The Bride Tournament by Ruth Kaufman Page B

her husband’s thumb.
    At court she’d be a newcomer, with no authority despite being a countess. She’d have to share a chamber with Richard again, surely the most frightening prospect of all. The solution was to organize her bridal tournament posthaste.
    “We shall rest the horses here,” Richard called out.
    No, not again. She couldn’t bear any more of his “rests.” “Surely we’re not far from the next inn?”
    Richard bestowed one of his slow smiles upon her, the kind that set her insides to melting fast as butter in a hot pan.
    Why did he inspire her desire? Why did she yearn to see Richard again as soon as he left her sight? She shuddered. If this was how really caring for someone felt, she didn’t like it. She’d never felt this way about Arthur. For the first time, she wondered if she truly loved him.
    Of course she did. Not missing him constantly was her way of handling his lengthy departures.
    The group stopped beside a sparkling stream. Water splashed as it flowed over the rocky bed. Bright yellow gorse dotted green, rolling meadows.
    Richard reached up to lift her from Saffron. She tensed, knowing he’d slide her against him as he did every time he helped her dismount. His hands closed about her waist, followed by a brief sensation of weightlessness as he plucked her from the saddle, then came the slow, intimate descent while his green-eyed gaze held hers. He smelled clean and fresh despite their long hours on the road. The feel of his hard body unsettled her yet again.
    “Do you hunger?” he whispered.
    Not for food. “No.”
    His closeness made her uneasy. Choosing that moment to rumble, her stomach defied her.
    He laughed. She wished the sound didn’t please her.
    “Come then, I have sweetmeats in my pack.” He grabbed her hand, leaving her little choice but to follow.
    The horses drank from the stream and nibbled on greenery while the eight men accompanying them reclined on the ground nearby, some eating, some resting.
    Richard settled a short distance from the others on a flat rock surrounded by waving grasses. He seemed perfectly at ease. In a russet tunic, tight brown hose revealing powerful thighs, a hardy traveler replaced the elegant lord. He stretched, arm muscles flexing, broad chest expanding. He watched her with a slight smile, making her suspect this display of maleness was solely for her benefit.
    Eleanor remained standing. Being near Richard weakened her resolve.
    “Alyce,” she called. “Come join us.”
    “We’ll sup alone,” Richard said softly.
    Not if she could help it. But Alyce chatted gaily with Richard’s squire, clearly without concern for her sister’s welfare. Eleanor opened her mouth to call again.
    “If Alyce shares our meal, there won’t be enough food for you,” he said.
    She seethed. Richard couched orders in kindness. She glared, but he munched on an apple as if he didn’t have a care in the world.
    To eat or not to eat, that was the question. Give in to Richard, or preserve her dignity. Dignity prevailed over her growling stomach. She’d starve before she let him win, before she let any man order her around like she was a witless fool. She stepped away.
    Two steps later, a tug on her skirts jerked her to a sudden stop.
    “Sit, dear wife.” His voice was deceptively pleasant.
    Eleanor twisted. The expression on Richard’s handsome face was full of challenge. He released her skirts and with a wave of his hand indicated the spot beside him.
    She sat across from him, but he smoothly shifted his large frame until they were so close their thighs seemed as one. His heat burned through her clothing.
    He displayed a piece of crystallized ginger between his thumb and forefinger. “Here.”
    He’d remembered their conversation about favorite foods. Was he being thoughtful or trying to tempt her into liking him? She reached for the sweet, but he pulled back.
    “Open,” he said as he leaned forward.
    She held out her hand.
    “Your mouth,” he