Chapter Five #2
The crowd roared. Still grinning, Richmond rose to his full height, Arissa’s hand enveloped tightly in his fist. Arissa would have been content to allow him to hold her hand for the rest of the day, but she could feel her mother nudging her from behind.
Knowing the gesture’s meaning, she reluctantly removed her hand from Richmond’s grasp and moved toward Tad. His expression was hard, like a pouting child. All tolerance and good feelings vanished, Arissa’s gaze was equally as hard as she curtsied stiffly before him.
“A match well fought, sir knight,” she said as evenly as she could manage.
He cocked an eyebrow at her. “I would have won, too, had I cheated like Sir Richmond.”
Arissa lost her thinly-held patience. “Sir Richmond did not cheat. He beat you with sheer skill alone, and if you had better manners, you would acknowledge the fact that he’s a greater knight than you could ever hope to be.”
Audible gasps could be heard. William pushed forward, taking Arissa into a protective embrace. “Forgive her, Sir Tad. It has been an exceedingly taxing day and her composure has suffered.”
Arissa irritably yanked herself away from her father, an unusual action.
“The only thing that has suffered is my patience with Sir Tad. I was forced to endure his company earlier and I am not at all ashamed to declare him to be an obnoxious, dull-witted boor. I shall not pretend to think otherwise.” Gathering her skirts, she dipped a rapid curtsy to her parents. “If you will please excuse me.”
William, aghast, watched his daughter’s straight back as she marched away. Sputtering, he glanced at his ashen-faced wife, whose features mirrored his own. As Tad worked up a head of steam, Richmond quietly excused himself. He had to; he was far too close to succumbing to snickers.
“I shall see to her, my lord.”
William was not given the chance to reply as Richmond went in pursuit of Arissa. Instead, the earl found himself faced with a humiliated and outraged Tad de Rydal.
The earl had no idea how deep the vein of shame ran.
First Richmond had bested Tad in a highly one-sided duel, and where Tad had envisioned an opportunity for revenge in the archery contest, he found himself cleanly defeated.
Two crushing blows in the same day, from the same man no less, was far more than his ego could accept.
Where vengeance had once been a sweet taste upon his tongue, it was now a consuming hunger. Dark hatred began to blacken his heart. Short of calling le Bec out in challenge, he began to sort his options.
There would be a time and a place; he simply had to be wise enough to take advantage of it, and lovely Lady Arissa would meet his wrath as well.
It was a promise.
*
Richmond found Arissa in the place where she usually went when she was upset. Seated in her father’s solar near the lancet windows inlaid with precious Venetian glass, she was picking harshly at her fingernails. It was a bad habit she had, especially when bored or moody.
“Stop nibbling your nails,” he commanded quietly as he entered the room.
Her hands dropped to her lap. “Did Father send you to spank me?”
“He did not. But I should take my hand to your backside at the very least for that insolent spectacle. I do believe Tad de Rydal was in the process of bursting a vein when I left.”
She turned away from him, toward the window. “You should have punched him in the nose when he accused you of cheating. He’s an insufferable, pompous whoreskin.”
“Mind your tongue, lady. I shall not hear those words from your mouth.”
She did not reply to his reprimand and he moved to the chair opposite her. Lowering himself to sit, his gaze never left her beautiful profile. She seemed pensive and distant.
“What is the matter, Riss?” he asked softly. “Do not tell me that Tad de Rydal has upset you so terribly that you would allow him to ruin your birthday?”
She shook her head faintly, her chin resting in her hands as the multi-hued glass cast warm, erratic color across her face. “He’s not upset me,” she sighed heavily. “But I would be lying if I said I was glad he has come.”
Richmond smiled faintly. “As would I. Mayhap he’s suffered enough humiliation from me and will opt to leave before the feast tonight. One can always hope.”
She turned her gaze to him, a smile on her lips. Bright blue eyes blazed upon her and she was suddenly aware that they were alone, far removed from the rest of the household and festivities.
How many times had they sat alone, talking about items both trivial and important? How many times had they been together, just the two of them, laughing or playing or simply sitting in silence? Certainly, more times that she could count. But this time, it was different.
Richmond’s smile faded as she lowered her gaze, staring at her hands.
