Lady Knight (16 page)

Eleanor smiled.

“A good, modest woman would not take that as a compliment,” Riannon said.

Eleanor jabbed a finger into Riannon’s side and initiated a tickling match.
Neither unhappily nor surprisingly, Riannon won. Eleanor lay beneath her with
Riannon’s hands pinning her wrists to the mattress.

“I wager any good, modest woman would do this.” Eleanor lifted her knee up
between Riannon’s legs and under the tail of her shirt. She pressed her thigh
against Riannon’s groin.

Riannon grunted. Her seeming involuntary hip movement against Eleanor’s thigh
excited Eleanor.

“Um. No, lady,” Riannon said. “Not modest. But most assuredly good.”

Eleanor laughed. She kept up a steady rhythm with her leg. Riannon grunted and
shifted to release Eleanor’s wrists and take her weight on her own hands.

When Riannon closed her eyes, Eleanor put her hands to Riannon’s breasts.
Whatever the shirt hid on the right side was much smaller than the left.
Riannon’s reaction was as swift as when Eleanor touched her face. Her fingers
clamped around Eleanor’s wrist and pulled her left hand away. Riannon stared
down at her, her expression closed, but she didn’t roll away or otherwise try to
disengage.

While keeping eye contact with Riannon, Eleanor let her free hand continue
exploring Riannon’s left breast. Her fingers found a hard nipple beneath the
linen. Intrigued and thrilled at this evidence of Riannon’s excitement, she
gently squeezed.

“Oh, gods.” Riannon groaned and, needing the support of both arms again,
released Eleanor’s wrist.

Eleanor deliberately set her hand to Riannon’s side and made no attempt to touch
her right breast again. To her delight, Riannon’s physical response strengthened
and she did not remove Eleanor’s hand from her left breast.

Eleanor craved to touch Riannon’s skin, but contented herself with continuing
her stimulation. Riannon’s hips worked against Eleanor’s thigh. Eleanor wanted
to see and kiss where her hand squeezed. She could feel Riannon’s hairs, heat,
and wetness against her leg. So different to holding and rubbing an erect penis.
Though she lay beneath Riannon, Eleanor felt strangely powerful as Riannon
tensed and moaned. Riannon’s veins corded in her neck. Eleanor caused it.
Controlled it. She had no feeling that Riannon’s closed eyes meant that she
thought of another woman while she moved against Eleanor. When Riannon came, her
back arched and she grunted as though her orgasm were being squeezed from the
marrow of her bones.

Panting, Riannon sagged onto her elbows and let her head drop onto Eleanor’s
pillow. Eleanor slipped her arms around Riannon and held her. She overflowed
with an intense sense of satisfaction. She kissed Riannon’s sweaty temple.

“Oh, lady.” Riannon rolled off Eleanor to sprawl on her back.

Eleanor settled comfortably on her side to watch the result of her handiwork.
Now she understood Riannon’s smugness. She softly stroked the side of Riannon’s
neck with her fingertips. Riannon’s pulse thudded hard. Eleanor couldn’t stop
herself kissing the beating vein. Riannon sighed and opened her eyes.

“Methinks I just earned my spurs in womanly bed sport,” Eleanor said.

“Spurs, sword, and cloak,” Riannon said.

Eleanor laughed and clambered out of bed to fetch wine and a platter of sweet
wafers. She fed them to Riannon as they shared the cup of wine. Riannon looked
as relaxed as Eleanor had ever seen her.

“I wish to know why you looked insulted by your brother,” Eleanor said. “So, the
decision you must make is how hard you want to make me strive. Now, considering
that you’ve just called my name in the height of passion, it would be churlish,
do you not think, to expect me to exert myself again so soon?”

Riannon failed to suppress a grin. “Naturally, the thought of discretion did not
occur to you?”

“Naturally not.”

Riannon kissed Eleanor’s hand. “It was as I expected. My father outcast me. My
brothers have neither will nor inclination to claim me back. I’m intimate with
lack of welcome. Sooner or later, men discover my sex. I’m accustomed to moving
on because I am other than what people expect. But my brother Henry would have
me be less than I am.”

Eleanor drew Riannon’s hand into her lap. “I hope you do not plan to leave the
realm soon.”

“I have little to detain me. Gast is scarce more than a farm and a village.
It’s assessed at but a fraction of a knight’s fee. The place gives me a name and
not much else.”

“How did you keep it, if your father disowned you?”

“There was a provision in our mother’s marriage portion, which set aside some
property to be divided between her daughters. I suppose it was my grandfather’s
way of ensuring that we had a minimal dowry. My father could not take it from
me, though he did administer it with severity, so my sister tells me.”

