Telepathy of Hearts

By Eve Irving

Start Publishing LLC

Copyright © 2012 by Start Publishing LLC

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

First Start Publishing eBook edition October 2012

Start Publishing is a registered trademark of Start Publishing LLC

Manufactured in the United States of America

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

ISBN 978-1-68146-485-5

Telepathy of Hearts

by

Eve Irving

TORRID BOOKS

www.torridbooks.com

Published by

TORRID BOOKS

www.torridbooks.com

An Imprint of Whiskey Creek Press LLC

Copyright © 2016 by AUTHOR

Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 (five) years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.

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ISBN: 978-1-68146-485-5

Credits

Cover Artist: Kelly MArtin

Editor: Dave Field

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright Page

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Epilogue

About the Author

Read what some of Eve Irving’s fans have to say about

STEPPING OUT FROM THE SHADOWS

Fantastic! Can’t wait for this new author to write more.

~ Tracey Kent – Amazon Reader

Excellent read! Will be eagerly awaiting the next one.

~ sas401 – Amazon Reader

I’m not usually a fan of paranormal or erotic fiction, but was persuaded to give Eve Irving’s new book a try. Modern, mystical, funny and steamy! I look forward to seeing more from this lovely lady, she’s a BOLD and BRACING cup of tea! Order the book! Do it now.

~ KLM – Amazon Reader

Although erotic fiction isn’t my normal genre, I have to admit I was impressed.

Ms. Irving’s style and prose moved fluidly throughout the story, catching the reader and engrossing them in a well crafted world that begged to be explored.

Well done. Looking forward to more works from her in the future.

~ Dimsdale – Amazon Reader

Other Books by Author Available at Torrid Books:

Kings Blood Series

Book 1: Stepping Out From the Shadows

www.torridbooks.com

Whiskey Creek Press

www.whiskeycreekpress.com

Dedication

To my Mum aka wonder woman, and to Crazy Uncle Ray for his encouragement

Chapter 1

“I will ask you again child…will you agree to the betrothal?”

Eleanor looked her jailor in the face, in spite of her unease, and straightened her small shoulders. Scowling, she met her jailor’s eyes as she pondered the question.

This day had dawned much like any other. But her blood quickened in her veins. Her belly knotted.

This was not a day like any other.

There would be few days left dawning on her freedom and few days left as a maid, if her jailor had her way.

Eleanor pondered for a while on her reply.

This was not a question, so why did she ask it? If I say no, I will be flogged until I say yea. I say yea, I will be bedded by some battle sore brute, smelling of stale ale, sweat, and pig fat and put to a life of birthing him babies until my body is unable to carry no more.

Pray, make me a boy.

Small and seemingly dainty, the beautiful body of Eleanor of Lancaster was a mere vessel for her soul. There was nothing dainty about her spirit. From blood and breeding, a she-wolf to the core. Her mother and the mothers before her were made of the love of England’s Queens right back to Matilda.

The niece of the King was impish and headstrong, a wild child nature courted. She would rather wear her flaxen hair loose than braided. She had no desire to wear embroidered silks or fine slippers; her feet were often unshod and her robes mere wool. She rode astride, and in the hunt no man could catch her.

No stranger to the bark of her stepmother’s tongue or indeed, the bite of her birch. Neither birch nor scolding could change her. Eleanor of Lancaster was as defiant to the will of others as she was beautiful.

She often coped with the way of a woman’s world at Court by entering her own dreams, delighting in the sentience of them. She was already off and running. Her imagination taking her from the grey of stone walls to nature’s green. Far away from her punisher.

Up to her secret Eden. The kiss of the mountain-mist thick in her hair. Arthur making light of the trail. His hooves gathering pace as she kicked him on to a gallop.

The sweet dance of nature available to her in scent and touch. She could almost smell it, feel it. Leather and horse in her nostrils. Wet heather fragrant in the air. The scratch of the gorse on her legs as she hitched her skirts and ran free. The still sound of water as it lapped on the stones. Calm cool on her skin. Grass under bare feet and only Heaven above her.

Eleanor’s thoughts broke. Her internal disquiet returning once more.

The spit of Lady Bruce wetted her face.

Eleanor recoiled.

The smell as bitter as the words on her tongue as she spoke. “Hear me well, for I jest ye not daughter. I shall birch you, with your skirts pinned and your smock risen, in font of these goodly ladies.”

She spits as her cat. She is a witch, I am sure. What an unfortunate face she has in temper. As unfortunate as her sour nature.

Eleanor smirked, her eyes narrowed and her brow pinched. Her intrepid stare did not waiver in meeting her jailor’s eyes.

Lady Bruce’s words were not a threat. They were not spoken to frighten either. She would take great delight in putting her stepdaughter across the whipping horse.

The nodding heads of the courtiers looked on. The sound of their muffled voices agreed on Eleanor’s defiance and need for correction.

Damn you, madam, for I am not your daughter. The threat of the birch could silence her voice only. My thoughts, as my soul—they are mine and mine alone.

One maid, one woman and a battle of wills lay open between them.

The King had decreed that Eleanor, his dead sister’s daughter would marry his favourite knight, a man he loved like family. He so venerated him, the king called him nephew despite his birth from a Yorkist mother. Matheus D’Lanchette, Earl of Lincoln, a childless widower of five years was the eldest son of the King’s cousin.

It was often the custom in medieval England for the king himself to decide on the betrothal of his court. A good marriage in the King’s eyes could strengthen his throne or yield money to his coffers. This one was decided upon by His Majesty to stop the warring of Cousins.

No knight or noble would dare question a betrothal arranged by the King. Their head would be settled upon a pike on London Bridge. But whether the marriage was decreed by the King or arranged between peasants, the law of the church and land insisted the bride married of her own volition, neither beaten nor forced.

Fixing her stepmother’s stare with her own, she snapped, “No, I will not be wed to a knight I do not love, yet alone know. I will take myself to the nunnery and throw myself in front of The Lady Abbess. Kiss her feet and beg her to make me a bride of the church, to serve our Lord in quiet contemplation before I will be bedded by a beast…for the love of God, madam they call him The Lincoln Bull.”

Lady Bruce’s eyes flashed, her temper clearly tickled by the challenging eyes of her stepdaughter. Curling her lip, her green eyes narrowing, she snarled, “Better a bull than a calf. For you have a mighty will and ‘twill be ultimately the strength of your sire alone that breaks you. I fear your father has favorited you. As for quiet contemplation, I have never heard the like. You have body enough to birth and no disposition for the discipline.”

Lady Bruce’s fingers tightened on her stepdaughter’s arms. As she continued to speak, her face loomed large and agitated in Eleanor’s. Her eyes glittered as if enchanted.

Silently, Eleanor met her challenge.

Takes more than a mere bull to master a wolf.

Eyeing her stepdaughter Lady Bruce grinned. Her voice now almost a cackle she continued, “You would never be able. There is fire in your blood, an itch to err. Wolf is too strong, the lamb too weak. ’Tis no mind to you or I whether you love him…what pray foolery is that. Love has little to do with marriage. Do you think I love your father and he me? Daughter, heed what I say. You will yield to my will…married and bedded as the King decrees it before St Stephan’s Day. I assure you, you will be.”

Eleanor knew who and what she was taking on and deifying. To Lady Bruce, her stepdaughter’s refusal was a personal insult. Not only was it befitting for her to beat her stepdaughter to get an acceptance, it would be her pleasure to encourage her daughter to yield to the king.

The king who commanded this union was himself childless. It had been fifteen long years since the Queen had given birth to a still-born son. There had only been the sorrow of miscarriages since. This and his ill-health of recent times, had started to make his crown feel a little heavier and his throne cold. The cousins of the houses of Lancaster and York had been quietened through most of his rule. But with the royal crib of Lancaster empty, the threatening Yorkists were making ready to challenge his throne.

The ever-growing gathering of court ladies were enjoying the show, taking great pleasure in the battle of wills—the sight of the mighty against the seemingly meek. All had an opinion to offer. Whispers and mutterings filled the chambers, intentionally loud enough to meet Eleanor’s ears. Their chides tickled Eleanor’s temper. Her lip was caught between her teeth, and her brow pinched she snarled at them, “I see goats in fine gowns and shrews in silk slippers. Hags all of you.”

“You do right Lady Bruce, for that child has an ornery nature just like her mother had. The King’s sister should have had the birch more often on her noble nates.

“Yes, the birch should go a far way in breaking that will.”

“Her mother had a wild nature. For sure Lady Bruce, she is ripe for a birching. They say he is a handsome man…yet she refuses…the folly of girls.”

“He is that, Lady Norse, for ’tis not only his armour that shines, his eyes do glitter something wicked. And his lance is not the only length about him.”

The women laughed, devilishly delighted as they enjoyed their lewd play. “Marry for love? Ha what folly is that? I had birthed three babes before my eighteenth, and I have never loved my husband. Loving your husband is as important to marriage as the birthing of babes is the business of men. Minutes of his pleasure that costs us dear in hours of labour’s pain.”

“Minutes you say, Lady Seld. Ha, ha, seconds more like…I have had three husbands. Never liked none of ’em either, let alone loved em… Listen well, child, the folk say they make love to you. ’Tis not the deed, best you lay there and let him cover you. The love. That is in the babies they give you, child. You want babies, don’t you? And yours could be King.”

Lady Bruce was known as the Mother Bear. A title bestowed on her because of her infamous temper. Her fury could be baited to the point that she would bite. The noble women were willing her to bite with the birch she swished so impatiently.

Lady Bruce needed little more encouragement. Having the agreement of the court ladies in Eleanor’s thrashing would also mean her husband, the earl, could say very little.

So Eleanor found herself upended upon the wooden horse. The shame of her predicament did not phase her.

She didn’t blush or fight. Not even as her skirts were pinned up and her smock raised to expose her naked to the gathered crowd of women. Eleanor had been told how indomitable and stoic the Bull of Lincoln was.

I can do that. I can do indomitable; just watch me.

The birch came down on Eleanor with a tremendous force. There was a wickedness to Lady Bruce that Eleanor was quite aware of. It was almost as if she wanted to see her stepdaughter’s skin smart and blister.

You cannot break me, madam, for I have borne worse.

She mouthed the words silently.

It was true. Eleanor had wondered how she had borne the loss of her betrothed, Edmund. Her childhood sweetheart. From boy to young man they had been sprite and pixie. Encouraging the wicked in each other, from climbing trees to racing the knight’s best destriers, their play was wayward and their actions foolish. Often out in the moonlight catching rabbits or dancing bathed in its beams, Edmund always a foot soldier under Eleanor’s command. Always in her shadow in the waves of her wake.

Truly his loss had broken her. Just as the bodies of the sailors had against the Kent shores.

The pain as the birch marked her was savage. But it had neither the depth nor bite of that felt by a young girl bereft of her sweetheart.

Unfortunately, at barely eighteen years Eleanor did.

Upon the whipping-horse, tears were pooling in her eyes, reflections on her grief. She brought to mind how her father’s words had wounded her. Not all injuries were caused by a blade, and not all wounds bled. Eleanor’s wound was left festering.

“The souls of all hands on The Lady Anne are anchored in the safety of God’s harbour now child.”

Eleanor had imagined the flesh and bone, of hand and master lying broken on the shore. She shuddered as her mind revived the emotions.

I might have well joined them that day as I too was being broken by the sea. It took the life of my beloved and the soul of me.

And my father, what words of comfort did he offer me? “Eleanor, I bore your mother’s loss with no public tears. My pain at her passing was no less because I bore it so. I expect no less of you. You are alive with the blood of princes. Your tears can be cried until they dry tonight and no longer. Child, you will marry this year and soon have children to tend. Look at me daughter.”

She remembered how her chest tightened and her stomach heaved. Overwhelmed by emotion. Only to hear her father dismiss the love she craved.

“Edmund will be but a sweet memory in time. Your duty is to the House of Lancaster and the king. An heir is needed, and you will provide one.”

Now only months later, upon the eve of what would have been her wedding, she found herself in tears once more.

Lady Bruce was smirking. As her gaze wandered over her stepdaughter’s tear-stained face. Eleanor’s cheeks were as red as the wheals that blistered her bottom. It was a job well done, Mother Bear mused.

“See good ladies how she weeps. The sting of my birch has broken that defiant will. See her face is meek, once more cleansed of that haughty grin and pinched brow. What say you now, child? Are you ready to tell the King aye?”

But the Mother Bear was mistaken. It wasn’t the pain of the mauling, nor the shame of her nakedness. It was the final tears of grief that Eleanor cried. It had hit her, just as sure as the birch had, that her life would never be as she had wished.

As Edmund was lost to her, so now was that life.

She was ill versed in the ways of men. But could the pain of a love stolen from her and a life lost to her be any less unbearable than a loveless marriage? With that in mind Eleanor lowered her head and whispered. “I will say aye…I will say aye.”

Mother Bear was delighted. For once nature’s daughter, the child of mountain and moorland, had been broken. Purring with pleasure, she dragged her stepdaughter to the king.

“Come forward, niece, and be seated at your uncle’s knee.” The king’s beckoning hands encouraged her to the stool at his feet. His welcoming, broad smile was a soothing sight. His eyes were kind, but the weight of their lids seemed heavy.

Eleanor loved the rich colours and silks of the court, especially the throne room. Tapestries hung depicting scenes of chivalry. Torches flamed with amber hues. The air hung heavy with the scent of perfume. The beautiful sound of lute and drum charmed her ears.

Heavy, silk-damask curtains of copper and gold hung behind the royal throne. The smile of past pleasures lightened her face as she remembered how she had played amongst them.

Was it really eight years ago that I found myself cornered by the king’s hound?

Eleanor touched the raised scar upon her arm where the hound had marked her. Still standing proud upon her flesh.

The wolfhound had been fierce with rage that day. Its heckles raised, eyes focused and breath stale as it snarled. The beast had been twice her size and she had been frozen with panic. She had struck it with her hand but it lunged and pieced her skin. An army of teeth bared at her, and she had screamed in panic.

Just when she had feared that it would savage her, a boy had jumped in through the arched window, putting himself between them. “Get upon his majesty’s throne, and quickly my lady.”

His voice calm, his instructions direct. As if rescuing a damsel was an everyday occurrence. And had become second nature.

“I cannot…n-n-no one may sit upon it but the king. It is forbidden. He will have us flogged or worse sent to The Tower…our heads on pikes on London Bridge.”

Oh, how I shook, and I started to cry while the hound, once more, was baring its teeth. How brave he was, that little knight, his smile so bright with a grin so wicked it was a hint, perhaps, that he could be a little naughty.

“Dear lady, please do not cry. Have no fear I will protect you. Anyway, your nates won’t be on His Grace’s throne, your boots will. I know him well. He…calls me his favourite nephew. His Grace will not chide us. Now make haste for this apprentice’s sword won’t hold Gelert for long. He does not know you, my lady, and seeks to protect his master’s throne.”

Eleanor had done as the boy advised and stood upon the King of England’s throne.

She’d watched the brave young man with interest that day. He had wielded his wooden sword with such grace, moving as if he was dancing. Fluid and gentle almost as if his feet were cushioned upon pockets of air.

He had the darkest and the glossiest raven hair. His skin looked tanned, perhaps painted by the summer sun. She recalled how well-dressed he was, attired in the clothing of a gentleman. The cut of his cloth was noble and the work of stitch so delicate it must have come from a skilled hand at great expense.

When he turned to look up at her, Eleanor had noticed his eyes.

They seem to pierce the sallow skin with azure blue beads. The colour so unusual, the like I have never seen before. Or since.

Remembering how beautiful they were. Many a maiden will be jealous and wish to have those eyes and those lashes, Oh, and his smile. My little knight was so very gallant.

As she looked to the throne steps, Eleanor remembered how the large hound jumped them in one leap, taking the breath from her body and the boy’s wooden sword. Gelert, the hound, had taken it between its teeth. As it shattered, Eleanor had screamed

“Be careful, for if he can do that to wood, I fear he will crack your bones with ease.”

“Do not fret my lady, for I soon will be a knight. Save your tears. I have told you have faith in me. I will save you. I have strength enough for two…you can be sure of that”

He’d beamed when he had spoken.

“Gelert, down boy.”

The hound had gone straight down, laying on its haunches, its temper cooled. As soon as his master had spoken.

Eleanor reflected on how different the king had seemed then. The strain of the throne had yet to tire him. His cheeks had been rosy and his gait quick.

He had stridden to the throne and scooped his niece up. Kissing her he said, “What are you doing upon my throne?”

And with a loud booming laugh continued, “Are you trying it out for size my sweet niece? For it is the throne of a king, not a queen.”

The King had walked with Eleanor upon his back to the boy. Taking the lad’s face in his large hands he remarked, “Well and who are you, Sir Knight?”

“Why, your favourite nephew of course…Uncle.”

Looking deeply at the lad with genuine affection the King continued, “As the sun always rises and women will always weep, I am just as sure that you will be a knight bolder than any other.” The king then ruffled the young lad’s hair. “When we have taken my niece back to her mother , we will send for the sword smith. I wish to replace your broken blade with one worthy of your bravery. Great battles await you, Sir Knight.”

How long ago it seemed. A soft smile broke as if a kiss was on her lips.

I wonder if the little brave knight…my hero…ever got his blade.

His words had stayed with her all these years:“I have told you have faith in me. I will save you. I have strength enough for two…you can be sure of that.”

How could they not.

The little knight…my hero had meant every word. Would he save me now when I am cornered and fearful once more?

“Eleanor child, come back to us. You seem quite captured by your daydreams. Riding upon your hills, I suppose, upon an uncle’s gift to his favourite niece.”

The King gestured as he spoke.

“I am sorry, your Grace. No, this time my dreams left dear Arthur stabled.” She smiled back as she continued to speak. Crystal wells of visible tears forming in her eyes. “Yes, I was lost a little as I walked through my memories. I was a child here in your court Uncle. Gelert was there too.”

“Oh, my dear Gelert, a fine hound. Well, that was some years past, child. But no more ghosts. What say ye about your betrothal, niece? For I have chosen you a knight befitting your rank.” The old King smirked. Chuckling as he continued, “He has girth enough in his loins to sire you well. His wife died in child-birth, God rest her soul, but still it means his seed is strong.” Then he teased her once more slapping her thigh, he winked. “Many babies you will birth for the House of Lancaster.”

Eleanor’s skin heated and she flushed. Turning away she pulled at her lip drawing it up between her teeth and smarting as she drew a bead of blood.

Cupping her face softly with gentle hands, the hands that held the orb, sceptre of state and the responsibility of his peoples’ lives, the King brought her gaze back to meet his. They were soft and twinkled with undeniable masculine but aging charm. “Why the tears, child? I have told you I have chosen well for you. A destrier of a man who will treat you as the lady you are…a niece of the King. He is kind, has a chivalric oath, and will take great care of you. Has someone beaten you to agree this? For I will have them flogged—”

Placing her hands upon her Uncle’s knee and smiling to him, she soothed. “No Uncle. I assure you no one has beaten me. I am grateful, most grateful, that your Grace has chosen so well for me.”

Eleanor looked across to Lady Bruce. Mother Bear cocked her head to the side; she twitched nervously, obviously anxious about her stepdaughter’s response.

Eleanor’s gaze connected with that of her punisher. There was fire in their silent exchange. A wolf and a bear facing off. Neither wanting to be the first to back down in action or mind.

“You have always had my best interests at heart, Uncle. I am sure your Majesty has chosen a fine knight for me. I will do my best to please him. I will do your bidding by marrying the earl and if the good Lord is willing to bless my belly, I will provide the House of Lancaster an heir.”

* * * *

The King knew his niece did not want to marry Matheus. But her feelings could not be considered. The death of Edmund had forced his hand. The life of kings was always one of careful balance. Not only was the House of Lancaster demanding an heir, the lives of many depended on it.

It was simple. Eleanor could carry the safety of a nation in her womb. Conceiving a child with a man connected to the house of York would mean the child would be accepted by both the red rose of Lancaster and the white rose of York.

Matheus was that man. The King was confident the Bull of Lincoln would provide him an heir who could potentially settle a feud and stop the Cousins from warring.

The King took his niece’s hands in his lap. He looked deep into her hazel eyes, eyes so like her mother’s. He sighed. “Love has little to do with marriage. But once he has given you a child, you will grow to love him…even if only for the love of the gift he gives you…of a babe of your own.” The King winked again and squeezed her hand. Little comfort but the only one he could offer.

Turning to the court he signaled for their obedience and silence. “My Knights and gathered nobles. We have a betrothal.”

The court cheered. Voices rang out in congratulation.

The King raised his hand once more to calm his Court. “My niece, Lady Eleanor of Lancaster will marry, as I command, my favourite nephew and bravest knight, his Grace Matheus Du’ Lanchette, Earl of Lincoln.”

* * * *

Eleanor was looking out at the gathered throng of noble men and women, an abundance of grandeur in a glittering sea of green and gold, delicate silks, fancy furs, and brocade, the swell rippling in front of her eyes. But her eyes were focused to the back of the room.

For in the shadows stood the figure her eyes fixated on. The figure stood a head above most of the men and tall and broad, his hips slim. Leaning his back against the wall, his right leg bent at the knee, anchored by his booted foot upon the stone, he cut a casual and calm figure. He was dressed for hunting, in black leather, and his sword belt hung to the left and his right hand was attired in a gauntlet for hawking

Eleanor watched his face pucker as if he had a fit of pique. An expression of some disdain flooded his features. She wondered what conversation he had such an aversion to.

You are too handsome knight; sweeten your thoughts and relax ye your features. Unpins your brow, and soften your face.

She might not have noticed the dark figure who stood at the far wall on his entrance. But on his exit the girl with harvest gold hair and eyes of the hazel wood, amber, green and bronze did.

As she sat on her Uncle’s knee, with cheeks striped with the tracks of tears, Eleanor of Lancaster had felt just a flutter of recognition.

Chapter 2

Earlier that day…

“I fear the Queen is quite barren, Matheus.”

The King sat upon his throne, his right leg raised upon a stool. He was pained with gout, and his brow was pinched and his eyes winced.

“I bed her as much as a man of my years is able. As in our vows, she has always been bonnie and buxom in bed. But since the babies born to us are without breath, her body has become tired. There has neither been a stirring in her womb nor the curse in her month.” The King took his nephew’s hand, his eyes pained and tired as he spoke.

His Uncle had aged in recent times. The King’s face was as if it charted a course through the decades of his sovereignty. Threads of tiny, broken veins patterned his grey pallor. It was as if his skin was paved with flagstone, all rough and cracked. There was a strain to sovereignty that few recognised. To be a fair and thoughtful prince was always in conflict with the strong and ruthless one the safety of the nation permanently demanded.

Matheus smiled back at the King. A little gesture but comfort enough for his Majesty to continue.

“You are my favourite nephew. If God in his mercy had graced me with a son, I would like to think he would be as you. Strong in the arm, long in the loins. A knight of skill and bravery. Matheus, you are a man a father could be proud of and one in which your sovereign is indeed proud.

“We are weakening, The House of York has hungry eyes, and they look to my throne. They see no rightful heir, and they wish to claim it.”

Matheus knew the King looked to him to once again serve him. He had an idea of the service that was going to be required. Anxious to know if he was correct he asked him to continue.

“Eleanor of Lancaster is off my sister’s womb. She is most pleasing to the eye. Hazel eyes that change from earth to nature’s green and glorious, flaxen curls. The royal blood of princes and kings flows rich in her veins.”

Matheus was now confident in his assumption he would be the knight charged with the safe delivery of His Majesty’s niece to her betrothed.

Richard Sline has been called by the King for an audience. It is most likely him; he has Yorkist blood. Yes, that’s the match.

He puffed his chest. Not one to gloat, he did however revel a little in his reputation of being the best man of all the king’s knights.

The King grinned a little as he continued to speak. “Betrothed but unwed. Her intended food for the fish I’m afraid. Eleanor is an untried maiden and yours for the taking. Matheus, you have been a widower too long she will be a treat for your battle sore bones. Keeping hands busy, your bed warm.”

Matheus stood quietly, his expression stoic and his manner quite unchanged. From outward appearance it would seem the King was making arrangements for any common occurrence of court. Perhaps the hunt or joust. Not the arrangement of a marriage.

It was as if he were a swan on still water. Outwardly Matheus appeared impassive, like the bird above the waterline gliding with no visible effort. But as with the swan, the calm exterior belied the turbulence under the surface. As the legs of the swan thrashed to stay afloat, Matheus was enduring the sinking feeling of his guts thrashing to keep him afloat.

“I wish for your betrothal. It will produce a Lancastrian heir, of course. But as you are also alive with the blood of York, they will accept such a union. The child could be king… Do you hear me…King. Matheus what say ye?”

Matheus stared back at his Lord and Master with an expression of disbelief. Raking his hands through his hair, he shook his head. The realisation he was not escorting the King’s niece to her marriage, but was going to be the groom, had startled him.

The king may have asked his nephew. However, this was not a question. If he wished, he therefore commanded it. Matheus knew it too. Under his breath in shock he uttered, “Holy mother…for the love of God…I am to be wed?”

Slapping him upon his back. The King’s delighted, booming laugh rang through his throne room. “The maid Eleanor, does she agree your Grace?”

The King mistook Matheus’s tone for the desperate voice of a man in need of a wife. “The Bull is eager, yes.” He chuckled as he gave Matheus another slap on the back. “She is a woman. Of course she will do as she is told. Mother Bear has her ear, I am told. Knowing that woman, her birch will be close at hand.”

The comment met with Matheus’s disapproval. He would rather a willing bride than a beaten one. He was not a vain man. But his male pride felt the blow as the idea that a woman would be forced to marry him dented it.

“They say she is a witch you know.” The King remarked.

“Eleanor?”

Matheus chuckled.

The much relieved King replied, “No, mother Bear, Lady Bruce. Eleanor is a she-wolf mind, so don’t let those eyes of hers and that delicate face framed with a lustrous mane of gold fool you when you see her. She may well bite. Again he laughed. “Come back to court when you have finished hunting and seat yourself at the back. You will not need direction to know her. You will soon notice her beauty…fret you not…she will be your wife before the year is out…and birth a child before we barn our harvest again. Matheus, oh my, she is fair…mighty fair.”

He feared his bride-to-be, may not be as fair as His Majesty had implied. Matheus had seen knights married at the King’s bequest to women so ugly the wild boars of the woods shuddered at the sight of them. His body followed his thoughts and he too shuddered.

He had hardly been at Court in the last few years, preferring to work through his grief by way of his blade, on the field of battle astride his destrier. Therefore, he had little knowledge of Eleanor of Lancaster, and to be honest, he would rather it stayed that way.

Priests bones, for she sounds like a Kobold, with her flaxen mane of wild curls. An oval face dominated by big hazel eyes and her small stature.

He was laughing at his thoughts. Then he checked himself. Why am I jesting? I am a fool for ’tis me who will call the wild Kobold wife?

It wasn’t the idea of marriage that frightened him. He longed to touch a woman he called wife once more. He had been whoring for some years. Seeking comfort from ladies. Missing the love of a wife. That was a woman you hold in your heart as well as in your arms.

Matheus had married his childhood sweetheart, Elizabeth. Spending their short marriage making a playground of each other’s bodies, and enjoying all the undiscovered pleasures between them.

Their combined bliss provided sustenance to each other’s souls. That was the point; he had fallen in love, and now the King was asking him to accept an arranged loveless marriage for the sole purpose of producing an heir. “I am not only the Lincoln Bull in battle. I am to be so in bed—for the love of God, I am to be sired out by my master!” Matheus groused as he walked away from the King.

Richard Sline slapped him on the back. Turning to him with a wicked grin and an edge to his voice, he jested, “Well, they call you the Bull of Lincoln, my friend, so perhaps ’tis only a change of bull that is needed. Obviously, you are the King’s favourite…beast. Perhaps the King should let you cover the Queen.”

“Your jest may see our heads on pikes at the bloody tower, Richard. I will have to take my chances with this Eleanor of Lancaster whether she looks like a sow or not. For is not one maiden much like another?” Slapping Richard back he continued, “How difficult can a mere weak maiden be too bed?”

Richard Sline, Master of the Horse, wore a strange expression.

Perhaps he too thinks he is seeing the King to be given Eleanor’s hand just like I did. His face is most sour and his smile quite fake, more of a grimace to be truthful.

Richard Sline sighed, obviously a little bereft that he would not be the master of Eleanor. He turned to Matheus, a tone of pique to his voice, “I for one would enjoy well the ride upon such a filly. Her maidenhead untouched and her body quite undiscovered… I speak no untruth when I tell ye that Eleanor of Lancaster is truly the most prized bloom of all the Lancaster roses if not all the English roses. Dear God her hair is like that of an angel—”

Matheus interrupted. “Sline, I doubt you have ever seen an angel for you spend too much time at leisure your head anchored upon the breasts of wenchs.”

“As I was saying, her hair is like an angel’s, ’tis quite gold and falls about her breasts not pinned nor braided. Her body is full and seductive. Hips a plenty and breasts well—”

Once more Matheus cut across his words, not quite jealous of the way he spoke of the maid he was to marry. But he chided a little. “Seems with that libido for my intended, you should be the betrothed, Richard.” Matheus smiled. But his voice told his companion that enough had been said about his wife to be. Changing the conversation, he chuckled, “Look at Lady De Montfort. She too was a maiden fair. It was said that on her bedding she was so sour to the Earl’s advances and her hymen so hard it was as if granite, that the Old Goat broke his shaft trying to claim her.”

The two men laughed heartily, telling lewd stories of how The Goat of Leicester, as they knew the Earl to be nicknamed, had been driven by his libido, infamous for his lust and the lengths he would go to service his appetite for sex. His avarice for the ladies had caused him to find himself in the most unsavoury of positions.

“Oh Matheus, remember at Warwick Castle? The Goat got into the Dowager Duchess’s bed mistaking it for that of her granddaughter and was fair beaten by her maid.” Richard was nearly crying with laughter as he spoke

“Yes, it was quite a night,” Matheus replied, already absorbed in his memories. How could he forget? That was the night he had met Elizabeth. Cupid had taken his heart, and the sight of Elizabeth had taken his soul. Much to the King’s displeasure, they were wed five weeks later to the day. His Majesty had plans for both Elizabeth and Matheus and their betrothal to each other had not been one of them. He smiled to himself. The King had relented, not accepting the marriage—but having been charmed by the lovely Elizabeth he had in time blessed it.

“Matheus, are you dreaming of your wedding night? You have that look of a lover lost.” Richard was eager to celebrate or drown his sorrows perhaps. His voice raised as he encouraged his friend to make ready. “Come on, there is whoring to be done and ale to be drunk.”

“Why do you call them so, Richard? No woman is a whore. They may spend their sorry life upon their backs, held by the weight of our groins and invaded by our shafts. But as much as I love their touch and delight in the pleasure of my body in theirs, I know they work to feed their bairns. Too many husbands failed to come back from battle. And in time, many a goodly woman has found herself mounted just to buy bread to feed the babies the dead have left behind.” Matheus spoke with a smile of friendship. But his words were well meant. He would not deny it. He loved the feel of a woman beneath him. The smell of her hair and the softness of her skin. Delectable curves decorated with freckles if a man was lucky, peach to the touch if he was even more fortuitous.

But it was not, and never could be, like laying with the woman you loved. There was no feeling on earth like it.

For when I had made love to the woman I craved—Elizabeth—she had held my heart, and it undid me. I was lost to her.

When he lay with her, he found magic in the world about him, even in the smallest of things. Bereft without her, five years had done little to dull the ache and lessen the pain.

Perhaps this woman, this Eleanor of Lancaster, who I will soon call wife will gentle that pain.

“Come now, Plato, let’s go play. That mouth of yours…it would seem it will close better around the lips of a flagon than a wench.” Richard winked as he spoke

“I will be back presently. I am just going to take the hares to the kitchens to save the lad.” Matheus spoke off-handedly and with feigned truth. His curiosity nibbled at him, chiding him to slip into Court and see the Lady Eleanor for himself.

He deposited his game with the delighted cook and slipped through to the throne room. It was awash with finery and high voices. Matheus wrinkled his nose and pinched his brow. “Swine in silk. More court jester than nobles.”

Then he saw her. His face stilled and his breath sharpened. Sitting at the King’s knee was Eleanor. Speechless, he studied her intently: the oval face and almond eyes that dominated it, her flaxen mane of golden curls that cascaded, quite undressed with no pins, pearls or braiding.

