The Lion and the Leopard Page 5

  That morning Maria had been dressed and her hair brushed until it shone of a color with the cherries that would soon strain the branches of Fordwich's fabled orchard. Momentarily, she would descend the chamber stairs and exit to the courtyard in order to await her fiancé's arrival.

  Maria closed her eyes. Her forehead felt damp; she suppressed the urge to wipe it with a sleeve. The air was humid and close, signaling a storm in the offing.

  "Three years," she whispered. "Papa gave me three years." And now, at age seventeen, she must do her duty.

  Maria inhaled deeply, trying to quell the dread she felt whenever contemplating her fiancé. It wasn't simply the vast difference in their ages for, while Lord Leybourne's waist had thickened and he walked with a limp due to gout, he remained commandingly tall with a powerful barrel chest and a manner that caused far younger men to seem insignificant in his presence.

  It was something more.

  During their conversations, Maria had sought unsuccessfully to draw out kindness, consideration beyond the normal chivalric platitudes; common interests, even a sense of humor.

  Mayhap it was the eyes that watched her beneath thick grey brows. Like a hawk, assessing its prey. Despite his obsequious manner—and that in itself struck her as false—the Leybourne temper was legendary. The earl's past was littered with wives, mistresses, bastard children and rightful progeny who seemed to be forever declaring war upon one other. What did such chaos portend for her future?

  "Daughter?"

  Maria turned to watch her mother enter the tiny room. During the past brutal winter, Henrietta had developed a persistent cough and had lost so much weight that Maria sometimes likened her to the angels in the stained glass at Canterbury Cathedral. Which was fanciful, of course, for Henrietta's imperious personality had not changed. And, with the warmer weather and copious amounts of linseed and honey cakes, she would soon regain her previous plumpness.

  Scrutinizing Maria, from the chaplet encircling the back of her head to her embroidered slippers, Henrietta asked, "Are you going to wear that?"

  Maria looked down at her green velvet. "It might be a bit warm for the season but 'tis my second best gown."

  Henrietta sighed deeply, as if her daughter's stupidity pained her. "Someday you'll understand the benefits of your marriage." She fingered her necklace of sapphires and rubies—a present from her soon-to-be son-in-law. "Lord Leybourne has more earldoms than anyone save Thomas Lancaster, as well as a glorious past. He was one of our old king's most trusted advisers. You cannot reach much higher than that."

  "Our first Edward has been dead ten years now."

  "Are you being insolent?"

  Maria groped for the proper words. "'Tis just once we're... wed I fear Lord Leybourne's manner would change. That he might be... cruel."

  Henrietta responded with another dramatic sigh.

  Trumpets blasted from the outer bailey.

  Maria flinched.

  Henrietta smiled. "They're here." Four steps to the door before turning. "Tell Alice to dress you in your Cyprus silk, the blue one that clings to your waist. Then join us in the great hall. Waiting will whet Lord Leybourne's ardor. But do not make him wait too long."

  Maria nodded, but after Henrietta's departure, she sank down upon her bed and stared into the distance.

  "Countess of Dorset," she whispered after a time.

  Rising abruptly, she exited the chamber, down the stairs to the great hall. Through a side door, away from the activity in the bailey, heading for the stables. Edmund Leybourne might have to wait a bit longer than Henrietta had suggested.

  "Saddle Baillet," Maria ordered Wat the Stableboy. "And, please, be quick about it."

  * * *

  Maria maneuvered her jennet along Palace Street, toward Canterbury Cathedral. Once inside she would be lost in its vastness and could sit unnoticed with only God and Thomas Becket aware of problems that would seem totally insignificant to them. As they seemed to all in her life, save her.

  Just as Maria reached the cathedral gates, a jag of lightning escaped from roiling clouds. Thunder boomed. Clerics, professional palmers, friars, and false pardoners, beggars and pilgrims all ran for cover while the vendors on Mercery Lane slammed closed their stalls in order to protect their sacred relics and other trifles.

  Another crack and the storm broke wild. Rain slashed directly in Maria's face, attacking her exposed hands and drenching the light material of her dress; wind whipped her hair about her face, lashing her eyes and cheeks. Baillet bolted, and by the time Maria had the mare under control she was unsure of her surroundings.

