Lady of Fire (42 page)

"As your parents loved you?" he gibed back. "Nay, I would not have your pity."

"Aye, my parents were not kind either. I thought I should die at Fontainebleau."

"You were not sick enough of the place to pledge to me," he reminded her grimly.

"I was not."

He traced her jawline with his knuckle and leaned closer. "Art beautiful, Eleanor of Nantes," he murmured huskily. "Aye—your hair, your eyes, your fine bones—all of you."

"My lord…" She closed her eyes rather than recoil at his touch. "I do not feel well. Please—I would retire."

He dropped his hand reluctantly and nodded. "Aye. You have been through much these three days past. Seek your bed if you will."

With no maid to attend her, Eleanor struggled out of her gown and began unbraiding her hair, working out the tangles with her fingers before she attempted the brush. Clad only in her thin shift, she moved closer to the fire and leaned her head forward to let the hair cascade before her in ripples. Beginning at the back, she brushed with long strokes.

"I see you are recovered."

She dropped the brush as though it were a brand and sat stone-still. The flesh at the back of her neck crawled and she shivered in spite of the fire. He moved closer and lifted the dark mass, letting it slip through his fingers and fall against her back.

" 'Tis like silk." His hand dropped to her shoulder and his fingers lightly traced the seam of her shift. "Take it off," he whispered hoarsely.

"Nay!" She ducked away and rose in alarm.

"You will." His eyes flicked over her hungrily. "I would see all of you again."

She backed away from him, her arms crossed protectively across her chest. "Nay! If you take me, it will be because I have not the strength to stop you, but 'twill not happen before I have fought you with all I have."

"So be it then."

He circled her like a wolf around its prey. The firelight danced in his eyes and frightened her. "Fight if you will," he whispered as she broke for the door. He lunged and caught her at the waist. She kicked and flailed furiously while he dragged her toward the curtained bed. When he reached it, he shifted her into one arm and began undressing himself with the other. She sank her teeth into his forearm and tasted salt. He cursed but did not relax his grip. While he unfastened his chausses and removed them, she drove her elbow repeatedly into his ribs. With his foot he slipped off his shoes and worked his clothes down. Then he pushed her against the bedpost and blocked her escape with his body while he drew off his tunic. She kicked at his groin and missed.

"Nay," he laughed harshly, " 'tis enough of that." He flung his tunic into the corner and faced her, his body aroused and ready.

In desperation she threw herself at him, clawing at his face and kicking for his manhood. Her fingernails drew deep scratches across his high cheekbones before he managed to catch both her hands in one of his. With her free hand he slapped her and then caught her against him when she reeled from the blow. He forced her head back and bent to kiss her, his mouth hard and demanding on hers. His hands moved to explore her hips eagerly while he worked the thin shift upward. She twisted against him until their bare thighs met. She bit his lip and held on. He slapped her so hard that she finally cried out and released the lip. Blood dripped from the tooth wound, but he did not seem to care. He caught her again by the waist and pushed her over his arm to pull up the shift over her shoulders. With a quick change of arms, he had it jerked over her head and discarded at her feet.

Too proud to let any witness her shame and humiliation, she fought the urge to scream out when he threw her on the bed and covered her with his naked body. He made no attempt to woo her, forcing her legs apart in spite of her frantic bucking and kicking. He stilled her with his weight and forced entry into her body. She stiffened and then fell slack beneath him in defeat, clenching her teeth and enduring his hard, rhythmic thrusting while he drove relentlessly in pursuit of his own pleasure. Tears of pain and humiliation streaked her face.

Finally he gave an animal cry and collapsed breathlessly against her. His breath came in hot gasps against her ear until he finally mastered himself. Slowly it evened out and he rolled away to lie facing her. "She-wolf." He grinned as he fingered his swollen lip. "I hope it does not fester." He pushed himself up on an elbow to stare at her in the semidarkness. "You are crying."

"You have shamed me." She closed her eyes and turned her head away.

"Nay, I have loved you," he murmured. He spread her hair out over the silk pillow and continued studying her. "You are so beautiful." When she made no response, he rose with a sigh and poured himself a cup of wine. Draining it, he poured another and returned to the bed. "Here—'twill ease you," he offered. She ignored him in stony silence until he set the cup down and slid back into bed.