Tis true you are indeed quite a beauty, Eleanor of Lancaster for you look like your features have been carved with such artistry. You are no Kobold but are sure to be a seraph. For you must have come from the Heavens.

For a moment that passed so quickly, he felt it. His heart fluttered as they caught each other’s eyes, his hinting from the gaze that he had recognised an inamorata. He put his hand to his chest as if he was sure he would find an outline. They mimicked each other’s actions quite accidently, Eleanor lifting her hand so her palm also rested on her chest.

An hour later Matheus was ready to ride. He did not comment to Richard Sline on how enchanting he had found her nor the fact he had even seen the Lady Eleanor.

He was unsure of his emotions, whether he was jealous of even others thinking of her, or was he just protective of the duty that befell him. Matheus was not used to such emotion and was cursing under his breath, much to Richard Sline’s amusement.

“Are you still in your pulpit, Matheus? I hear damnation in your mutterings. You should have become a priest and saved your brother. Young Alfred has often a rise in his cassock, even at vespers when the ladies rise from their seats above us.”

Matheus shook his head. Richard Sline had a libido the size of The Old Goat he derided. Just as he was mounting his horse, he looked up. There at the window was Eleanor. She was sat reading. Matheus felt a pull in his chest.

Poor child? What kind of beating must she have endured to force her agreement? At eighteen, she should be betrothed. It was right and proper for her to honour her parents and her House and deliver a child. But she must be mighty fearful of marriage and perhaps the marriage bed even, if she had needed a whipping to force her hand.

His eyes lingered a little on her, delighting in her beauty, the gentle curve of her nose, the flush of her cheeks and the fullness of her lips. Her cheeks were less rosy than earlier—the stripes of her tears had lessened.

You are a fair maiden, Eleanor. Quite a vision sitting there, the type poets write beautiful prose about, and you will call me husband.

There was a change in Matheus. Looking at the woman who would be his wife, he had stopped thinking about all the reasons why their betrothal could not work and started to find reasons for it to flourish. He let himself imagine pulling her into his arms. Blood surged hot through his veins at the thought of her. His mind had her caged beneath him. His mouth pressed against her full lips and his hands in her hair. Everything south of his waist acknowledged a sudden need of her.

Eleanor turned to look at him, and Matheus remembered the King’s words. “She has my sister’s eyes. They look at you like the doe does when you corner her in the hunt. There is a magic in them, almost as if the deer bids you not to pull your bow, and you drop your aim. They speak a mystic tongue, leaving you powerless. A man could lose his soul in those hazel eyes.”

Eleanor was the first to look away. He watched her flinch, putting her hand to her chest. She was experiencing it too.

Shyly, her soft eyes turned back to catch his gaze.

And he answered her silently.

Eleanor, there is a telepathy in hearts.

Wiping his face with his hands, he shook his head, trying to dismiss the passion she had awoken in a hungry heart. Urging his mount on, he looked back over his shoulder, thinking she would be watching him ride away. But Eleanor had left the window, and it grieved him a little.

“Ah, do I see Matheus, the Bull of Lincoln, has been bewitched?” There was more of a grimace than a smile on Richard’s face as he spoke

Matheus was sharp with his reply. “Hell for damnation no man… She cries at a mild thrashing and hides below those thick lashes. With her hazel eyes as big as a fawns, it’s as if the world would break her just to look at it…I will bed her and be done with it. Delivering a child to the House of Lancaster as The Bull that I am. That maiden, I fear, is too weak a woman for me.”

It seemed Richard was not fooled by the tone or the words that Matheus spoke. “Well, those are the words of a man lost and looking for reason.”

Chapter 3

Eleanor watched the menfolk leave. Her betrothed’s destrier was a beautiful mount. The colour of the darkest night, its glossy coat shone deep purple. As if painted, it sported four white socks and a blaze on its face. She watched the mount and rider disappear while hidden in the safety of the curtains.

The intensity of his gaze upon her had unsettled her. It wasn’t the blueness of their stare or the pinch of his brow as his look did not waiver. It was the power of it, the pure passion. No eyes had looked at her so before, not even Edmund’s. There had been a base desire in his gaze that had awakened something deep in her, and she had no idea what. She-wolf or not it frightened her.

Eleanor wanted to run away from the uncomfortable feelings that tickled her nerves and swelled in her belly. Her blood was pounding through her veins. Her mouth had become dry and the gait of her walk shaky.

Dear God, if his stare unsettles me so…how frightening will his touch be?

He had entered her mind. Her body felt the wracking anguish of her own awakening from girl to woman. And the pain and bewilderment had only just started. She yearned to be riding away from the palace as the men had done. Far away from betrothals, the birch of Lady Bruce, and that intrusive stare.

When she could escape her jailors, she would often bridle her mount. Her beloved Arthur would be her accomplice. Ever willing, he aided and abetted his mistress in most of her adventures. Saddleless, she would ride him daringly astride. Her gown gaping and flapping as the wind took the fabric. Her hair unpinned and upbraided. Bare legs gripping on his flanks. Their adventures would take them far from the city walls. Up to where the earth kissed the sky. High above the town to where the lakes were.

Arthur’s dappled grey coat would blend perfectly into the heather. The pair would be nearly impossible to find. In time, Eleanor’s jailers stopped searching. Often she would wave at them as she rode away.

Sometimes Eleanor would strip from her skirts and smock and swim in the lakes quite naked. The water felt as silk, cool to the skin. If it was bitter and the wind cold as it blew through the wilds of the Kendal hills, she would pin up her skirts and hunt rabbits with the hounds, tracking them across the algid snow.

Yes, Eleanor thought while on her adventures, she was as free as the boys she envied so. That precious time was worth the bite of Mother Bear’s birch on her return. Edmund had often been her abetter, neither as brave nor as wicked as Eleanor but encouragingly naughty. His apprenticeship as a boy knight had taken him away and the sea had ultimately taken him forever.

Nothing gave her a thrill quite like escaping to the freedom of her secret Eden. Upon Edmund’s loss it had softened the blow. Just like it had done after her mother’s passing.

“For that is why your given name is Eve, daughter,” her mother had often told her when she held her tight and touched her heart. “Eden is in you and you will find right in here.”

Clasping her hands to her heart where her mother had touched her, she looked out of the window to the lakes that had just coloured her thoughts. “Oh Mother, where are you when I need you so.” Tears started to well and wind their way down her cheeks.

The men had long gone from her sight. She had lost herself in her thoughts. The day was now darkness, and the candles were lit. The amber glow of tallow flickered against the stone walls. Too perturbed to eat, Eleanor tried to continue her study and found herself too distracted to read. Tears dropped upon the velum in her hand.

Her nursemaid, Goody Halyard, was making ready for travel. She had nursed Eleanor since her birth, becoming her wet nurse when her own babe died. To Goody, Eleanor was her own dear daughter, and she denied her nothing. So much so Lady Bruce blamed her regularly for the need to birch her stepdaughter. A small woman of not much over four foot, what she lacked with her diminutive stature she more than made up for with her ferocity. The old Earl had christened her the poison dwarf and was nearly as wary of her as he was his wife.

“You do fuss, Goody, clucking and strutting as if you were an old brown hen…be still and sit a while.” Eleanor did not turn as she spoke, trying to keep her tears a secret and her pride intact.

Nothing was missed by Goody who had both seen and heard her tears. “I bet you are right excited, my Babe. About your betrothal and all. He is a fine-looking man, the Earl. I don’t understand why you are so shy about meeting him.” Goody’s voice was kind and soft.

“I am not shy. I did not want this betrothal. Oh, and before you ask…no, Mother Bear did not break me with the sting of her birch. I have simply had my fill of Lady Bruce. Being married to a bull I see as no worse than living with a bear. Perhaps if I am lucky he will meet his fate in battle.”

“Take that back, for that is a wicked thing to say. Child, you may witch the man with those words,” Goody scolded. She gestured the holy cross across her chest.

Eleanor was peeved by her nursemaid’s questioning. This time tears of temper and frustration burned her eyes. Aggrieved at her situation, the she-wolf inside snarled, irritated and vexed. Her face flushed and she snapped. “I will not take anything back…for God is my witness, he looked at me in a way that …well it undid me…’tis evil I say, his stare is evil. Oh, and it is a bother to me that you are my nurse maid yet you spy for the king and that shrew Lady Bruce.”

Goody chuckled. Her large breasts bounced on her belly as the chuckle became a howling laugh. “That is not evil, child. He looks on you with the passion of a man who has a thirst for you. No different as Adam did Eve. Pray Edmund was a boy and did not stir you.” Her many chins turned red with the warm flush of humour as she continued, “The Earl looks to you as a man should his betrothed. ’Tis right he has avarice in his eye. The feeling is in you too. He awakens the woman in you and rightly so. You are undone for ye will soon be calling him husband.”

“Goody, get out of here,” Eleanor shrieked. “Go! Take your leave of me now for I may get Mother Bear’s birch and chide you if you dally.” Eleanor was furious. Deep down she knew it was because Goody spoke truthfully. But she hid behind her anger, unable to face the reality that Matheus had woken the goddess in her and quite unsure if she was thrilled or frightened at the way his eyes had fevered for her.

Goody did as she was told. Fleeing the room with great haste and laughing at her mistress as she left. Objects bounced off the closing door behind her as Eleanor made good with her aim.

The door creaked open and Eleanor screamed as she threw a chamber pot at it. “Go away and boil your head. You are not welcome!”

The shock of what greeted her took her voice as the door opened wide. The man who entered the doorway moved sideways with great agility. His quick feet helped him avoid the pot as it smashed to the floor. Rising his brow, he said, “Well, I suppose I should thank the Lord that the pot was empty. I thought I needed to introduce—”

“I apologise. You caught me unawares, sir. For if I had known it was YOU, not my nursemaid, I would have aimed better.” Fuelled by her temper, her courage held fast. She looked him straight in the eye. “I know full well who you are. Some call you The Lincoln Bull. I fear I am to call you husband. It is neither befitting nor right for you to be alone with me unchaperoned, betrothed or not.”

Eleanor had never imagined the man she was due to marry would be entering her bed chamber, especially as she had watched him ride away only an hour ago at most. The little nerve by the corner at the corner of her eye ticked slightly as she tried to rein in her nerves.

In front of her was a knight a foot taller than her. He was imposing, rugged yet incredibly handsome. His body was broad and his loins long, the colour of his skin exotic. Bronzed as golden, sun-kissed sand. There was a day’s shave on his chin, framing a full mouth that just at that moment broke into a grin.

His arresting, azure gaze was exploring her. She felt its burn as it swept over her body. His attention was unwelcome, and Eleanor was struggling, lost somewhere between passion and panic. As unnerving as it was, as dangerous as she found him, every cell, every sinew wanted his attention on her.

Eleanor swallowed, steadying herself. There was a power in his presence. Even his smile was dangerously charming.

I am the niece of the King, daughter of the House of Lancaster; I can do stoic.

Goody was right, though. The man who would take me as his in a matter of weeks is quite angelic.

She chided herself for her thoughts.

Get a grip, steady the ride, and slow the mount.

Tightening her chest and resisting her heart as it drummed against its cage, she struggled for breath. Her hands became clammy, and her face flushed. She could deny it to herself. But she could not lie to her heart; something, or more likely someone, was speaking to it.

There was something strangely familiar about this knight. When he left the throne room earlier she had noticed how he walked with such ease despite being a tall and muscular man. Then upon his destrier she had felt the flutter of recognition. It was those eyes. That smile, the way he moved. She knew them, but how, from when?

Watching a tendon ticking in his jaw Eleanor was caught quite unaware. Matheus had seized her. Grabbing her waist. His large hands spanning her tiny frame, he pulled her into his muscular arms. Holding her vice-like against a hundred and eighty pounds of muscled fury.

Trembling, unsure of what she should do, Eleanor was panicking. Edmund had never grasped her, and her mind whirled in confusion. “Unhand me, you have no right,” she hissed as she struggled, held true in his masculine bonds.

“Right you say…my Lady you should be of thanks I have shown such restraint thus far.”

Eleanor’s head may have had no idea how to react. But her body did and was answering his accordingly. Her breath was heavy and shallow, almost in a pant. There was a faint glow to her skin, and it was flushed with colour. The hard stone wall was rigid against her spine. He had been manoeuvring her backwards. She was now anchored by his thighs. Her chest and groin was crushed by his immense body into a caging embrace. She felt him hard and settled and aroused against her. There was no room for escape, but did she want to?

Swallowing hard. As the feelings of arousal blurred with panic she opened her mouth in readiness to scream.

Matheus lifted a hand to her face. Cupping her chin with his large palms he stretched his thumb to brush her lips gently and voiced in the softest timbre, “SShhhssshhhh.” He looked to her mouth, then back up to her eyes. Dropping his gaze once more, his eyes focused on her mouth. They narrowed, and his beautiful face twisted as if his words were dangerously dark and bitter on his tongue.

“You fear that you are to call me husband, do you now Mistress? And I have been told how you refuse to see me. Well let me give you something to help you with that.” He moved his hand from her face to the back of her head and started to pull her to him.

Panic pulsed through her, The impact of her situation now frightened her. Starting to struggle, she tried to free herself from his grip but it was merciless and his hold relentless.

Matheus was a skillful lover and a strong man. Fight as she might, she could not free herself. When she simply had no strength left and could not fight him any longer, he used the hand that held the back of head to force her into his kiss. Taking her whole mouth in his he tested the seams of her lips with his tongue, invading her mouth with it. Pulling her to him with a restless need as if the world threatened to thieve her from him.

Eleanor’s body was moving against him. The more she did so, the more he relaxed into her. Softening his grip a little, he answered her trembling with his caresses. She could feel his desire for her body as his pelvis ground into hers. Eleanor sensed Matheus was delighted with himself.

You have cornered me, a little wild creature, and now you think you are taming me.

Matheus dropped his head. Eleanor could feel his smile against her décolletage as he kissed her there, the hot breath tickling her senses. Once more raising his head, with the tip of his fingers he lifted her chin to his face and kissed her with a forceful passion. He purred deep in his throat. “Better?” He loosened his grasp on her and let his hands trickle lazily down her back, stroking her spine until he rested them upon her hips.

Eleanor’s hearing was as sharp as her tongue and she heard him mutter under his breath.

“Now for your undoing, my Lady. Let’s see how the bud blooms. When I take your virginity, little one and claim you as mine. You will be as weak as a kitten and sweet to my touch.”

Eleanor was not beaten yet. She had the blood of the She-Wolves in her veins and their fire in her belly from ancient Celtic Queens who knelt before no man.

I have the ears of a hawk, careful what you whisper. You think me so weak, do you? Well, wolves bite, Master Bull.

Eleanor met his kiss. Opening up to his invading tongue, pulling at his lip with her teeth, she sucked his tongue deep into her mouth with a vigour she could tell surprised him. But excited him also. He was panting, his body writhing as he caught up with maddening delight. Listening to the throaty groan he made, she felt confident in her plans.

Matheus’s appetite was growing ever stronger. She let him lose himself to her, continuing to meet his kiss, pulling his lips into her open mouth, meeting his passion, fuelling his fire. Eleanor felt his muscles relax. Ears ever alert, she listened once more as he voiced his thrill at her submission with a growl of pure delight that vibrated between them. Her hazel eyes glittered green with a wicked delight.

Matheus pulled back a little and looked upon her face, then obviously delighted at her compliance he returned her smile. Gathering her face with his large palms once more, he rubbed her cheeks with his outstretched thumbs and laughed at her a little. “Better? See, it is not so frightening. You will find it easier to call me husband now.”

He was laughing as he dropped his head to her cupped face and gently brushed his lips upon hers and kissed her. When his grasp slackened an opportunity had arisen. Eleanor met his kiss. Drawing breath to steady her nerves she pulled on his lip once more. Sucking it deep into her mouth.

Now then, sir knight, this might better help you know me.

She bit his lip. Not a nip of play or passion but in warning. She tasted the blood as it beaded on his lip.

In shock Matheus pulled off her. “Damnation woman, what in hell?”

He growled as his hand went to his bloodied lip. He looked at the blood on his fingers. His eyes narrowed and his shoulders rose.

Using all the force her tiny frame could muster, Eleanor raised her hand and slapped his face. It was a blow a man would be proud of.

Matheus grabbed her by the wrists. His grip unyielding. He tightened his fingers till they bit into her flesh. His neck tendons had pulled taut. His stare was intense, emotional and almost cruel.

Panic gripped her. Every muscle in her body coiled and hardened, tense with trepidation. Fearing the embers flickering in his eyes she found herself fearing that raw need he had of her lost to her just as much. Eleanor was awakening to the whispers of her subconscious, delighting in the masculine fire she had ignited. If there was a risk of getting burnt, well burnt be damned. She was driven by desire to fan it further.

There was a strange alchemy at work somewhere deep inside of her. A heady brew of passion and panic was confusing her, body and mind. She was lost to it. Unsure if the urges that goaded her had encouraged her to kiss him, slap him or simply do both.

He snarled at her through clenched teeth. “Eleanor, I let you have the nip. I pressed you…perhaps too far, and as a maid, I realise you were in fear of your virtue. But I will be your husband in a matter of weeks. Mistress, I will not let you strike me again, ever!”

With an urgency of movement, temper-driven Eleanor believed, Matheus manhandled her. And she now lay unceremoniously positioned over his shoulder. Eleanor lashed out at him, hitting his back with her fists and kicking her legs. “No wonder they call you a beast…put me down!”

Matheus strode to the fireside chair. “It is a bull actually, my Lady. They call me a bull, not a beast. You will call me husband soon enough and I shall enjoy making you do so. Do not worry, my Lady, I will be putting you down very shortly…across my knee.”

She was quite out of her depth, and the creeping bramble of concern coiled in her belly, scratching and twisting her guts. Fully aware that she was unsure of the ways of men and unprepared for this reaction, Eleanor quietened, hoping—nay praying—Goody would return to lash him with her tongue and demand he unhand her.

Striding to the fireside Matheus remained silent. Only Eleanor spoke, her voice quiet almost a whisper. “Please…Sir. My Lord…”

Sitting himself upon the chair, he pulled her off his shoulder and positioned her so she lay over his knee. She was trembling, her birching fresh in her thoughts and still burning her backside.

As he spoke, he gentled his voice. “I do not like the feeling that the woman I hold trembles from fear of me rather than passion for me. You have nothing to fear from me, for as God is my witness, I will never strike you in temper. But if you disrespect me I shall do as I am going to do now. I will tan your bottom. If you act as a child, I will treat you as one, and mark my words, I will not care who sees your naked nates, so think carefully before you chide me.”

Eleanor was struggling in his grasp. But it was to no avail. She was held securely across his lap. It seemed to her the more she struggled, the more he gripped her. Pride denied her tears. With a calm voice that belied the fear she felt she hissed, “You may be the Bull, sir, but I am no heifer. I will be undoubtedly covered by you, forced by the length of your loins, not the strength of your heart. But you will never claim me because my soul will never be yours. It drowned at sea with my beloved.”

Eleanor cocked her head over her shoulder to witness his reaction. Matheus’s eyes were flashing with absolute rage. His lips were pursed, and he was shaking with temper. Eleanor congratulated herself. It was one thing to have the audacity to slap your future husband. However, to imply you will always think of another as he bedded you was something the Lincoln Bull would not tolerate. It would be safe to say he was now furious. She met his eyes—wolf to bull—frightened and fearless all at the same time.

“Very well Mistress. I thought you a little weak for me…seems I was wrong. You are badly in need of a strong hand. If I will never own your soul, I sure as hell will own your body, for if I am not in your heart as you love me, I will be in your head as you hate me.”

Eleanor felt a hand in her hair sweeping the cascade of flaxen curls to the side. Surprised as she felt his hot breath on her neck, she gasped. Readying herself for his kiss her body became rigid.

Both of Matheus’s hands encircled her waist. There was no kiss. The floor came up to her face quick as a flash, her golden curls in her face.

He is really going to do this.

Sunk by her panic, Eleanor squirmed, desperate to be freed. But he held her steady as she felt the pull of her smock as he started to raise it. One tear followed another. The dam was broken, tears started to flow

She heard cries. They were her own. She heard a voice, it was his.

“How displeased I am in you…you have no idea…I do not want to do this but holy hell woman, to say you will think of another when I—hell woman!”

Eleanor stopped struggling. She heard the shocked intake of breath from Matheus. And underneath her his muscles tensed. His body stiffened. Within seconds he had straightened her skirts, returning her to her feet. Her heart was pounding in her throat, her chest bereft of breath. She looked into the eyes of the knight who held her hands.

Searching and striking blue eyes fringed with the blackest lashes looked back to her, soothing her sorrow. The man who she looked upon had a beautiful face. A square jaw finished the line of his chiselled cheeks. A nick had scarred him just below his right eye. Following the gentle curve of his nose her gaze fell upon his lips. Soft and sensual, they curled as she watched, into a reassuring smile.

He lifted a hand to her face. Eleanor nuzzled into Matheus’s touch as he stroked her cheek with the back of his hand, tracing the delicate contours. There was a slight tremble to his touch. There was a shared connection. At that moment, Eleanor knew that Matheus understood as well as she the weight of the arrangement thrust upon them and the sacrifice they had been forced to make.

Shaking his head, he exhaled with a heavy sigh. Pulling at his lip he looked at her with an expression of pity as he struggled to speak. “What the…who…who the hell has marked you so? Did they beat you to this extent just to force your betrothal to me?”

Eleanor turned her head away from him.

His fingers gently pulled upon her chin, turning her face back to his. “Eleanor, answer me.” His eyes were searching hers for answers. The taut muscles in his arm flexed. The muscle in his jaw ticked once more.

There is a reason they call you bull, for you are reining in a furious temper, my Lord.

Eleanor replied calmly, “Will you upend me across your knee my Lord, if I don’t tell you? Threatening to punish me as a child for disobeying your word.”

The tear that wended its way down her cheek betrayed her impassive expression. Letting go of her hand. Matheus lent forward and raised his. Eleanor gasped and brought her hand to her face, cowering and she let out a sharp scream.

“For the love of God, woman, what do you think I am? I have told you I won’t strike you. Please Eleanor, do not fear me. I was going to wipe your tears.” Matheus raked his raven hair. He opened his mouth to speak. Shaking his head, he raised his hand instead and said, “My lady, I will take my leave of you as my presence offends you so. I will see you as our Grace the King has decreed to take you to my home the week before our nuptials. And Eleanor, no man or woman will beat you again. You are betrothed to me. I will not have it.”

Smiling, Eleanor leant forward inviting his touch. His hand hesitantly brushed her face. She did not flinch. She let him softly stroke the back of his hand gently down her cheek, spreading his thumb to catch her tears. Eleanor accepting the gift for what it was, an intimacy of kindness that encouraged his affection, and nuzzled his hand delicately back.

“My future bride will not be marked ever again. If anyone dare say you are to be whipped, warn them…if they strike you it is as if they strike me…I am the Lincoln Bull and mighty vengeful.”

Chapter 4

“You missed a great night of whoring and ale, Matheus…woooh, how did you get that lip? Fighting were you? I suppose fighting may be as much fun as whoring. Not that anything is better than Matilda, her breasts,oh for sure, they are—”

Interrupting, Matheus raised his hand and looking at his friend, he chuckled. “Enough, Richard, we all know Matilda’s charms of which there are undoubtedly many.” His smile changed to an embarrassed grimace. He was uncomfortable. It was not easy for a man, let alone a knight to say he had been set upon by a woman. Not just any woman, his betrothed. He sighed. “My lip was Eleanor’s doing.”

“Passionate little filly is she?” Richard smirked.

“Not quite…it was not a love nibble, she bit me. Then she slapped me with as much force as the master of arms.”

“Jesus, a match for Godwin, eh?” Richard exclaimed, laughing loudly. Holding his stomach as his belly ached with the thought of Matheus’s favourite nephew and knight of the King. The Earl, the Bull of Lincoln, beaten by a mere woman and an untried maid at that.

“And what did you do, Matheus? Offer to hold her purse?” Tears were rolling down Richard’s cheeks. “Please, pray this is jest. I cannot believe that a weak and feeble maiden has bit you, the Bull, and not only bit you Matheus. She has struck you who are six foot four and a tower of muscle. Priest’s bones, for this is hilarious.”

Matheus sighed. “Not that it is your business, Sline. I upended her of course and laid her across my knee. I told her I would not be struck. Preparing her for some well-needed discipline I lifted her skirts and…well… Nothing prepared me for what I saw.”

Richard grinned in response. His lips lingered upon his words. “As Eve in Eden naked under her skirts and smock?” He ventured, licking his lips in anticipation of the description.

“No need to excite yourself. What I saw was a disgrace. For some evil bastard had whipped her nates as if she was a beast.”

Richard was as shocked as Matheus. His jaw dropped and his eyes narrowed. His face twisted as if pained. Matheus knew that reaction. It was from a man in love with a woman he had no right to.

It was part of feudal life for a woman to be chastised and viewed so. In fact, a woman may think her husband weak if he did not chastise her for her misdemeanours. William the Conqueror himself had set the example, striking the butt of his troublesome fiancé and smacking Matilda’s bare behind in front of his soldiers.

The marriage had been arranged between William and Matilda’s father. Like Eleanor, she initially refused, knowing him to be a bastard at birth and below her noble standing. He humiliated her until she agreed to their marriage. It was said the strength of his arm persuaded her that he would be a fine husband.

So it was not that Eleanor had been given the birch—that was commonplace to encourage a maid to submit—it was the extent of the damage. It was troublesome to Matheus that Eleanor had endured such a savage beating purely to force her agreement to marry him.

He had always been a knight. Honour and chivalry were to his soul as his flesh and blood were to his bone—part of him.

She may not have remembered him. But he remembered her. Wooden apprentice’s sword in hand as a boy knight, he had defended her against Gelert, the King’s wolfhound.

Once seen, her eyes were never forgotten. They had been wide but remained tearless as she had stood upon the throne that day eight years ago.

She’d sat at her uncle, the King’s knee but a day before. He knew her instantly. Those eyes glittered green and amber. Wide and frightened, they had looked across the room to him. He had walked from the throne room as a prisoner, Eleanor already his gaoler.

There was a magic about Eleanor. Matheus knew it. I am drawn to her as if she enchants my very soul. Richard Sline felt it too. Perhaps every man who ever looks upon her is bewitched.

Whatever sorcery that stirred in her was more compelling than the physical strength of mere man. He was feeling the powerful alchemy of jealousy, passion, and possessiveness hot in his veins. His body quickened just at the thought of her.

Priest’s bones, I am a fool for my heart aches for her something wicked.

Long gone was the boy with his sword of wood. He was a man now; his scabbard sheathed a sharper blade. It was fashioned from steel and wielded by a more skilled hand that had yet found its match. If he knew the person who had marked her so, he would itch to use it.

With the flush of temper cooling he turned to Richard. Patting him on the back he said, laughing, “To further shame me, as if biting my lip and slapping my face was not enough, the bloody miss told me that as I covered her, I would never claim her as her soul belonged to her drowned beloved.”

Richard Sline sprayed his ale, the jettison of fluid leaving his laughing mouth and dampening Matheus’s gilet. “Oh my sweet Lord, did I hear you right?” Richard grinned wickedly. “My dear friend Matheus, who beds women for sport, is being put truly in his place by, of all things, a virgin maid. He bellowed with deep heartfelt laughter as he spoke. “I am sure you told me she was too weak a maiden for your tastes, but it seems the Bull is no match for this young heifer.” Richard Sline could hardly continue to speak as he laughed so heartily. “Mounting that filly will be quite the event. For a wilder pony you will never have ridden I’m sure. Cover her, get her to bed to birth an heir and return to the whores. She is a daughter of the She-Wolves, and after all, those women have always been trouble.”

Matheus cared not. Answering Richard, he always had his sermon prepared. “She is undoubtedly so. But Richard, you know me. I enjoy a challenge. I will often climb to the highest bows of the apple tree. The sun has shone on that fruit longer, and the reward for my efforts is so much sweeter.”

For just a moment he closed his eyes, recalling the feel of her trembling in his arms, the scent and feel of her hair. The soft curve of her body—her dimples as she scorned him. Rosy cheeks and blushed lips…and those eyes.

Yes, there is no doubt in my mind she is a fruit well worth climbing to the highest bow to pick.

Matheus tried to put some control on his passion. He could see Richard looking at him quizzically. He slapped Richard on the back.

Once again Sline spilled his ale. Shaking his head and protesting. “For the love of God man, am I not to enjoy a flagon of this goodly ale?”

“Come, the King has requested we play knuckle bones with him.”

As they walked to the Great Hall, Matheus caught sight of his betrothed once more. Eleanor at her window reading a Bible. She held the book in her hands, close to her heart.

His heart quickened, the stab of a stich forced a flinch. It wanted to be near to that heart just as much as his body wanted to be held by those hands. But more than anything, Matheus wanted to be loved by that heart, knowing she thought of him instead of her precious Edmund as he coupled with her. He was jolted. Not one day had passed that he hadn’t felt the grief of Elizabeth. heavy on his shoulders, solid and unyielding in his soul. Now not for the first time, he had been comforted by the thought of being in the arms of the wildest filly of Christendom. He laughed a little at this revelation. Loud enough for Richard to raise an eyebrow.

* * * *

The splendour and colour of an English Medieval Court was a feast for the stomach and a meal for the mind. Every hue of luxury thread and weave imaginable bedecked both nobleman and noble lady, the needlework of the skilled embroidered and the hand of the stone mason carved.

It was a scene of such grandeur and opulence that Matheus despised it. Both the Royal Houses of York and Lancaster will greet each other with false fancy only to spite them in speech whence their backs were turned The trappings of wealth were borne on the backs of the surfs. Children and women starved, whilst the nobles fed their hounds better.

His mood darkened. Matheus’s tanned, chiselled cheeks pulled to a twist and his brow pinched. As he strode through the Court, all looked to him with desire. Men wanted to be him and women yearned to be with him. The Houses might be feuding, but they were united in their reverence for the sheer stout-hearted power of the man before them. Confident and carefree as always, Matheus was blissfully unaware. That just added to his charm. There was no arrogance in the man, just the star-like shine of God-given talent and superiority.

He often said the sight of death is mighty sobering and to be relaxed in your own skin is the gift given to those of us the reaper deemed to spare in combat. We knew him but awaited the time he will know us better.

There was a purpose to Matheus’ prowl. He walked the court in search of his quarry. He delighted in the sight of his prey and made haste towards her.

“Lady Bruce.”

Taking her hand Matheus brushed her knuckles with his lips loose and sensuous. Kissing as he spoke. “I will soon to be calling you mother, although you are obviously too young to acquire such a title.”

Mother Bear flushed at the words, so sweetly spoken by the most desired man in the room. Matheus watched her eyes soften as she took in the beautiful example of male physique standing before her.

A lock of his hair fell forward. Lady Bruce boldly smoothed it back from his brow. She lingered a little with her touch. The feel of his skin under her fingertips was quite delicious. It was a sensual gesture. And she did not care who saw it.

“Please dear son, call me mother, not Lady Bruce. I am known in jest as Mother Bear, as I am the powerful guiding hand to so many.”

Lady Bruce smiled as she spoke. Matheus could tell she loved attention. Flirting with him so obviously was gaining the jealous stares of half the hall. And she obviously delighted in it.

Leaning in to her, as if they were the most intimate of lovers, Matheus asked, “May I whisper in your ear, Mother Bear?”

Lady Bruce’s eyes widened in greedy anticipation as she nodded.

Matheus looked to her lips then back at her eyes. He put an arm around Lady Bruce’s waist and drew her close to him. Pressed close to his chest, Matheus could feel the flutter of her heart as it raced. She was quite breathless against him. Her legs were weakening and she was trembling at his touch. He knew exactly what he was doing, his azure eyes seeming to look through her clothing almost to her soul. He felt her tighten to him. Everything south of her waist, eager for the touch of him, pulled and awakened.

Expertly, he went about her undoing. Matheus was an experienced lover, his skills honed. He had heard her velvety mewling and felt the soft tremble of her body. He smiled inwardly. This was a woman ripe for seduction.

To ladies, he was almost predatory, like hares in the hunter’s lamplight, stunned and compliant, quarry for his taking. They would keep coming back to his sensuous light, drawn to his danger.

His right hand was gripping her to him. Using just enough strength to make her feel perturbed, but gentle enough to seduce her into believing she was being caressed. With the back of his hand he traced his left hand down her face and around her jaw. Stretching his thumb to pull at her bottom lip, moistening his thumb with her waterline. Unflinching, commanding and almost cruel, he kept her stare, looking straight into her eyes.

