"Were you like this for the King?" The shadow of Ned fell between them as if his tall body stood like a colossus astride the bed.
"Why now?" she asked, raising herself on her elbows, brazenly studying the firm sleek body.
"Stand up, my sweet temptress. Remove your skirt."
Sulkily, sensuous, she rose languorously from the bed and undid the laces at her waist. It fell in a billow at her ankles, leaving her in gartered fine wool stockings and her costly collar. Was this how a whore behaved? Surely virtuous wives were not expected to… He was making her feel like a slavegirl, watching her from the bed like some naked eastern potentate from a divan. What was she supposed to do now?
"Ever since I felt you between my thighs in that stable at Warwick, I have planned your seduction. I have not forgiven the King of England for taking what was mine. And you are mine!" He slid off the bed and stood before her as if she were a spoil of war before a naked conqueror. His hand slid between her thighs, his fingers searching out the nub of her again, demanding, tormenting.
She caught at his wrist. "Damn you, my virginity was not yours nor Ned's to take. It was mine own alone to—" His mouth robbed her of further words as he pushed her imperiously down against the pillows and pushed her legs apart so he might kneel between them.
"Your body tells me I can please you, Margery." She writhed beneath his coaxing. Her thighs were purest fire, her body arching as his fingers relentlessly drew her onward until she was no longer in control and gasped in one fierce shudder.
He thrust into her at last with exultation but she was tight, six years tight, albeit wet and willing. She tensed. He cursed and thrust again, entering her to the shaft and took care to move gently, sensing her tenderness. With another lover, he might have been more vigorous in his lovemaking, but this time he was competing with a king. He held off from his own relief, his caresses bringing her to climax again until she arched like a bow and cried out with womanly pleasure. It brought his own release and a sensation that was paradise.
Sated at last, he lifted himself onto his elbows and saw the tears, like mysterious pearls, upon her cheeks. "It has been a long time for you." He kissed them away. "It will be even more pleasurable next time."
"Too long," she whispered.
"I could stay entwined by your thighs and let the world go by."
"I pleased you?" she asked timidly, her fingers tucking back the lock of dark hair that was falling, hiding his face from the candlelight.
"Pleased me?" He carried her fingers to his lips. "How could you not please me?"
His eyes slid over the hills and valleys of her body in the light of the risen moon. All this was now his. The siege was over and the city lay open with its defense down at last.
Margery's body was still vibrating like a used bowstring, as if something within her was pulsating quietly back into place. If this man could change her like this, then his power was great indeed.
In the distance an owl hooted. "What is the matter?" he asked.
"You want my mind too, sir?" She turned wide eyes on him, no longer fearful to have his face so close.
"Oh, yes, I want that too but your soul I will leave to the Almighty. I am not yet grown so presumptuous."
"Are you not, Richard Huddleston?" she retorted dryly and received his wandering hand for her pains, teasing her appetite for more.
"Jesu, lady, you heat my blood as I knew you would. Let me still that errant tongue of yours."
Later she lay awake while he slept, his arm possessively flung across her, knowing now that their marriage had entered different country. Could surrender be turned into conquest? Could the captor become enmeshed in the net too?
Once more before dawn, like a veritable bridegroom, he stirred and took his pleasure of her, driving her before him as hungry as he.
As the sun came through the glass, Huddleston stood up, stretching with a leopardlike grace. His body was sleek, his skin healthy and shining and the ripple of hair descending from his breast to his thigh would have pleased the most voracious of female appetites. Indeed, he looked as satisfied as a great cat that had killed and feasted.
"Rise up, sleepy one, let me see how beautiful you are in the light of day." She growled and turned over, hugging the sheet against her but he forced her to her feet.
"I do not want to go back to the castle," he groaned, winding his arms about her, burying his face in the tangle of her hair. Suddenly she felt him tense.
"By Christ! Margery!" He let go of her as if she had burned him.
"What is wrong?"