"Come here," he ordered while he pulled her stiff body against him. He lay quietly for a time and then began gently tracing her profile, her bare shoulder, and then the curve of her breasts. "I did not want to hurt you, Eleanor, but you would not come willing." His fingertips played with her nipples until they hardened and stood taut.

"Don't do that!" She brushed his hand away angrily. "Jesu, but you would ravish me and then try to make me like it!"

"Aye," he whispered against her ear. His hand dipped lower to stroke the inside of her thigh. "Do not fight me this time, and I will not hurt you."

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A late-winter storm rolled in and prevented Mabille's leaving Belesme. By the time its fury was spent, Robert had other problems that demanded his attention more than his mother's departure. In his obsession with Eleanor, he had not counted on the furor that arose from his invasion of the abbey. Even the weak and vacillating Curthose felt compelled to protest strongly, issuing a written ultimatum to Robert, demanding Eleanor's release to the Archbishop of Rouen and threatening the force to bring it about.

As for Eleanor, she sustained herself during those days with her determination to live and bear Roger's child. She went through the motions of living calmly, eating in Belesme's great hall, sleeping in his bed, and dreaming of freedom. She suffered a deep feeling of humiliation every time Robert took her, but she no longer fought him. And she worried over her husband's reaction, knowing full well that he would hold her blameless, but nonetheless fearing that it would change things between them. She prayed fervently that it wouldn't.

"What is this nonsense?"

Eleanor jumped guiltily from where she knelt in prayer. "My chapel," she answered quietly. "I found these in my bridethings and I chose to set them up."

Robert eyed the hanging crucifix and the cloth-covered altar table with disdain. She had set golden candleholders with fine wax candles on either side. He frowned at the sight of a makeshift chapel in his bedchamber, but he held his tongue. "Turn around."

She didn't move. "You are displeased," she answered tonelessly.

"Nay," he sighed, "keep it if you will, but do not expect me to pray with you." He longed to get some more positive response out of her, some sign that he could make her care for him. As it was, he could make her wear the fine clothes and share his bed and his table, but he could not make her enjoy any of it. Even at night when she yielded to him, she yielded her body and nothing more.

Reluctantly she rose and turned around to face him. Her eyes widened at the sight of his full mail beneath his gold-embroidered surcoat. The three white plumes of Belesme were appliqued over the fabric, and a white plume was fastened to the top of the helmet he carried.

"Aye"—he nodded—"you will be rid of me for a few days, Eleanor. I am come to bid you farewell to spare you your public display of grief at my leaving." The sarcasm in his voice was unmistakable.

"Godspeed."

His eyes flicked over her for some sign of concern before he moved closer. "I go to answer Curthose for you, but nothing will come of it. I do not expect to be gone above a week or two at the most."

"It doesn't matter."

"Eleanor—"

"I cry you Godspeed, my lord—what else would you have?"

"Nay, not so quick." He caught her hands and pulled her against him. "Warm my memory with a kiss, Eleanor."

She dutifully closed her eyes and tilted her head back to allow him to kiss her, but she did not respond to the pressure of his lips on hers. Her passivity infuriated him, and he crushed her against his mail while he possessed her mouth. It was not until she finally cried out in pain that he released her and stepped back. His bare hand reached to touch her forehead and he frowned.

"You are warm, but not from desire for me—how do you feel?"

"My head aches—'tis all."

"You are sure? I would not leave you unwell."

"Nay, I am all right."

He pulled her back into his arms and held her more gently. "The boy Giles will look after your needs while I am gone, and you will sup here to spare you the company of the men. I have given orders that you are to have anything that you want."

Not many hours after he'd ridden out, it became apparent that Eleanor was very ill. Alarmed, the boy Giles sent for Eustace, Belesme's seneschal, and asked that someone ride out for Count Robert. Eustace wavered, afraid of Belesme's anger at being called back and afraid of his anger if she were indeed sick. But when her fever climbed to the point that she lost touch with reality, the seneschal decided to dispatch Wald of Thibeaux out into the night to seek their lord.

It was not unknown for a fever to strike someone down so quickly that he was gone in the space of a day or two. With that in mind, both Eustace and Giles hovered over Eleanor until it became apparent that she was not getting any better. Finally Eustace sought out Mabille in the confinement of her solar and asked for help. She met his appeal with an incredulous refusal, laughing in his face and telling him that she hoped "the whore of Nantes" died. But sometime in the night she changed her mind and sent word that she would do what she could for Eleanor.