Lady Bruce swallowed. Her breath quickened, the shallow rasp of it leaving her lungs audible to the gathered group.

As his palm cupped her jaw he lifted her head so his lips just brushed her mouth, as he traced his tongue to her ear. Like a light breeze just by her lobe he soothed.

“The gathered crowd think I am whispering what I want to do to you Mother Bear…they are not mistaken.”

Tipping her head, she mewled and he continued, purring, “I want to upend you. Pull your skirts and smock up and lay your nates bare.”

Lady Bruce rocked, obviously nearly fainting at just the way this man spoke to her.

Matheus’s eyes were flashing as he continued. “And give you a thrashing, the like of which you have never had. For you disgust me, my Lady. It is only because you are a woman that I do not call you out for what you did to my betrothed.”

Gone was the touch of the intimate. With temper he gripped her chin. Applying such force, he made her wince.

Dropping his head so he could look her straight in the eye. He grimaced. Just a flash of his teeth, a slight pinch in his brow. Matheus was angry.

Lady Bruce was trying to pull away without making a scene. She smiled as if he was still seducing her and leaning in for a kiss.

But Matheus held her tight and continued hissing. “Touch her again and as God’s my witness, I will be mighty vengeful for she is mine…now under my protection.”

Dropping his hand from her face, Matheus smiled to the gathered ladies to conclude his sensual show. All giggled and beamed in response.

Taking Lady Bruce’s hand in his he dropped his head, lifted it to his mouth and brushed it with his full soft lips. Saying out loud as he winked, “That was a pleasure Mother…Bear—now remember what I said, won’t you?”

The assembled ladies swooned, caught up in the excitement. Their chatter, gasps and giggles, voicing their delight. “My, he is quite the destrier isn’t he…all dark and muscular.”

“I wonder what sweet words he whispered.”

“Well they must have been truly sweet…for look, they have caused Lady Bruce’s undoing…she is mighty flushed.”

“I would do a week’s Hail Marys for that man to whisper sweetly to me.”

“I fear just for my unclean thoughts about him I may have to.”

The women continued their jest. They laughed and joked about how little their husbands compared, both in passion and stature. Turning their heads to drink in every last inch of him as he walked past them.

He flashed them a smile. His chest was puffed, and his gait confident. He strode with the undoubtable presence of pure male pride. The Plantagenet gene ran strong in his blood. He was head and shoulders taller than any man at the gathering, and as one of the ladies put it, “he is all the more desirable for the length of his shanks.”

Matheus was pleased with himself. As ever her champion, he had come to his damsel’s aid once more. Mother Bear may not have had Gelert’s fangs, but the bite of her birch was just as nasty.

Yes, he thought, with a beam upon his face so wide it was like a child at Christmas, I have done a fine job putting that witch in her place. She breathed shallow and deep. I could almost taste her nerves. Yes, she was mighty frit of me.

But Matheus was quite wrong. As Lady Bruce listened to the women swoon about her future son-in-law, her heart was not quite back to an even beat. Smiling to herself, she pondered.

If it would mean that that man was my punisher, then as God’s my witness, I would agree to anything.

She too, watched as the other noble ladies did while Matheus strode away. Covering the ground with such pace and beauty, you could liken him to the Master of the Horse’s best stallion. Strong, dark and a body of muscle that ran hot with the fieriest of blood.

And just like the other ladies, Lady Bruce bemoaned the fact that those long shanks would be upon Eleanor—pinning her groin—in a matter of weeks. The green snake of jealousy slithered through her like the abomination it was.

Chapter 5

Amber and apricot hues painted the morning canvas, the sky still and the dawn newly broken. The radiant winter sun hung low, kissing the horizon in a blaze of white light, darkening only briefly as a cloud of starlings greeted the day. With their beautiful ballet, the birds performed to a silent audience.

As the men rode on through the forest they were soon on open land. Snow had covered the tracks of the last day’s journeymen. It was as if their hooves were the first to travel such a well-worn path

Matheus had been riding for several hours by daybreak. This was the last day of his journey, and although saddle-hardened, his disposition was more melancholic than just tired. The hour was early yet already he found himself tired of conversation. There was neither jest in his manner, nor humour in his voice.

His men knew their knight well. They were brothers in battle, sharing both success and sorrow. They had celebrated with him when he married and watched over him through his grief. Anyone of them would take an arrow to protect him. No words were needed, no souls would be bared. They knew why he found it hard to make merry whilst on the road to collect his new bride.

Their matches had mostly been for love, lust, even sometimes just the need of a soft touch of a gentle hand upon their skin. Their women wept when they soldiered. Warmed their beds and hearts when they returned. Yet they knew their knight had lost that woman to the cursed and ever-present danger of childbirth. Now he would marry a maid who had to be beaten to agree.

“Godwin, see here,” Richard Sline jested, “he looks like he rides to the sheriff to be arrested rather than the collection of his bride.”

Matheus interrupted as Richard exchanged banter with Godwin, Master of Arms. “I am fearing her right hook. I still have the bruise; a strike like that can make a man mighty fearful. Perhaps when I rally to bed her, I will ask the squire to prey dress me in my harness of armour to prepare me for battle.” He smiled as he spoke and his men responded by laughing, glad to see their Master’s mood much improved. They offered lewd suggestions on how a passionate maid could be controlled and claimed.

Matheus hadn’t initially wanted Eleanor’s hand and he knew she felt likewise. It does not help that the maid is royal frit of me. Priest bones for this day. I long to be as my men, free to bed and wed whom I choose.

This was no happy occasion. I am no lover coming to whisk my betrothed off to couple with her as she desires me to.

He had never taken a woman against her will. With the weight of the King’s decree and the nation’s safety upon his shoulders, he prayed that he would never have to as he rode toward the infamous walls of Lancaster Castle.

“There is some right to this wrong,” he muttered as his horse brought him closer to his intended. Eleanor was coming as Matheus’s bride with a modest dowry, which meant naught to him. He was a wealthy man with vast estates. His family had prospered well during the Cousins’ War, partly because Matheus’s father, a Lancastrian Earl, had married the daughter of a Yorkist. It had caused great upset at the time. But the financial benefits had been huge. The family was always able to strike a deal with their red or white rose cousins no matter what royal nates graced the throne of England at the time.

However, the wars had been costly for Eleanor’s father—the old Earl. Matheus would not add to his burden. Stealing his daughter from him was gift enough. He had waved the dowry for just a few acres of French land the Old Earl had won in a game of knuckles and thought quite useless. Matheus thought differently; his decision to wave a dowry for it had been viewed by both king and court at best as the generosity of a soft man or at worst the trifle of a fool.

Matheus was neither. His thirst for knowledge was immense and eclectic. From the world of nature to the structure of battle plans, he would talk with scholars for hours and read what few books were written with great zeal, in need of the refreshment that only education could bring him.

The acres in the dowry were thick with good French yew trees. The English yew produced poor quality weapons and bows. The French wood was much finer. It seasoned better and made weapons that could win wars. He had seen too many of his men die because of poor English bows. This would be his gift to his men, bettering their chances of survival.

“It might not suit all, Richard,” Matheus had said when questioned on his decision regarding Eleanor’s dowry. “There will be less whores for you to lay with, Sline for more men will return from battle to warm their wives’ beds and feed their kins’ bellies, not fill the ground producing a feast for the worms.”

Who was Matheus doing this for—his king, his men or himself?

My King commands and I do his bidding. My men to secure good bows and perhaps save their lives. For me because want it or no, she is fair and she doth bewitch me so. Oh my Eleanor of Lancaster, you torment me and tangle my heart strings. Wolf or woman…sure to be a witch.

Struggling with the feelings and emotions she stirred in him, he was hopeful that when he saw her there to greet him, his passion would be pacified a little by her presence.

With his colours displayed before him, Matheus rode into the court yard. The banners of Lincoln gold and green pennons streamed about him. Accompanied by Richard Sline, Godwin, his best man at arms, and some twenty mounted soldiers, it was a sight of wealth and grandeur—not only to tell his bride her betrothed believed her a precious enough jewel to celebrate his good fortune with pomp and ceremony, but to protect her as they escorted her home.

Matheus’s brow pinched. Eleanor was not there to greet him. There was a touch of desperation in his face, his eyes as if storm clouds, a mix of blue and grey, threatening fury as they searched the courtyard.

Matheus dismounted. Seeing Lady Bruce, he strode to her, covering the ground nearly as quickly as his mount, Simon, would.

Lady Bruce was flustered. She was garbled in her speech. Appearing nervous and becoming flushed as she spoke to him. “The Lady is quite queer about you, Matheus,” Richard commented.

“I warned her off Eleanor. I don’t see it as right to threaten a lady. But after the sight of her birched I had to do what was best for my betrothed’s protection. Mother Bear, well let’s say she is mighty frit of me,” Matheus replied with a tone of achievement

There was a booming laugh from Godwin as he called to his knight. “That is not a woman frit. You have it wrong, sire. For that is a woman wanting…quite undone and you are the undoer.”

The soldiers laughed heartily. Matheus was a very popular master and dearly beloved by his men. They enjoyed great banter and were soon joined by Richard who continued to chide his friend. Making a mooing sound and continuing to speak he said, “Tis the effect of The Bull of Lincoln. Not only do young heifers bay for him…but barren Kye bay for this bull too.”

Matheus shook his head at his men and told them to stand down. Taking the arm of Lady Bruce, he walked her out of earshot. His men reacted by hitting their sword hilts against the pommels of their saddles. Hollering and baying with crudest of comments.

“Pay no mind to them, Lady Bruce, they see their wives little and become lewd because of it. But mean nothing by it.” Under his hand he could feel Lady Bruce was trembling to his touch. Fearing her frightened he reassured her, his manner and tone belaying his true emotion. He kept it calm and controlled. “Please do not tremble so my Lady. If my betrothed is safe than I shall be gracious with you.”

Lady Bruce smiled. But in truth it was obvious to everyone else there that she would like him less gracious. His men were quite right—she was undone by him totally.

“I’m waiting. Where is Eleanor? It is custom, is it not, to greet your future husband when he calls to collect her to bring her to wife? It is fair to say I did not think she would bring me the customary sweetmeats and offer to bathe me. But to hide in her chambers is disrespectful. I am in front of my men for love of God. How can I command their respect if my future wife disrespects me so? Do I have to search for her?”

Lady Bruce looked up at Matheus. He was quite concerned about her.

She must be sorely frit for her breathing is most laboured and her heart it doth pound something terrible.

Trying to steady her, afraid she might faint, he tightened his grip on her wrist and put his other hand on the small of her back.

She was melting beneath him; only his hands stopped her from hitting the floor. She muttered, lowering her head to escape those eyes as she replied, “If only you would search me.”

“Sorry, my Lady. I may have heard you wrong. Search where?” Matheus frowned as he spoke, misunderstanding her.

“With respect, my Lord you chided me for disciplining her. I did try to tell you. Eleanor is a wicked child. She took off on her grey to the lakes, knowing full well your advent was today.” Lowering her eyes, a little embarrassed, Lady Bruce continued. “I am afraid she even rides astride just like a boy, with no stockings upon her legs or slippers on her feet. Without the threat of the birch I could not control her.”

Matheus told his men to make merry and sleep off some of the journey in the barn. He took Richard aside. Matheus was cursing Eleanor in his head, unwilling, perhaps embarrassed even to share his disappointment.

Unwise Mistress, unwise. For damnation of the devil I will seek and I will find.

Teeth clenched and temper returning the tick of his cheek he hissed. “I will make her my quarry, hunting her down and bringing her back strapped to my horse if I have too. For God is my witness, this maid has played my patience too long. If I have to punish her to protect her, then punish I will.”

* * * *

Richard watched as his Matheus rode off. They had been friends since childhood and he knew Matheus’s temper.

He knew that Eleanor of Lancaster would soon return with her noble butt strapped onto the back of Matheus’s saddle. Muttering, he said to no one in particular, “Dear God, if the King decides on a bride for me, may she be a widow woman grateful for a warm bed and a gentle hand, for love Eleanor as I do, untouched maidens seem to be as wild as boar.”

Lady Bruce heard. Her eyes glittered. “There are plenty the strings of a young bow that have been broken upon the back of an old fiddle, my Lord Sline.”

Richard Sline grinned back at her. “I play well my Lady, the sound as I stroke it doth send shivers through me…the fiddle I mean. Perhaps you would lend me your back?”

* * * *

Matheus rode his destrier hard in temper, stopping only when the froth of sweat had patterned his black steed with a blanket of white. The time he took to make the great lakes had not stilled his spirit for on his arrival he was still enraged, shouting her name in damnation.

“Eleanor, where are you? Tell me now, for hunt and find you I will. Best for you to declare where you hide and speak not, for damnation I will punish you!” The mountains seemed to be in agreement as his eyes clouded from stormy blue to the cloudy grey cloaking summits shrouded in lavender mists.

There was no doubt that Matheus was a skilled knight. But as a hunter there was no better. Noticing signs that others would have missed, Matheus as always focused. Yes, his prey had passed this way.

There was a length of grey horse tail that had caught in the brier. On open ground, the fern was parted toward the lake. With no other trail, he knew Eleanor had ridden through. Looking across the moorland there was a copse of trees. Nestled aside the lake track was a likely place for a horse to shelter as the wind was bitter, and he would gamble his purse Arthur would be there, butt against the wind. He journeyed there and was proved right.

King Arthur was a big mount for a lady. He was sixteen hands of dapple grey destrier. Trying to shelter against the wind, he stood just as Matheus imagined. Head low and butt to the wind. The copse did not provide the horse much shelter; the bulk of his body was exposed to the gusts. As the Old Earl would say, Arthur had a leg in each corner, a solid horse who had proved his worth in battle, retiring from the field only because a blow to his head in a joust had taken an eye.

Matheus dismounted and pulled the scarf from his neck. Walking up to Arthur he soothed him. Talking to the horse so as not to startle him and stroking the grey’s neck he said, “Hello old boy, where is your lady, eh?”

Arthur kept silent and Matheus praised him for it. “Good lad, a true soldier will never speak of where their master or mistress hides.” Giving Arthur an apple from his saddle bag he patted the horse. Matheus took his neck scarf and tied it to the horse’s stirrups. He secured them to the pommel so the horse would not spook.

“Now then, these will not chaff you or bang your flank when you make for home. Oh and Arthur if my men come looking ,prey tell them ’tis their knight’s scarf and I have found my kill, for if they have drunk too much good ale, they will believe the words of a talking horse above the sight of my scarf.”

Matheus chuckled as he slapped Arthur’s back to encourage him to go. But the horse stood fast awaiting his mistress. It took several attempts for he hated striking a horse.

“Strike horse nor woman, Matheus, unless the hand of fate forces ye,” his dad had always said. “Upon their backs and in their hearts they will carry your body and save your soul in ways you’ll never understand. Man is often a burden that they are not deserving of.”

But eventually after a slap to his flank the large beast cantered off toward the Castle. “Now my little deserter, where are you?” he muttered.

Following the newly trod path down to the lakeside, he stopped. Matheus’s chest rose, and his shoulders stiffened. His body stood quite rigid, viewing his discovery. Grunting, he vocalised the displeasure that crept over his face. He was pained, his brow pinched and his lips pursed into a tight line. His gaze followed, narrowing to a cruel glare. There lay a pile of exquisitely embroidered clothes upon the stony edge. Silently he fumed.

Unless there is another noble woman running wild as a welsh pony, these clothes are Eleanor’s.

This fuelled his temper even more. Out loud he bellowed. “For the love of God, what is it with this maid? She…Holy mother of God…I—”

Scoring his hands through his hair to keep them busy enough to keep from drawing his sword and striking something, he continued to growl deep from his guts. In pure frustration, he sucked air through his teeth to prevent his screaming bloody murder. Striking the air with his fist and kicking sods and stones up from the ground he yelled. “I…Oh hell and damnation! You, Eleanor of Lancaster, could test the patience of Job. Damn you, woman, where are you?” His frustrations remained unheard for there was not a soul about, not even Eleanor. And it was turning to dusk.

The magic of the eve pattered the sky with opal colours of fire and gold. The lateness of the hour found the low lazy sun kissing the horizon, tipping it with pink and bronze. The only disturbance was the geese flying overhead, calling as they made their journey home.

The world just stilled. The sound of his heart was deafening. There was not air enough in his lungs to breath let alone talk. Silently he spoke to her.

“Dear lord, I have no words, you are exquisite. If I were a poet, I would write prose about you and if I had a palette my hand would nay be ever skilled enough to paint you, for I doubt any master of ink could.”

His temper cooling and his heart captured, Matheus backed into the boughs. They were hanging low and dark like widows’ weaves over the lake side, and he was easily concealed. Not able to look away, he was bewitched.

Eleanor rose from the water. The pure female form of a woman with the presence of a goddess. There was something almost otherworldly about her. Matheus’s eyes followed her delectable womanly curves. From the indent of her belly button to the peaks of her full breasts, she was so beautiful. Everything that was male in him growled a carnal sound. His senses ignited, blood burning as it pulsed through his veins, the very soul of him searing with heat.

Need grew in him, an insatiable hunger only she could sate. He feasted on the sight of her; feeding on her charms was sustenance for his aching heart.

Bewitched be damned, she owns me.

Eleanor dipped her head below the water. Coming back up, she gasped the mewl of a woman delighted. She was at one with her body, at one with the water. Combing her bright tresses with her fingers, she opened her mouth and started to sing. The most incrediblly pure, bell-like voice rang out across the lake. The natural acoustics of mountains and water helped the sound travel, echoing across the expanse.

The sweet sensual timbre of tone enveloped both the man and the nature he stood in. It was if this maid were a siren calling to him. The sound of song resonated deep in him.

Dear lord, the charms of her body torment me and this pray, this is the sound of my seduction. Nymph—nay siren, witch or wolf—tame her I must. For live without her I cannot.

Matheus swooned. His body unsteady, his long loins faltered.

Whoa. Tis me, not the ground that is unsteady.

Matheus stumbled, his boots heavy upon the ground. The sound of breaking twigs, with a life of its own, reverberated out across the lake.

Eleanor—still combing her hair and running her fingers through the length of her glorious golden tresses—stopped. Startled, she turned to face the direction of the sound. The last of the winter light illuminated her pale skin. The play of light danced upon it as if it were fashioned of pearl. The warm, golden tone of the dipping sun kissed the horizon almost level against the lake, making an aurora frame, lighting her face as if she had a halo.

The singing stopped. Her voice quieted. Concern darkened her expression. Doe eyes glittering between amber and green searched the lakeside for a figure.

“Who is there? Pray show yourself.”

Matheus watched her slip down into the lake. Leaving only her head and shoulders visible, she continued to search the lakeside and question who had noticed her.

Enveloped by her song and inflamed by her body, he wished he could stay there forever. But he had noticed the alarm in her voice. Walking out from the camouflage of the low boughs, Matheus spoke loudly and clearly as he revealed himself. “It may be to my eternal damnation, if only for the thought of it, but there are things I would do to you, Eleanor of Lancaster, right here and now to sate the hellish desire you have urged in me. God help me, for I have to find the strength to rein in what you are awakening in me until you are mine.” He stood with his hands on his hips, a slight smirk upon his lips

“Do not speak to me so. Turn around and stay that way. I will come to the edge. Stay facing away from me. Then hand me my clothes.” She was staring right at him as she gave Matheus instruction.

“My Lady, if I was used to taking orders, I would be a foot soldier, not one of the King’s knights and more likely answer to errand boy not Earl. And, my dear Lady, it would be more likely that this knight who stands before you as the jailor of your clothes would take instruction from the devil himself before you. And I would see myself in hell before I did so.”

Picking up some smooth stones. Matheus began to skim them across the water and continued. “Now if you say please, my lord in the sweet manner that is fitting for you to speak to me as your husband-to-be, I may turn my back and allow you your clothes. I am a patient man. I have sat and waited for my quarry to tire when I have hunted for many hours—days even.”

Matheus had a grin on his face. He laughed. “You however, my Lady, well let me see—from my experience you are quite impatient, nay very impatient. The water is cold, the wind is picking up. The eve is fast coming upon us, so there lies your predicament.”

Eleanor screamed at him. “You are a beast. Now turn your back.”

Matheus ignored her. Dropping from his standing position he lay down. His hands behind his head. Looking up at the sky, humming a rhyme, he yawned a little as he settled himself and closed his eyes.

“Please,” she whispered, her head straining to see him without leaving the water’s protection and revealing her charms.

“I’m sorry, did you speak, my dear Lady? Pray speak louder, for I cannot hear you,” Matheus replied, struggling to subdue his laughter.

“Please, my lord.” She sobbed her reply.

The sound of her cries stirred him still further, the coil of his groin responding to the soft sound. Matheus succumbed to her tears and rose up. Picking her clothes up, he took them to the edge of the lake, just shy of the water, and lifted his face to look at hers.

Eleanor’s big eyes blinked back, starry with tears. Her nose had turned red with cold and her skin still paler. Little ripples surrounded her as she agitated the water, trembling as the chill went right through into her bones. Tears rolled down her cheeks and she pouted.

Oh priest’s bones, that pout. His heart awakened to the vision of vulnerability his eyes were enjoying and pounded his ribcage, begging to be let free to fly. It was challenging yet powerful to view her suffering as she cried. Try as he might, not to let Eleanor take a piece of his heart, it was to little avail; this was a battle he feared already lost.

Speaking softly, he shook his head in bewilderment. “Jesus, woman, for this day you are wrecking me.” Then, whistling loudly, Matheus turned his back.

His destrier raised his head and whinnied. Hooves clattered on the pebbles as Matheus’s mount cantered to its master’s side. Opening the pack on his saddle, he pulled out a wool blanket. Patting his horse on the back he signalled the horse was free to wander back up the water’s edge towards some grass. “If only my Lady, you did my bidding with as much good grace as Simon. Now I will bring your clothes and this blanket. I will turn my back on you. I give you my word I will not turn and take in the naked sight of you. I have enjoyed a little taste of what treasures await me. The full pleasure will be a gift revealed to me on our wedding night.”

From the lake came the sound of a loud intake of breath as he spoke. Funny. For a maid who had risked skinny dipping alone, why was she was so afraid of her deflowering? And quite wickedly, he delighted a little in her reaction and laughed.

“Will I be rewarded with a pat on the back, sir?” she quipped.

Matheus smiled. “My dear Lady, if you are as compliant as Simon I will even give you an apple.”

It was good to hear her so agreeable. Feelings of protectiveness overwhelmed him as his body smiled in recognition. Perhaps she was more willing than wild after all.

Eleanor stepped from the water. With only the sound of her steps, Matheus imagined what a wondrous sight it would be. Dripping wet and naked, her harvest hair cascading down her back. OH and that skin, the smell of her. Priest’s bones, what would she taste like?

Fearing he was dwelling a little too long on Eleanor’s obvious charms, he requested. “Are you dressed yet, my Lady?”

There was no reply. Not even the sound of her breathing as she shivered in the cold. Eleanor was silent.

“Come now, my Lady, you will catch your death. Pray, are you dressed?”

Matheus shook his head, rolled his eyes and sighed, recognising the sound of light feet on pebbles. Turning to watch, he did not stir to catch her. His eyes followed her up the water line, with nothing but her chemise upon her back. Eleanor was running up the water’s edge with such a desire to flee, it was as if the devil himself had designs to catch her.

Turning her head over her shoulder, she looked straight at Matheus, with quite an unholy expression of glee. From under a fringe of willow-coloured lashes, her bright hazel eyes glittered green in delight at her deception.

It was fair to say Eleanor was pretty proud of herself and she flushed a little with self-admiration.

Matheus met her gaze, watching with interest as she mounted his destrier. Laughing to himself as he enjoyed the wicked expression of glee that had spread across her face.

Oh mistress, I have never failed to break a filly yet, and you will be quite a delightful challenge. The best are always the ones who buck at the onset.

Eleanor’s self-satisfaction appeared to be short-lived, for as she kicked the horse, he stood steadfast. Almost as if tethered. “Move for pity’s sake, Simon move,” she hollered, kicking the ribs of the beast with all her worth, but to no avail.

Matheus put his fingers to his mouth and whistled. His destrier whinnied in response and set off back to its master, moving at a fair lick.

Eleanor screamed. It was unlikely a scream of fright. She was an excellent horse woman and rarely unseated. It was more likely to be one born of her frustration.

Laughter rang out as Matheus could contain himself no more.

Eleanor was enraged. Her features twisted and her lips pouted. She glared at the master of her folly.

His smile had become more of a winner’s grin. He saw well from Eleanor’s expression that if she could reach his sword, she would be drawing it. The destrier stopped at his master’s feet. And was rewarded with a pat and an apple. Still chuckling, Matheus told his horse. “You get my Lady’s apple, Simon, for she struggles against training to the whistle.” Raising his head, he grinned at a very sorry looking Eleanor.

“On this occasion I will ignore the fact you are seated astride. It is most unseemly for a Lady to ride so, let alone my future bride.”

Eleanor did not reply. Her face was sour and her bottom lip protruded.

He grinned at her and his eyes twinkled with a wicked intent. He said in a matter-of-fact tone, “You are even more beautiful when you sulk, Eleanor. Your mouth is quite lovely as it pouts and the best bit…yep, that’s it…pray listen do you hear it? Silence. Whilst you sulk, you are not arguing with me.” With that Matheus pulled himself up onto his mount just behind Eleanor. Gripping her waist, he pulled her back so far she was almost in his lap.

She gasped. He wanted her to.

You’re held by a man, Mistress, not a boy.

Eleanor struggled in his arms. But he just gripped her tighter, soaking up all her rage. Pressing his mouth to her neck he breathed softly, smiling upon her fine skin.

She quivered.

Matheus knew full well what he was doing. He wanted her to feel the awakening he had felt. Matheus was an experienced lover. He sensed she may not have completely understood what was happening. But her body did and was preparing itself accordingly. For the first time in her life, he knew she found herself having to fight the overwhelming desires of her body. And he delighted in it.

Matheus wanted her to acknowledge the female force in her. He wanted her to relax into his hold, and succumb to the scent of man, muscle and horse.

Trembling slightly from the confusion of her sexual awakening, Eleanor was wriggling and writhing against him, trying to break the bonds that held her. Her whimpering only excited him more.

Feel it… My little She-Wolf; you’re all mine. Even your body answers mine.

Matheus was not shocked by her panic. In his arms, pressed to his chest, he held an untried maid. Of course she wanted to break free of him and run as fast and as far as she could, away from the realisation that a man could touch the very core of her. Just as he was not Edmund, she was not Elizabeth. Matheus understood the feeling of guilt and betrayal any stirring of passion would provoke.

He knew too he had to be masterful with her. Like it or not she needed a strong hand. “I am warning you, I will not hesitate to use this cord and bind you. Do you understand that if you try my patience once more I will tie you behind this saddle, strapped down firmly?” He let his lips linger on her neck as he spoke.

She does feel it, he thought as the vein fluttered slightly under the heat of his breath. There is telepathy in hearts, Eleanor; let yourself feel it, he pleaded silently.

Ever so softly , he nuzzled his face into her neck, brushing her skin with his lips and displaying the gentlest of intimacy. Eleanor was inexperienced in the ways of men. he Pulling her further into his lap, Matheus toyed with her, willing her to recognise it was not the male arousal she could feel hard against her that she feared as much as it was her own arousal.

“Let me ride my own mount, my Lord, for this is…well, it is too…your lap…’tis uncomfortable. Pray where is my mount? Where is Arthur?” she asked with an edge of concern.

“I slapped his nates and sent him home. I tied my neck scarf to his stirrups. Do not fear my Lady, no will come searching for you. When they see my scarf, they will know I hunted you down and caught you as I always will when you try to run away. I cannot trust you, so you will ride with me. Why in God’s name do you do it?”

“Do what? Enjoy the freedoms of the lakes? Ride like a man? Refuse you?” she snapped, the magic moment of her passion waning

Matheus pulled up. Twisting her so he could see her face, he cupped it in his large palms and stroked her cheek. “Run from me, God damn it. Eleanor, why pray do you run from me, up to the hills and lakes? Will I have to bind you all through our marriage and set my hounds to find you?”

“I didn’t run away from you; actually I rode.” Looking him straight in the eye, holding his gaze she added, “You…men…you all want something from me. As a girl it didn’t matter if I rode astride off to the hills and swam in the lakes. Now as a woman, the king wants an heir and you want not only my maidenhead but my submission. So is it any wonder I run from you?”

As a terrier worried at a bone, Eleanor had a way of prickling Matheus’s nerves. He growled gutturally, and his eyes flashed in temper as he kicked his mount. The destrier was in full gallop in moments.

Audibly, the breath of shock left her body. Thrown back into his chest, Eleanor was startled. But if Matheus had thought to frighten her a little, his plans were fruitless. Rising up the horse’s neck, she sat better than most men. Her style was a damn sight braver. Wind blew her hair back, so it streamed like golden ribbons about Matheus’s shoulders. Dropping his head, he could smell the scent of it fresh from her lake swim.

Giggling with delight, Eleanor clung to the destrier as it covered the ground, thundering into a full battle charge.

As her singing had done, the sound of her pleasure soothed his temper, his soul feeding on every mewl, gasp and giggle. Spooning her body, he leaned forward, his chest on her shoulder, following her curve. One hand on the reins and one around her waist, he held his precious little cargo even tighter as the speed increased.

Matheus was trying to tell himself he was protecting the King’s interest in ensuring her safety. Deep down he knew that was the folly of a fool. He was protecting what his heart voiced “mine,” for he was falling in love with her.

Matheus wrapped his cloak about Eleanor’s shoulders. “Cover yourself up woman,” he said playfully. “I will not have the eyes of men upon what is truly mine.”

Reaching the courtyard. Matheus pulled his mount up and was greeted by Richard. Before the men could even exchange a word. Eleanor spoke. She beamed, her face brightening with obvious pleasure. “Why Richard, how wonderful. What are you doing here?

Matheus shot a look of acrimony, warning Richard of his pique. His body was slipping into fight mode. Until this moment, he had not thought himself to be a possessive person. But he recognised his reaction. He was going in to battle. This time there was no field of play. This was a battle for Eleanor.

Jesus I’m jealous.

This day had been one of revelations for Matheus. The man known as the Bull of Lincoln had not been nicknamed so because of his obvious attractiveness to ladies. Nor because of his muscular physique or the sheer size of him. Not even because he was one of the strongest in the human herd. Matheus was nicknamed so for his ability to stay cool and calm under extreme pressure and then to charge down every aggressor in his path.

* * * *

Richard grimaced. He knew the temper of the Lincoln Bull and he didn’t want to be at the end of it. Nervously he addressed them both. “My Lady, Matheus. Did you both have a satisfying ride? I-I mean did you enjoy the beauty of the lakes?” Flushing red after once more putting his foot in it, he muttered, “Oh dear…well this is awkward.”

Matheus did not reply directly. His expression remained sullen.

Eleanor spoke. “This destrier is quite magnificent. Aren’t you, Simon?” Patting him she continued. “So fast, Richard, so sure of foot. Dear Arthur is much slower. Is he here? I hope he’s safe. Perhaps I can try your mount, Richard? That would be such fun. Shall we ride out?”

* * * *

Eleanor spoke so quickly, every word alive and animated. Matheus watched her, resentful that she talked to Sline as if they were lovers and he was her betrothed. Like a brier of brambles stuck in his foot, he felt the twist and knot of his guts, sharp and unyielding.

Richard and Eleanor exchanged soft smiles, comfortable and relaxed with each other. This did not improve Matheus’s mood. His body language alone was warning enough.

Richard looked from one to another. Looking at Matheus, he was greeted by a glare so challenging it looked to all that a joust to the death was the only way to decide upon the lady.

Matheus snapped. “Eleanor you will never ride out with another man, astride or otherwise, again. Richard is a friend to us both it seems.” Matheus wiped his face with his hand. Returning his intense glare to Richard he continued. “You have put Sir Sline in an awkward situation, my Lady. Of course he must refuse any invitation even if it is to walk around the gardens with you. You are mine and soon all of you will belong to me as your husband. Socialising with married men would be unseemly, but single ones unacceptable. I will not permit it. Please leave us Richard, I will find you later.”

Richard bowed at Eleanor and patted Matheus on the back answering, “Of course… My Lady, Matheus.” He left with an expression of relief on his face and a haste in his walk.