"Oh, by the Saints! The sheet!" His hands grabbed her elbows and shook her, his face contorted with disbelief. "Margery, you liar! You—" Words failed him for once and he let go of her roughly. "What have I done?" he exclaimed, turning away from her, his hands clapped to his head.
For once, it was she who had the reins of the situation. "You lay with your wife, Richard. You finally managed to lose that self-control of yours." She reached down and jerked her underskirt out from beneath the fallen coverlet. It was creased and she shook out its folds.
He swung around to face her, an Adam who had bitten of the apple and found he was barred from Paradise. "You lied! You lied to the whole world. Why for the love of Christ? Why did you let them do it to you?"
She stepped into the skirt and tied it at her waist. "Because no one at Warwick would listen to a bastard wench like me. You all thought you knew it all."
"Do not pack me in with the rest!"
"You were there, Richard. You did not come forward asking for the King's leftovers then." Listening to herself, she was astonished at how cool and controlled she sounded, whereas he for once was off guard. The visor was up and the chinks in his armor where a rondel of words might pierce were showing.
He turned away, running his hand through his hair. "I do not know what to say." He paced to the window and swung around on her. "But you were found with King Edward."
"Oh, yes, found, in a state of considerable undress, but we were unfortunately interrupted."
"But why did he not—"
"Tell the truth? Well, you see, no one actually asked him. My father demanded he leave and refused any explanation. I was not allowed to speak to him again." She found a comb in the purse on her belt under the debris of their clothing and began to draw it painfully through her tangled hair.
"But why did you live the lie ever since?"
"Because I enjoyed being the King's ex-mistress. It made me special. It kept all the wolves from my door—except, finally, you. You were persistent, driven by ambition. You wanted the King's mistress and Warwick's daughter. My past gave you an opportunity to feel gracious and generous. A respectable man bestowing his good name on an undeserving but well-connected wanton." She paused to examine a lock of hair that was resisting the comb. "You were so clever. There were several times when I almost gave myself away."
"The maiden and the unicorn."
"Anne was ten when I was sent away. She was the only one who questioned the lies, the only one who listened to what I had to say. I remember how everyone laughed at her folly at our wedding feast."
"No, I never laughed."
"Yes, that is true, and there was a moment when I thought you had guessed but then your vanity overrode your intelligence."
He reached for his shirt and held it to him. "You have a low opinion of me, it seems."
"No, Richard, I cannot admit to that. But does it grieve you that you were wrong, that you do not know all the answers anymore?"
He sat down on the bed and buried his head in his hands. "Why did you not trust me? If you had told me, I would—"
"You would have done the same. But I did enjoy it, Richard. Perhaps there is a harlot's blood in me. I am sorry I cannot tell you that you were better than the King of England." He groaned and shook his head but she persisted. "Comfort yourself with the fact that everyone still thinks your wife was the King's—pardon, usurper's—lover. Nothing has really changed. You have even marr
ied a virgin bride."
He thrust his arms angrily inside his shirtsleeves and stooped to snatch up the rest of his clothes. "You always said you hated me. You must loathe me even more now. Mayhap you shall have one of your wishes and I shall be a mangled corpse within the year." He pulled his clothes on swiftly, angrily, and when he had done, he stood and faced her, no longer bothered by her half nakedness. "Fear not, I shall trouble you no further." It was spoken with a curt bow. "I regret any hurt I have done you. That was never my intention. Here!" He snatched her wedding ring out of his purse and threw it down upon the bed.
"Richard." She had gone too far in her hunger for revenge. Now that she wanted to throw her arms around him, his fierce look brooked no forgiveness.
He reached the door. "If I come through this campaign alive, we shall reach some settlement. No doubt the King will help you apply to Rome as you intended."
"But—"
"You never wanted me, did you, Margery? I have behaved like an infatuated boy throughout all this. Well, God be with you. From now on, I shall behave like a man." He opened the door and turned. "Long will come to escort you back to the castle since you cannot bear my company."