  Desperately, she peered into the stinging rain until she spotted what appeared to be St. Mildred's Church. She knew the church as a sanctuary for escaping prisoners from the royal prison of Canterbury Castle.

  It would have to do.

  Once inside the yard, Maria leapt from Baillet's back, looped the reins around a hitching post and scrambled inside. Slamming the door against the howling wind, she collapsed against it.

  Looking down at the mud-caked dress clinging to her body, she moaned. "Jesu! Mother will have me on the rack."

  "'Tis a brutish storm, is it not, damoiselle?"

  Heart in her throat, Maria whirled, expecting a knife-wielding prisoner to leap from the shadows.

  Instead she faced a knight bearing a blue wolf's head upon his jupon.

  "Pardon, my lord," she said, her voice catching. Not a prisoner at all. "You frightened me. I thought I was alone."

  "Nearly. Just myself and my squire."

  The knight smiled and Maria felt the strangest thrill in the pit of her stomach for he was easily the most striking man she'd ever seen. Tall, well formed, with a muscular torso that tapered to narrow hips, belted about by a sword. Even in the dimness of St. Mildred's, he appeared as deeply tanned as the Spaniards who unloaded the painted galleys along the River Stour. The darkness of his skin only heightened the blueness of his eyes.

  Rain rattled on the tiled roof, but already with less fury than when she'd entered.

  "'Twould appear the storm will soon be over," he said.

  The black-haired knight had a most unsettling way of looking at Maria—pleasantly unsettling. Common sense and propriety told her she should not be alone with any stranger, let alone speak with him.

  "Have you a name, damoiselle?"

  "Maria d'Arderne." She found her voice and even managed an awkward curtsy. "From Fordwich Castle."

  "Ah, the Cherry Fair!" His eyes swept her length, taking in the clinging gown, the lustrous hair beginning to dry and frame her face, the straight nose and long-lashed eyes.

  "You have heard of our fair, Lord—"

  "Rendell. Phillip Rendell."

  Her eyes widened. "The knight of whom minstrels sing? The knight who saved our Lord Sussex's life and was personally ransomed by His Grace?" From the minstrel's descriptions Maria had formed a certain image of Lord Rendell, but her imaginings had never prepared her for the man before her.

  "I would not know what minstrels say of me or anyone else. I've not been in England these past three years."

  A feeble ray of sunlight struggled through the narrow windows of St. Mildred's. Scattered drops of rain slithered down tiny panes to pool in the corners.

  "'Tis past," said Phillip.

  "What? Your travels?"

  He smiled. "Those too. But I meant the storm." He turned to his squire and Maria saw that his cheekbones were high, his profile virtually flawless. "Bring the horses round, Gilbert. I'll be along."

  When Gilbert moved to obey, Phillip turned back to her. "This is a stroke of luck for both of us, damoiselle. 'Twould appear you are in need of proper escort and I am in need of direction."

  "Direction, my lord?"

  "Aye. I have heard much of the Cherry Fair's tourney and I'd thought to try my fortune there." Phillip smiled into Maria's eyes. "Perhaps 'twas not luck at all that brought us together, but fate."

  Chapter 7

  The Cherry F
air

  Rows of tables, spread with linen tablecloths and topped with silver salt cellars, covered dishes, and serving trays heaped with food, had been placed in a u-shape in the center of Fordwich's orchard. Though some diners had already left the banquet to dance or roll a game of bowls beneath the trees, most remained to finish off the last course of pastries and sweetmeats. Piers the Cook had placed his triumph at the dais, an enormous soltelte of two mounted knights facing each other with lances at ready. Behind the soltelte diners were partially hidden from view, though Maria could clearly view Edmund Leybourne. And the empty place beside him.

  Where she had been seated moments before. Yet here she was, curtsying before Phillip Rendell. Upon seeing him—and Maria had been looking for nothing else these past two days—she'd tossed an excuse to her fiancé and rushed from the dais, past the lower tables to greet him.

  "I am very pleased to see you, my lord." She was lightheaded, more from her heart's racing than her hurried pace. "I feared you would not come."