Matheus went to give his hand to Eleanor to aid her dismount. Kicking his open hand with her foot, she scowled at him.

Gripping her with force, Matheus snapped. Pulling her from the saddle he shouted, “Lad, come stable my horse and the Lady Eleanor’s. Make haste.”

Matheus unceremoniously slung her over his shoulder. It would be fair to say that the newly betrothed couple were furious with each other. The castle staff and servants were used to uproar in the household. After all, they had Lady Bruce and the Old Earl as their masters. But even they were shocked at the sight and sounds of Eleanor and Matheus as they tore emotional chunks out of each other.

With a face like thunder, he strode across the courtyard with Eleanor over his shoulder as if he was carrying his saddle pack. Kicking at his chest with her feet and hitting his back with her fists, Eleanor continued her attack by savaging his male pride with her tongue. “No wonder they call you a bull. You’re a beast. You are a stubborn ox! Unhand me! This is no way to treat a lady!”

“I hold no lady!” Matheus’ left arm tightened around his precious cargo, steadying her as she hung over his back. His right hand began giving her backside a few swats as he continued. “A lady would not flirt so. You have talked more to Richard this eve in an hour than to me in a week, and sweetly too.”

He did not want to hurt her; tame her and force her to show him some respect, yes. But to hurt her, certainly not. It was Matheus who was hurting. His pride had taken a beating, and the taste of jealousy was bitter on his tongue.

Lady Bruce came to see what all the commotion was. Seeing her stepdaughter being carried over her future son-in-law’s shoulders as he gave her nates a few slaps was a little too much. Most stepmothers would feel some compassion for their stepdaughter’s predicament. But Mother Bear just bemoaned the fact it wasn’t her, muttering to herself about how unfair life could be.

“She plucks clumsily and cruelly at that man’s heart strings. If he were mine, I would play him like a harp. Oh what music we could make.”

Behind her, leaning against the entrance to the great hall, Richard Sline spilled, “Mother Bear, ’tis the wrong instrument and I fear the wrong musician. She is strong-willed; there is no doubt and stubborn too. The man who owns her heart will spend his whole life cursing. But to me there is no other gold that shines so, no jewel as precious.”

Lady Bruce gave him the lash of her tongue. “Sir, control yourself. You are a knight, not a poet. Talk like that could see your head upon a pike if the King was to hear it. And friend or no, do you think Matheus will have you speak so sweetly of her? Yes, lower your head and look to your groin and view what you may find missing, for if you speak like that in his hearing, you’ll sing like a choir boy when he castrates you.”

Richard Sline was flushed. He was a measured man and his words often considered. It was partly his shame in voicing his love. But also the heavy weight of acceptance.

“Come, Sir. We’ll find you a whore as the old Earl says, “A broken heart takes some escaping but viewed between the legs of a wench it aches less.” Do you not think I was that wench when the Earl lost his wife?

“Oh, and Sir, do not look at me that way. I have heard about your libido, and I am not going to be that wench.” Lady Bruce looked straight at him as she spoke, her gaze never leaving his. She moistened her lips, licking them ever so slowly. Her face then broke into the most seductive smile.

Richard found his heart aching just a little less. “I think the old Earl has a point. And excuse my intimacy, my Lady. But I like looking at you that way. In fact, I would enjoy looking at a whole lot more of you in…that…way.”

It was Mother Bear’s turn to blush. “Oh, and Sir, you are wrong about them. You don’t develop courage by being happy in your relationships every day. You develop it by surviving difficult times and challenging adversity. Epicurus, I recall. Perhaps as they have so much courage their happiness will follow. Come now, let’s go find you one of my maids.”

Chapter 6

An hour of Eleanor wailing and kicking had passed.

Even his men had tired of the sight of their knight striding around fuming and had settled down to their ale. Matheus knew he couldn’t put her down. Holding her comforted him but what ailed him, he had no idea.

Why am I angry? She’s just a maid. Dear God, am I jealous? Do I love her?

Truth be told he was angry with himself. How could he let her bewitch him? Bloody woman is a witch…too much of the she-wolf and not enough lady. Emotions he neither knew well, nor understood, were nipping at his nerves, prickling his skin.

“Can you hear, men?” he shouted to his soldiers, who had made so merry that half were passed out, their eyes heavy with ale.

Alert and already preparing for some altercation with his hand on his sword, his man of arms replied “What My Lord? I hear nothing.”

“Quite right…the deafening sound of nothing, Godwin. My Lady has given up her wailing.”

The men now awake cheered at their knight’s words. Making lewd innuendo and suggestions, both in speech and action. Matheus had not really intended to humiliate her in front of his men. But driven by jealousy and a touch of pique, he had wanted her to feel as he did when she refused to greet him.

“Godwin,” he boomed.

“Yes, Sire.”

“Please take my good Lady to her chambers to her nursemaid. She has a signing celebration to prepare for.”

Bringing a tearful Eleanor off his shoulders he took her face in his hand. His touch was not delicate or kind; it was vice-like and angry. Forcing her to look at him he said, “And Godwin, station yourself outside her chambers. We don’t want the Lady getting lost, do we?”

Without a sweet word or gentle touch to his betrothed, Matheus stormed off uttering in damnation as he did so. Making his way through the castle to his chambers like the bull he was. Driven still by his angry jealousy, he had the need to kick every door and was relieved when he reached his chambers for fear he would draw his sword in rage.

Maids were preparing his bath, man servants coming back and forth with jugs and pots of steaming water. Camomile and brown fennel scent filled the room.

* * * *

A maid spoke. “My Lady Bruce thought you would like me to bathe you, sir. I have added some goodly herbs to ease your riding strain. Would my Lord wish us to help him disrobe?”

She kept her head low as she spoke. Stealing a little look, a sharp breath left her as her chest recognised the feast of masculinity that her eyes were already enjoying.

* * * *

Matheus was calming. Shaking his head at the gathered maids he pondered. Why did women go so doe-like and daft? One minute they had the sense almost of a man and next the fancies of a fool.

As always he was blissfully unaware of the affect he had on women. The maids looked quite disheartened as he told them he would undress and bathe alone.

“For that is truly a shame,” one maid said to another, giggling

“I have to bathe the Earl and when I heard there was a Bull to bathe my heart did fair rally.”

“Count yourself lucky, for not all the beasts we get to bathe are bulls like this one.” Laughing so hard her breasts jiggled she continued, “For I got the Old Goat, the Earl of Leicester and there was a thing a rising and a floating in the tub I tell you that would terrify a whore.”

Matheus interrupted their lewd mutterings. “Be gone now and take your fish-wife ways and sharp tongues with you.”

The maids flushed. But only a little. The realisation that the Lincoln Bull had heard them speak so sweetly of him embarrassed him a lot less than it did them.

Matheus undressed. First his boots, sword belt and hose. Struggling with his doublet he wished he had bid the maids stay. Snoring and drunk, his squire was no help either so he continued as best he could. Gripping his shirt and pulling it over his head, he felt the moisture of Eleanor’s tears as they had wet his shirt back.

Oh dear God, his heart sighed. When did I get so cruel? His head replied sharply. Because you are a knight of the King, doing his bidding and yield to you she must.

Laying in the tub he soaked his sore muscles and eased his bones. His body was stiff from days of riding.

If only the aching of the heart could be as easily soothed. There was no use in it, so why do I invest in such emotion. They won’t save me in battle nor feed my belly.

* * * *

The feast was spectacular. Mother Bear could not be bettered as a host. She was especially famed for her sugar subtleties. They were shaped into castles and birds, and the sight of them was greeted by applause.

Nobles are like pigs for they gobble and glut until their stomachs strain. Matheus’s gaze followed the table, and he shook his head at the abundance of fine food at the feast. Suckling pigs and peacocks were surrounded by every delight imaginable. Ale and wine flowed as if Bacchus himself was the founder of the feast.

In a room full of sustenance there was only one sight Matheus feasted on. And that was Eleanor. She was food for his soul. His body felt refreshed from its soaking. But his heart still ached just at the sight of her.

Dressed in the most elegant finery, she would have been just as beautiful in a jute sack. There was not a maid in the country to compare. Long coils of her golden hair were dressed with emerald ribbons. Her veiling was so delicate it was as if the mountain mists had settled about her.

All that glittered, all that dazzled, the trappings of wealth decorating her neck and lobes could not compare. To the natural beauty of her hazel eyes caught in the tallow light the amber burnt brighter, the gold glowed deeper and the emerald sparkled. The eyes that enchanted him spoke now of sorrow. She sat as if she was an exotic caged bird, grieving for its freedom. Her song had left her and her head hung low.

There was a part of Matheus that enjoyed the sight of her subdued and broken. Once again he felt his heart disagreeing with his head. Feeling the sharp pang of regret, his heart scolded him for those thoughts.

“My Lady, I have signed. I can now call you wife. Will you dance with me? The quadrille is to be played in celebration.” Taking her hand up to his mouth, he brushed her knuckles across his lips and smiled across her fingers with the lightest of intimacies.

Guiding her, he took her elbow, and she rose. His hand stroked the length of her arm, settled on her waist and pulled her forward into his embrace. He settled a kiss on the top of her hair and breathed in the scented beauty of her.

Raising her head and stepping back, trying to pull from the cradle of his hold, she met his eyes. Silently he spoke to her. “I will try to treat you as what you are, a fearful creature, wild and beautiful. Perhaps I can calm you, Eleanor.”

Looking at him she furrowed her brow in question, her nose wrinkling as she did so.

“Are you trying to read my thoughts…wife?”

Eleanor remained silent but kept his stare.

Smiling broadly, he continued. “I like the word wife when I use it about you. The way your nose wrinkles when you frown. I love your pout. There is so much for us to learn about each other.”

“Is there is something you like, perhaps love even about me? Come, let’s dance, and pray call me husband…please.”

Eleanor replied in a soft timbre, there was no challenge to her voice. Just the sorry sound of resignation. “I am not a witch like Mother Bear. I cannot know what you think, my Lord. Perhaps that is best. As for what I like about you, probably the sound of your heavy footsteps as you leave my presence.”

Matheus flushed.

Lifting her hand, she said quietly, “Pray let me continue; I rather like the ride you gave me. And not the one slung over your shoulder gawped at by your men.”

He nodded for her to continue. Matheus began to break into a smile as he reflected on that delicious thought.

“When you kicked Simon into a battle charge, I liked that very much. In fact it thrilled me.” Eleanor grinned as she spoke.

Matheus bowed and Eleanor curtseyed. The assembled group clapped for the couple and the Old Earl raised his cup. “To my children, Matheus and Eleanor. Son, may you put life in the belly of my dear daughter.” Tears started to well in the old Earl’s eyes. “And daughter, be the wife to your husband that your mother was to me.”

Flute, drum and lute started to fill the hall with music. The guests held hands in a circle. But to Matheus it was if he was alone with her. For there was only her sound, her beauty. He watched her every move. Laughter filled his ears—her laughter. Sensual scents filled his nostrils—her scent.

An expression of wonderment spread across her face. The cold stillness of her eyes seemed to melt upon the heat of his skin. It was a sensation from the gods, for there was no other way to describe it. Eleanor was looking at him. Not a peek, nor a glimpse—she was really looking at him. Her eyes explored him, taking in every detail of his face. She searched his features and cocked her head to the side. Her lips parted and she silently mouthed, you.

Spun in the group, his face lost sight of hers. Eleanor had left the group and was moving back to her seat. Apologising to the dancers, Matheus moved quickly to her side.

“You dance well, my Lord,” Eleanor said nervously. Her head low and her brow still creased in question.

Laughing lightly, he took her face in his hands. Stretching his thumb to caress her lips. “Well, we have established that we have the foundations of a great union because you like my horse and you like my dancing.” Tipping her chin, he forced her eyes to look at him and he soothed her. “What is it, Eleanor? What troubles you?”

Pulling her lip into her mouth, nibbling the seam, she looked back at him. “Many years ago I met a boy knight. He came to my aid, saving me from my uncle, the King’s, hound. Wielding his wooden sword, he moved so lightly.” Her eyes searched his.

Matheus sensed the intensity, she was looking straight into his soul.

Softly she muttered, “It was as if he danced. The boy knight…my Lord, he was you.”

He traced her spine with just the tips of his fingers. She quivered in response. Matheus cocked his head. He was unsure of Eleanor’s reaction.

It is easier to read the eyes of your assailant in battle than a maid.

Greeting her gaze with a crooked smile he responded, “Yes, Eleanor it was me. I was, am that knight.”

Swallowing she looked at him quizzically. “Oh I see—and me? Did you recognise me? Have you known all along?”

A loose curl fell upon her face. Raising his hand, Matheus got there first. Smoothing the hair back from her face, he said, “I knew it to be you the moment I saw you, Eleanor, sitting at the King’s knee.”

“’Tis time for your leave, ladies,” bellowed the old Earl.

Goody came and collected her babe and Eleanor was soon lost from him, deep in the throng of the ladies who left the great hall.

“Now, for whores and ale,” the old Earl shouted.

“Matheus, where ye gone?” The Earl’s words fell upon deaf ears, for Matheus had left the hall already. Making his way through the slapping backs and voices of congratulations. Matheus sought just one person. He was a hunting man, and the thrill of the chase excited him. Relishing the sight of his quarry cornered, a good chase made the kill so much sweeter.

He knew it about himself. The reason she stirred him so was her reluctance, her oh so casual disregard for his affection. She bewitched, not because she cast any spell. It was her—she was the magic, an alchemy of her exquisite beauty and her keen wit.

A wicked grin broke across his face, for he had trailed his prey and now he would trap her. Hands tight on her waist, he grasped her spinning her to him. Greeting her with an enormous, full-tooth smile.

Eleanor, initially winded a little, looked back at him with an expression of shock.

Their gazes locked. Goody interrupted their affection, an element of panic about her voice as she noticed the spark. “Unhand her, my Lord. She may be signed for, but you must await God’s word before ye can couple with her.”

He let go of his grip on Eleanor. Knowing her jailor to be as fierce as Gelert, Matheus turned his attentions to her, bowing at the nursemaid. Matheus intended to flirt his way into her affection.

A bone for the dog to chew on should see my passage safely.

Broadening his smile and raising his brow, he took Goody’s hand, kissing her knuckles and speaking sweetly as he soothed her. “Forgive my passions, dear lady. I am in your debt, for you protect my intended’s virtue with great vigour. Please, pray let me speak with her? I wish to tell my betrothed something.”

Goody blushed a little. Her round cheeks turned rosy and her lips reddened.

Eleanor let out a giggle, which was met by a Matheus tapping a finger to his lips, instructing her restraint and mouthing, don’t laugh. And then he winked.

Straightening her skirts and looking a little undone by the attentions of such a man, Goody responded. “Make it quick, and mind, no touching.” She wagged her finger at Matheus.

Unable to hold her humour any longer Eleanor was laughing on the stairs behind him. Matheus was seducing her nursemaid, who lashed him with her tongue. Goody was a little over four feet tall, and Matheus was well over six-foot. Goody was as round as she was tall, and her chins wobbled on her enormous breasts as she berated him.

Nodding in agreement with the nursemaid’s instruction, and turning to catch Eleanor’s attention, he grinned at her. Taking his instruction from the “poison dwarf” he strained to keep his face free of humour and his attentions focused as Goody continued her chastisement as she laid out her conditions as to her Lady’s chaperoning. “You were mighty unseemly, my Lord, carrying my Lady over your shoulder like she was common. She is willful. But she knows not the ways of men. I was mighty grieved at you, my Lord. But now you are sorry. You are sorry, are you not?”

Matheus nodded his head when she wanted his no and nodded enthusiastically when she required his agreement.

“Good. Two minutes then, my Lord…two minutes.” She wagged a fat finger at him.

Matheus leapt over the stair rails. Eleanor stood three steps up from him. Taking her hands in his he dropped to his knee. “I find myself at your feet, my Lady. Never given the opportunity to ask for your hand, perhaps this will suffice?”

Eleanor blushed. She could hardly contain the grin pressing her lips. Her eyes told him everything he needed to know as they glittered with anticipation.

“Marry me, Eleanor, not for fear of beating nor to please the King. But to please yourself. For as God’s my witness, I could not let you go to your chambers until I told you Eleanor…wife…it’s your haughty heart, that’s what I love the most about you.”

She touched her chest, and Matheus knew she felt for the outline of her heart

See Eleanor. I told you there is telepathy of hearts.

As she climbed the stairs he shouted after her, “Oh, and my Lady…you ride with me or Godwin on the morrow. Can’t have you getting lost.”

Chapter 7

Climbing the stairs, Eleanor turned to look at Matheus one last time before she took the corner. Glances were exchanged and silent goodnights were given.

The lock of troublesome hair fell forward, stuck onto her moistened lips. She raised her hand to brush it away, and her heart quickened as she reflected on the touch of his fingers when he had smoothed it away. Quite caught up in her sensual reflections, she walked straight into Godwin.

“My Lady, are you quite well?” he asked.

Before she could reply Goody jumped in. “’Tis your Lord comes flirting and flattering and well…not right…not a half a day since past he had my Lady upon his back like a sack of corn. Then I say he is dropping to one knee telling her—well talking sweet and all. ’Tis not right.”

Eleanor placed her hand on Goody’s arm quietening her raging. “Good eve, Godwin. Why are you not making merry with the men? Are you to be stationed as my gaoler forever? Surely, I can be trusted in my own home this last night?”

“My Lady, ’tis simple. I serve my master. I protect his interests.” A grin crept over Godwin’s face. One brow rose in jest. “He is mighty interested in you, my Lady, so I will keep my station.”

Jumping back a little, Godwin had an expression of genuine angst as Goody chided him. “’Tis not right—a man, I say, a man, outside my Mistress’ chambers, in her own house—’tis not right.” Muttering, she ushered Eleanor in and followed behind her as she kept the goliath that was Godwin Roebucks outside with only a stare. Grunting loudly, she slammed the door to Eleanor’s quarters shut in Godwin’s face.

These were chambers Eleanor knew well. The scent of lavender, as always, hung heady in the air. Her bed was made ready to welcome her for one last night. She trailed her fingertips lazily over the trunks that were packed ready for the next day’s journey.

All my worldly goods.

Goody talked but Eleanor wasn’t able to listen. Words, sounds made no sense. Her mind was restless, caught up in the confusion Matheus had thrust upon her. His scent, the masculine essence of horse and man, was all musk and redolent of leather. How had his touch felt upon her skin? The callouses of his sword hand as it swept her face? He was in her head as he’d said he’d be, even if she would not let him into her heart.

Goody asked, “What bothers you, child?”

“Nothing, he … It’s nothing.” Her emotions were tidal estuaries, for there was an ebb and flow to the waves that washed over her shores. Eleanor could not free herself from their current. The waves were relentless and battered her both in body and mind. She found no rest in sleep. Her body twitched as her mind went through his words.

I have patience too. I do. He says I’m petulant. That I have no patience and my heart is haughty. I need the lakes. I cannot think. What is it with this man…this bull beast.

Glowing amber, the full moon lit up the chamber. As always it was an invitation to Eleanor. It was in her blood to bathe in it.

Slipping from her sheets, Eleanor stepped into her shoes and grabbed her hooded cape to cover her thin nightdress, next to nothing against the night’s chill.

Treading lightly across the room, she put her ear to the door. Snoring, good. Godwin sleeps.

She made for the door to the aft chamber and tested it, releasing a relieved breath she had not realized she had been holding when she found it unlocked.

Behind her, her nurse emitted a snort, and she put her hand to her mouth, stifling a startled shriek. Hand dropping to her chest in fear that Goody had awakened to catch her sneaking out, she turned to look. “Dear God in his Heaven, Goody,” she muttered, relieved her nursemaid remained asleep in her small bed in the corner.

Taking a steadying breath, Eleanor once more made ready her escape. She quietly closed the small door behind her and embraced her freedom, uncaring as cobwebs stuck to her hair. Negotiating the stone staircase in total darkness, she was out of the castle keep and running. This was her playground; she knew it as well in the dark of the eve as in the light of dawn.

Wet ground under foot, she picked her way across the courtyard, staying close to the walls to avoid being seen. Breathing in the scent of the horses she reached the stable. She grinned with a wicked delight.

I am only a short ride to Eden.

Opening her arms and enveloping Arthur’s neck in her loving embrace, she kissed him and ran her hands over his body. She picked up a smoother made of straw and groomed his coat. The sweet sound as Eleanor serenaded her mount echoed around the stone barn as she prepared him. “Oh Arthur, times are strange. There is a big world out there and I walk on shaky ground. I fear it. I need to feel the wet ground under my feet, not the marriage noose around my neck.”

Arthur nuzzled his mistress and dropped his head so she could fit his bridle. “We do not need a saddle do we? No, I thought not. Pray don’t tell my gaoler or my captor that I ride you like a man.” She was laughing as she spoke.

“My captor, you ask? Arthur, oh yes, he is a bull, a fellow creature. Handsome and strong but so is Lazarus the dray horse. Stable him here you say. Surely not. You are a thoroughbred, a destrier and a stallion. He is a mere farm beast with manners. Did you see how he slung me over his shoulder? Oh and he has the confidence of two men. He looks to me as if he undresses me. Dear God, when he touches me the blush stains me so I fear I will be that colour forever.”

Kissing him on his strong neck, Eleanor breathed in the smell of horse, leather and fresh hay. She patted her mount, and he followed her as she proceeded out of the barn. “Come Arthur let us escape to Eden for this full moon is fair florid and as my gaoler snores and my captor slumbers, I want to bathe in it.”

A bitter wind blew her cape about her. Standing in the court yard as if a spectre, Eleanor was calling her mount. “Arthur, come boy. Arthur, come.” Turning back to the barn Eleanor muttered, “Dear boy, I know you are a little deaf but—”

“Is this who you are looking for my Lady?” Leaning against the barn wall, holding Arthurs reins was Matheus, scowling. He pivoted his head, and a faint glimmer of a smile broke as he spoke.

“Arthur is a clever beast indeed. He manages to converse with his Mistress, even suggesting appropriate stabling for me.”

Eyes open and trembling, Eleanor was sucking at her lip. Releasing it into a pout, she felt the warm sensation of a blush travel from her core, colouring all her body. She was sure she would appear quite red.

Those eyes; his face scowls but those eyes...

She swallowed. It’s as if he sees my whole body blush. Tears started to sting her eyes.

Hooking Arthur’s reins, he shouted, “Godwin, please see to my Lady’s horse.” He moistened his lips. “And Eleanor, although endearing and slightly unsettling, your pout will not work on me.” Scooping her up with such force she was winded, Matheus moved her so she was trapped. He pressed her hard, back against the wall, his thigh pinning her still. Gripping her wrists, he raised her arms so her hands were held either side of her head.

He dropped his shoulders so he could look straight into her eyes. “I should be seething with outrage with you. No man, woman or court would chide me if I upended you now and thrashed you. But—”

Eleanor was trembling. The sheer force of his crowding had quietened her voice. His mouth was on hers. This was a demand. Hard and hungry, he forced her to accept his tongue as he breached the seam of her lips.

Struggling to free herself, she twisted her head. Matheus responded by yanking her gripped wrists closer to the sides of her head, holding her face vice-like. Her senses were stretched and her muscles coiled taut. Caged and confined with no room to escape, she should have screamed. Instead, her body gifted him the ultimate betrayal, and she kissed him back.

Eleanor could taste her own tears. Crashing waves of emotion were swelling in her belly.

I need to run. Please let me go. I need to run. I don’t want this…I do want this…I just want to run.

Pulling out from the kiss, his gaze searched hers. Flashing with such an azure hue, it was as if the sky itself was in his eyes. Pushing hard at her thigh, he held her with his weight.

Eleanor knew he confined her. She knew she was tormenting him. But as butterflies are drawn to bright light, they continued to burn their wings as they were caught up in the attraction.

“You disrespect me, run from me, and God help me, I just want to kiss your lips until they bruise…make love to you until I force your submission. Be sure Eleanor nothing will sway me. I have no interest in just opening your body and ravishing you as if you were a whore. As God is my witness…I will open your heart to me.”

Once more her mouth was under his. The hunger that had been building in Matheus was in his touch—fierce, insistent, but always tender. No going back. No going forward. She drowned in a deep well of female awakening. Demanding, inquiring, there was no cessation. She was lost somewhere in it. Weathering the pain of her awakening, she yielded to him, meeting his kiss, her legs boneless beneath her.

Matheus took her weight, his masculine thigh holding her steady. His muscles flexed against her. Dropping her wrists and releasing her hands, he palmed her face, tracing her jaw with his fingertips. He stroked her cheek, wiping away her tears—a gesture of kindness she cried out for but struggled to accept.

He pulled her to him. He was still, calm and masculine. The armour of her defenses had a slight crack, and Matheus was determined to worm his way through it to breach her barricades still further. Castling her in his arms, he kissed her head, his hands free in her glossy, golden locks. She heard the pleasure of his sighs as he delighted in the feel of her.

Soothing her, he whispered. “I am not Edmund and you are not Elizabeth. We will never be to them what we were. Let your fears go, trust me, and I will ever hold you tighter. Fall and I will catch you, Tire and I have strength enough to carry the both of us.”

The heady musk of horse and man filled her nostrils.

I am tired, carry me, she silently voiced.

He swept her up so her head rested on his shoulder. She could feel his smile as he spoke. “See, there is telepathy in hearts, my Lady, just as I told you.”

Kind and sweet, she thought. Edmund had never stirred such wildness in her core. Matheus had roused her female force. And the essence of woman had been ignited. This was new territory for Eleanor. She was not fearful of the physical strength of the man who carried her. It was the power of his masculine magic that frightened her.

Goody was right. Gentle Edmund had been a boy. Matheus was a man. I am like the hare on the hunt; he is my hunter and I his quarry, caught in the lamplight quite…frozen.

Eleanor looked up to his fathomless azure eyes. Those eyes that had viewed with hunger now looked intense with concern.

Your lips are lovely, she thought. Stubble framed them though they were still full and moist from the passion of his kiss. Shivering a little, she recollected the feel of it, they feel of him. He had not let her move under him an inch. He held her tight by the weight of him. His presence made every muscle in her stomach and groin tense.

As she trembled with recollection, his body responded to hers. A large palm stroked the length of her arm. This was the sensual caress of reassurance, lingering lightly as if they were already lovers.

Matheus was instructing Godwin. It was as if he had forgotten his man at arms could see the intimacy with which he held her in his arms. Confident aren’t you, Sir Knight?

Eleanor listened and learnt as the men spoke. They discussed Richard Sline. It seemed he had disappeared, and Godwin was concerned. Pike had been stationed outside her room.

Ah, Pike, he was the one snoring like a boar.

Matheus had been in the stables the whole time, making sure no one rode out of the castle.

No wonder he was furious; he’d heard everything I said. Blushing, Eleanor felt a little ashamed. I said he did not rank high enough to be stabled with Arthur. Yet he holds me so. She stifled a giggle.

Matheus cocked his head at her, his gaze connecting with hers. “Godwin, I will take Eleanor back to her chambers, kicking Pike on my way to wake him.”

Her spine stiffened, her body going rigid at his words. Oh dear God, he is making ready to couple with me. We have yet to be blessed by the priest. No wonder he talks sweet to me. Struggling once more in his arms, she fought to get free.

“Whoa, what the hell? Jesus, Eleanor!” Taking a handful of hair at the nape of her neck, Matheus’s other hand gripped her waist. “The second time this eve I am having to confine you. Will I need a rope? Godwin, twine…”

Godwin obliged his master. Smirking, he commented, “In Wales we have mountain ponies wild as sin, Sire. You would think the stallions more impish but ’tis the fillies that we fear breaking. Just keeping the buggers stabled is problem enough.”

Although Eleanor screamed and kicked, her wrists were secured. Some of the men woke from their slumber and came to view the spectacle.

“Avert your eyes, dear Lady.” Matheus was laughing. “For it seems some of my Welsh Cobs are not wearing their strides and are quite ungelded.”

Slung once more over his shoulder, Eleanor flushed scarlet.

“Do you hear that, my Lady? They are not best pleased. The only woman they want wakening them at this ungodly hour is a whore. They say you should get a birching and they bay for the view of it.” Giving her bottom a few swats, he was smiling with quite wicked intent.

Eleanor did not make a sound.

The only escape from this bull—nay, beautiful beast is Goody. Yes, Goody will right well whip him out.

His laugh was loud and his gate lively as he carried her back across the courtyard.

Eleanor was swallowing. Her face and now her nates were quite aglow. This is really it. I will be ravished as a wife. But my marriage bed will remain unblessed. Mary will cry and if I birth—oh dear God, if I birth, it will be a hare babe, lips twisted. ’Tis a full moon. Oh no!

“Matheus, Matheus you must unhand me. For we cannot couple tonight.”

Eleanor screamed, struggling against his grip. Matheus brought her off his shoulder, his grasp still strong but his eyes quite soft. “Well, sounds hopeful you say not tonight than be it not at all.”

He was smirking as he spoke. Caught off guard Eleanor looked at him blankly, but her thoughts spoke. I like you playful, Matheus. Your face lights up when you laugh; ’tis like a beggar at the feast.

“Eleanor, Eleanor come back to me. Upon Arthur were we off to Eden, perhaps. One minute you thrash and scream like a banshee, and then you still like the lake waters.”

Letting go of her wrists, his thumb under her chin, he lifted her face and brushed her lips with the smile of his. “Eleanor, I will not release your bonds nor your bonds to me in marriage. But if you have good reason that I cannot couple with you, pray tell me.”

“Can you not see it? The moon, you cannot claim me tonight, for it makes hare babes. They have twisted lips and shrill instead of speak.”

Putting his fingers to her mouth, Matheus took Eleanor’s voice. “Sssshh. I don’t believe such myths. I will take my chances.”

Eleanor shrieked. “No Sire, ’tis true.”

She settled quickly when she saw he was winking at her. His face was broken wide with the most endearing grin. “Do not fear, my Lady. I will not be testing your maidenhead tonight. I usually enjoy being kept up all night by a beautiful woman. But tonight I think I have had my fill. Now let me carry you to your chambers for we ride early tomorrow.”

“Bonds?” Eleanor held her wrists out to Matheus.

Shaking his head, he simply replied, “No.” Once more she was in his arms, rocking as he carried her. He seemed quite unaware that he was tickling her slender neck as his hand settled underneath her locks.

Nuzzling into him without thinking, breathing his scent in, there was a feeling of belonging and Eleanor decided she liked it.

Flexing in response, his body responded with a slow groan.

Mmmm, yes…man, not boy; that is the sound of men. Dear Goody, she is quite right. Flushing again, she pulled at her lip. Oh my, I want to kiss you. But I cannot. Could I? Should I? Perhaps not.

Pike shouted out in shock and pain, as the savage blow of a boot connected with the sleeping guard’s thigh. As he looked up, Pike’s eyes went as wide as crowns. For the sight of Matheus in temper was mighty sobering regardless of how much ale had been swallowed.

“Sir Pike, pray what do I hold in my arms?”

Spluttering Pike replied, “Why a maid, Sir Knight.”

“Yes, my dear wife is still a maid in spite of your protection. I hold the person dearest to me because you—”

Beaming, Eleanor stopped listening. I am his dearest person?

Matheus was unvoiced. His words dried completely as Eleanor kissed him. Giggling, she mused, “You should see yourself you look quite shocked.”

“Get lost Pike…quickly,” Matheus bellowed. Turning to look at the woman he held so tenderly in his arms, he said, “Dear God in his Heaven, for I do not get you…at all. You scold me and then you kiss me.”

Looking back, enormous doe hazel eyes searched his, saying, “I can take it back.”

“No,” Matheus said loudly, his voice urgent and forceful. “No, Eleanor, always kiss me please…always.”

Goody was awoken by the commotion. She was not best pleased, scolding Matheus and cooing at Eleanor. “You are a beast, Master. You bind my babe as if she was a street whore. How dare you touch or treat her so and why do you have her? Wife she is, but blessed she ain’t and you have no business with her ’til the priest has blessed your union.”

There was no point in Matheus defending himself. Goody would have none of it. Once behind her nurse, Eleanor smirked quite wickedly. Putting her tongue out at him as Goody told him what a gentle, kind, well-behaved creature her babe was.

Laughing he said, “You are not awful fond of me are you, Goody?”

“Bonds,” Eleanor interrupted as Goody kept her gaze firmly on his.

Matheus raised his brow and mouthed, ‘No.’