“That’s a shame,” Eleanor said. “But properties can be restored.”

“In truth, I’ve little will to do it. Nor much coin.”

“Then you’ll have to do as all knights errant must do – marry well.”

“Men do not wish me to remain in the same county as them once they realise my
sex.” Riannon reached for the last wafer. “Even were I so inclined, none would
want to marry me.”

The idea of Riannon submitting herself to a man – in or out of bed – defied
Eleanor’s imagination. Not that she wished to think of her new lover with anyone
but herself for any reasons, however pragmatic.

“Come and visit me,” Eleanor said. “Be my guest. When the celebrations end, I go
from here to Waterbury, one of my larger manors in the Eastmarch. In my own
homes, we needn’t hide. I could show you some good hunting. I have rights in
several forests.”

“You tempt me.”

Eleanor set the wine cup aside and tossed the empty plate to the end of the bed.
“You clearly have little idea how tempting I can be.”

Riannon was smiling when Eleanor kissed her.

Riannon regretted the necessity of retiring to her own chamber to sleep. In the
morning, though, she and Eleanor rode out with only a maid and groom to trail
them. They heard the roars of the crowd from the tourney field, but Eleanor
urged her horse in the opposite direction.

While their sweaty horses walked side by side, Eleanor flirted, laughed, teased,
and entertained Riannon. Riannon’s arms ached to sweep the lady from the saddle
and hold her. Other parts of Riannon’s body throbbed and tightened with more
serious longings. Mercifully, Eleanor curtailed their ride and they headed back
to the city.

Before returning to Eleanor’s house, and Eleanor’s bedchamber, they took a
necessary detour to the grove house. The priestess in the chamber behind the
ever-open door eyed Riannon with naked suspicion. She politely but firmly
refused to allow Riannon into the holy grove while wearing the sword that had
been a gift from the Goddess. Riannon was more amused than inconvenienced. Not
one person, since she had vowed her service, had recognised in her a paladin of
the Order of the Goddess. Whatever plans Aveline had for a warrior were not
generally known even within the priestesshood.

Eleanor prayed and left an offering for the success and fruitfulness of her
niece’s married life. It was all Riannon could do to keep her hands off Eleanor
whilst they knelt beside the holy pool. Eleanor flashed her a burningly
provocative look.

Before noon, Eleanor and Riannon sported in Eleanor’s bed. Agnes, Eleanor’s
principal waiting woman, had given Riannon a knowing look when Riannon stepped
into Eleanor’s chamber. It had been a strangely neutral expression – not
encouraging, but neither condemning. Riannon did not find it surprising that
Eleanor inspired uncommon loyalty in her household.

Riannon drifted off into a sated doze with her arm possessively around Eleanor.
When she woke, Eleanor lay propped on an elbow watching her. Caught in that
twilight moment between sleep and full wakefulness, the sight of Eleanor –
creamy skin, soft expression on her face, her hair tumbling around her shoulders
– gave Riannon a vivid insight into the afterworld paradise that men said
awaited those chosen few favoured of Atuan, god of war and lord of heroes.

“You look different when you sleep,” Eleanor said. “I was going to say younger,
but that’s not quite right. Less used, perhaps. Less battered by life.”

“You have a unique way with flattery.”

Eleanor’s eyebrows lifted. “I was attempting nothing of the kind. I’m the one
who should be wooed and flattered by you. Though it pains me to point out that
you’re woefully deficient in that regard. Not a single poem have I had from you.
Not even a rash promise of some wildly improbable deed that I could dissuade you
from performing.”

“I beg your pardon, lady, but you must’ve missed my poem while you were
otherwise occupied with your climax.”

Eleanor giggled. “I’ll have to concede you that one, won’t I?”

“Mayhap I ought to try again now that you’re quieter. Pray tell, what rhymes
with haddock?”

Eleanor grabbed a pillow and beat Riannon with it. Riannon laughed and reached
for her. Eleanor shrieked, evaded her, and brandished her pillow harder.
Inevitably, the pillow burst. Down filled the air inside the bed hangings like
warm, giant snowflakes. Riannon and Eleanor collapsed together laughing.

“Say you’ll come for a visit,” Eleanor said.

“Yes. Aveline does not need me now. I cannot see that she would miss me for a
few weeks.”

Eleanor sobered. “Aveline? Your cousin the naer?”

Riannon plucked feathers from Eleanor’s hair. “I’m here at her will. I owe
service to her order. Did the lover who likened you to a fish ever have the good
sense to remark on how comely you are with feathers resting here and there on
your naked body?”

