lady?”
“It would give me the greatest pleasure in the world, my lord.” She sank down before him to bid him good night and he caught the merest glimpse of décolletage, but it was enough to arouse his manhood. Desire flared in his loins momentarilybefore he controlled it with an iron will. Then she was gone. The females withdrew, permitting the Marshals to speak privately.
“Have you come to take Eleanor to live with you?” Isabella asked expectantly.
William was shocked at her words. “She’s only fifteen. What sort of a man do you take me for?”
“You wed me to de Clare at fifteen,” she pointed out daringly.
“My dear, he was your own age. I’m past forty … old enough to be her father.”
“You will always be that,” she said softly, lowering her eyes.
Yes, thought Will, more’s the pity. Then he was filled with guilt, for he no longer felt the least bit fatherly toward Eleanor.
The Countess of Pembroke pressed closely to the other side of the door listening to the words of the brother and sister. Her hand covered her mouth to prevent a sob from escaping; a lone tear slipped down her cheek. The marshal still did not want her.
5
E leanor awoke at the crack of dawn and fought the urge to rouse the household to prepare her to ride out with William. Instead she lay quietly recalling his every feature and gesture. His light-brown hair, though clipped very short, had a boyish tendency to curl. His eyes had been warm whenever his glance had fallen upon her. Sherry, she decided; their color was definitely sherry, and she loved the way they crinkled with laugh lines when something amused him. He was stronger, wiser, more mature than other men. He had an air of quiet authority that earned him respect. She would simply die if he did not want her!
She breathed deeply to calm herself. Over the last years she had learned to mask her inner feelings. She had mastered the art of poise so that she was able to present a picture of serenity; no matter that beneath the surface of her calm, her emotions seethed passionately. When she began to grow up she had questioned why she felt so passionately about things and concluded that she was different from others. To Eleanor everything was crystal clear. Her mind was quick and decisive and she knew exactly what she wanted from life. Right and wrong were sharply defined in black and white. She did not like or dislike;rather she loved or hated with a passion. Her feelings ran so deep that sometimes she frightened herself.
Mother Superior had schooled her to show moderation, but Eleanor never did anything by half measure. She committed fully to things … all or nothing … life or death. She determinedly pushed away the thought that William Marshal did not want her. He had no choice. They had not simply been betrothed, they had been married, and a marriage could not be broken. She set her goal. By the time she was sixteen he would take her to live with him. She would suppress every fault and strive with all her heart to become exactly what he wanted, rather than being herself.
Her mind made up, she rang for Brenda, the copper-haired maid she had stolen from Margery de Lacy. “I’m riding with my husband this morning. I know exactly what I shall wear, but I want you to help me with this bloody, unruly mass of hair.” She had had to stop swearing, of course, and limited herself to cursing only in the presence of Brenda.
All night William had carried a picture of her crimson velvet skirts spreading across the gray stones. Now that picture was wiped out and replaced with the vivid image of her mounted upon a sleek, black mare. Over a white underdress she wore a brilliant emerald-green tabard slit up the sides to the armpits to permit ease in riding. Green boots and riding gloves made from soft leather matched the emerald green exactly, and her silken mass of black curls had been gathered into a gold mesh snood embroidered with emerald jewels.
William said, “You look
“It would give me the greatest pleasure in the world, my lord.” She sank down before him to bid him good night and he caught the merest glimpse of décolletage, but it was enough to arouse his manhood. Desire flared in his loins momentarilybefore he controlled it with an iron will. Then she was gone. The females withdrew, permitting the Marshals to speak privately.
“Have you come to take Eleanor to live with you?” Isabella asked expectantly.
William was shocked at her words. “She’s only fifteen. What sort of a man do you take me for?”
“You wed me to de Clare at fifteen,” she pointed out daringly.
“My dear, he was your own age. I’m past forty … old enough to be her father.”
“You will always be that,” she said softly, lowering her eyes.
Yes, thought Will, more’s the pity. Then he was filled with guilt, for he no longer felt the least bit fatherly toward Eleanor.
The Countess of Pembroke pressed closely to the other side of the door listening to the words of the brother and sister. Her hand covered her mouth to prevent a sob from escaping; a lone tear slipped down her cheek. The marshal still did not want her.
5
E leanor awoke at the crack of dawn and fought the urge to rouse the household to prepare her to ride out with William. Instead she lay quietly recalling his every feature and gesture. His light-brown hair, though clipped very short, had a boyish tendency to curl. His eyes had been warm whenever his glance had fallen upon her. Sherry, she decided; their color was definitely sherry, and she loved the way they crinkled with laugh lines when something amused him. He was stronger, wiser, more mature than other men. He had an air of quiet authority that earned him respect. She would simply die if he did not want her!
She breathed deeply to calm herself. Over the last years she had learned to mask her inner feelings. She had mastered the art of poise so that she was able to present a picture of serenity; no matter that beneath the surface of her calm, her emotions seethed passionately. When she began to grow up she had questioned why she felt so passionately about things and concluded that she was different from others. To Eleanor everything was crystal clear. Her mind was quick and decisive and she knew exactly what she wanted from life. Right and wrong were sharply defined in black and white. She did not like or dislike;rather she loved or hated with a passion. Her feelings ran so deep that sometimes she frightened herself.
Mother Superior had schooled her to show moderation, but Eleanor never did anything by half measure. She committed fully to things … all or nothing … life or death. She determinedly pushed away the thought that William Marshal did not want her. He had no choice. They had not simply been betrothed, they had been married, and a marriage could not be broken. She set her goal. By the time she was sixteen he would take her to live with him. She would suppress every fault and strive with all her heart to become exactly what he wanted, rather than being herself.
Her mind made up, she rang for Brenda, the copper-haired maid she had stolen from Margery de Lacy. “I’m riding with my husband this morning. I know exactly what I shall wear, but I want you to help me with this bloody, unruly mass of hair.” She had had to stop swearing, of course, and limited herself to cursing only in the presence of Brenda.
All night William had carried a picture of her crimson velvet skirts spreading across the gray stones. Now that picture was wiped out and replaced with the vivid image of her mounted upon a sleek, black mare. Over a white underdress she wore a brilliant emerald-green tabard slit up the sides to the armpits to permit ease in riding. Green boots and riding gloves made from soft leather matched the emerald green exactly, and her silken mass of black curls had been gathered into a gold mesh snood embroidered with emerald jewels.
William said, “You look
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