After a great deal of negotiation, it was agreed that Eleanor could sleep unbound in bed with Goody. And he would sleep on the floor next to his hound. Gone was the playful light side of Matheus. Taking her face in his palms he made no secret of his intentions. “Run again tonight and I will go and get Mother Bear’s birch and I will use it.” Softening his words with a kiss, he left her to rest.

The sound of a wild boar rutting invaded her dreams as Goody snored. Eleanor could not sleep. Her belly was full of butterflies and the muscles in her groin tightened.

It is true. I never felt this odd sensation when I thought of Edmund. Poor Edmund, I have recently neglected his memory so badly.

Quietly stepping out of the bed she called Mace. He left his master. This was rare for the hound who trusted few and liked others even less. But she had a way with creatures and Eleanor and the hound were soon asleep by the fire.

Patting the hound, he said, “Good boy, guard her.” Matheus covered Eleanor with a blanket. Sweeping the lose curl from her face, he leant forward, kissing her forehead as he did so.

Chapter 8

The horses shook their heads and rattled their bits. The smithy had shod them with snow studs and they clattered as they pawed the ground. Not knowing they rode for home, they were always ready for battle, and their agitation showed. Dawn had just broken. The castle was bathed in a warm winter glow. The turrets looked as if they had been rendered by Midas.

“She is much quietened this fine morn, Sire,” Godwin commented

Matheus looked pensive as he replied “Yes, I think she looks to the walls that have been her gaol and realises now this was her home. I don’t know quite how I would feel if I were made to leave mine.”

Adjusting his stirrups Godwin replied, “Let us hope the Yorkists never oust you.”

“Best to pray than hope, Godwin, surely.”

Godwin winked. Laughing a little, he said, “You forget, Sire. I am a godless Celt. I will take my chances standing in the woods, talking to the pagan goddess and the man of green whilst you kneel in church.”

Patting his man at arms on the back, Matheus went to mount. Turning back, he reminded Godwin, “I will let her ride Arthur. He is a bit slow so watch we do not get left isolated. Sline is still missing, and I fear his intentions. I will rope him to Simon.” Raising a brow in humour he continued, “Just in case she decides she needs ‘Eden.’”

Godwin’s grin as he replied was most lewd. “Best you give her a little of a Knight’s heaven with your lance then, Sire, for she won’t be searching so for Eden then…well not for that serpent Sline that slithered so from it.”

Shaking his head and laughing, Matheus took Simon’s reins and pushed him on to join Eleanor. Mace was beside Arthur, wagging his tail as his Master approached. He had always been a hound that chose his company, but just as his Master had been bewitched by Eleanor, so was his hound.

It was not only the castle walls that had the touch of Midas. Eleanor bloomed. Her flaxen hair had a glow and her skin the luminosity of pearls. Imagining quite what it would feel like to touch and taste her at that moment; Matheus’s mind was letting his hands and tongue wander all over her. Following the curve of her spine with a slight caress. Opening her mouth with his tongue as he demanded hers. Running his fingers through her hair as he held her hips down beneath him.

“Quite a sight, is she not?” Lady Bruce interrupted his enjoyment

“Rope her horse well, my Lord. Trust me, there is danger in Richard Sline. Why do you think I birched her so if she escaped me? Better the bite of my birch than the stench of him on her lips.”

Lady Bruce looked at Matheus in a way that made him shiver.

Dear God, saints protect us, she is a witch

“He will come for her. As a Yorkist, he can smell the throne.”

Matheus nodded. He was fully aware of what Richard now intended. It is funny how the desire and greed for the Crown of England could change a man. “My cousins are welcome to it, if it means danger to Eleanor. I will spill my blood gladly to protect her, even from the King himself if I need to.”

“Must you rope my Arthur up to Simon as if I was a feeble maid?” Eleanor was pouting. It was taking little to inflame the heat in Matheus’ blood for her, and her pout was just about undoing him.

“I’ve told you it is as for your protection as much as the desire I have to rein you in…no pun intended, and anyway, I bloody well hope you are a maid. Feeble I can cope with.”

He was grinning from ear to ear and even as she sulked Eleanor had to stifle a giggle.

He was playing with her. Matheus knew women. A knight’s nights were often cold sleeping on the field, finding little peace as battle fever darkened their dreams. The arms of a woman and the touch of soft skin was relief to their trauma. So they battled hard and whored well, picking up tips on how to handle the fair sex along the way.

Matheus knew well that Eleanor, regardless of her wildness, and her bravery in speech, had known little of men. Engaged to a boy. So he courted her as a man and flirted with her mercilessly. His face was gentled and his manner kind. Turning toward her he winked. “If you are a good girl I may even jump up behind you and let you sit upon my lap. I think you enjoyed it last time.”

Eleanor could hardly speak for giggling. “Pray, I am only a feeble maid, my Lord, but I think you may have left your dagger in your hose as there was something a little sharp and hard. Your lap was far from comfortable.”

I love you, Eleanor. Priest’s bones, I would love to tell you so. When you giggle, I love you even more.

“Pray Lady, you are quite mistaken, for there is nothing little about my dagger. I am no boy. I do not wield a wooden sword. I am a knight with a lengthy lance.”

The pair laughed so much they became unsteady on their mounts as the stable lad interrupted. “’Tis true, my Lady. My Lord’s lance is quite enormous. ’Tis long and a little thicker than Master Godwin’s. I know this coz I wax ’em, see.”

Godwin hit him with his sword hilt. Trying not to let the boy see his grin, he told him “Do not discuss the length of my lance again or I shall take you back to the wild country. You will make a good sacrifice.”

Eleanor turned to Matheus and asked. “Where on earth is the wild country, husband?”

“Pay de Galles, Wales. Godwin is a Celt. Nasty pagan folks, who slit their kins’ throats and sink them in bogs. But brave and—oh my Lord you called me husband.” Turning to Eleanor he was beaming. “Dear Lady, you called me husband.”

Blushing the colour of her scarlet cloak, Eleanor dropped her head. “I thought you would like it. I…mm…if you don—”

“No, please, I do…I so do like it. Eleanor, I mean wife, yes, yes I do.” Matheus looked like the boy with a wooden sword at that moment. His hair flopped into his face and he grinned as if he had just been crowned king of all Britannia.

Priests’ bones. His heart beat out such a rhythm it felt like it alone could play the quadrille. He was desperate to dismount and kiss her. He was desperate to claim her. I cannot wait for our nuptials. Dear Lord, I pray the time passes quickly. Perhaps the King knew us better. Who else would have decreed such a pairing—a she-wolf and a bull?

* * * *

Two days into their journey there was great jubilation that there were to be baths and a decent meal at journey’s end. The party made camp at Sir Peveril’s castle at Bolsover that night. The ladies were given a chamber, and the men slept in the keep.

Sir Peveril’s family were somewhat like Matheus’. They too were originally knights of William the Conqueror and trying to keep out of the Cousin’s squabbles, but willing to enter the field of battle when the safety of the kingdom called them.

Sir Peveril had been equipped with the knowledge that Eleanor was a target for kidnapping. Ensuring his fortress was even more secure, he had stationed more guards and some of his serfs slept on the grounds, ready to alert their lord to any disturbance.

Moatless, Bolsover castle’s defenses were not as protective as those at Lancaster nor at his home in Lincoln. This troubled Matheus. His own home had two moats and was arguably the most well-founded castle in the country. How was he to keep Eleanor safe in Bolsover? He was comforted in the knowledge that when she moved, he could feel the tether pull just as his heart strings did. It unsettled him, and he felt the bramble belt of concern tighten around his guts.

In the woods when they had made camp, he roped Eleanor to him and let Goody wrap her protective arms around her.

Matheus lay at the foot of his wife’s bed, dagger in hand. He slept little and was muttering when he did. “It will take more than a wooden sword to keep her safe.”

A strong hand on his shoulder interrupted his thoughts. Godwin’s face was a comfort. The threat of her kidnapping swelled in his belly, and there were few people who understood the weight of concern that crushed his chest.

“Go and pray to your God, Sire. I will watch over your Lady. If it helps, I will string some ravens.”

“Thank you, Godwin. I would court Satan himself if it would help. We live in difficult times. Look, she sleeps quite unaware of our troubles.”

Godwin put a hand on his Master’s hand. “Have faith in your own ability. As for the sleep of the innocent, you wouldn’t have it any other way. ’Tis responsibility enough for her to birth a child—sorry Sire, I—”

Matheus raised his hand and smiled. “I know you meant nothing by it.” He was glad to be relieved of his duty to pray to his Lord. He left Eleanor in Godwin’s safety and left the chambers. As he walked to the chapel, the castle was still, cold. Tallow torches lit his way and only the sound of his heavy boots on flag disturbed the peace. A frown broke Matheus’s face. The stoic man named the Bull felt the sting of tears well. Fighting them back, he would not allow himself the luxury. Holding his crucifix tight, he made quiet prayer.

The chapel was large with a vaulted ceiling painted in bright hues of red, green, blue and amber. The castle had been part of the old monastery and was decorated accordingly. Carvings of saints who silently watched him and gargoyles tormented in hell appealed to him with the same silent eyes. The sense of stillness washed over him as he bowed at the altar.

The Madonna held her child in the mural behind it. Her son grown as the Son of God, an effigy in gold—wearing his crown of thorns and nailed to a crucifix bejewelled with rubies—he towered over the altar. Candles burned around his feet. And as if weeping, tears of tallow had fallen and set on the cloth.

Taking three candles, he lit them each in turn. Speaking Latin, he addressed the altar. Matheus lit one for his dead wife Elizabeth. One for the child, his son, who died as she did as she tried to deliver him. The last was a candle of protection for Eleanor.

Kneeling at the altar with his beads in hand, he prayed. For the second time that night a hand was placed on his shoulder.

“We are in the house of God, do not draw your sword Matheus.” Richard Sline stood over him.

Why did I not bring Godwin with me? He would care not to murder in the Lord’s house.

Matheus rose and the two knights stood eye to eye.

“You know why I chose God’s House. I did not fancy my chances against your skilled blade, and I am mighty relieved that savage, walking mountain is not with you.”

Matheus kept Richard’s stare. His hand was trembling with temper. His face had paled from the initial flush of rage. His blood was draining to his limbs. His body was preparing to fight.

Richard was also trembling. But his were the vibrations of fear. He was almost whispering as he continued. “I dare say he would have slit my throat on the altar steps and stuck my carcass in a bog somewhere. This is my point, friend. You are a fighter, a knight. That is what you do best.

“The maid does not want you. She runs to the hills to be free of you. Let me have Eleanor. I can unite the Cousins as easily as you. Matheus, you never wanted her you said so yourself. Find yourself a love match and you’ll save our souls from the damnation of civil war. What say ye?”

Opening his hand, Matheus could see blood. His fist had gripped so tight, his own nails had punctured his skin. His shoulders shook and he could taste his vomit as it rose in his mouth. He pulled his arm back, his fist flew and struck Richard. Falling to the floor, his head hit the flags.

Matheus stood over the person he had once called friend. Lifting his boot, he put it onto Richard Sline’s throat. Sline grabbed at his ankle, writhing in panic as the breath left his body.

“I cannot kill you in God’s house. Be sure, Richard it is not this house that protects you. I am not bothered about my soul, for I do not fear the lynch for slaying you here. If it meant Eleanor was safe, I would fall on my sword in front of you and be as godless as Godwin. But others would come for her. As for you Sline, you are not worthy of the sight of her eyes let alone her body.”

Richard squirmed on the floor, holding his throat. His face was as red as the blood that seeped from the gash were Matheus’s fist had caught him.

Turning around, Matheus exited the chapel but not before he growled, “And Sline, you are quite right. I do not love her…I worship her.”

* * * *

Godwin was as furious as his Master. With twenty of the men, they searched for Sline.

“I would love to make ready a bog for him—they can go to the underworld as easy as they go to the upper one.”

Matheus did not mention a word to Eleanor, but he alerted Goody to the seriousness of the situation.

“Bloody Yorkists, you are beasts, the lot of you,” she hissed.

“My father was Lancastrian, Goody, and it was my mother who was a Yorkist and a gentler woman you could not meet. You do not like me, well I know that. But we both love Eleanor.”

Goody interrupted, wagging her fingers. “Some have done so a lot longer than others.”

Matheus wiped his face with his hand and growled back, “I just want to keep her safe.”

Goody softened to the man who stood before her. Gentling her tone she said, “How old are you, Sire? Twenty? Twenty-four or five perhaps. And how long widowed?”

“I’m twenty-four, and I lost my wife as our son was born dead four years ago. Why do you ask?” Matheus went and sat on the bed at the side of Eleanor. Raking his hair through his hands. His hand left his hair for hers and he stroked her locks. She mewled lightly in response to his touch.

Goody waddled over and took his shoulders in her arms. Pulling him to her ample breast she cuddled him. “I don’t dislike you Sire. In fact, I think you’re a handsome beast for a bull. I just didn’t want to lose my Eleanor. I lost my baby at birth too. I know your pain, child. God saw my grief and sent me Eleanor to wet nurse. I know she is a little wild, but she is everything to me—my babe is everything.”

Relaxing his shoulders for the first time that night, comforted by the motherly touch, he replied, “I have no desire to break the bond you share. I was hoping you would be there to support us with our children if God grants us them. I do love her, Goody. Since that day in the throne room, I think I always have.”

“I know, son. I know,” Goody soothed.

* * * *

“Today, wife you have the pleasure of riding with Godwin upon his lap.” Putting on a smile, he added, “I have some hunting to attend to. I am mighty jealous, so please do not sit upon his little dagger or as the stable lad says his little lance, which has neither my length nor girth—apparently.”

“No Arthur?” Eleanor enquired

Thinking on his feet, Matheus replied, “He’s a little lame and Arthur is an old man. You know the weight and size of Godwin.”

Matheus gave the appearance all was well. He was like a swan on a flat lake. Above the surface as a swan glides, moving with grace and calm, so Matheus appeared able and unruffled. Below the surface just as the swan’s legs thrash to swim, his nerves thrashed, twisting him to the point he feared his loss of control.

He spoke the truth; he was hunting. But not for deer or boar. His quarry was Richard Sline. Godwin was an excellent swordsman. His hands so large he could crush a skull. But his tracking skills were poor. Matheus had no choice. In order for Richard to be caught, he had to leave her.

There was no need for words; the Knight and his Man at Arms exchanged knowing looks as Matheus rode away.

“Right, my Lady, can I help you mount up?” Eleanor was about to swing her leg astride. “Oh no you don’t; my Lord will have my guts for his garter strings if you ride astride.” Godwin winked as he spoke, settling his charge in front of him and making sure she rode side-saddle.

Goody nodded approvingly. She had been fussing over her babe all morning and reciprocating Matheus’s nervous glances. Now that Eleanor was settled with Godwin, she seemed to relax. She rode to the side of them. Her mount was only a pony, but still her small legs hardly passed the saddle. The beast’s legs made four strides for one of the destrier’s.

Eleanor had been watching and listening to the exchange between Goody and Godwin since they set off. Stopping to water the horses gave Eleanor an opportunity to taunt Goody about it. “You’re sweet on Godwin, aren’t you?”

Goody blushed and stumbled over her words. “Stuff and nonsense. You talk like a fool, child. He is a giant of a man and godless, and I am no taller than his sword belt and have the love of the Lord in my heart.”

Eleanor was having none of it. Laughing, she made kissing noises. “Oh Godwin, what big hands you have and your feet too, they are quite enormous. Have you a big dagger?”

“I do, my Lady,” Godwin supplied. “In fact, ’tis a thing that Celts are known for—the size of our daggers and handsome it is too.” With that he pulled out a dagger.

“See Goody; that is impressive. Celts have extremely big ones.”

Lifting each lady onto her mount, Godwin kept his eyes sharp and his ears open. The scout came back to report that all was well. He had seen their lord, but no one had found Sir Sline.

Droplets of dew had frozen like precious jewels on spider webs. Snow decorated the branches as if the lacing trim on fine gowns. Clicks and crackles could be heard as the horse’s hooves snapped twigs, but otherwise, it was a still morning. As midday approached, apart from the water break, the party had been in the saddle for over three hours.

“Goody posset, Goody. I need to go.”

Eleanor was interrupted by Godwin in her attempts to alert her nursemaid. “My Lady do you wish me to stop.”

“You Celts have ears like bats too? Next you will be telling me that God is a woman.” Eleanor was half embarrassed and half chiding him as she spoke. Either way, she had gone scarlet.

Godwin rose his brow and started to speak. “Actually, my Lady—”

Eleanor’s raised hand and oh really expression quietened him. He lifted her down as if she was no weight at all and then turned and called for some soldiers to accompany them.

Hands on her hips with quite the expression of disquiet she chided him. “Really? Pray no…really Godwin? Do you really think I am going to run away?”

His large brow pinched and his lips straightened His expression showed he had no idea what to say back.

Goody saved him by sounding quite knowledgeable. “’Tis boars, my dear. Huge, they are size of bulls. These woods are known for them. Is that not what Master Matheus has gone hunting for, Godwin?”

Nodding his head in encouragement the Celt joined in. “Yes indeed he is, and some as big as me. Really, they are.”

Eleanor scowled. Her needs were more important than the size of boars. The men stood behind some trees and waited.

“I can’t relieve myself with you listening. Please let me go deeper into the woods.” Eleanor had an air of desperation in her voice.

Godwin went against his gut feeling and agreed. “Women. Why can’t you be as us and stand? Five minutes, my Lady and do not go far.”

One of the soldiers replied before Eleanor had chance too. “Be less fun if they were Master…like us, I mean would be odd them having a John Thomas and all.”

Godwin hit him around the head for being an idiot.

“Yes, I will thank you,” Eleanor replied.

* * * *

Shouting back at Godwin, Eleanor replied to his bellow, “Yes I will.”

I love the woods. Mmmm the smell it’s incredible. Wet willow and winter sweet.

There was no urge to run in Eleanor now. It had seemed since her mother died she had run from everyone and everything. Now the need had been sated. Matheus had become her anchor. He may well have roped her as they slept, but there was little need as stronger bonds than twine held her to him. They were the infant threads of heart strings that weaved a binding stronger than any rope.

A bit concerned about the incredible and slightly unbelievable wild boar, Eleanor made her way to a brook and sat down to relieve herself to the sound of the babbling brook, confident that Godwin’s sharp ears would hear the stream of the water not her stream of need.

The winter sun was still glowing. Putting her face to it the rays warmed her bones.

Tis true; when you feel that small ball of contentment creep in and grow in your belly, every sound, smell and sight seems more glorious, almost as if God’s grace has touched it. This place has true beauty.

Crack…crack.

“Dear GOD, it’s a boar!”

She was yelling as she was running, and forest rough ripped into her skin. A river of tiny scratches. Twigs from low boughs birched her face. But she kept running. The feeling of her own heart pounding hard against its cage startled her. Spinning she had no idea where she was. Fear had her veins as her blood cooled and her skin went clammy.

Crack click…crack

“Oh, heaven help me.” Eleanor was panicked. She knew the lakes, the mountains, the fields. This was unknown, and she was buckling under the gravity of her situation. Screaming now, her voice shrill with panic

“Matheus, Godwin, Jethro…dear God someone!”

The forest floor was slimy with rot and dampness, sweating together to make gloop. Where the umbrella of treetops opened, the leaves lost in the thinnest layer of snow moved beneath her feet, sliding against each other and making the way treacherous. Puddles in the shadow of the oaks remained frozen, sick with ice.

Eleanor felt herself go. Nothing to grasp. Nothing to grip. She was falling. Feeling the pain of both her ankle as it twisted and her head as it hit, she was not able to focus on a sky she imagined moving above her.

Oh the pain, the pain.

I’m moving.

Between her pain and confusion Eleanor could not voice her thoughts. Her eyes would become heavy and she would drift. Her face wet, her body enveloped in cold, she shivered. Silent cries of pain left her body, making not a sound, although the sound of moaning boomed thick in her ears. Did she hear a voice? Was it just the sound of her mind answering the confusion as she looked for clarity?

No I hear you speak…speak…speak…

Pain took her again and she drifted.

The smell of harvest filled her nostrils. She was spun—one, two, three turns—spinning away. Children chattered. Voices squealed. Blindfold buff catch the boy in the rough. Distant voices shouting find us, beggar blind. Finding her catch, her blindfold lifted. “A kiss for the king1” the children shouted.

The warmth of a blush filled her cheeks.

The eyes of a boy smiled back at her. “I will have my kiss,” Richard Sline whispered.

Whispering, yes whispering; you are whispering…

Eleanor’s body was moving. It was being dragged, but not by the boy who was playing blind man’s bluff in her mind. The boy had grown, but still he demanded his kiss. It was the man the boy had become.

Holding her ankles, he dragged her across the forest floor. The pain of her injuries would pierce through the sleep the blow to her head had forced upon her. She could only open her eyes for mere moments.

Looking through glassy eyes, she saw the starling cloud. Birds danced together in a black whirl of natural theatre. Eleanor tried to focus on their flight, just and so, coming round. The voice that penetrated her sleeping subconscious belonged to Richard Sline.

“I will have my kiss. I will have you and claim you as mine.”

“Richard, help me. I’ve fallen. I think I’m floating. Dear Richard, where are you? Oh my…my ankle is broken…it feels like Satan himself feeds off it. Are we playing Blind Man’s Bluff?”

Still once more. Weight on her body; her chest was tight. It was the smell she noticed first. Stale ale filled her nostrils. Eyes focusing, she saw the starling cloud.

I’m on my back. What’s that weight? Someone is on top of me. Sharp pain made her body rigid. Her heart was responding, pumping her blood. Chemicals were rushing in. Eleanor was ready to fight.

“Don’t struggle. Be warned. I will hurt you if you do, so pray don’t make me.” He spat. The smell of his breath covered her face. Moving to her chest, he unsheathed his dagger.

Eleanor heard screaming. Her throat tightened at the realisation they were her own screams.

Breathlessly. Spraying more drunken spit as he spoke. “He’s not coming, so scream away princess, for you’ll be screaming as mine.”

The dagger sliced the lacing of her gown. Ripping what remained open. With his hands, he looked from her breasts to her eyes with a bestial leer. His hands found her breasts and he kneaded her aggressively.

Rocking, she tried to free her hips but his weight holding her. Her mouth filled with her vomit. Her skin creeped and crawled and the core of her howled. Clawing into his back, fighting him for all her worth, Eleanor unseated him from atop her hips.

She was up and running, the adrenaline of fleeing fuelling her legs, dulling her pain. Nature’s drive to survive, alive in her veins, powered her on.

Fingers bit into her waist. She was caught. Gripping her, he threw her back down. Richard Sline grabbed her wrists, forcing her hands up over her head. His knee forced her apart at the cleft of her legs. His eyes were full of hate, full of desire, full of evil.

“Kiss for the King, my lady? Have you and I’ll have the throne, for ye will marry me as will have covered you, so you were mine before him.”

He growled. His mouth took hers, his tongue aggressively pushing at her teeth and forcing her compliance.

Eleanor used the only defense she had. Remembering her sweet Matheus, she bit him.

He spat blood all over her. His body rose off her a little. Drawing back his head and dropping her wrists, he formed a fist with both hands and hit her with full force, growling again, “Bitch.”

Watching the starling cloud swirl and dip, whirling round and round, it seemed to Eleanor as she slipped into sleep, that the whirl was a cloaked spectre dancing his dance…dance…dance, until still once more.

Moving once more, the panic renewed. She sensed it rising in her body, tickling up her spine, making her rigid. Once again, the silent scream stuck in her throat. She opened her eyes. The dark spectre was gone. No birds flew. There was no whirling, starling cloud. Just the gentle dusk. Golden peach haze decorated the beauty of nature that surrounded her in opalescent brilliance.

Chapter 9

Exhausted, Matheus dismounted and watered his horse. For such a cold day, Simon had sweated up. A mist of steamy air rose from him as if spectres floated off his body. There was an eerie hush to the woods. The birds held their song, and beasts remained still.

He had worked his mount quite unfairly. Simon blew clouds of hot heavy breath out into the cold. He was grinding his bit, and his head lay low.

“Sorry lad, you look like a dragon blowing smoke. This has been hard on us both.”

Matheus sighed. Patting him, he said he was sorry in the form of an apple. There had been little to track. Not a hoof print nor a parting in the meadow. It was as if Richard Sline had disappeared from the whole of Christendom, let alone these woods.

He rubbed his hands over his face. He could hardly keep his eyes open from the lack of sleep. His body was running on an empty reserve. Adrenaline alone kept him functioning.

“Jethro, please ride back and pray tell Master Godwin we will be returning to make camp. Simon will need the farrier, his hooves are fair worn.”

Matheus realised his hound was missing and whistled. “Mace lad…Mace, come boy…for damnation hound, where are you?”

Simon, hearing his master whistle for the hound, became quite agitated. Nudging at Matheus’s thigh he demanded his apple.

“Ride back, boys. It looks like I have to track my own tracking hound. As for you, Simon, find the bloody dog and I will give you a barrel load. I shall lead you my friend. I think your back has born my body long enough today.”

The scent of wood was stronger still as the dusk set in. The golden stream of winter sunshine still striped the trunks of oak trees long since stripped of their autumn copper coats. Looking about him, Matheus admitted to himself that if he wasn’t walking in his living hell of fear, stress and exhaustion he would marvel at the goddess of nature that surrounded him.

Perhaps that stupid Celt was not so daft for this is a place of worship after all, and it would not take a great leap to imagine this place patrolled by a goddess accompanied by her green man.

A smile even broke out on his face as he spotted some deer, knowing full well he did not have arrows enough to hunt them. For every arrow he had in his quiver was tipped solely for Richard Sline’s hide.

He shivered at the thought, and his mouth even turned bitter. “Cur, I will gut your spleen. Run Sline, for there is nowhere on this earth far enough for my temper not to catch you.”

Cocking his head, Matheus dropped his destrier’s reins. Simon pricked his ears, recognising the sound of a hound on track. He struck the ground with his front hoof in foresight of the chase. Matheus mounted him with haste. Cantering through the low boughs, he was nearly unseated as he slid the length of Simon’s body to avoid the blow of the branches. As always Simon adjusted his body to reseat his Master.

The clearing was grassy and still well-lit by the low winter sun. Holly bushes groaned with the weight of red berries. The slightest sprinkle of snow caressed the ground. The still of the scene was only broken by the distant bark of a dog, which echoed throughout the forest.

Godwin came through into the clearing just as Matheus was jumping from his horse. The mouths of the men that followed were open and their gasps well heard. The cry of their Master punctured their ears. Sorrow filled their hearts as tears stung Matheus’s eyes.

Eleanor lay bloodied and still. Hair, which was kissed by Midas, was now as red as the holly berries that surrounded her. The gown that once graced her body was shredded and stained. Both her breasts were bruised and exposed and her legs were open.

Cupping her to him as mother does her babe, Matheus’s trembling hands held her. Lowering his ear to her mouth he felt the faint heat of her breath.

Godwin and some of the men gave chase, following the sound of the barking hound. Matheus never lifted his head to watch them leave Tears journeyed down his face and fell as the snowflakes did on her bloody cheeks. Oblivious to the commotion around him, he remained totally focused on her. Only the hand of Goody disturbed him enough to bring him back from his lugubrious state.

“We need to keep her warm, my Lord.”

Matheus looked at her face and saw her lips move but understood not a word. His mind wandered back to the last time he held a bloodied woman in his arms—Elizabeth.

That was my own doing the same as this. I put the child that killed Elizabeth in her. I should have kept Eleanor safe.

Goody once more put her hand on Matheus. Dropping to her knees, she rubbed his cheek. Putting a blanket over Eleanor, she lifted her “babe’s” hand. Holding it, she stroked Matheus’s cheek with her limp fingers encouraging him to feel the cold. “’Tis cold as ice. Come now, Master Matheus, we have work to be done.”

Breaking his malaise, he rose, taking Eleanor with him. “Go light the camp fire and boil water.”

Goody breathed a sigh of relief. Turning to who had returned, she said, “’Tis one thing a soldier knows. More help than how to wield a sword, ’tis how to keep an injured body warm in winter.”

Godwin’s face was as ashen as his Master’s and his hands bloody. “Did he?”

Goody looked up at the big Celt, tears in her eyes and sobbed. “Looking at how that poor child lay, her breasts bare and her legs astride, I fear he has. We must be thankful that my Lord must have scared him away.”

Godwin moved aside and said, “I don’t think it was my Master.”

Goody’s gaze followed Godwin’s. There lay the body of Mace. His muzzle was covered in blood as if he had been fighting. His neck was clearly broken and a dagger in his chest. “Oh dear God, saints preserve us,” the nurse maid squealed.

“I found him alive with the dagger in his chest. Whimpering in pain. I stroked his chin, talked sweet to him and thenI broke his neck. It was the only way to stop his misery. Not beast nor man could recover from a dagger to the chest. I have had to do it on the battle field times a many.

Touching Goody’s hand, he continued. “Not all daggers to the chest heal. Grief is a chest wound often left open forever.”

* * * *

Castled in his arms, Eleanor knew who held her. His scent, the musk of man and horse. His touch, a stroke, a kiss. The way he tickled her neck beneath her hair.

I’m safe; he has me…all of me.

Eleanor slipped back, the rocking of his stride soothing her.

When she woke it was pitch black. There was the reassuring hoot of the tawny owl. Eleanor smiled. “I’m alive then.”

The arms that held her were not Goody’s and the voice of those arms replied, “Thank god, you had me pretty worried at one point, Wife. Before you plead for your virtue, you were so cold I had permission from Goody to hold you and warm through your bones.”

Eleanor smiled against the skin of his neck where her head nuzzled. “Yes, I know.”

“ I think she may be thawing to me; she even called me son.”

Tears formed and fell. Eleanor tried to suck them back, but they would not abate. A dam broke; salty and free they trickled onto Matheus. He was alerted to her suffering.

His thumb under her chin, he lifted her face up with the gentlest of touch. Dropping his head so their foreheads touched, he kissed the bridge of her nose and whispered, “Are you in pain? I am so sorry I did not find you in time…I am so, so, so very sorry, my dear Wife,”

“Don’t call me wife, my Lord…please don’t call me wife.” Eleanor’s shoulders heaved. Her belly pulled tight, and her spine stiffened. The vomit rose in her mouth. The bitter taste of bile stung her tongue. Pulling free of Matheus embrace. She stood and squealed as her ankle rebuked her with pain. Limping, she made for the tent egress.

Scooping her up and holding her vice-like, his fingers penetrating and harsh, confining her, Matheus had her in his possession, absorbing all the fight she had. Gripping her to him, standing strong and stoic. He remained unreactive to her panic.

When Eleanor’s body relaxed and softened, Matheus lightened his hold, his touch as ever tender but forceful and strong. “You will not run, Eleanor. For God is my witness, I will bind you to me from here to Lincoln if I have to. You will not run. The worst is over. You are not going anywhere unless it is with me”

Eleanor could not see his eyes in the darkness. She didn’t need to, she could feel the heat of them as they flashed.

“And Wife, it is Husband…not my Lord.”

How could she tell him what she did not know herself? The darkness was a relief. The flush of her shame rising, colouring her skin and heating her blood. Still held fast, she whispered, “Matheus, light a candle please…I need to see your face when I speak with you.”

“No running, Eleanor. If I release you, no running…your oath.”

He ran his hands the length of her arms as he spoke. She heard the concern in his voice. Words said in disquiet but not rebuke. Releasing, he took the candle out of the tent.

As she watched his silhouette on the jute, her stomach stiffened, her tightening belly muscles alive with butterflies as she viewed him and heard Goody’s words in her head.

’Tis kisses of fairies who fly in your blood, child. Yes, indeed Goody, kisses of my fairies alive in my blood.

There was real fear in her heart. The dull ache of foreboding pained her. He returned with the lit candle, and his face broke into the most beautiful full-toothed smile.

He spoke. “I am just so pleased to see you. For a while I didn’t think I’d ever see you lash out at me, lose your temper or ever smile at me again.” And he winked

“You’re not making this easy for me, my Lord.” Eleanor sighed.

“That was my intention and it is Husband…Wife.”

Eleanor sat on the floor cross-legged, her ankle outstretched before her. Matheus gently took her swollen foot in his palm and dropped a kiss on to it.

“Goody will chide you.” Eleanor looked at him as she spoke, laughter in her eyes.

Leaving her ankle, he traced a line with his finger underneath. From her ankle to her calf. She kept his stare and withdrew her leg

Matheus moved to her side. Taking her hands in his, he lifted them to his lips. Brushing her knuckles with his lips as he spoke. “I feel that you will have to say what you will…so as I cannot stop you, pray talk.”