"Richard, no! It is not—" The door slammed in her face. "Richard!"
CHAPTER 19
It was one thing to have an angry husband but quite another to have a missing, angry husband. When Richard Huddleston did not appear in the Great Hall that evening for supper, Margery finally sent for Matthew.
"Master's not here, mistress." Long gave her his best gap-toothed grin as he stood looking down at her, his great hands fumbling with his felt hat. "Came back this morning as angry as a buck hare that's had its burrow blocked and I told him my lord of Warwick wished to see him."
"About what matter, Matthew?"
Long scratched his head. "Lord, mistress, I am cursed if I know, some news from England I reckon, but the master came out looking like a condemned man and he's taken himself off on Comet. Wouldn't hear of me going with him neither."
"Do you know where he went? Surely not back to the coast?"
"Nay, he said naught about that but for sure he'll ride for hours. Always does when he's in a pother. Did it at Southampton. Nay, do not frown, mistress. He will survive. Always does. Has a good head for drinking, my master does."
The pangs of guilt that had begun to haunt her were exorcised instantly. "You think he has gone drinking?"
"Mistress, if he has, he could be in any tavern between here and Caen." The big servant's eyes grew serious with concern. "Is it urgent? I wouldn't wager on my chance of finding him."
"No, he may drink himself to perdition but make sure you tell me when he returns, if he returns and I hope he does not!"
He looked relieved. "Like that, is it, mistress?" He touched his forehead respectfully and ambled off.
"Take that silly grin off your face, Long!" she exclaimed and he turned and saluted her good-humoredly.
It was just before curfew when he discreetly reappeared at her side in the hall and, tucking his dull corn hair back behind one ear, he bent and whispered, "Mistress, he is back and in none too sweet a temper from the look of him."
"Has he been drinking?" Margery rose.
"I wouldn't swear to it, mistress, but he needs a shave. If he's been to Hell, the Devil's let him back out to annoy the rest of us."
"Take me to him."
"Nay, mistress, it were best you leave him until morning. He is not to be meddled with, if you want my opinion, but I suppose you don't."
"No, I do not. Make haste, if you please."
Richard Huddleston was on his way from the stables, a saddlebag flung over his shoulder. He was still in his brocade doublet but his black hose and boot caps were thick with dust. He noticed them waiting like petitioners, but with a raised brow he walked straight past. There was a haggard, haunted look about his eyes and mouth, like the face of a courier who had ridden posthaste for three days.
This was not quite how she had imagined matters, thought Margery, picking up her skirts and hurrying after him; what she had intended was a qualified apology but now… Matthew read her expression behind his master's back and shrugged sheepishly. She gestured and he nobly hastened his pace.
"Thank the lord, sir. I thought—"
Richard whirled around on his servant, as if he were about to throttle him and Matthew flung up his arms and glanced sideways anxiously at Margery. '"We—we thought…" His Adam's apple betrayed him as he swallowed nervously. Margery shared his discomfort for Richard Huddleston looked as though he had been chased by a gadfly across the breadth of France.
"… that you were howling drunk between some tavern wench's thighs," Matthew offered tactlessly, cautiously lowering his arms.
"As was my right," snapped Huddleston, but his attention was now centering on Margery. "So, lady, I wonder you confront me after your insults this morning."
"I thought you might have left for Honfleur, I…"
"Go on."
"Stop glaring at me like that. I cannot think."
"The truth at last!" He hissed and started striding toward the Great Hall again. "Between the pair of you, you might manage some intelligence the size of a walnut."
"Richard—" They hurried after him. "You are behaving as though we had caught you in some hayloft. Were you?"
"After pleasuring you all night?" he snarled over his shoulder.
"I think I should wait elsewhere." Matthew laid a warning hand upon Margery's sleeve.
Richard stopped and swung around again. "Yes, perhaps you should, Long."