“This might surprise you, but telling me that I resemble a sea creature is not
the key to admission to my bed.” Eleanor sat up and prodded a finger against
Riannon’s stomach. “How many lovers do you think I’ve had?”

Riannon trailed a feather down Eleanor’s throat and across a breast. Eleanor
shivered and her nipple hardened to greet the delicate touch.

“I think you could’ve had as many lovers as you wished,” Riannon said. “I’m
fortunate beyond words that your choice fell to me.”

Eleanor smiled. “I’ve not the slightest doubt about your prowess on a
battlefield. You have the uncanny ability to disarm at will. You’re a hard
person to pretend to remain annoyed with.”

“As faults go, I cannot be unhappy to have that one laid at my feet.”

Riannon could not help thinking, though, that many people found it too easy to
find her existence and appearance provoking. The blackest irony lay in the
contrast between the barely concealed hostility she’d seen in faces turned to
her in the hall at the wedding, with the shouts and cheers of those same people
on their feet as they toasted the Vahldomne.

Riannon forced those thoughts from her mind and looked outward, to the beautiful
woman beside her. She reached for Eleanor and saw a genuine welcome for her
touch. Riannon lost herself in a world kinder and more loving than she had ever
known, and tried hard to banish the knowledge that it would end.

Eleanor would have preferred to have remained in bed with Riannon but bowed to
the necessity of being present as hostess during the dinner for her niece and
her new husband.

“I’ll find a meal elsewhere,” Riannon said.

Eleanor bit back her protest. She knew if she asked, Riannon would change her
mind. That would please her but make Riannon highly uncomfortable in the company
of her brothers. As with Riannon’s compulsion to keep herself hidden in her
shirt, Eleanor forced herself to accept this choice. If she had learned anything
in two marriages, it was to exercise care in selecting when she took a stand,
and when to let go. Not all battles could – or should – be won.

Cicely greeted her aunt as warmly as a boon companion she had not seen for
years. She looked well enough, though Eleanor noticed that she frequently shot
glances at her husband with the air of one expecting a reproof. Eleanor did see
her niece laughing, though, when Cicely sat with her new stepson, Lord Richard.
He was two or three years Cicely’s senior.

“You must be gratified, Lady Barrowmere, to see your family united so closely to
that of our queen.”

Eleanor, whose thoughts had actually strayed to her own more intimate
relationship with a cousin of the queen, stared at the whitehaired speaker for
several heartbeats before she recalled his name.

“For certès, my Lord Geoffrey,” she said. “And my niece looks well pleased with
her new family. I fear, though, I must offer condolences on the recent loss of
your daughter-in-law.”

He nodded. “Katherine died in childbed. And her child with her. May the gods
have welcomed them into paradise. But my son is young yet and has plenty of time
to sire an heir. I was older than he is now at his birth. So, I do not despair
on that account. But I’ll miss Kate. She was a lively young thing who brought
some spring back to my life.”

“You make it sound as if you are in your dotage,” Eleanor said.

“I feel it,” he said. “The only creaking my son hears from his body is the
leather straps when he dons his armour. My joints plague me every morning and
night. I’m an old man. I remember drinking and hunting with your father when we
were younger than my son.”

“If you keep on thus,” she said, “you’ll have me buying the russet for my
mourning weeds for you. I wager, though, there’s life enough yet for you to
dance with me. Or should I escort you to a bench and press a restorative plaster
against your brow?”

He chuckled. “There’s every ounce of your father’s liveliness in you. Did he
ever tell you about the time we went with the old Earl Marshal into Iruland to
challenge Prince Fulk and his followers on the tourney field?”

Eleanor dutifully counterfeited an interest in his tale of past glory while they
danced. Most of her mind wondered where Riannon was, and how soon she could be
rid of her guests.

When the dance ended, Geoffrey’s son, Ralph, strode towards them.

“At your age, father, you ought to be sitting with the dowagers,” Ralph said.

“I’ve yet the strength to take the hand of a pretty lady,” Geoffrey said. “And
legs enough to sustain me for the length of one dance.”

“Yes, but not wind enough for two.” Ralph smiled at Eleanor, clearly believing
she would share his ill-mannered amusement. “Now, my lady, let us show my father
how a dance should be performed, not shuffled.”

“I’m afraid I must decline the pleasure,” she said. “I’m promised to Lord Guy.”