“I. I. ’Tis that I…please, I may need the Abbess.”

Opening his mouth, Matheus was quietened by Eleanor’s fingers on his lips. “SShh…when he…well when he…uhmmm, I may not be a maid. You cannot couple me knowing another well…I. If you still…the Abbess can…she can test my maidenhead.”

Matheus’s face flushed scarlet. A nerve by his eye ticked. His mouth twisted. Eleanor looked at his hands as they formed fists. Tendons on his throat tightened, until they rose taut and strained. She watched him stand.

He walked away and stood with his back to her. Still and stoic, as ever the Lincoln bull.

“I fought him, my Lord. I tried…I even escaped a while. But my ankle failed and I…well I am so very sorry…I…he had a dagger…and I well, it went black after he fisted my face…I am so sorry.”

The silence was deafening. Gingerly Eleanor straightened and stood, careful not to put too much weight on her foot. She turned to look at Matheus. He stood statuesque—his power presence filled the tent. Opening the tent egress Eleanor made ready to leave.

“Where are you going?” His voice was strong and direct.

Trying to keep charge of her nerves she whispered, “To Goody, my Lord”

“The hell you are.”

Fear crept in, twisting around her heart like vines of ivy. It pulled tight, taking her breath, forcing her dry mouth to swallow.

The strike of his fist. The taste of Richard’s stale breath, still bitter in her mouth. A man half the size of the man who stood before her had dragged and beaten her. What could the Lincoln Bull do to her tiny frame? Her body shivered at the thought. Her lip was quivering.

Spitting his words as if bitter to his tongue, Matheus was at her side. “I will take you to Goody if you must go.”

Eleanor winced as he grasped her and pulled her arms to her chest. “For damnation woman, what is wrong now? Have you pain? I was going to carry you to save your ankle… I have held you these many hours and now you leap at my touch like a bullfrog and squeal like a suckling pig…priest’s bones, be still!”

As he swept her up with no gentle grace, Eleanor could feel his muscles tense, his neck tendons taut. He certainly was quite the Bull now. But she feared him less as he seized her than when he stood stoic and cold.

The cold hit her as they left the tent. Shivering, she drew closer to her courier, her body aching from the cruelties it had had to endure.

She looked up at the night sky. It was dressed in deep-blue velvet and bejewelled with a myriad of twinkling beads. Lacy flakes of snow sparkled in the torchlight almost as if the stars shook and were releasing their precious lustre to fall about them.

The snow falls on us like grain at a wedding. Tis an omen? Perhaps no. He holds me protectively, his hand sheltering my face. Yet the intimacy of his touch for me has left him.

She was absorbed in her thoughts, and the pain in her body had dulled, but her heart still ached badly.

“I know we approach Goody or Godwin, as that sound is one a boar rutting would be proud of.”

Giggling in response to Matheus’s witty quip, Eleanor felt his hold tighten to a squeeze releasing into a caress. And as he did so he whispered, “I do so like to hear you giggle for truly it is a most wicked sound.”

Godwin lay on the floor outside Goody’s tent, with only a thin blanket between him and the snow. The big Celt sang threw his nostrils making a terrible sound. Giving his back a gentle kick, Matheus mused to Eleanor, “See, not only is the man unholy, the sound he expels is quite ungodly too. Satan would be proud to hear him play…and I sleep next to that often in battle. ’Tis no wonder my eyes often berate me on opening.”

Giggling once more, Eleanor held her hand out, making a shell around her ear. Turning her head toward the snores and wheezes that were coming from the tent she replied, “And my Lord, I sleep next to that.”

Godwin stirred and grinned at his Master He straightened himself to his full height. Eleanor always found herself surprised at his towering height no matter how many times she saw him. Her eyes widened.

Matheus is a tall man over six foot. But Godwin is huge. It’s rare sight to see a man of seven feet; no wonder the children think him a real life giant.

Opening the tent, Godwin stepped in and held the flap open, coughing loudly to alert the nursemaid to their presence. Startled by the intrusion, Goody let out an enormous fart.

Matheus’s shoulders heaved as he tried to stifle his laughter, to such an extent that he could hardly keep Eleanor in his arms. It was not helped by the fact that Godwin winked at Eleanor. Both now had a fit of the giggles, shaking with the effort of controlling their laughter.

Godwin was the first to speak. “My dear Mistress, seems you have a case of the vapours.” Snorting he continued, “’Tis cook’s stew; it is a noxious brew.”

The assembled group could not look at each other for fear they would all break out in uncontrollable laughter. Matheus put Eleanor down. Controlling himself, he addressed Goody. “Mistress I have brought my wife back. She says she would rather your arms this night than mine.”

Eleanor looked at him open-mouthed. Shaking her head, she mumbled, “That is not what I said.” The mood changed from the jovial banter of friends. Once more Eleanor saw the Bull of Lincoln, direct, focused and stoic. She longed for the little knight and his wooden sword.

“’Tis no wonder my babe wants the arms of a woman to comfort her. There is little in the arms of a man but the promise of emptiness.” She went to put her arms around her Eleanor as she spoke.

“Seems Mistress Goody still hasn’t quite thawed to you, Sire,” Godwin jested.

Matheus smirked a side grin saying, “Yes, seems like the September sun whose warmth is short-lived.”

“Oh and Sire, why do you make him sleep so?” Goody was pointing at Godwin as she spoke. Her face twisted and her brow furrowed. “You shelter your horses better. He may be a hairy, godless Celt, but ’tis not right he be out there like a beast in the snow. I offered my floor, but he refused it.”

Eleanor’s eyebrows rose.

Your floor, Goody? Well, well!

Looking from one to the other, Godwin was enjoying the sport of their exchange. “’Tis a poison dwarf versus a grumpy giant,” he whispered to Eleanor.

His eyes flashing, Matheus clenched his teeth. Breathing out slowly he replied, “Godwin how best well are ye treated? Who bids you sleep on the floor under the stars?”

Putting his hands up to Goody, the big Celt replied, “Me, Sire, ’tis my way. I need not roof nor bed to sleep so. What’s more, dear Mistress, I prefer it and truth be told, I tell no lie. I am treated fair well, ’tis a kind and just knight we soldier for.”

Leaving the tent, the men were called back by Eleanor. “Pray leave Mace with me, my Lord. He is a comfort to me for he has slept at my feet often since we journeyed.”

Opening her mouth to speak, Goody was interrupted by Matheus’s raised hand. “Mace befell an injury whilst I hunted, I am afraid. Godwin put him out for he was suffering. Please don’t cry…for he chases rabbits and hares a plenty up in the clouds.”

Rushing out of her mouth, her thoughts became words before she could stop them. “My Lord you treat me as a child. Yet I am old enough to be wife, lover, and mother. I am not that fragile. You doth think I break so because the news I hear is not sweet. I break so for I want always to feel the wet grass beneath my feet. To sing in the sunset whilst as I whisper to the trees.”

Scratching his head, Godwin smirked.

Rolling his eyes, Matheus replied, “’Tis not only the snoring of a boar that keeps me up at camp, my dear Lady thinks we ride an hour’s sleep. Keep your wet grass beneath your feet, sing to your sunset. But sleep well on them because we ride at dawn. The walls of Lincoln cannot come quick enough for me.”

Godwin put a hand to his Master’s shoulder as they left the tent. The wink of one widowed man to another was a comfort. And the Celt offered a little advice, laughing as he spoke. “Ha, she is a she-wolf—that is what brought her through her beating. I would fair love to be scorned by a wench now. I do miss it when they get all hissy and sour. Their eyes do flash and the bust flushes scarlet. Is lovely bedding them then…all angry, they wriggle and scowl at your attentions…until you undo them and make them fair sweet. A woman without a smart mouth on her ’tis no pleasure. ’Tis like having cook’s stew; it gives men the vapours.”

Footsteps crunched in the snow as Matheus walked away. Eleanor listened until she could hear them no more. Her gaoler once more stationed himself on the floor outside the tent and laughed out loud as he most probably imagined a scolding. Goody for once lay sleeping quietly.

Then she broke. The fingers of fear gripped at her stomach, tightening her in knots. The weight on her chest took her breath. And the briar of bramble and thorn twisted deep in her veins.

His breath on her skin. His fingers in her hair. The weight of his groin on her hips and his knee at her cleft. Enveloped by the odour of stale ale, Eleanor retched. Her vomit mixed with her tears. She was heaving the taint of her defiler out of her body, expelling the foul stench of Richard Sline.

Crawling into herself as tight her body would allow, Eleanor closed her eyes and forced silence on her screams, rocking to sate the panic. In her soul, she quietly sang. She saw the notes and felt the words. As she breathed through her terror, the ebb and flow of the rhythm was like a tide within her. The song leaving her lungs fell quiet. The only sound she expelled were sobs.

Silently, her lips formed the words of her song: Gaudete. Gaudete Chritus est natus. Ex Virgine. She praised the birth of the Lord in the song of her childhood, in the hymn of yule long past. As the aria carried her back to her dreams, Eleanor saw her mother riding with her. As a child she galloped up with her to their mountain lake. Their secret Eden. The same hazel eyes looked down on her that looked back at her then, eyes hazel—glittering gold, green and amber. Cupping her child’s face with soft palms and kissing the face she adored, Eleanor’s mother smiled.

Wet heather filled her nostrils. Eleanor could feel her mother’s touch, smell her scent, hear her words. “You are a She-Wolf, my little Eve. Descended so, from the brave and beautiful. Like the daughters of Boudicca, child, no man can ever hurt you if they don’t live in your heart. For ’tis only the vessel they touch, never reaching your soul. Sing, for ’tis your charm, your protection, little Eve. Sing.

Chapter 10

The morning was glorious.

It is like God hath looked down and smiled. There is a glow on a winter morn seen little else on this earth than England.

Lifting his face to bathe in it, Matheus was alive with thought. Clear skies greeted him. It was as if the trail shone. The rays of the sun made snow and ice gleaming like diamonds.

The dew has frozen in pearls as pretty as the ones that bedeck the swan necks of court ladies. Yes, this is a day to treasure for we are nearly home and my Lady safe.

Out from the forest to open land, the destrier started to get eager to charge as it recognised the expanse in front of it. “Whoa, Simon. Steady boy, steady.” Matheus patted his mount and grinned.

There was little chance of being tracked now. The knight who led his bride home for the first time felt confident and content for the first time in days, secure in the knowledge that the first ordeal of his nuptials was over. Relief was showing in his features, his brow less pinched and his eyes unhooded. Looking more like the little knight with a wooden sword than ever.

A sword in his hand as an apprentice knight by seven, his body soon trained to accept extreme heat and severe cold. Whilst boys his age played with spinning tops, he was jousting, schooling his mind and his mount to be focused and sharp. By sixteen he had left his peers behind, his stomach coping with scenes that would best the horrors of hell. They still honed their skills in the joust, and he was already decorated in the heat of the battle. A braver heart would be difficult to find. Matheus was born to battle.

Drawing his sword and commanding his men to war in England was a different matter. The slaughter of farmer and serf, untrained in warfare, troubled him. There was little enough food in a hard winter as it was and women and children would go hungry for the lack of the menfolk. Knowing full well that as the Cousins argued, the threat that England could be split in two grew likelier. The snow underfoot as white as the Yorkist rose would be awash with blood as red as the Lancastrian one.

“Do you hear me, Pike?”

Looking puzzled at his Master, Pike returned, “Sorry, Sire…I didn’t.”

“A day’s ride and we will be kissing the East Gate House.” Matheus beamed.

He had intrusted Eleanor to Godwin, with the instruction that if she needed to relieve herself between breaks that it would be Matheus himself who escorted her. A scout must be sent to inform him as he rode up front. He could not bear to be with Eleanor at this time. There were words left unspoken, wounds that needed healing. He had neither the stomach nor the inclination to deal with it at this present time. He needed to be sharp and sober, his mind clear of confusion. There would be time enough for talk once home.

But the knowledge she was behind him comforted his heart. He had not to look at her to see…her hair falling around her shoulders like rivers of smelted gold. Those eyes that nip at my soul and devour my heart. The curve of her belly as it dips. They way her nose can hear her—that voice. Priest’s bones, that voice.

“My Lady? Sing, my Lady,” the men had demanded and continued to beg their Mistress—the Lady they guarded home. Eleanor opened her mouth, and her voice rang out. The only other sound was the sharp intake of breath, of thirty mouths open and sighing as they heard her.

Tempus adest gratiae

Hoc quod optabamus

Carmina laetitiae

Devote reddamus

Encouraged by Goody, the men joined in with the refrain.

Gaudete, gaudete

Christus est natus

Ex Maria Virgine

Gaudete

Unaware whether it was the sound of her siren song bewitching him or the realisation that the greedy ears of others were delighting in it, Matheus was soon at her side. Feelings of jealousy and possessiveness grew in him, xreeping up through his veins and twisting around his heart. Knowing she belonged to him was darkly delicious. It heated his blood and tightened his groin. As much as he did not want to share her body with another, he did not want to share her laugh, her giggle, her wit and especially her song.

Richard Sline has touched what is mine, and it is wrecking me. Looking at Eleanor, so beautiful, moistening her lips as she opened her mouth to hit the notes. Luminous skin and come hither eyes. His fists tightened around his reins as he viewed the bruises upon her face. The marking of her by another man was almost too much to bear. Tightening his eyes, he scowled, blocking out the image that his mind was playing of Sline defiling and striking her.

I can handle this calm, stoic and steadfast.

Godwin was at his Master’s side. His voice questioning and his eyes searching. “Sire is it the bright winter sun? Your eyes, Sire.”

Matheus opened his eyes and smiled. Hiding the truth from Godwin he answered, “Yes, damnation, it blinds me so. Simon knows his way, ’tis his backyard. Home and we make merry for ’tis the eve of our Lord’s birthday and but two days until my nuptials will be blessed by the bishop. Does she not sound like a lark? She sings my favourite carol of our Lord’s birth so sweetly.”

Nodding, his master at arms replied, “Sings like a siren, Sire. ’Tis a powerful thing, a voice like that. Us godless folks believe that you can follow a voice like that back from the crossover where death and life meet, bringing you back from death’s edge.”

Godwin looked at his Master intensely. Matheus felt the heat of his eyes. It was as if something said between them would prove true. Both shuddered a little with the realisation of it. “As for your Virgin Mary and your Lord’s birth…we the godless, lit fires and made merry around the yule log long before this Christmas of yours. But your nuptials, oh that is a cause to be merry for sure. Be ever the merrier when I have piked Sline’s head as a wedding present and fed his pintel to the pigs.”

Matheus laughed and begged him move over as he wanted to ride beside his wife. Goody and Godwin moved their mounts on, riding together. Matheus moved Simon to Arthur’s side. There was once more the awkward silence between the lovers. Much to the disappointment of the men the “lark” fell silent.

Villagers had started to join the procession. The throng of folks were carrying pitch forks and pikes. As they turned to Allden Gate, there were at least three hundred serfs and commoners awaiting them, singing yuletide celebration. Most walked but some rode. Eleanor was unsure as to enquire to Matheus, who kept a quiet counsel, why the throngs joined them, so she asked it of Godwin. “Master Godwin?”

“Aye, my Lady?” His booming voice sounded over the shod hooves hitting cobble and stone.

“Pray tell me why these peasant folk join us. They sing the yuletide and make so merry. ’Tis a joy to see their faces so.”

It was Matheus who answered. “They come for you, Eleanor, to support your safe passage to your new home…their home.”

As he spoke a very young maid ran beside Arthur, grabbing his reins. Upon her head she wore a holly crown. Upon her feet nothing. Eleanor beamed at the child and leaned forward to receive a holly crown for her head.

Matheus watched his bride-to-be. The delight that twinkled in Eleanor’s eyes shot a bolt of passion straight into his chest, making him physically puff his chest. His male pride purred with satisfaction.

The little hand that passed her the crown was small and grubby. The sweetest voice came from this chubby cherub, the most endearing, toothless smile followed. “’Tis for you, my Lady, for ’tis holly and will keep the evil from you. Ma teld me so, dat Satan fair came for you. But the Green Man of the forest sent you a cur and he bitten him, so doth he flee. Holly on your head will make the Green Man protect ye. Ma says you can stop the row of the red and white roses. My Lady, the men, they come to see you to Lincoln safe…pardon my Lord…Master. Earl...Sir…Knight.”

Laughing, Matheus threw the child a shilling. Watching Eleanor put on her crown he continued to speak. “They love you already Eleanor…”

Who could not? His eyes drank in the wild, wondrous and witty beauty who rode beside him. His arm gestured to the villagers and townsfolk, his people around them. “They come to ensure you remain safe. These men who walk with us are quite willing to lay down their lives in your protection. In the Cousin’s War against each other, we lose some land perhaps, some knights, and on occasion our lives. It is their sons who die in the thousands, their children who starve, and these women who are left bereft.”

Matheus watched Eleanor’s expression as she pulled at her lip. Her eyes sorrowful, she looked at the gathering who sang around them. Turning to her, he spoke in a low timbre. “There has been peace these past years with the old king. There is a weight on our shoulders, Wife. Perhaps even blood on our hands if…we…well, you know there needs to be an heir for all their futures, not only our own.”

It was easy to see Godwin was delighted. The yule song they sang was pagan from the old ways. Matheus had noticed him literally rubbing his hands with glee when he saw his Mistress put on the holly crown “Takes more than a bloody big Cathedral to persuade a common man that God is on their side, especially when the friars grow fat and the children grow skinny. My Lady, it looks fine on you. We call it Golon Celyn.”

“Godwin, when you say we, who is the we? Are you not a Galle…a Welshman? Are they not small?” Eleanor enquired.

Matheus laughed a little, interrupting. “Small in some parts, I dare say, if the stable lad is to be believed.”

Godwin raised a brow at his lord. “Vikings, my Lady, came up the rivers from the sea to my homeland. They had not nearly enough daughters and the Galles too many sons. So on the yule they would come. Set fire to the log to burn twelve days. Galles folk would take a son in exchange for a daughter. My master, he is just jealous, my Lady. No King has to search for me a bride. Ladies and maids they come a running.” Smiling as he spoke, he winked at Eleanor and rode back up to Goody.

By the time the couple had reached the East Gate of Lincoln the throng were ten abreast and numbered over a thousand. Wedding favours from embroidered linen to ivy garlands were tied upon the horses. With bright banners and trims, the procession looked like the joust. Delighting in the sight that the King’s standard flew above his home, Matheus wiped his face in relief. The roughness of his glove catching on his stubble. He cared not. His body ached. But his heart and head, for once in agreement, rejoiced.

He noticed that Lady Bruce had arrived, for the gate was decorated with the green and red of the season.

Her decorative hand or rather her use of the birch has guided the castle hands and staff to provide the most pleasant of welcomes.

Lady Bruce and the old Earl had taken a different route. It had been decided that whomever wished to attack or kidnap would have to divide their resources.

We will all be making merry tonight; ’tis the eve of our Lord’s birth, and there will be bride ale to be drunk. How have they have fared under Mother Bruce?

He was laughing loudly, absorbed in his own thoughts, imagining her running around his home like the cat chasing mice, birch in hand. When he turned to look for Eleanor he was shocked. She was gone. The sword leaving its sheath blazed as if ignited by the winter sun. His drawn blade like a mirror, dazzling the eyes of all who viewed it as he armed himself ready. On his tongue was the bitter taste of fear, and his eyes alive with terror. Matheus’s face was wolf-like.

The calming voice of Godwin spoke. “Whoa now, Sire, what chides you? Please sheath your sword. Your maid has gone to the women; she is not lost to you.”

A hand gripped his arm, and he breathed out as if it was his last. “’Tis more like a goat you are Sire…than a bull,” Godwin ribbed him. “For you must either shave or shape it for your whiskers are enough to scare the poor maid off. Perhaps that is it, Sire. She thought you the Earl of Leicester. The old Goat come to think of it. You could have been birthed together as twins.”

The sound of his own stone and cobbles beneath Simon’s hooves was a relief. The thought of riding any further was cause enough to make his mood one of pique. He had been so happy less than an hour ago. In his head he had been so bold in his thoughts as to ask the Bishop to bless their bed so he could at least beg her bathe him. Now she would be lost to him until St. Stephen’s day, and as the eve drew to dusk and darkened, Matheus’s mood did also.

* * * *

Sitting at the side of the King, Matheus’s mood had not lightened. The feast was spectacular. Lady Bruce, backed by Matheus’s coffers, had surpassed herself. Tables groaned with sweetmeats and fancies, all colours, all textures. Lady Bruce’s new obsession, the cockatrice, was positioned to be pride of place.

Matheus’s brow raised as he viewed it. The strange creature, half a suckling pig sewn to the rear of a cock chicken was more of the demon world than this. Even more importantly, what did you do with the other ends?

After midnight he found himself twitching. The King was playing knuckles in the corner with Sir Peveril, the ladies long since retired. Most of the men were singing or snoring. The bride ale was a strong brew.

A wicked smile broke his melancholy.

Priest’s bones; I hope it doesn’t give Goody the vapours. The sergeant will think the buttresses breached.

As he put his fingers to his mouth to stop his laughter escaping, the sound of love escaped his. A sweet sigh. His mind’s eye was remembering how they had laughed in the tent last night. Goody chiding them as their tears rolled.

He could hear her. Giggling and laughing. He could smell her. Rose water and camomile. Taste her. Soap and honey. Feel his hands in her hair.

Be damned for am I not Master of my own Castle.

The cockatrice will do well for my surprise.

He stuffed some of it into his gillet. His cheeks were kissed. Hands ruffled his hair, and his back felt the blows of many a slap. As Matheus made his exit, the men, his men, showed their Sire their love…every drunken one of them.

“You drink not the bride’s ale…show her some love and drink with us Sire.”

“The Gods are with me it would seem,” Matheus voiced in amusement as the soldier passed out and poured his flagon over his feet. Swiftly as he was allowed, he made his way out of the great hall, not wanting to draw attention to where he headed. As a shadow, he passed unnoticed, by guards and guests alike. Lincoln Castle, his childhood playground, there was not a nook or a cranny he had not hid in. Nor a machicolation he had not swung from.

Eleanor resided in the Unthinkable Room. Thus named because it had a stained glass window. Deeply religious, Matheus’s mother had requested the unthinkable as a wedding present. A stained glass window in a Norman Castle. Where there was glass, there was a weak point. Glass itself was for the mighty rich. But a stained glass one absurdly expensive and potentially fatal.

She was denied nothing by her doting husband, and the window was installed, the glass protected by enormous metal and wood shutters if the castle were sieged. Fortunately, the protective metal shutters had never been needed. Thankfully, for two hundred years, the castle lay un-stormed. “Always a first,” Matheus muttered playfully as he planned his assault.

Once on the allure right at the top of the castle, he sniggered like the boy knight of years ago—the boy knight who once protected the Lady, now grown into the man who wished to capture her. The focus of his mirth was the two guards who had crossed themselves in holy blessing, thinking they had seen a spectre as he had made his way past them. Hanging upside down, his boots were hooked in the edging of the machicolation. Happy with himself on his deft ability, he mused,

Tis easier with the boots of a man than a boy.

The two-hundred-foot drop that lay beneath did not faze him. Matheus had the grin of a beggar at the feast emblazoned across his face. And the libido of The Old Goat as his groin was just as delighted as he viewed her. “Eleanor…Eleanor…Eleanor.” As he rattled at the window, his voice fought with the sound of Goody’s snoring

Pressing her face against the stained glass, looking through the window to view the disturbance, her lips touched the cold glass ones of St, Crispin.

“Unhand my Wife, you knave. You call yourself a man of the cloth,” He shouted through the glass.

Eleanor squealed in response. “Matheus?”

He pressed his lips hard on the glass and she responded with hers. Separated by the window, exchanging the intimacies of lovers, Matheus and Eleanor kissed.

“There is a hatch behind the shield…meet me?” he appealed.

Looking like she was veiled in the finest silk gossamer, for the castle spiders had dressed their lady in cobwebs, Eleanor popped her head out of the secret hatch. Beaming at her betrothed, she giggled. “Goody snorts and my gaoler, Master Godwin, snores. Their talent is so in tune I think we should request they play the quadrille for us upon our wedding.”

Matheus grinned. “For you are mighty wicked, Wife…now pray let me lift you out of the rabbit hole.”

She was soon in his arms. His body curved to hers. And he smiled on her neck with a kiss. Burning in his veins, his passion inflamed, his heartache sated…mine. He breathed, sighing—the audible sound of the solace his heart had been craving.

Yes, all mine. Every inch my own tamed she-wolf.

Cocking her head, she spoke with her eyes, questioning his grin.

“Come on, little wolf cub, let’s go find this Eden of yours.”

Big eyes greeted his words. Her face hallowed and her head lowered.

Laughing in response, Matheus kissed her. “Trust me, if I were referring to that…it would be heaven you found, my Lady, not the Eden you search for.” Matheus winked as he spoke. He felt like the little knight again—playful, protective, and as all those years ago, lost in the magic of her hazel eyes. “On my back, wench,” he ordered, smirking.

Lifting Eleanor upon his back, he relished the feel of her clinging to his body, her fine arms around his neck and her ankles daintily crossed at his waist.

Perhaps this is Eden right here…wherever she is.

She giggled. “Come on, Sire, be a good mount and I might give you an apple.”

As he made his way from the allure, much to Eleanor’s delight, he haunted the guards once more. He not only heard her giggles, he felt them. The tremble of glee was enchanting. Out on the open ground, Matheus instructed her, “You can dismount now wench…dear God, for I know why Arthur’s lame. With your bonnie nates upon his back, poor nag is quite exhausted.” He feigned injury as he fielded the glance of her slap.

“But I’m bare foot.”

“This is Eden…well the Lincoln version and it is the first of your wedding presents…so get running and feeling the grass…well, snow beneath your feet.”

She turned to look at him. Her head cocked and her mouth creased.

He felt that burn, the one that tightens your belly and boils your blood. Taking her head in his hands he blew her a kiss. She looked at him quizzically. Her head cocked and her mouth creased. “’Tis the wind in your hair you demand so…on a crisp night so still, a man must do his best.”

Her giggles rang out, making such a sweet sound, Matheus thought it sounded like the angels themselves tickled her. She ran into the dark, just illuminated by the torchlight. Her cloak billowed out around her. Matheus grinned. “If the guards see you now, they will indeed think that the Grey Lady’s Ghost has risen.”

She beamed back, her golden tresses running in ribbons wild about her face. She was more witch than phantom. For the petite barefoot figure who danced and giggled in the Christmas Day snow had bewitched him.

“Snow angels…come Matheus, lay with me?” She called, already in the snow waving her arms to make her snow angels.

“Priest’s bones…you don’t know what that invitation ‘lay with me’ does to a man…for at this moment I am minded to say damnation to the priest and lay claim, coupling with you here and now, making a woman of the maid before me.”

Eleanor rose and looked to her betrothed. Her eyes glowing amber in the torch light filled with a well of tears. With her bottom lip quivering, a pout formed on her face. She pulled her cloak tight about her. Words mixing with tears she spoke. “My Lord I have not had word from the Abbess and I—”

Her voice was interrupted, Matheus’ fingers silencing the words upon her lips. “Ssssshhh.” Dropping to his knees in the snow, Matheus knelt at her feet. Taking her hands in his and looking up to her tearful face, he smiled. “Dear Lady, I love you because I have no choice. ’Tis simple, my heart instructs and I follow. Every beat whispers your name. I have a thirst and a hunger that only you can quench and feed. In my grief, I waited patiently for God to deliver you into my arms. I know you fear what lies before you. But I am strong strength enough for two and have a back broad enough to carry us both.”

Matheus straightened to stand. He was a tower of man, masculine and graceful as he bent over her. He cupped her face, his thumb caressing her bottom lip as it quivered, he lifted her gaze to his. She tried to look away, but he held her fast. “You will not run, Eleanor.” Throwing his arms about her, he said, “This is Eden…this here.” Taking back her hands, he took them to his chest, pushing her palm to his heart. “And here… Eden is here.”

Eleanor met his gaze. Her voice quiet and timid in response. “But that night …you… your eyes and words…you were so angry at me. I saw it. I felt it. You shook with anger…clenched fists and…well I…you frightened me.”

“I was angry Eleanor. I was furious…I could barely rein in the rage that burned, molten in my veins. I failed you, I failed us both. Sweet child, I will split his spleen for laying a finger on what is mine. I am a possessive man and mighty vengeful too. I care not for an abbess to lay hands on you…in fact I command that you go not.” His fingertips wiped a tear. As he kissed her cheek, his hands stroked her hair. “Let me kiss these dry… Pray let me? Your heart is what I have always desired, not your virginity. I will not have hands that are not mine ever again touch you so. But ’tis in my mind that you honour me by letting…nay wanting me be the last man ever to couple with you and that is gift enough for me, sweet lady.”

He castled Eleanor in his embrace. She nuzzled into his neck. And his body purred in response.

“Wife, ’tis Yule now. The eve is over and my Christmas present I wish to give you. I have too someone I desire you meet. For he will dearly love you all his life. Jealous though as I am, ’tis agreeable to me if you love him too.”

Soon at the stables, his surprise was revealed. In the hay curled with her puppies was a large wolf hound. “This is Matilda; Mace was her beau.”

As Matheus spoke, Eleanor put her hand to her open mouth. “Oh poor Mace, his babies?”

Matheus nodded as he took the scraps of cockatrice from his gillet and fed Matilda. The smallest pup ran to him growling as he worried some sheep fleece. He picked the pup up, and it protested as it was made bereft of its mother. He gave the pup to Eleanor and said, “He is the bravest, see how he growled at me? But already he knows you, his Mistress.”

Making a nest in her arms, the pup closed its eyes.

“He will protect you just as his father did…just as I failed to do.” Matheus turned away. His head lowered. The pain of culpability etched on his face.

Resting her head on him, the pup still held in her embrace, she soothed. “What is he called…Husband?”

The weight of the world lifted from Matheus’s shoulders. He returned her smile. “’Tis fine to hear the word husband pass your lips.” Laughing a little he grinned. “I had a mind to call him Godwin.”

Interrupting, Eleanor said through her giggles, “For he is a hairy, godless beast who smells a little.”

Shaking his head and giving her a playful scowl he replied, “No, because he will be bold, brave and obedient, serving you even if death is the cost of his devotion…but yes smelly, hairy and godless too.”

“I shall call him Gelert after the King’s hound. A brave little knight protected me that day and he does still, if only he would open his eyes and see how well he does it.”

Chapter 11

Eleanor was to spend Christmas day in her chambers. Goody insisted on it.

“You are not going anywhere save the chapel to beg upon Our Lady’s feet for a fruitful marriage and to wish our saviour the blessings of the day, being his birth and all.” Wagging her finger and narrowing her eyes Goody straightened to her full four-foot height.

Her attempts to master her mistress left Eleanor most amused and she grinned. Her face quite wicked as she thought of how Goody would react if she knew it had been mere hours since she was held in his arms, his hands in her hair and his breath on her neck.

She will fair faint if she knew I rode upon my betrothed’s stallion’s back.

“Don not you be looking so at me. ’Tis the look of a sprite intent on wicked business and I dunna care for it. There has been trouble enough getting you to this day to have the luck turn because your husband takes sight of you.”

The delicious smell of him, horse and man, still lingered in her nostrils. She had been trembling at the recollection of his touch, and Godwin thought her cold and swathed her in a Fur. Which was soon tickling her face where not long since Matheus’s fingers had. Touching the glass, she smiled at St Crispin and a blush broke across her face. “I think him more the Knave, dear Saint,” she whispered.

Godwin looked to her in a knowing way. His head cocked to one side and his brow raised in question. He caught her blush, Eleanor knew it. From his expression she knew too that he had a fair idea as to why she swooned that morn.

“Snow angels upon the mound, Mistress. Do you see them? There by the footprints. Perhaps children or fairy people were out last night about their play…one with big feet indeed, the other one feet of a sprite. Funny, as only the booted one came back from the barn. Big feet for a bairn, me thinks. If I did not know better, I would say lovers did play under the stars last night quite unguarded.”

Godwin’s mouth creased slightly and his eyes twinkled as he spoke. “Funny, Goody chides me for the look of a sprite. But you, master Godwin, have the look of a goblin this morn. Having much business of others, aplenty.”