She seemed ill at ease, uncertain somehow.
Since his arrival yesterday, their relationship hadn’t been the same and he was deeply perplexed by the situation.
He knew that his own confusion and guilt had cast a fog between them, causing her discomfort.
Of course she’d been skittish in his presence; he’d given her good reason to be. It was all his fault.
But one thing was clear; he’d always been able to speak to Arissa. Communication between them was an important factor to their relationship and he had always gone to great lengths to preserve their openness. Now, in the heat of his bewilderment, was not the time to sever the lines of contact.
“Is Tad the only item bothering you?” he asked softly. “You have seemed very disturbed since I returned yesterday. Is there something I can do?”
She continued to stare at her hands. Is there something I can do?
She had no idea why tears began to sting her eyes.
Mayhap it was her own sense of helplessness, the power of a love that refused to die, of a love that would never be nurtured.
It was a love that would be forced into obscurity when she was committed to Whitby.
If only he could do something; if only he could return that love.
A single hot tear dripped onto her hand. Richmond saw it; immediately, he was out of the chair and kneeling before her.
“Riss, what’s the matter? Won’t you tell me?”
His gentle voice struck deep. The single tear turned into a flood and she dissolved, falling forward against him.
“I…. you cannot help,” she whispered, her voice constricted with sobs. “No one can help.”
He clutched her fiercely; somehow, she managed to fall out of the chair and ended up cradled in his lap as he sat on the floor. Richmond held her as if to never let her go.
“I can help, I promise,” he murmured into her hair. “Tell me and I shall do everything in my power to ease your ache.”
Ease your ache. Sweet St. Jude, if it were only possible! But it was not. And she would rather die than tell him the true reasons behind her tears.
“Tell me,” he urged tenderly, squeezing her. “What is so terrible?”
Arissa knew from experience that he would not let the subject rest until he had received a satisfactory response. Aware that it would be futile to resist or refuse to answer him, she thought carefully on her reply. Certainly, it was not a lie. But it was only a small measure of the truth.
“I….” she coughed, wiping at her eyes. “I do not want to go to the convent.”
He did not say anything for a moment. Arissa swore his embrace tightened. “You have been pledged to the abbey since you were an infant.”
“I know,” she sniffled. “I was never given any say in the matter. I do not want to be shut off from the world for the rest of my life, Richmond. I do not want to go.”
He shifted her in his lap, sliding over a few inches to the hard stone wall. Reclining against it, he cradled her to his chest.
“Why not?”
She blinked thoughtfully at his question, her tears fading somewhat. She couldn’t very well tell him the truth.
“Because I do not think I am suited for life at the cloister. I like parties, and pretty things, and good food and entertainment. I have only been devout to the religion because mother and father have forced me to be rigid in my practice,” she sat up, wiping her cheeks and looking him in the eye.
“I do not want to wear gray wool and wimples for the rest of my life. I want to be married, to know the security of a home and family. Richmond, I want to live.”
He gazed at her a moment, the woman he loved. Absently, a gloved hand came up to touch her hair. “Your entire life is before you and you want to sample all it has to offer.”
“Exactly,” she said firmly, tears forgotten.
“I am eighteen years today, old enough to go to court, or be married, or anything else that young women do. Why should I be deprived of my life simply because my parents saw fit to make me a sacrificial lamb by devoting my life to God? I never had a choice and it was unfair of them not to consider my feelings.”
He smiled vaguely, toying with a tendril of raven-hued hair. “’Tis not usual that one is given a choice in one’s destiny. Furthermore, ’tis not usual to consider the feelings of a newborn child when deciding his, or her, future.”
She pursed her lips wryly. “You are not helping me. I do not want to obey my father’s wishes and you make jokes.”
His grip on her hair tightened as she tried to move away from him. “I am not jesting, simply stating a fact.”
She met his gaze, trying to ignore the rising heat between them by focusing on her concerns. “Will you talk to my father, Richmond? Tell him that I do not wish to join the church.”
He sighed, knowing that her betrothal to the church was nearly as binding as a marriage. Furthermore, Henry himself had made it. The only person who would have a remote chance of dissolving it would be, clearly, Henry. And the chances of that happening were close to impossible.