  "I am so glad, damoiselle, that I did."

  Phillip was enchanted by his first view of the Cherry Fair. The brilliance of the costumed lords and ladies heightened the beauty of the surrounding trees. Clouds of white blossoms bowed the limbs to earth, their petals shimmering in the afternoon heat. The air, redolent with their fragrance, was intoxicating in its intensity.

  Near as intoxicating as the girl before me, he thought, returning Maria's smile. She was truly lovely: slender yet curvaceous, with skin free from blemish and hair the color he had always loved, that special shading that existed right before sunset darkened into night.

  "Last even I asked Lord Leybourne's troubadour to sing to us about Bannockburn and all the magnificent things you did afterward." Maria knew she was blushing, that her words were awkward, but she wanted him to know. She rushed on. "I felt as if, after meeting you, that I was in possession of a special secret. As if you were a legend sprung to life just for me."

  "Indeed." Phillip was touched and amused in equal measure.

  Their eyes held. Maria wanted to say something more, to keep him gazing at her in such a way that she felt her entire body tingle.

  "Daughter!"

  Henrietta hurried toward them. Vaguely, Maria noted that she was actually lifting her skirts in order to move more quickly, a breach of etiquette that had earned Maria many a reprimand.

  "Your mother?" Phillip asked, though the resemblance was unmistakable. But the woman looked ill and was thin as a rack of ribs.

  Spell broken, Maria murmured, "I am in a great deal of trouble."

  Henrietta puffed to a halt in front of them. "You are remiss to leave your affianced without so much as a by-your-leave." Aware that they would were being watched, she tried for a smile that ended in a grimace.

  Turning to Phillip, she asked. "And who might you be, sir?"

  He bowed. "Lord Phillip Rendell, m'lady."

  "The Herefordshire knight," Maria interjected. "The one who saved our Lord Sussex at Bannockburn."

  Henrietta's eyes narrowed. She remembered Maria's request at last night's banquet, and gazed sharply from one to the other.

  "Well. We have all heard the tale of how you refused the earl's gift of a demesne near the size of Wales to indulge your wanderlust. 'Twould appear what you enjoy in chivalry, Lord Rendell, you lack in common sense."

  Ignoring propriety, she grabbed Maria's arm and pulled her back toward the dais.

  "By the rood, my lord," Phillip's squire, Gilbert, swore after they were gone. "I pity that poor girl. Her mother is a veritable dragon."

  Phillip watched Maria obediently take her place once again beside her fiancé. "I haven't yet slain a dragon," he said softly. "Mayhap 'tis time I did."

  * * *

  Lord Leybourne, earl of Dorset, had indulged in too much cherry wine. But he had much to celebrate, had he not? In forty days, following their pending betrothal ceremony, he would be taking his sweet new wife to bed.

  God has been good to this old warrior, he thought complacently. Mayhap the recent endowment he'd bestowed upon the Benedictines at Sherborne Abbey had enhanced his fortunes.

  The earl's rheumy gaze fell happily upon the swell between his fiancée's young breasts. The damoiselle's dowry was minimal and his dower would someday make her a wealthy widow, but he did not plan on dying any time soon. Which made their arrangement most satisfactory.

  "All the wedding contracts have been signed," he said to Maria, who had been quieter upon her return from wherever. Ah, well. He was not marrying the lass for her conversational skills. "And the betrothal ceremony will be in six days, following the jousting."

  Maria nodded. Phillip Rendell had taken a seat at a lower table. She hid her perusal of him by pretending an interest in the various jugglers, tumblers and minstrels strolling in his vicinity.

  Edmund leaned toward Maria. "Now that I've had a bit too much to eat," he suppressed a belch, "let us take a stroll." His arm brushed her breast. She felt that chill again, as if a winter wind had suddenly blown in from the River Stour. "We have much to discuss, dear heart. Now that all the legal negotiations are behind us, we will make plans for our future."

  I will kill myself, Maria thought suddenly. "Aye, my lord. As you please."

  "We've had so little time to converse, just we two," he said. Her hand rested atop his in the accepted fashion as they walked through the orchard, among the guests.