Ralph had the ill-grace to frown in Guy’s direction. “I ought to count myself
fortunate that I’m refused for him rather than that creature who claims to be
sister to him. It pleases me, for your sake, Lady Eleanor, that the mannish
creature has not intruded herself here and soiled your gathering.”

His rudeness and staggeringly impolitic remarks left Eleanor speechless as he
stalked away.

“My son is a man of action and strong passions,” Geoffrey said.

Those were not the words Eleanor would have used. Her opinion ran much closer to
Guy’s.

“Ralph Howe is a braggart and a page-beating bully,” Guy said. “His father is a
man of honour.”

Eleanor agreed. “Save he is not honoured by his son.”

Guy lost interest in the Howes. “You’re looking remarkably pretty this day.”

“Do I not always seem fair to you?”

Guy smiled. “I pity any callow or maladroit young man who has been left
flat-footed by that attack. I, on the other hand, can simply kiss your fingers
and change the subject. Where’s Nonnie? I’d hoped to persuade her to join me one
morning at the tourney.”

“She preferred to dine elsewhere.”

Guy shook his head. “Henry is a fool. If Nonnie were our brother, he’d welcome
her back with open arms. If only he’d heard half the things about her that I
have in the last few days. But all Henry sees is that she’s not as he believes a
sister should be. It’s not as though Nonnie has asked him to find her a
husband.”

Eleanor guided him away from the other dancing couples and towards the relative
privacy of a bench against the wall. “What have you heard about her?”

“Fragments here and there. The sort of talk that you lend no credence to unless
you know for certès that a female member of the Order of the Star exists. Then
you listen with interest to snippets that get spoken over wine. It seems my
sister has been all over the Eastern Kingdoms. When you shake aside the chaff
about females who act as men, the wheat left behind convinces me that Nonnie has
much skill as a captain.”

Eleanor found nothing to surprise her in that. “Know you how she gained the scar
to her face?”

Guy shook his head. “I’ve not asked. And she has not told me.”

Eleanor saw the dark green robes of Aveline moving towards Lord Geoffrey Howe.
“Do you think your cousin Aveline might know?”

“The naer? It seems unlikely Nonnie would have confided in her.”

Eleanor had intended to probe what he knew of the link between Riannon and
Aveline, but now discarded the question.

“Your niece seems to be taking quickly to the duties of being a stepmother,” Guy
said.

Eleanor turned to look through the intervening people to see Cicely dancing with
Richard. Her niece’s colour was unusually heightened.

“Brother Henry looks like a cream-fed cat,” Guy said. “Think you he’s besotted
with his bride? Or is that fatuous expression merely a sign of indigestion?”

Surprised, Eleanor studied the Earl Marshal. He watched Cicely and Richard
dancing. However unlikely it seemed, there appeared to be truth in Guy’s
observation of Henry’s visible affection for his bride. Eleanor sat astounded at
Cicely having inspired that in but two days of marriage – especially since
Cicely bestowed more attention on the son than the father.

Eleanor wondered if she shared the Earl Marshal’s vague and misty look. No, her
feelings for Riannon were not hazy and nebulous. Her feelings and the responses
of her body pulsed strong and definite. She was, she realised, well on the way
to falling more deeply in love with Riannon of Gast than she had ever imagined
herself capable of. She would have laughed that possibility away had anyone
suggested it to her scant weeks ago. But, back then she had known Riannon not at
all and herself not nearly as well as she did now.

Riannon had agreed to accompany her when she departed Sadiston, so their idyll
could extend to weeks or even months. The thought put Eleanor back in charity
with the world and permitted her to endure, with some semblance of complaisance,
the next hours until Riannon’s return.

Aveline watched blood flowing towards her like a scarlet tide. Shouts bludgeoned
the air. Men yelled the names of the gods. Screams. Horses’ hooves thundered all
around the darkness as if Atuan’s hall of dead heroes burst asunder and men of
legend charged forth. The blood poured over her feet. The thick fluid was cold.
The screams beat against her. They hit her and hurt her like blows. Aveline
tried to lift her arms to ward them off. The din thickened and solidified. It
pinned her arms to her sides. She could not even raise them to implore her
Goddess for help.

A new cry sounded. Triumph raked with the pain of others ripped towards her.
She couldn’t move. The blood surged up past her waist. She was going to drown in
pain, in screams, in blood.

Aveline jolted awake.

A tentative hand touched her arm. “Madam?”

Aveline stared at the girl. She still saw blood. Her ears rang with the
inseparable echoes of victory and despair and death.

A young face, a stranger to war, stared at her. Pale in the dark, but with
large, caring, trusting eyes. “You called out in your sleep, madam. I knew not
if I should wake you.”