A meeting of every person left in authority in the stronghold yielded as many remedies as there were people. Only the most bizarre were discarded as the seneschal determined to try anything to save the girl. Six sheep were slaughtered and skinned and the warm, bloody skins were wrapped around Eleanor's naked body to draw out the poisons from the fever. Leeches were applied on her arms and legs until they grew fat with her blood, and still the fever raged. Finally Mabille ordered cold water from the melting snow put in a tub and had Eleanor plunged into it. Only the latter treatment had seemed to revive the girl somewhat, but she still suffered from confusion. She sat with teeth chattering in the cold water and called out for Roger.

The boy Giles leaned over the tub in front of her face. "Lady, do you know me?" he asked loudly.

Her eyes flew open. "Aye," she croaked.

"Who am I?"

"Roger."

"Nay, lady, you are at Belesme."

"Belesme. Aye—I remember. Sweet Mary—Belesme." Her lips were cracked and parched from the fever. "I thirst."

"Put her back to bed," Mabille ordered. "I'll bring her a fever potion."

She was pulled from the tub unceremoniously and swaddled in a thick blanket. Her teeth chattered and her lips were blue. Two men supported her between them and started toward the bed.

"What is the meaning of all this?"

They nearly dropped Eleanor at the sound of his voice. Giles was the first to find his voice and he cried out with relief, "My lord, you are come! Praise God you are come! Jesu, but she has been sick!"

"So I see."

He was mud-spattered and unshaven and his green eyes revealed the fatigue he felt, but he took in the scene before him thankfully. The man Wald had given him to believe that she was on her deathbed, and he had ridden straight back. He moved to take her. A quick sweep of tired eyes revealed the extraordinary measures used to save her.

"You look like death," he muttered as his mail-clad arms closed around her.

"I feel like death."

"We did not hear your lordship arrive," Eustace apologized, "for we were busy with the lady, but there'll be a bath as soon as the water can be heated."

"Nay, I am too tired. I came alone, leaving the others to break camp." He looked down to see the mud on his surcoat for the first time. "My boots are below and are nigh ruined."

Mabille rounded the top of the stairs and paled at the sight of her son. "You are returned," she uttered foolishly. "But how?"

"I rode alone." He spied the cup and frowned. "What's that?"

" 'Tis for her fever."

"Drink it," he ordered curtly.

"Nay—'tis not for me!"

"I'll warrant it's not. Drink it, Mabille."

"Stop it!" Eleanor weaved in his arms and had to lean into him.

"She would give you poison, Eleanor." Robert's eyes never left his mother. "Go on—drink it."

"Nay!"

He pushed Eleanor into Giles' arms and advanced on Mabille. She backed away, cup in hand. "Well, do you drink it?" he asked softly. "Or do I pour it down you?"

"Robert, listen to me! Let them tell you that I have nursed her!"

He reached to wrench the cup away, spilling nearly half its contents on the floor. Slowly, deliberately, he raised it to his lips, his eyes still on his mother.

"Nay!" She lunged for it, knocking the vessel from his hand to spill the rest of it. And then, suddenly conscious of what she had done, she turned to the others, crying, "Tell him! Tell him I have saved her!"

"Mabille!" he barked as he struck her. "Get down on the floor and lick up what you have spilt—lick like the dog that you are!" He drew the dagger from his belt and stood over her. "Lick, damn you! Lick!"

"Nay, Robert, you are a fool," she babbled. "You are too blind to see what she does to you. Robert, listen to me!"

"Robert, please…" Eleanor had pulled away from Giles and stood weaving crazily in the middle of the room. "Do not…" She appeared to lose her balance and Robert lunged to catch her.

"Art too sick to stand," he muttered. "Eustace! Strip the bed and lay fresh sheets!" Nodding in Mabille's direction, he ordered, "And lock her in her sollar until I can deal with her."

"Robert I thirst," Eleanor told him tiredly, "and I am so weak."

"Get her some wine!" he barked at Giles as he sat and cradled her on his lap. "Aye, but you will mend now that I am here," he soothed her.