Goody broke Godwin and Eleanor’s exchange as she started to chide him for stringing rook and raven up to ward away the spirits. The big Celt escorted his Mistress to the chapel. They could hear the assembled court make merry in their absence as the sound of jest and joy resonated through the courtyard from the great hall. Goody left to meet with Lady Bruce, bidding Godwin take good care of her babe.

“With my Lady’s leave, I prefer to stay outside whilst you make prayer with your god.” Stationing himself outside with his sword drawn, Godwin, a tower of muscle, was a formidable sight.

Touching the blade, Eleanor smiled up at him and said, “There is no need for blades so keened, Master Godwin. This is God’s house and no blood can be shed here.”

“I care not if it is your Lord’s house, the King’s throne room, or my master the Lincoln Bull’s stable—if someone comes for you, slice their spleen and spill their blood I will.”

Leaving him stationed at arms she made her way to the altar steps. The gold and gilt glowed and glittered in the soft tallow candlelight. From above the altar Mary greeted her with babe in arms. Her gown of blue and pale primrose yellow billowed as if caught in a breeze. A smile so serene carved upon an alabaster face. The amber hues of the candles backlit her beauty with gloriana threads of luminescence. Falling to her knees upon the altar steps, Eleanor bowed her head and started to recite her prayer. “Mother of Perpetual Help, to Thee I come, imploring help. Behold your daughter. Perpetual Help, I beg Thee; My soul from sin and sorrow free; Direct my wandering feet aright, and be Thy self our own true light.”

Startled, she turned her head quickly, her fine silk veil obscuring her view. She spoke with panic. “Is anyone there? Friar… Godwin.”

Godwin boomed back, “My Lady.” Both hands on the hilt, he strode in. Taking no chances, he searched in earnest. Finding the chapel safe, he returned to his station post at the door.

Once again in prayer Eleanor told the statue of Mary her fears. “Our Lady, I love and fear the man I will wed. For fear in me comes in waves when his nature doth change. But love him so, yes I do. His care is kindly and he doth speak so sweet and fondly…oh… my Lady, what is to be done.” The dam was broken and her tears started to flow. Between sobs she continued. “For I may not be as chaste as thee for a hand has touched me, and you will know, my Lady, that when he struck me, I slept from pain unaware of what he did upon or to me… oh my Lady.”

Her skin tingled. Eleanor felt a gaze upon her. Spooked once more she took time turning her head, frightened of what apparition she may see.

Do my eyes play fool with me…did I perhaps not?

In times of joy, pleasure and stress, Eleanor’s instincts were to sing just as the wolves before her all sang to charm a protection. She began to sing, and the sound of grace that resonated around the stone walls was simply breath taking.

In dulci jubilo

In praesepio;

Matris in gremio,

Alpha es et O!

O Jesu parvule,

O puer optime;

O princeps gloriae.

Trahe me post te.

She sang in Latin as if it was her native tongue.

Godwin stepped back in. “My Lady, I did not believe in angels until this day…But your God must delight in that sound, for if anything is the sound of holy faith, that is.”

Smiling with her eyes, acknowledging his praise, Eleanor continued to sing.

In dulci jubilo

In praesepio;

Matris in gremio,

Alpha es et O!

O Jesu parvule,

O puer optime;

O princeps gloriae.

Trahe me post te.

O patris caritas!

O Nati lenitas!

Per nostra crimina

Coelorum gaudia,

Qualis gloria!

Ubi sunt gaudia

Nova cantica

In Regis curia.

Her prayer complete, her voice quietened and with the big Celt at her side, Eleanor left the chapel. Once again her head turned and she stilled. “Must be my nerves upon my imminent nuptials that make me fair skittish, Master Godwin, for I fear that I was being watched.” Shaking her head, she refused to listen to the steps her subconscious was sure she heard behind her.

* * * *

There was joy in Goody’s voice. She had made the main room festive as the dark chambers allowed in the short time Eleanor had been at prayer. In a nod to Godwin, there was holly, ivy and mistletoe festooning the eves. The spread of sweetmeats was so inviting, mouths watered in anticipation. Just as the three settled to their Christmas supper there was a knock to the door.

Pike stood, pup in hand alongside Lady Bruce. Squealing with delight, Eleanor threw her arms around all three of them saying, “Mother Bear, Sir Pike oh and my dear Gelert, pray join us.” Gelert was soon in her arms. Much to Godwin’s disapproval the pup, taking the opportunity presented by his Mistress, was eating off her pewter plate, enjoying a fair portion of cockatrice.

“What pray is it? It looks like a beast of Satan, head of a pig, nates of a bird,” Eleanor commented as Gelert was making fast work of the beast’s feet.

Lady Bruce animated at length about the work involved in its preparation and how Matheus had ungratefully banned its presence from the forthcoming bridal feast.

The group separated. The men and Goody played knuckles after their feast. Whilst Lady Bruce sat with her stepdaughter.

“I am not your mother ’tis true and I have birched your nates until they doth blister. But daughter you are as wilful as the She-Wolves you descend from, and I worried that it would be your undoing.”

Touching with feather-light finger tips the bruise that blackened Eleanor’s face, she continued, “And brave, so very brave…he marked you. This wound I fear is nothing, child. For ’tis that your soul still bleeds a little that pulls on me…I will send Pike to get some ash to cover it so it will not show so in the morn.”

The sound of the villagers celebrating both the season and the upcoming nuptials could be heard clearly. Looking out, Godwin was thrilled.

A fire had been built upon the moor and surrounded by the village folk it would burn all night. Song would be sung, toasting Eleanor and the fertility of her womb. Flagons of Bride Ale would be refilled through the night. A gift from their Lord and master. In his honour, tales would be told and spells would be cast.

“Old ways…they burn a fertility fire. It is magnificent and towers high as a manhood and hot like…”

Eleanor blushed and Lady Bruce chided him before he could continue. “Pray your silence, Master Godwin. Old ways or no, this is not the place for a maid to hear these charms cast about her belly.” Her gaze flashing with rage, she fixed a stare on him that would run shivers through a priest.

“Sing for us, my babe, sing for good old Goody.” Goody giggled, her voice slurring slightly from the flow of ale.

Gelert, curled up in his mistress’s lap, was fast asleep, his legs twitching on occasion as he chased an imaginary rabbit back to its hole. She stroked her little charge, reassuring him of her presence, and started to sing. Once more, Lincoln Castle heard the sound of an angel as the exquisite voice of Eleanor of Lancaster, niece to the King, sang.

Chapter 12

St Stephan’s Day dawned and Matheus was woken by the sound of song.

Joy, health, love, and peace be all here in this place

By your leave, we will sing concerning our king

Our king is well dressed, in the silks of the best

In ribbons so rare, no king can compare

We have travelled many miles, over hedges and stiles

In search of our king, unto you we bring

Old Christmas is past, twelve tide is the last

And we bid you adieu, great joy to the new

Outside the castle, the villagers had gathered and were singing to their king, blessing him with the wren song, eager to awaken both their King and their Lord.

Not waiting for his squire to come and dress him, Matheus sprang from his bed and dressed himself, pulling his strides and boots on. Picking up the purses of alms money his squire had prepared for him, gillet and cloak in hand, he ran down the stairs from his solar and out to the courtyard. As he looked across the snow-covered mound, the fertility fires were but glowing embers

Matheus strode out to greet his folk and to receive their blessings. This he had done every St Stephan’s day when home from battle since a child. His figure straight and strong, with an air of male pride and his shoulders broad and his chest puffed, he said, “For today I wed…I wed today, do you hear?”

The gathered throng cheered their Master. Matheus was dearly loved, as his father before him. He was a gentle and kind lord, never taking from those who had least to give and ever protective of those who had most to lose. In time of war and argument he gave shelter, safeguarding his charges walled in secure under his heavy protection. In times of peace he would share in their good fortune and celebrate as one of them. Upon Elizabeth’s passing, serfs, villagers and servants alike walked miles to pay vigil to her, many sleeping outside the Cathedral until her burial day.

The spread of happiness broke in a smile across his face. And his presence was greeted by a lewd coupling verse.

Knight Sir Knight I am a Maid and a very good Maid,

And sixteen years of age am I,

And fain would I part with my Maiden-head,

If any good follow would with me lye

But none to me ever yet proffer’d such love,

As to lye by my side, and give me a shove

With his dil doul, a dil doul. dil doul, doul

O happy were I

Matheus laughed at their suggestive rhyme. Shaking his head and grinning at the offers to help him.

“Lay his lady.”

“Sire, is the bull a little out of practice?”

He shared the alms money amongst the poor and needy. The women touched him with mistletoe.

“Church men they doth ban it. ’Tis the luck of the Green Man and the Yule goddess Sire. Twill bring life to your wife’s belly.”

A small hand nervously pulled on his gillet. Turning to see who touched him, Matheus was greeted by the round face of a small boy. The toddler had a shock of ginger hair and his cheeks were made rosy by the crispness of the morn. Blue eyes large and wide in wonderment stared up at him. The boy’s two sisters pushed him forward a little, urging him to their Lord. In his hand, the boy held a purse of dried flowers and herbs. In the quietest of whispers urged by his sisters he stuttered.

“A…b-b-b-bouquet for the b-b-b-b-bride, My Lord.”

He dropped to a crouch so he met the child’s height with his, and his smile about his face was soft indeed. Matheus rubbed the boy’s head, accepted the purses, and replied, “For this is lovely, quite the best favour my wife has received. My Lady Eleanor will be delighted with this lovely gift. From her I say to thee, thank ye.”

The women folk looked on with their doe eyes and open mouths, not quite sure whether they desired him more for the sheer beauty of masculinity that their eyes feasted on. Or the way their hearts thumped in their chests as his voice soothed kindness with the children. They chattered about him, their faces flushed and their emotions tickled.

“Fair God, it makes a woman’s womb tighten to see him.”

“Dear God in Heaven, imagine his hands upon ye then.”

He left the gathering, grinning from ear to ear as he listened to the good cheer of the gathered crowd as he strode back into the East Gate. And, as always, completely unaware of the voracious gazes that watched him walk away and the hearts he had just left broken.

There had only been a flurry of snow in the night. The castle looked dusted. As if it was a baker’s hearth loaf sprinkled with flour. New straw dressed the flag floors, and Lady Bruce’s holly decorations hung through to the main hall. The smell of the oak yule now mixed with the heady scent of yule wassail and its ingredient of apples and spice.

Whoa. They are mixing a fine and potent brew. The bryd ealu will be the undoing of many a knight tonight and much too many a lady’s misfortunes.

When he entered, he found his chambermaids and manservants were preparing him a bath. “Ohh…whoa… this place stinks like a whore’s purse,” Godwin exclaimed, his nose wrinkling as the scent of camomile and rosemary invaded his nostrils.

Slapping his master of arms on the back, Matheus enquired after Eleanor. “Godwin, good to see you. How fares my wife this morn?”

“The ladies are with her now. They banished me as they are bathing her and dressing her hair. What is it with you nobles that you have these tubs in your rooms when there is a lake no walk away?” Godwin’s eyes twinkled with mirth. “Anyway they say wicked things about her coupling. Poor child is as white as the Bishop’s cassock. Lady De’Keatle told her that after you claimed her Elizabeth could not rise from your bed for a week.”

Matheus’s eyes narrowed and his lips pursed to a line.

Putting a hand on his Master’s shoulder Godwin spoke. “Do not fret too much, my Lord, ’tis the way of it. Women do talk so. Goody is with her. Oh, and Lady Bruce.”

“Priest’s bones…Mother Bear and her birch…hellfire and damnation!” Anger crept through Matheus’ veins. As sure as ivy twines around a tree, the temper he felt tickled his emotions and gripped his heart, squeezing just enough to make him cognizant of its unease. ’Twill be a miracle if she doesn’t need dragging to the cathedral. Is no wonder she frets so after dealing with Sline. She is most timid and now—Jesus! Women! They are cruel to their own sex most especially. Godwin, pray give her this.” He removed his signet ring from his little finger. “It is St Crispin. It was my mother’s, tell her…no just give her the ring. Oh, and Godwin, thank you.”

Imagining what was going on in her chambers just fuelled his temper. She will be sore afraid before she even gets between the sheets.

Matheus could not help it as his mind wandered off her distress and onto her body. That day at the lake he had rare seen such charms. The curve of her belly, and the width of her thigh. Her skin so radiant.

Dear God, I long to touch and taste her. Ripe and ready, I can only imagine what a delight she will be. How would that bell-like voice sound as I seduced her? And the sigh of her undoing, priest’s bones.

His heart ached with recognition and his groin throbbed in agreement. Expelling a sigh of licentious desire, he stepped into his bath.

The obvious state of his arousal was not missed by the maids, their delighted faces displaying their approval.

In response to their giggles he replied, “’Tis my wedding day after all. A man should be excited, and anyway, the body is only a vessel that houses the soul, ladies.”

The maids became quite bold with their Master and teased him. “Forgive me, my Lord but some men look…well, more sturdy excited than others.” Giggles broke out as they continued their jest. “Oh and some vessels are just…so much nicer.”

Closing his eyes and letting the water wash over his body, and thoughts of Eleanor wash over his mind, he relaxed. Listening to the lewd comments from the maids lifted his mood and rallied his spirits. He particularly enjoyed his squire being berated by them when he tried to hush their bawdy comments.

“Hush, Squire John, or we will set upon you and strip your hose, having a look at little John Thomas as we do so, ha, ha, haa.”

Not more than two hours later he was shaved and dressed in fur-trimmed green. As he rode with his Majesty to Lincoln Cathedral, the King had a smile upon his face nearly as broad as Matheus’s.

“This is a good day, nephew. You are much loved and Eleanor’s dear mother was adored. This will be a great union, bringing peace to our nation and security to the crown.”

Coloured banners adorned the route. The music of lute and drum, loud and jubilant, sounded from every street corner. The cathedral bells rang out, making a strong commanding sound on such a still morn. They announced their sovereign rode through town and that their Master was to be married.

The crowds that wished them good luck were already enjoying the Bryd ealu. Some were quite drunk, slurring their song and dancing as if quite mad. But it was a joyous occasion so nobody cared; in fact, the frivolity and foolery was most encouraged.

Matheus felt Eleanor touch his heart the moment he saw her. His heart ached with recognition and his groin throbbed in agreement. In all her splendour, fine silk and the richest velvet, the She-Wolf looked at him from under her gossamer veil. Twelve knights guarded her, dressed in full armour; their movements caught the low winter sun and the glare illuminated them.

To all that looked upon her, it seemed as if she was the Virgin herself dressed in blue. A halo of golden tresses about her head, attended by armoured angels who blazed in the Lord’s grace. The breath that left Matheus’s body was the audible sound of his adoration of the beauty that would soon be his.

Soon my sweet, soon.

The Norman West front of St Mary’s, Lincoln’s cathedral, rose up before the assembled. The cathedral was the tallest building in the world. Save only York Minster and St Pauls’ in London, it was the biggest cathedral in Britain, a testament to the Earl of Lincoln’s faith and perhaps his wealth. The gargoyles and grotesques looked down upon the guests.

Matheus looked to Eleanor. As she was lifted down from Arthur, he could see how she trembled, and it cast a shadow over his concupiscent heart. Trying to gain her attention, he wanted at least to offer her his calming smile. But it was to no avail. The procession was already moving.

It had been decided that the wedding would take place inside Lincoln Cathedral. Tradition would have had them gathered and wedded at the entrance. But Matheus grew unhappier daily as Richard Sline was organising an uprising. So he urged the party in and the entrances heavily guarded.

Taking his rightful place, the King led the procession up the aisle. His furs flowed and his regal prowess was the highlight of this parade of splendour.

The priest walked in front of the bride, swinging the incense thurible. Eleanor was attended by her maids and the Old Earl, her father. Her guard of honour bought up the rear.

Matheus was the last to enter the Cathedral, his hand on his sword hilt, escorted by Godwin, his best man at arms, and five knights. He came to the altar, bowed his head and stood to Eleanor’s right, keeping his sword hand free to protect her if the need arose.

The sound of song resonated around the cathedral.

Ex te lux oritur o dulcis Scocia

qua vere noscitur fulgens Norwagia.

Que cum transvehitur trahis suspiria

tui subtrahitur quod regis filia.

Cum pax accenditur que sui gracia

regnis indicitur redit leticia.

Applaudunt undique terrarum spacia

tecum sed utique congaudet Anglia.

Desperately trying to get her to look at him to comfort her, Matheus was following her face intently. “Look at me Eleanor…please,” he whispered whilst the bishop delivered his lesson. Required to kneel, he opened his cloak. Using it as a shield to the keen eyes that watched them. he took her hand. Eleanor resisted. But Matheus held her strong. Leaning in to her, he whispered once more, “You can run as easily in thought as you can in body. You will run, Eleanor…but only to me.” His fingers gripped around the small trembling hand and he squeezed a little, offering her the only comfort he could.

Asking them to stand, the bishop commanded they look to each other as he bound their hands. Matheus could not help but notice the bruise that still sullied her cheek.

Emotions, stirred his blood

Eleanor took in a breath when she looked at him.

Matheus replied in silent words.

Why so startled Eleanor?

If eyes could talk she would know why he frowned so. With every word spoken, the distance between them seemed wider.

Eleanor’s words were but whispers as she promised to obey and be bonnie and buxom in bed and board.

As always Matheus, confident and able, spoke as the knight he was. As he repeated his vows, loud and sanguine. To love and cherish her, he looked straight into Eleanor’s eyes. This was a promise he intended to keep.

The Bishop addressed Matheus. “Sire, you may kiss your bride.”

She turned to her maids, her veil was lifted and her face returned to Matheus’s smile.

A single tear fell onto her cheek.

Taking her into his arms, with a grip fierce with passion, but tenderly meant, he smiled upon her lips and whispered. “That is the last tear…remember I have and always will have strength enough for two.”

Leading her from the altar, he could not help but smile. It was as if the hole in his soul had been filled as his heart swelled up to fill it simply with the need of her.

Now to convince her to admit she feels the same.

Turning to her, he caught her shy smile. Squeezing her hand, he asked, “Better? Lady…my Lady, Eleanor of Lincoln, wife of mine.” Ever protective of her, Matheus guided her through the joyous celebration that greeted them. It was a cacophony of sound and a blaze of colour. Showered with coins at the cathedral door, Eleanor received more favours. Horse shoes, posies, and purses of herbs and sweets.

Goody bought a sleeping newborn and placed the babe in Eleanor’s arms. Godwin beamed with delight in the fertility rite. After their husband, the first thing a new bride must hold is a newborn, spreading the goddess’ luck from one mother to a potential other. The infant screamed as the crowd cheered. She took it up to her shoulder, sheltering the babe from the disturbance. She rocked her body, and the infant settled as Eleanor soothed it.

Three strides from her stood Matheus. Watching his bride, a natural comforter to the babe. He saw her for the first time as the mother of his children. It was wondrous; he was lost to her.

She turned toward him. Their stares met. Frozen for a moment they just gazed. There was a shared understanding. Both knowing t wasn’t only the hopes of a wounded nation that desired their successful union, but a need of each other.

The wedding feast was a lavish affair. There was everything imaginable from boar’s heads to capons. Pigeons flew from pies and frogs escaped from jellied tureens of meat, causing the ladies to shriek and bolt as the disorientated birds flew into the guests and the frogs hoped on to their plates. The noticeable exception on the table was the cockatrice.

Matheus had thought it ridiculous. “’Tis daft foolery,” he grumbled

Eleanor smiled, cocking her head to him she whispered, “Oh and live birds in pies and frogs in puddings is not, husband?”

Winking, he took her hand to his lips and brushed her knuckles with a kiss. “Wife we have been married but two hours and Madam you chide me. I may well have to bridle that tongue or better still beat your nates.”

Eleanor pulled at her lip. Her face paled and her eyes widened. She turned from him and withdrew her hand.

“Hey, ’twas jest, my Lady. I would strike myself before I struck you. Eleanor? Eleanor, you know that.” Taking her face in his hands, he turned her to look at him. Searching her eyes in question.

She succumbed and replied, “The ladies told me I would be stripped and my nates beaten with a birch to make me fertile.” Her eyes widened still further. “Then they will strip you and carry us naked to our bed chamber…tis true, Lady Welm swore it.”

Matheus grinned. His smirk became a light laugh. “Dear Lady ’tis custom. But if you fear it, it will not be done. There is no knight nor man at arms who would dare overrule me. Sweet Eleanor, do not fret so, thy nates will be mine to view and mine alone.”

She flushed, but smiled back at him as the expression of relief broke across her face.

Jesters and fools entertained the guests. The King especially enjoyed the dwarfs who performed a play dressed as Eleanor and Matheus, where Eleanor beat the dwarf knight with a dough pin, much to the guest’s delight. Minstrels played lute and drum. Nobles danced. Ale and wine flowed until some could not stand and slept as they sat or lay.

Matheus demanded his bride sing.

“It is as if a lark has been captured,” the king remarked.

It was soon time for the couple to take to their bed. There would be no beating of Eleanor’s bottom. And she would remain clothed. Matheus had instructed the ladies and no one would dare disobey him. Eleanor was lifted first. Godwin had the pleasure of putting her over his shoulder. Offering her bottom to be slapped. With Matheus’s eye on them no one dared touch her. But charms of good luck ribbons and mistletoe were pinned to her skirts.

Whirling her around, Godwin made for the stairs. Dodging the knights in jest, who tried to prevent him taking her out of the hall. The ladies ran to the stairs after the carried bride, barring the path of the knights, leaving Godwin to carry her up unchallenged.

Matheus was next to be lifted. The old King tried then. The old Earl. Even the Goat of Leicester had a go but none could lift him free from his chair. “We should have kept Godwin and given the ladies the Old Goat,” the knights jested.

The face of The Earl of Leicester known as the Old Goat was hilarious, Matheus thought as he watched him search to see who this Old Goat was.

It took four knights to lift him. Try as he might, he couldn’t hold on to his chair any longer and he was thrown in the air. The ladies who were left pulled at his boots and hoes. In less than a minute all that Matheus wore was his shirt. Held up by Pike and four other knights, Matheus was taken to the stairs. The ladies barred his way, demanding kisses or coins to move. One by one he kissed them, enjoying the experience more with some than others.

“Could be worse, Sire,” His squire shouted over the throng. “Mother Bear could be your next kiss.”

“And pray why would that be a problem, not a pleasure to his Lord?” Lady Bruce’s voice boomed.

Matheus’s squire crossed himself and hid amongst the drunks.

Goody refused to move. With her hands on her hips, she challenged him as she spoke. “I nay will move for kiss nor coin, Sire.”

Matheus asked, “What will move ye ,Mistress Goody? A pretty pin or a clip for your hair?”

Goody interrupted. “Neither. Master Matheus has to love her as much as I do.”

He replied softly, “Goody, I do and more.”

Moving to the side the knights passed her. The coins had been given and the kisses received and Matheus was on his way to her chambers. Godwin barred the door to all but the ladies who rushed in to bathe her.

Matheus was dropped head first and near naked into the tub of steaming water on the landing. There were lots of admiring glances from the ladies who remained as Matheus stood up and pulled his shirt over his head so he stood completely naked.

“Any of you good ladies want to bathe me for a crown, for these smelly, foul knights have callused hands and the breath of boars.” He laughed as the knights knocked him off his legs and dunked him in the tub.

Once bathed, he was ushered to the peep hole. Eleanor was being attended by Lady Bruce and Goody. They had a leg in each hand and were washing her gently from the soles of her feet to the top of her thighs. Other maids and ladies held her hair out of the water.

The sight was incredible. His obvious delight in the nakedness of his lady wife was greeted by lewd jest and bawdy banter. To save his lady’s blushes, Matheus put on a clean shirt, which covered his arousal and made his appearance much more modest.

Goody came to the door and demanded payment for Eleanor’s virginity.

Matheus produced the most beautiful brooch. Fine gold decorated with pearls to denote his bride’s purity. He read a piece prepared to go with it. “I give this to my bride, sweet Lady Eleanor of Lincoln. She shall wear this pearl brooch upon her breast; it bears witness to her modesty and proof aplenty that hers will be a chaste bed. It will shut up her bosom and deny any other man entrance to her breast and any adulterous eye from tasting what delights the honourable caresses of a loving husband only thee behold.”

Goody nodded. Joined by Lady Bruce she spoke, addressing the rabble. “Master Godwin, please stand down and grant this man access to his bride.” Narrowing her eyes and threatening the others with her broom of birch she growled, “As for you drunks and bawdy players…I remind you my daughter is a maid. I will not have her frightened, her nates slapped for luck or her garter ripped from her thigh…I warn ye well.”

The surrounding knights gulped and gasped. In unison they nodded, their voices hushed and their bawdy behaviour quietened. Mother Bear in full flight was quite formidable and more than a match for any decorated knight of the king.

Matheus and the ensuing rabble were allowed access to Eleanor’s chamber. Scents of rose water and balm perfumed the air. The bridal bed was draped and decorated with mistletoe.

Between the sheets, his bride waited nervously for him. Eleanor’s hair was a cascade of corn-coloured curls that covered her shoulders and the pillow as ribbons of gold. A garland of flowers made a crown for her head. Her visible skin glistened in the candlelight from the sweet-scented oils that had been massaged on it. Her lips were red from fruit dye and bee’s wax. The delicate rosy blush to her cheeks from angelica leaves joined with the flush on her chest from embarrassment.

“Take your garter off, child…and quick, for a knight will be taking it off with his teeth if ye dally.”

Encouraged by Lady Bruce she slipped off her garter and threw it to the throng.

Song broke out. Matheus found himself lifted once more. The men folk had hold of his legs and arms and carried him over their heads. Passing him around to be pinched by the ladies.

“Where is the priest? Call for the priest and quickly!” Goody instructed all flustered. She wiped her brow. She was hot and bothered, and her many chins were quite scarlet. “The bed must be blessed!” she shouted in panic.

“Hush woman,” Godwin replied, putting a strong muscular arm around the short and stout nursemaid. “They need no blessing, ’tis nature’s work, here not your God’s.”

Godwin glowered as the priest was ushered in swinging his incense. He was a little tipsy and struggled with his lines. “Celebrato Matrimonio, Parochus vel qui ejus vices gerit, quamprimum describat in libro Matrimoniorum nomina conjugum ac testium, locum et diem celebrati Matrimonii,”

Matheus’s raised his eyebrows and let loose a belly laugh at the priest’s poor use of Latin. The throng of folks not used to the Latin tongue nodded to everything, convinced of the sanctity of the priest’s spoken words. The priest pulled back the sheets and asked Eleanor to move over. The maids put down a white linen sheet.

Matheus heart sank as she looked up at him. He hated to see the fear her gaze returned.

“’Tis only a blood sheet, child,” Lady Bruce informed her in a manner so casual it was as if testing your virginity publically was an everyday event.

The priest piped up once more, addressing the gathering in English. “Let us pray. Bless this bedroom, Lord, so that all who live in it may remain firm in Your peace and persevere in Your will. May they live a long life and have children; may Eleanor deliver alive. For many days to come and finally arrive at the kingdom of Heaven through Christ our Lord. Amen.” Sprinkling the blood sheet with holy water he put his hand on Eleanor’s thigh. Smiling, he whispered, “Do not fret my Lady, ’twill be over in moments and this time upon the new year, you will hold your own babe.”

The knights who held Matheus dropped him on the bed, demanding payment to prevent them from ravishing his bride. Godwin gave them a sovereign each and shooed them from the room. To encourage them to leave he said, “There are whores paid for downstairs when you are ready. Best go soon, some of ye cannot stand as a man. You’re so befuddled with ale I dare say ’tis not the only thing about ye that will struggle to stand.”

Godwin and Mother Bear decided the couple had suffered enough from the guests’ lewd and bawdy antics; they instructed all the remaining well-wishers to leave.

Alone, Matheus tipped Eleanor’s face to greet his. The passion that burned and prickled his blood started to thaw. Melting into those hazel eyes full of sorrow and dismay, his head made a decision that for once his heart agreed with.

Getting out from the bridal bed, he knew Eleanor’s eyes were on him. The sound of her quick breaths followed him. As he turned to give her a grin, his face dropped

Matheus was quite disturbed. His beautiful new bride who still sported the strike of another man on her face, had slipped down the bed. The bed sheets were drawn right up her face so they covered her nose. She was trembling.

Priests’ bones, does she think a thin sheet of linen would protect her from my advances if I have a mind to take her and claim her as mine. Poor creature. Striding over to his sword belt, he drew his dagger from its scabbard. Startled by Eleanor’s scream, Matheus turned, blade in hand.

“Oh Mother Mary protect me. Pray, Master, my Lord touch me not with that.” She was shaking, her voice was breathless, its pitch high. Eleanor’s eyes were closed tight. Her mouth was mouthing words hurriedly.

“Hey hey…whoa. Eleanor Wife…Priests’ bones. I have told you I would strike myself before a morn broke that I would touch you so.” Matheus’ words were well meant. But he could tell they fell on deaf ears. Walking to the bed, he grabbed the blood sheet from underneath her, causing another scream. Shaking his head and wiping his face with his hands, he muttered, “Dear God ,did that cur use a blade to threaten ye?”

There was no reply from Eleanor, just the sound of her sobs as they caught the back of her throat as she nodded.

He could see she now watched his every move, her eyes unable to rest. They fixated on the dagger. Turning his body so she could not watch, he drew the blade across his palm catching only an inch of skin. Picking up the blood sheet he wiped the fresh flowing blood upon it. Replacing his dagger, he continued his business by throwing the newly stained blood sheet near the door. Walking over to the bed foot he picked up a cushion.

He knew her eyes were on him. There was a wickedness about him that night. Matheus was now grinning. His grin turned to a smirk. The smirk a spritely chuckle and then a belly laugh.

“Please don’t laugh so my Lord…for I’m fair frit of you…I beg you couple me and leave me. Sire, I beg thee.” Her voice breaking with every breath and her eyes still the size of sovereign’s and her limbs still quivering, she pleaded.

“Is this not ridiculous? I laugh because I do not wish to cry And Wife, it is Husband…the word is Husband. I have men a plenty and women more to call me lord, knight, master, Matheus and sire. I have but one beautiful wife to call me husband.” Matheus got onto the bed and lay beside her. Putting the cushion upon his groin to curb his passion, he turned to face her. He put his arms around her and pulled her to him.

She was quite rigid in his arms. Cupping her chin, he forced her face to look upon his. His thumb stretched to caress her cheek as he held her. Dropping to her, he used his embracing arm to force her head up for a kiss. Eleanor struggled. But Matheus held tight. Not with undue force but control enough to confine her.

She sobbed and he soothed her. The very gentlest intimacy of a man to his wife, a hold that protected her. Not a word passed between them. Their voices were unneeded, his embrace action enough to give her pain a voice. Matheus felt her breath slow and her tremble abate. His bride was sleeping, castled in his arms.

Kissing the top of her head and stroking her silky curls he whispered to her, “I am not a man of sweet words, more a man of deeds. When I find him, I will bring you his spleen.”

She muttered a little and nuzzled back into him.

The baying mob had returned to his door banging and shouting. Godwin, still stationed outside, called to his master. “They call for the blood sheet, Sire.”

Matheus slipped from beneath Eleanor’s body, positioning her ever so slightly as not to wake her. Picking the sheet up, he opened the door and hurled it out. The response was loud and lewd. Cheers rang out. Matheus could just imagine the fun. He himself had often been the worst perpetrator of bawdy jest.

“Husband…do I…did it…did he…what he…do I displease you?” Eleanor was awakened by the rabble and smiled nervously as she spoke.

It melted Matheus. Not a smile of humour or delight upon his bride’s face, this was more the fake grimace of nerves and worry. Crawling on the bed to her, he caged her with an arm on each side of her head. Pulling himself onto her groin he let her feel a little of his weight.

Smiling against the skin on her neck he whispered, “Feel…does that feel on your belly like the touch of a displeased husband?”

She giggled.

Soothing, he responded, “Dear God in Heaven, for you are exquisite. That is why I placed the cushion between us. For I feared how you would scream at the sight of my lance as you screamed so at my dagger.”

Eleanor hit him,

Matheus feigned injury and then tickled her until she pledged to yield. “I told you when you first decided that you would think of another when you laid with me.”

Eleanor rubbed his hand and mouthed I’m sorry.

“That I would be in your body…your mind as you hated me or your heart as you loved me? I am a patient man; you will tell me when I move residence from your head to your heart and it will be then that I will couple with you.”

Stroking her face, he kissed her forehead. “Because I won’t take anything from you that you won’t willingly give. We are going to make a million mistakes.” Placing his hand on hers and putting it onto her chest. Over her heart he whispered, “Taking Eden from here is not going to be one of them.”