Matthew was being sweetly heroic. "We were worried, sir, that you were not yourself. The Lord knows, the thought entered our heads that you might drink yourself into a stupor and be set upon, robbed and—" Matthew must have read the dangerous look in his master's eyes for, with an apologetic glance at Margery, he shut his mouth with a snap.
Huddleston took hold of her forearm and dragged her on a few more paces out of his servant's earshot. He paused at the bottom of the flight of stairs that led to the upper yard.
Behind him the dying sun was lighting up the craggy wall of the lower yard. It threw his shadow into menacing proportions. "I am my own master, lady! I do not belong to you or to your father or to the King of France."
"Yes, you do." Margery stamped her foot. "You are my husband, damn you!"
As the green gaze slid away from her face and rolled up toward the graying sky, he appeared as fiendish as Lucifer looking back to Heaven. "Oh, by Christ's blessed mercy, the lady has last admitted the truth." Margery tried to pull away from him, knuckling the tears from her eyes with her free hand, but his fingers were still around her arm. He inspected her streaked cheeks without compassion. "What I say, where I go, and what I do are not your affair so if I choose to tumble any dirty tavern slut I can find in the town sewer and then lie with you, that is my decision, you hear me?"
Margery shook herself free. "No, I do not hear you, you upstart! Go and sharpen your tongue on my father's spurs!"
His face paled white with anger. Iron fingers tightened like screws upon her arm.
"Did I tell you the King of France has asked me to agree—for a very princely sum—that you should lie with the Duke of Clarence from this week on to learn his mind?" He shook her away from him.
Margery's jaw slackened, her anger blown away by the revelation. Was he in earnest? His manner was so icy, she could not tell. She drew herself up as grandly as the Countess. "I hope you told him I am not a courtesan."
A stare that held riddles scythed her. Above folded arms, he sneered at her. "Are you not? You take your clothes off for kings and diplomats so why not dukes? By Christ's blessed body, you little fool! Did I not warn you to be careful?"
Margery decided it was safer for her peace of mind not to believe him. He was playing games with her again. Setting a bait and letting her run to it.
"Ha!" she scoffed. "Next thing they will want me sneaking back to Ned to be his mistress and learn
his mind."
Indifferently, Richard gazed above her head. "That was aired."
She curled her lower lip down in fury, her tone smeared with venom. "So, how much did they offer you, dear Judas? More than the price of a jeweled collar, I trust."
"Offer us, my dearest wife." His grin would have made snakes look friendly. "Enough to make us wealthy if we live that long."
"Dear Jesu, you are hateful! What did you say to them?"
"I raised the price."
Her fist came flying through the air. He parried the strike and twisted her hands behind her back with such swiftness that she was breast to breast with him. It would have been a comfort to scream how much she hated him but the whole chateau would have heard her.
His smile tormented her. The green eyes piercing down into the depths of hers told her that last night's intimacy had not touched his heart, that he had given and taken bodily sensations and that was all. He had been her husband but not her lover. Now to be held so close to him without love was torture and he knew it. He must be feeling her quivering against his loins.
She dragged her eyes away from his face and heard that calm voice, soft and ironic, above her head. "Enough of this folly. Learn from your mistakes, dearest."
"Let me go!" She struggled, only to be aware that her body was reacting to his closeness, yearning for more.
"Are you referring to our marriage or to this present circumstance? I wonder. Unfortunately, I have inadvertently destroyed the one thing that could have enabled me by law to let you go. Besides, you may be carrying my son and heir within your womb so you will behave honorably, will you not, and stay away from the Duke. I want no probing from the King of France." He let her go. She rubbed her wrists and eyed him sullenly.
"Then you were lying just then."
"Was I? The King has more eyes in this castle than a peacock's tail." He raised a hand. "As God is my witness, it was known that I had quarreled with you even as I arrived back here this morning. We are watched, you and I."
Cold fear streaked a jagged path down Margery's spine. "Because of de Commynes."
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