She thought, once, her grief would ease with time. Unfortunately, it had grown.
“Your father still believes him to be a traitor,” Emma said softly, sighing. “I never thought I would see the day when Richmond and Gavan would fight against one another.”
Arissa’s brow furrowed with sorrow and Penelope rose unsteadily, extending her hand to her raven-haired fri
end. “Come, let us go inside. It is much cooler in the hall and we can play games.”
Regine, splashing about loudly, meandered onto the shore. Still tubby and round at the brink of womanhood, she hadn’t changed overly in the past several months. In truth, with all of the transformations Arissa had been witness to, she found the fact that Regine had remained constant very comforting. Some things never changed.
“Forget about the games, Riss,” Regine said loudly, plopping heavily on the grass beside her sister. With a contented sigh, she moved to rest her head on Arissa’s vanishing lap. “Let’s talk about Ronald de Becket. Do you suppose he will come to call on me now that he and father have become good friends, battling the Welsh together?”
Battling Richmond, you mean. Arissa tried not to let her depression reflect on her sister’s eagerness to attract a beau. With her thirteenth birthday approaching in less than three weeks, Regine was eager now more than ever to find a husband and Arissa resigned herself to the fact that her baby sister’s inquisitive ideals would never change. “I do not know, Regine. He’s rather old for you, do not you think? He’s past thirty years.”
“And Richmond is forty,” Regine snapped before she could stop herself. As Penelope and Emma looked on with varied levels of sorrow and apprehension, Regine quickly sat up beside her sister with remorse in her eyes. “I am sorry, Riss. I did not mean to…. it does not matter how old he is.”
Arissa opened her mouth to reply when a familiar figure approached across the grass, his fair hair glistening under the bright sun. “I have been sent to escort you inside,” Bartholomew de Lohr announced loudly. “Word had come down from Hera herself; escort the fair Muses into the safe haven of Olympus before Hades himself burns them to a crisp.”
Distracted from Regine, Arissa smiled brightly at her brother. Convinced he had been killed by the Welsh spies, it was a perpetual surprise to realize he had been fortunate enough to survive his injury.