Chapter 13

Hot on her face she could feel warm breath. A face nuzzled into her neck and her body tightened. Still lost halfway between sleep and awakening, Eleanor stirred as she realised it was Gelert who had made a nest in the crook of her neck. “’Tis you who is master of my bed then?” She laughed, bringing the pup to her and kissing him. “For you know, Gelert, I was lost in his touch. ’Twas fair dreamy, light as fairy’s fingers yet his weight upon me fair makes me tight. I bid you not utter, nay bark, a word of it.”

“I’m glad to hear it…Wife.”

Eleanor swung round, her gaze met with Matheus’s. Confused she requested his explanation. “How the…what the…you phantom, you were not here when I awoke.”

“’Tis my playground, my Lady. There are passages where a knave who wanted to view your naked nates and bosom could hide and surprise you just so.” He was shirtless. The morning sun cast a warm glow on his olive skin.

Eleanor’s eyes were delighting in the man she now called husband. Standing as if he was cast, a glow painting him bronze; his body sculptured by nature’s skilled hand was a sight to behold. So captivated by the man she viewed, her body enjoyed the visual nourishment too much to blush. Muscles rippled and tendons drew taut, as he flexed.

Is it wrong to gaze so…is it wrong to need him so?

Every inch of her skin tingled. The muscles of her belly tightened. Everything south of her waist ached. She caught her own breath. Her hand went to her chest. Thumping, her heart rose to meet her touch.

“Feel it, Eleanor.” He grinned and winked.

Matheus sat on the side of the bed. His attentions were not greeted well by Gelert. The wolf hound’s hackles rose. His lips curled, showing little, pointed teeth and snarling in a comical, squeaky way.

Eleanor watched in amusement as he teased the pup, trying to get past it to her.

Bravely patting the pup earned him a nip. Matheus chuckled at the drawn blood. “Good boy, Gelert. Good lad, you protect your Mistress.” He congratulated the pup and rewarded him with a tidbit.

“I want him to be fierce, to challenge anyone who tries to get close to you. A hound version of me…warranted he has neither my good looks nor charm. But that has not held Godwin back.” He winked at Eleanor as he spoke.

She patted the hound. And as she spoke the dog did its Mistress’s bidding. “Gelert lawr.”

Matheus raised his eyebrow. “My wife has been around that godless Celt too long, for now she speaks his tongue like a native lawr in deed. Come here, wench.” Matheus pulled her to him, quite indifferent to Gelert’s attempts to stop him.

He smelled so good. That musk of man and horse now mixed with rosewater and balm. Relaxing into his lead, Eleanor felt once more the clench of her womb. Her body betrayed her fears, preparing her for his lovemaking. Hot breath tickled her throat as he smiled upon her skin. “Oh,” she breathed.

Closing her eyes, she succumbed to him, letting his hands touch and feel and caress.

His words were sweet on his tongue as he charmed her and took a lock of her hair to his nose.

Eleanor purred as she watched the pleasure break across his face. As he drank in the scent of the golden tresses freshly washed in rosewater and willow.

“My beautiful Wife, who sings like a lark and has the most beautiful hair in the whole of Christendom.”

Delicate featherlike touches trickled down her spine and she shivered in response. She knew now that her lover’s hands were skilled and artful.

Lifting her gown, he kissed the soft dip of her belly. “I saw this little indent when you bathed in the lake, and it near did for me, Madam for it too is the most beautiful abdomen in—”

“Christendom,” She interrupted.

He lifted his head feigning surprise, smiled and mused, “Why yes Wife, how did you know?”

Her gaze followed him as he left the bed and slipped a shirt over his head. Eleanor felt bereft as the view she had admired disappeared.

Gelert once more snuggled up to his Mistress and narrowed his eyes at his Master.

“The hound disapproves of me. I doth believe it is the cur form of Goody.” And the lovers laughed. Grinning wickedly, he added, “I will call Gelert, I mean Goody to dress you as today we ride to my Eden.”

Shyly she inquired of him, “Do you not…are…we not to…”

“Couple? Well, well my Wife has been miss sold to me by the Earl, for she is quite wanton,” he jested. Taking her hand, he brushed her knuckles with his lips. Lingered a little and nibbled on her fingers.

Eleanor felt the breath leave her lungs.

I am quite undone.

“When you can bear no longer my seduction…and beg to be claimed…I will have your heart, own every last beat. Then I will touch the very soul of you, laying claim to every damn inch, for then madam you will be mine.” His eyes flashed a look of pure carnal desire.

Eleanor flushed as he walked out. “Whoa!” I am but a hare frozen in the hunter’s lamplight.

Eleanor sat cuddling her hound. Gelert nipped, demanding his Mistress’s attention but she was quite overcome. Gripping the pup tight, she needed something to hold onto. A tether to keep her from drowning in the well of emotion that was enveloping her. When Richard Sline had touched her, it had felt like a cloud swathed her in a web of fear and panic. Her husband’s touch was so different. There was desire and love in his fingers. It was the physical feel of his passion. But of comfort also. Simply, it was the one of Eden. “Yes, Gelert,” she whispered to her little protector. “Matheus is my Eden.”

Goody came to dress her. Little was said about the night as she robed her in her hunting gown. Eleanor wanted to avoid any questions that might show her innocence and her marriage not consummated. Now dressed to ride in gold and green brocade, she skipped down the stairs.

The blood sheet had been removed from the hall much to her relief. It was embarrassing enough to have the whole of the Court know you were a maid no more. But if they knew Matheus had not consummated the marriage, he would be ordered by the King to rape her in front of witnesses. Eleanor knew this well and shuddered at the thought.

Godwin greeted her with a knowing smile. “A lay in this morn? My Lady a little tired perhaps?”

Eleanor looked at him shyly from under her lashes, batting them just a touch with a wicked glitter in her eye.

No reply was needed. Godwin just nodded and returned the grin.

“I look for my Uncle, the King, Master Godwin, for he rides back today. Does he not?”

Godwin offered her his arm and said, “Pray let me escort you.”

* * * *

The King sat surrounded by courtiers, nobles and his advisors. The room was full of men who were discussing the imminent uprising by the House of York. As soon as Eleanor walked in, escorted by Godwin, there was a hush. Matheus stood at the back of the room. He cared little for politics. He would simply do as the King bid him in line with his chivalric oath.

She caught his gaze, and the pair exchanged knowing looks. Eleanor’s tummy tightened. For a moment, it felt like there were just two people. She watched as he licked his lips. And she flushed.

“Oh, my niece blushes this morn…does she not. A maid no more, pray there will be life in her belly before spring.” The King was joined in a chuckle by the menfolk. “Come sit at my knee for a moment, child…we were just discussing you.”

Eleanor did as asked, and curled up on a stool. She grinned. “I feel like my hound who curls up at my feet, your Grace.”

The conversation restarted and so did the arguments. She felt stares on her. There was no need to turn to see whose eyes burnt into her skin. She knew. Just as she knew the hand that touched her shoulder moments later.

“Shall we ride, Wife?”

Placing hers over his she replied, “A horse?”

The head that the hand belonged to leant forward and whispered, “You are such a surprising delight to me, Eleanor.”

* * * *

Soon mounted, they rode out to the forest. The hounds barked about the destriers’ feet and were rewarded by the blow of a hoof for their intrusion. They sniffed for boar, fox, rabbit or hare. As always Eleanor revelled in the cold crisp air of the outdoors. “Thank you, Matheus, it is so lovely to greet a morn that only God could deliver,” she said, thrilled to be out.

“If I am to stop, my Lady Wife naked for the world to see in lakes or rivers, then I must make sure I indulge her need for nature,” he whispered to her ear as his lips smiled upon it.

Eleanor was excited at the thought. Her voice high and animated, she asked, “Will there be wolves?”

Pulling her tighter to him, Matheus replied, “No my love, the only wolf today will be the one that sits in my lap and charms me.”

Godwin and five men rode a stride or so in front of the couple and the rear was brought up by five others. To England, Eleanor was worth a million sovereigns. The safety of the nation depended on her. To Matheus, she was simply everything. Matheus had insisted she ride on Simon with him. Her back to his chest gave him full access to caress and stroke her, his right hand tight around her waist and his left on the reins.

Stretching about her waist, his fingers splayed touching, feeling, caressing. His mouth was on her neck and his breath in her ears.

Eleanor knew she was lost. No ability to go forward, no desire to go back. Just swallowed up in his seduction in the here and now. Sitting upon his lap, his body hard for her, Eleanor’s body was yielding to the knowledge that this was her doing. Her mind now acquiescent to her husband’s touch and feel.

“But what of your heart?” she heard Matheus’s voice whisper.

Eleanor was quite unsure if he spoke or she did. They were interrupted by a messenger. Seemingly coming from nowhere, his mount was at their side. “Sire, pray come quick.” The messenger boy was quite out of breath. His face scarlet and his voice raspy. As if apparitions, steam rose in the cold crisp air of the pony’s body.

“Godwin, my Lady will ride with you. Stay, you men, with Lady Lincoln.” Matheus jumped from the saddle and lifted Eleanor clear. Godwin, already dismounted, took her in his arms and lifted her onto his mount.

She was confused as to what was going on. But looking to the deathly pallor to Matheus’s face she knew it to be bleak. “Pray Husband, be careful,” she called after Matheus as he was already galloping away in a flurry of snow.

Some of the hounds made chase after the horse. The others became excited, enjoying the prospect that their Master had picked up a scent. They barked, tails wagging. Save for the bark of the hounds or the crunch of fresh snow under hoof, it was a silent ride home for Eleanor and Godwin.

The faces of the guards who escorted them were story enough to tell Eleanor that when she got back to Lincoln Castle her husband would be dressing in his harness of armour.

My marriage not a day old. I may be a widow before it is ever consummated.

If it was not a sight that brought her such sorrow, her beautiful husband standing before her harnessed in bright armour would have made Eleanor swoon. The face was sculptured the same. The broad shoulders as always held strength enough for two. But his eyes were focused and ready. Matheus was transformed. He held no wooden sword now. All masculine power and presence, the bull of Lincoln was ready for battle.

Eleanor dropped to her knees before him. Tears spilling down her cheeks and dropping on the flag floor. “Please take it…my heart, you have it…my Lord stay safe, return to me.”

Dropping to one knee he lifted her face. “Death and life have their determined appointments; riches and honours depend upon Heaven. I was told this as a young Knight. But have faith Eleanor, for as much as I love my God, I am in no haste to see him.” Stretching his fingers so he could wipe a tear, he winked. “For I have unfinished business here.”

Chapter 14

She watched her husband depart as far as her vision would let her and longer. Holding Gelert tight, she battled her tears. Her body swayed, in part to sooth the pup. But more likely to sooth herself. Lady Bruce and Goody came to her. The ladies sat in protective silence, their sewing on their knees.

Godwin for the first time in ten years would not be his Master’s best man. Matheus had left him to guard his lady.

In the day, she made busy, acting as the Earl in her husband’s stead. In the nights, she would lay her face on the floor at the chapel altar steps, calling upon Mary to guide her husband home. Her rosary beads in hand, she would pray for hours. She kissed the feet of Saint Bernard de Clairvaux, Singing her praise of him as the patron of knights, until her voice could make sound no more.

Godwin believed that a crow or raven would be the carrier of news of his Master’s death. So he strung up birds to ward them away. Life went on without Matheus for all. But Eleanor, hers was frozen and still.

When the food in the village grew scarce, to make sure the mothers had breast milk to feed their babes, she opened the grain stores. Overruling the counsel of Matheus’ advisors, she stood firm. “We will not have men come back from battle to find their young and women have starved.”

She was tired, her eyes heavy and her back bent. There were calluses on her once fine hands. Days turned into weeks. Eleanor looked to the mound. Now there were snow drops where there once had been snow angels. Lady Bruce and Goody were preparing her bath.

“Come away from the window, child. ’Tis only sorrow you’ll see on the mound,” Goody chided with concern in her voice.

Lady Bruce put an arm around her stepdaughter and guided her to the tub. “You have been working too hard. You are not a woman of labour…your body is fine and your birthing was high.”

Eleanor was glad of the comfort. Secretly glad too that Mother Bear had been prevented from leaving with the King. She had been, to Eleanor’s surprise and gratitude, a great comfort these past months. She smiled as she spoke to her stepmother. But it was with tired eyes and strained voice. “I only do what I should…these are my people now, and I want Matheus to be proud of me when he is returned to me.”

“He will have our heads on pikes if it becomes the death of you. Now bathe,” Goody chided.

Warmed from the bath, her body felt more her own again. With aching muscles soothed and the dirt of graft washed away, she slipped between her bed sheets. Sleep was welcome. But dreaming wasn’t.

Her dreams were plagued by Matheus walking through a hellish mist of orange and red, barely able to put one foot in front of another. Blade in hand and weak with battle, he was staggering. His mouth would open. But she heard no words. Without voice, she knew he commanded her to sing. She would sing him back. But he did not hear her. He would fall to his knees exhausted, pleading with her to sing until he could kneel no more.

Eleanor woke with a shiver. Her blood running cold at her nightly visitor. The thoughts of her lover abandoned and injured still prickling at her nerves. She heard the commotion below her in the great hall. The sound of shod hooves on the cobbles could now be heard quite clearly. Putting a cloak about her she raced to the stairs.

A bramble like knot of pain twisted in her belly. The fear of whether her husband would be alive to meet her was overwhelming. Her legs would not carry her fast enough.

She caught sight of him. Bloodied and battered, her beloved lay still upon the table.

Focus Eleanor, focus; do not let panic grip you.

At the bottom of the stairs her way to him was barred. Two guards crossed their staffs and forbid her entry.

Appealing in panic she shouted and pleaded. “Let me pass, ’tis my husband, your Lord. I am your Lady…you cannot deny me in my own house.”

“Best you go to the chapel and make prayer, my Lady for I am in charge and I serve this knight’s interests.” Pike was straight. His spine rigid as he spoke.

“Sir Pike, he will want of me, my touch…the comfort of his wife…to be spoken sweet to by my voice alone. I beg you,” Eleanor implored him. Bobbing and weaving, trying to find a way to get to her husband. Her face was flushed and her eyes bright with the welling of tears.

It was to no avail. Pike would not let her comfort and nurse her husband. The way was barred to her and she could not gain access to alert Godwin.

She ran back to her chambers in the solar as fast as her tiny tired frame could manage. Once inside she crossed herself and put her rosary beads in her slip. She went to the glass and kissed St Crispin. “Pray for me Saint Crispin.” She crossed herself once more and stood silent in prayer.

Pushing the shield aside she smiled at the sight of the rabbit hole. Only months before her husband had begged her play and she had exited her chambers to his safe charge using this route. This time there would be no guiding hand to help navigate the castle roof.

I am my mother’s daughter, a she-wolf. I can do this. Matilda, Boudicca, Isabella, Margaret, Eleanor guide me.

Taking her slippers off, she climbed up out of the rabbit hole. It was pitch dark, and she could not see even her hand before her face. “’Tis not a time to be fretful Eleanor of Lan…Lincoln.” She imagined he spoke to her, his hand holding hers. But as she negotiated the stone palisade she slipped, falling. “Oh dear God,” she cried.

There was no one to hear her, apart from a screech owl. That further scattered her nerves as it called as if a banshee to its mate.

Restored to her feet, Eleanor tried to give herself confidence by bringing to mind her mother’s words when she succumbed to the plague and lay on her death bed.

“There will be days little Eve when you fair feel life is too rough. And save hell, you may fair feel that you can endure no worse. I say you have been brave well these days as any knight. Hold this in your heart and think thee of it when pain doth visit.”

“I can do this,” Eleanor muttered to not disturb the allure guards.

“Whhooaa wwhhhoaa aw,” she moaned. Her face filled with glee as the guards spooked, thinking the Grey Lady preyed upon them. Then she heard it. Just what she desired so, like song to her ears—the shriek of Mother Bear threatening some poor soul with her birch. Eleanor climbed steadily down from the allure, then onto the wooden solar roof.

Banging her fists she shouted, “Mother Bear, ’tis me… Mother Bear ’tis me, Eleanor.”

Lady Bruce opened the door just in time to see Eleanor skidding off the low roof. She landed in the snow.

“Oh Mother Bear I need thee so,” Eleanor animated

“Slow down and tell me.”

Encouraged inside, Eleanor started to relay her story. That Matheus was back in the castle. Fevered. And that Sir Pike had taken charge, forbidding her to nurse him.

“Goody, get Godwin. Tell the guards if they ask why you seek him that I have fallen and my ankle is torn. Tell them I am in need of comfrey.”

Taking Goody to one side she whispered, “When you are with him tell him to prepare for a fever…he will know what I require. Oh and tell him ten of his best men, his Master’s life depends on it.”

As Goody went to leave, Lady Bruce said, “If they find Eleanor is missing, lie and tell them she spills the babe early and rests with me.” Lady Bruce turned to Eleanor. Facing her, she rested her hands upon her stepdaughter’s shoulders and said, “I knew your Mother well. ’Tis her who begged me to marry your Father. She would nay let such as Pike take your place near your husband far as Atticus said, ‘Don’t give up; chances are your best kiss, your hardest laugh, and your greatest day are still to come.’”

Shaking the shoulders she held lightly she continued. “What pray are thee, Eleanor of Lincoln—mouse or She-Wolf? Be strong of voice, and speak with guts. Godwin will help ye…for if we fair quick rally and dismiss the leach man, we yet may save your man.”

Goody returned with Godwin and ten of his best men. “Now you will take your orders from Lady Eleanor. As the Earl’s wife she alone is Mistress of this castle whence the Master is unable,” Lady Bruce instructed.

The men nodded, swords in hand as they awaited their Mistress’s instruction.

“Lady Bruce there is ice on the way. I have yarrow and silk thread,” Godwin told Lady Bruce. Turning to Eleanor he bowed and said, “Your instruction, Master?” In calling her Master, Godwin was acknowledging that she was now in charge of not only Lincoln Castle, but as her man of arms, she now controlled Matheus’s men.

Eleanor leading, they set off to Matheus’s chambers. As she came to the central bailey her passage was barred. Godwin came to her side and addressed the guards. “This is the Master of you, and she asks you stand down or face the consequences.”

Casting their weapons down, they dropped to one knee, bowing to their female Master as she walked past. “Open the door Sir Pike, for ye cannot deny me my rightful seat beside my husband’s bed.” As she spoke strong and bold, she touched her chest. Resting her hand upon her heart she silently said, “Hear me Matheus I am here. You say there is telepathy in hearts, so open yours and listen well… I come; all will be well.

With no reply, she instructed Godwin and he broke the down the door. Inside there was a gathering of medics, priests, the leach man and soldiers. “Sir Pike, stand your men down. For I am Lord of this Castle in my husband’s stead.” Once more Eleanor’s voice rang out, confident and strong. For once her body did not betray her true nerves.

Swords were drawn. But no blood was shed. Godwin and his men made quick work of the soldiers. “Master Godwin take that priest and throw him out and come back to remove that blood sucker, the leach man,” Lady Bruce ordered.

Godwin was delighted to do as he was instructed. “’Tis fine to take ye bishop and throw you from this chamber. Old work will aid my Lord, not your prayer nor the blood-sucking leach man.” The big Celt proceeded to do Lady Bruce’s bidding.

Mother Bear set about her work.

Goody was a little shocked and crossed herself. “’Tis true then, she is a witch,” she whispered to Eleanor.

“If she saves my husband, I care not if she courts the devil. And as me thinks you are quite sweet on Godwin and he you, then you better get used to the old ways.”

Goody blushed and blinked a bit at her mistress and said no more.

Lifting Matheus’s fevered body off the bed. Lady Bruce instructed him stripped and laid upon the ice that had been collected from the moat. “He is fevered. Infection fights a battle in his body. We must keep him cool to stop his brain boiling…keep him on the ice.”

Turning to Eleanor she said, “Child sing. For all you’re worth, sing. If he walks between worlds he will not know where to go. In the mists, he can follow your voice.” Grasping Eleanor’s shoulders. Mother Bear’s eyes were wild she looked every inch the witch she was thought. “Sing child, sing.”

“I dreamt it, Mother Bear, I know where he is. Orange and red mist, he was on his knees in it. He asked me to sing but could not hear me.”

Lady Bruce, nodding, replied, “That is the heat of his fever. He is lost between this one and the next so sing to guide him home.”

“Yes Matheus, there is telepathy in hearts. He needs me.” She opened her mouth and her lark-like voice flew out.

Lady Bruce washed out his wounds and packed them with yarrow and willow. The injuries that were infection-free were sewn up by Goody with silk thread.

Addressing Eleanor, Godwin spoke. “Do you remember, Mistress, you said next you’ll be telling me God’s a woman? Well this so to me. ’Tis the goddess I worship, and she is at work here.”

“How so?” Goody interrupted

“Look about you. No priest, no leach man, for men kill other men but women bring life in their belly or by their hand. ’Tis woman we should yield to.”

Goody lifted her eyes. It was a long way up to catch his gaze. Eleanor smiled as she watched and jested, “Happen you may regret your sweet words, for when she agrees to be your spring bride, she will chide you bitter if you doth not yield, Master Godwin.”

The parts of Godwin’s face not covered in beard blushed. And a lovely grin broke across the big Celt’s face. Goody looked like a young maid, coy and shy, batting her lashes back at him. The look of love that passed between them warmed Eleanor.

There had been little cheer these past months and it was good to see hope welcome in spring as she hoped they would be soon be saying goodbye to winter.

Lady Bruce gave Eleanor a little wine and encouraged her to continue to sing. “’Twill wet your whistle to aid you sing. For not long can you dally as he is fair rallying to your voice.”

Once Matheus’s fever broke, Godwin lifted his Master back onto his bed. Eleanor held his head in her arms. Stroking his hair and caressing his cheeks with her gentle touch. She had sung until her voice left her, and now she could hardly speak. Gelert snuggled up to his Mistress and there was a still about the room. Godwin and Goody once more snorted in harmony. One breathed out with a snort and the other breathed in with a grunt.

“At least neither will chide the other for snoring,” Lady Bruce commented.

Eleanor felt her gaze on her.

“And you wondered why I escaped…I shared a room with that noise until my marriage. Do you want to talk to me, Mother Bear? I feel as if your eyes are requiring of me?”

“’Tis your marriage child…you have never seen your Lord naked. For I saw your reaction to him. ’Twas not the one of a woman bedded, but a bride not coupled.” Lady Bruce spoke quietly. There was not judgement nor pity in her voice.

Eleanor wondered what to reply.

Should I deny it and say I was taken?

“I fear…I said a terrible thing Mother Bear…for when he did court me I told him that I would never think of him when we coupled.” Biting her lip, she looked down upon the sweet face that slept, wondering why she was so reluctant to let her mind do what her body desired so. “I told him my heart had drowned, crashed upon the shore like my boyish love. He said that we would ever be joined as he would be in my head as I hated him or in my heart as I loved him.”

Lady Bruce giggled and replied to her stepdaughter. “’Tis a good knight you have child, he has whit, not temper.”

Eleanor smiled. But her face went sullen “’Tis not all…when…Sline…Richard, he …well I do not know…if I am a maid.”

“Does Matheus know this…is this why he blooded the sheets?” Lady Bruce had risen and now had her hand upon Eleanor’s face, stroking her, catching the tears that now escaped her eyes.

“Yes, I begged him give me leave to the abbess but he would hear of it not. He cut his hand and blooded the sheets…and well, just held me.”

“Well child, your knight sleeps, and we await his awakening. As I think, does the whole village…listen. They sing…oh and Sline—his head is in a bag in the stables. They will say Matheus took his head in temper, for his attack on the King. Well, we know better for as he fevered he muttered ‘mine, she is mine.’”

Chapter 15

Matheus opened his eyes to the sight of a soft, gentle gaze. His body still in sleep, he found his movement restricted. Hot breath was followed by a lick. Gelert obviously delighted in nuzzling his Master. Licking his face, the excited hound started to bark.

Curled up at the bottom of the bed the sound alerted an exhausted Eleanor. Raising a sleepy head, she caught Matheus’s smile and returning the intimacy with a beam of her own.

His voice weak, he whispered, “For that is a sight that no angel could better.”

“My love ’tis good to see you rally. Oh husband, in fact ’tis wonderful.”

Her voice croaked. Matheus noticed the pain on her face as she strained to speak. He drank her in. From every lash that framed her beautiful hazel eyes, to every contour of her belly and thighs. To the most beautiful curve about her—her smile.

At his side, she kissed him lightly. A tender touch that meant so much.

He whispered, “Your voice…you.”

She replied, “Sang…”

He said, “As if…”

“Your life depended on it,” she finished.

He wanted to hold her. Envelope her, kiss her until his lips bruised. His battered body denied his heart’s desire. No acknowledgement of Godwin, Lady Bruce, or Goody was made by the couple, as they closed the door behind them and walked away.

Absorbed in each other, starving with need, they hungrily fed off the intensity of the power between them. Blissfully unaware of the peel of bells that rang out from the cathedral in celebration of their earl’s safe return, the couple clung to each other and drifted into the security of sleep, still castled in each other’s arms.

* * * *

It was late afternoon when Matheus woke again. Eleanor was having a bath prepared for him. The scent of camomile and lavender filled his nostrils as the rising steam perfumed the room. It was quite a heavenly scent. Months of foul smells had invaded his nose and he took great breaths of it.

Dear Lord, ’tis fine, and I am thankful to wake in my own bed with my wife not an arm’s length from me.

He watched his wife as she busied herself, flushed as the steam settled on her skin, her pale skin tinged with a hint of pink. He compared her to the rose posy aside his bed.

Like the dawn rose, so delicate and pure. Its petals seem to blush pink, embarrassed at its beauty, so doth my wife. My wife. Two words and what words they are…my wife.

Her hair was escaping its confines of plait and comb, as it tumbled about her shoulders in rivers of rich, golden curls, cascading as if flowing all the way to her waist.

Enjoying the vision his eyes feasted on, Matheus did not talk. It was almost as if speech would shatter this spell. A word uttered would return him to hell of Dwilthorpe Mound.

“Ladies look, my knight has become most idle since we wed. He lays in his bed well past noon watching women about their work and he cares not about it.” Her grin was quite wicked as she spoke and her stance challenging him in jest. With her hand upon her hip and her finger wagging.

“Lookie, good ladies, my Lady has become most shrew-like since we wed…as she speaks sour to me, wags her finger and cares not about my aches and pains.” His eyes twinkled as he returned her jest and raised his brow in a challenge.

Amongst giggles and knowing glances the maids helped Eleanor to aid Matheus out of his bed and to the tub.

“Thank you ladies…I will see to my husband now.” Eleanor grinned, saying, “For I need to scold him further.”

Matheus felt the water, warm and comforting, wash over him. It seemed like an age ago that he had been brought to the peep hole to watch his wife be bathed on their wedding day.

Now he looked to the same maid. But she was different. The maid he had left behind had been a girl. The woman he looked upon now had supported the village and protected his folk. Taken a knight of the realm on and saved her husband. He had noticed the callouses on her once soft hands and how gaunt her face had become. But to Matheus she could not be more beautiful. For this was the woman he desired. Strong of soul and kind in heart.

“A penny for them,” she asked as she lifted his hand out of the tub to wash it.

“I’m just really proud of you… Opening the castle up to the needy. Feeding the children and even gathering wood from the forests. And dear God, taking on Pike… She-Wolf you certainly are…my Lady, I am honoured to call you Wife and yield to you all my life, I will.”

She took his hand to her chest. The warm water trickled down his arm and wet her gown. Pushing his palm flat she purred. “Feel it…all yours, every beat…A knight once pressed me with his groin quite lewd and he said to me that he would be in my head as I hated him or in my heart as I loved him.”

“And this Knight, this knave…where is he now—head or heart?” Matheus replied. His heart quickening as he awaited her response.

Squeezing his hand tighter to her chest, her eyes told him before her voice. “Here…here…right here.”

As she helped him from the bath he could see her looking at his injuries. Her hand gently touched his bruises and the sorrow in her eyes was clear to see. Her fingers traced his newly sewn wounds and she kissed the scars on his back.

“They are just injuries, Eleanor… Only the loss of you could wound me now…given a little time these will heal whereas the loss of you I fear, would be fatal,” he replied to her silent question.

Her touch, so sensual, so light. His body responded, rasping slightly in his throat.

Injuries be damned, for I must take her, she is wrecking me. Just as surely as if I was a galleon broken upon her shores.

Her gaze was still on him. Matheus observed her with a grin. “Have you found what you are looking for, Wife?”

Eleanor blushed. Wringing her hands, she looked at him coyly from under her heavy lashes, and whispered, “Does it hurt… it looks swollen and sore?”

Matheus’s chuckled. “My manhood?”

Eleanor nodded and pulled her lip into her mouth, nipping at it nervously.

Trying to supress a chuckle, he too pulled at his lip. His face broke into a beam. “No Eleanor, it does not hurt. Although it can ache sometimes…especially around you.” Taking her hand, he led her to the bed. Cupping her face, he brought her to his lips, testing the seam with his tongue.

Yielding to him, she collapsed into his arms. Moving her under him so he could ease her gently onto the bed, he brought himself down on her—just enough for her to feel the weight of his thigh and the strain in his groin. His voice rasped as he spoke. “Dear Lady, I love you because I have no choice but to do so. My heart instructs and I follow. Every beat is your name. I have a thirst and a hunger that only you can quench and feed.”

Her soft mewl fuelled his craving. His fingers were in her hair, his breath on her neck and the smile of his kiss on her shoulder. Skilled fingers, the hand of a lover, made light work of her gown. He felt her stiffen, rigid to his touch. Lifting her chin so he looked into her eyes that twinkled from gold to green and burnt with amber.

“Do not fear it, Eleanor run to it…run to me. The more you acquiesce to my touch, the gentler I can be. Eden is here; I am and always be your Eden.” He trickled a tender touch of his tongue across her décolletage—she moaned. Matheus felt the heat in his blood. He was burning, aching. Every cell, every sinew alive and eager, molten and moving the hot flow of desire seeping through muscle cell and bone. Slipping his hands under he lifted her to him. Pulling her up to meet his groin. Needing her to feel, to know, how she shaped his body, hard and taut for her.

She shivered.

Matheus answered her trembling by sliding down her body. Smiling against her skin with a kiss on her navel.

“You are exquisite, Eleanor, so ripe so ready.” His voice husky and low. He felt her pull away a little. But Matheus held fast. “Why so chary, my love? ’Tis your Husband’s hands upon his wife’s body. There is no shame to be found here, just our pleasure. Your delight in me, and my body lost in yours.”

Cupping her, he revelled in the sound of her catching her breath. Hands that moments before were trying to push him away, stoked the taut back of the man who anchored her. His knee nudged at her thighs. Encouraged by his hand, spreading at her cleft, she yielded. Matheus eased himself into her. Holding her tight to lessen the shock, he pushed.

Eleanor gave a sharp intake of breath. Followed by a gasp. The cry of a woman—a maid no more.

Nuzzling at her neck and nibbling on her ear, he whispered, “The worst is over now, my love.”

Eleanor clung to him as if drawing on his strength.

Smiling upon her neck he whispered. “Better now…strength enough for two… always.” His lovemaking was gentle and his words sweet.

Eleanor met his kisses. Matheus gently rocked her, responding to the gentle mewls she gasped. Letting her set the pace, conscious not to overwhelm her. She trembled underneath him and he followed with his release after hers, just moments later.

Epilogue

Sitting upon the throne she had stood on that sixteen years before, instructed by a boy knight, Eleanor of Lincoln was dressed in fine brocade edged with ermine. In her arms, a baby girl slept soundly. Upon her shoulder lay the hand of her husband. The bells of Westminster Abby rang out, announcing there had been a coronation that fine Sunday morn.

In front of the throne and his parents, a small boy played. He held in his hand a wooden sword, his playmate a wolfhound. Upon his head a small golden crown. Upon his shoulders the peace of the nation.

About the Author

Eve Irving

I come from a long history of smart-mouthed powerful pagan women—Witches hung at Carlisle Castle, to a proper bona-fide English Lady. They all shaped me, coloured my DNA, and dance in my dreams. They say write what you know about, so I did. I know my romance and my history. I want demanding partners to love me fiercely but also tenderly. I want to be romanced and desired, just like my heroines.

Come say hello to me on social media. Oh, and remember: the sexiest curve about you is your smile.

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