  "'Tis a chaotic time, my lord," she responded vaguely. I will drown myself in the River Stour.

  "I was touched when your mother explained the reason you did not greet me upon my arrival."

  "And what did she say?"

  "You had gone to Canterbury Cathedral to see our wedding notice upon the door. You could not wait. I find that charming, as I find everything about you charming."

  What a liar you are, Mother. "Let us hope no one now comes forward with a reason to forbid our marriage."

  Leybourne laughed, a not unpleasant sound. "What a delightful sense of humor you have!"

  If only I had enough money to buy my way free of the betrothal contact.

  They'd emerged upon a meadow where a group of bare-chested young men were hurling lances, throwing stones, and wrestling, all for the enjoyment of several giggling maidens.

  "An earl's wife you'll be, with a fine manor house in Dorset and all the clothes and horses and jewelry you desire. I have a grand townhouse in London and when our family returns to court we can spend all our time there."

  She had never wanted to go to court. Maria felt an overwhelming urge to cry. She slid Leybourne a glance. He looked all too healthy, too distressingly... virile for a man of such ancient years.

  "I have outlived three wives, damoiselle," the earl said, as if reading her thoughts. "I have sired sons off the lot of them, as well as a mistress or two." He chuckled. "But in all my years I've not had a creature so lovely as you. Oh, we will make fine sons together. I could use some new blood with that brood of vipers who surround me."

  Maria jerked her hand away. "I... vipers seems an odd word for one's children."

  With Leybourne chatting away about what she could not say for she was still in shock at his boldness, they approached a group of dancers caroling to the music of viols and harps. Though Maria loved to dance, she thanked the saints for her suitor's gouty leg.

  "Might I have the pleasure of this dance?" Seemingly out of nowhere, Phillip Rendell bowed before them.

  Maria looked around, as if Henrietta might miraculously appear to thump her on the head and tut, "Manners!"

  "Aye, my lord." Before Lord Leybourne could protest, she allowed him to lead her away.

  "The Leybourne name is fine and old," Phillip commented. By unspoken agreement they drifted away from the dancers who were dipping and swaying in a sedate circle. "Your mother has reached high."

  "Everyone must marry," she said noncommittally.

  "Aye, and Leybourne will soon die. Then you will be a rich widow who can do as you please."
They moved to the rhythm of the music, holding each other at arm's length in their own version of dance. "You might even tell your mother to leave you be."

  Maria gasped at his impertinence but he was not looking at her. Rather his gaze was fastened on the orchard beyond the meadow, where cherry blossoms shimmered like angels' wings.

  They continued their steps in silence until he said, "I've seen many sights in my time but never have I seen anything lovelier."

  Maria closed her eyes. Already petals would be dropping from overladen branches, soon to litter the ground. She whispered, "Life though pleasant is transitory, even as is the Cherry Fair."

  "Pardon, damoiselle?" Phillip's attention returned to her.

  "'Tis something our priest says. Now whenever I smell their fragrance I find myself thinking of time's passing." Not true. Only since this knight's arrival.

  "And of duty and obligation, of things we should have done and things we never will." Phillip's expression was touched by sadness.

  "Duty means marriage to Edmund Leybourne. I had always known I must marry but I had thought my husband would be... different." Like you, Maria amended silently. Why could I not have met you before it was too late?

  "'Tis not up to us to choose, at least this part of our fates." Phillip's fingers tightened ever so slightly in hers. She responded to their pressure, as well as the intoxicating nearness of his body.

  "I understand duty, I do. I inhale it with every breath. So why do I feel as if I am Piers Gaveston being led to the chopping block or the hangman or wherever it was he was murdered?"

  Phillip suppressed a smile. Maria obviously had a charming flair for the dramatic.

  "Shall we return to the festivities, sweeting?"

  Edmund Leybourne had come upon them without notice. He removed Maria's hand from Phillip's shoulder and placed it in his own.

  "Of course, my lord," she said automatically, dipping her head.

  Without a word, Phillip bowed to them both and took his leave.

  Maria forced herself not to mark his departure, but rather allowed her fiancé to lead her back to the Cherry Fair.