"Your Burgundian? Perhaps. Who knows how the twisting minds of the mighty work? His most Christian Majesty would suspect a flea of treason if it jumped too high."
The strain in his face convinced her that somewhere in this ugly conversation was a terrible truth. "You are merely saying all this to frighten me." She was trying to rationalize, to brush her fears into a smooth fabric.
An eyebrow arched at her. "Your grasp of matters is astounding. From fear comes caution if we are blessed."
Tilting her head, she examined him. Not a muscle of understanding moved beneath her scrutiny. It was like examining a painting, fixed and merely two-dimensional, reflecting her own interpretation back at her.
"Jesu, sir, I came to mend matters but it seems you hate me as much as I detest you." It was a pinprick but it seemed to draw blood.
He moved, half turning as if wearied by her company. "No, you inconvenience me. You, lady, are the fount of all my problems. You and yours. I would I had never set eyes on you again. No sane man would have behaved as foolishly as I did. I have become your fool and I will have no more of it, you hear me!" He glared irritably across the courtyard beyond her, and sighed impatiently. "How shall I put it? To be frank, your presence destroys my peace. Since I obviously destroy yours, I think it best that we avoid each other." It was as though he could no longer bear to look at her.
It would have been simple if she hated him but she was past that.
"The game is finished, is that it? Now that you have what you wanted, the excitement of the hunt is over. And, of course, now you have acquired the trust of my mighty father. Well, climb as high as you dare but you are still what you are. You have disappointed me, sir. For without question, you were correct this morning—you are still a boy and lack a man's courage. Your peevishness makes the Duke of Clarence in comparison a saint. Marriage is not merely the carnality of the bridal night, it is a future—one that we certainly shall not share!" She drew breath but could think of no more words to vent the depth of her feeling. With an angry swish of her skirts, she ran up the stairs and away before he could see further tears betray her.
Richard reeled back against the wall, flinging up a hand to mask the top half of his face. His head hurt and tiredness sucked at him through every pore. And, as if an unfair hand had hurled sand into his face, grittiness scratched his eyes as he squeezed his eyelids closed to stanch the gathering moisture.
"Master, come." Matthew's arm came about him and he surrendered to exhaustion.
Margery leaned her shoulder against the unsympathetic stone, her listless eyes staring at the sky. When they had sent her to the nunnery in disgrace, it had hurt her but it was nothing to this, this hollowness as though God had scraped all joy out of her and replaced it with misery. No, not just misery, hunger. She wanted Huddleston desperately in the same way he had wanted her. She wanted him in her bed needing her. If he was now trying to teach her a lesson or exacting revenge, it was in full measure. The decision she made then was not out of vengeance but to set them both free.
She was as fixed as the Pole Star in her resolve next morning as she made her way to King Louis's audience chamber. There was already a queue of petitioners outside. They must have scrambled in at dawn, as ravenous as a crowd of beggars around an overturned provision cart.
Merchants, clad in finery above their station, despite the sumptuary laws, queued beside lawyers in striped gowns. Plentiful, too, were rich and poor widows with faces ranging from plump to puckered within their coifs. The fetid odor of the ragged poor hung among the wafts of musk and ambergris from the overscented.
Margery took her place and more petitioners poured in to fidget behind her. It might take all day. She had told Alys to come to her to hold her place in the line while she went to mass. That was at least two hours away. If she managed to see the King that day, it would be fortunate because it was not just the other people ahead of her who had precedence but noblemen and courtiers who had business with Louis and were assured of entry. After more than an hour, she grew anxious that her father might espy her there. Besides, the man behind her kept edging uncomfortably close and the woman before her was a babbler with a French dialect that Margery could hardly follow.
"Mistress Huddleston?" A Scots accent warmed her ears and she peeped upward into the blue eyes and freckled smile of the Lord of Concressault. "Nay, lass, forget the curtsy. What are you doing here?"
"'The same as everyone else, my lord," she replied with a wry smile.
"Does your father know you are here, lass? There are other ways to pluck a chicken."
"I do not want him to know." She watched the Scot push the brim of his beaver hat back and scratch at his retreating sandy hair.
"Och, you had better come in with me. You dinna want to be idling here all day."
She could have hugged him; instead she clasped his hand with both of hers. "My lord, may I? That would be wondrous kind."
"Aye, lass. It is that I am a mighty curious fellow. You will own that I have to hear what you say if I take you in?"
"I—no, what of it? I accept your kindness."
Now there was no going back but. Heaven help her, there seemed to be only one way out.
William, Lord of Concressault, beckoned Richard across the steps as they passed one another. "I am going across to the mews, laddie. Care to join me if the Earl has no need of you?"
"As always, my lord, I am at your service." He answered cheerfully, hiding the emotions that were tearing at his consciousness like carrion after a slaying. By Christ's blessed mercy, it would be a distraction to talk of falcons, to stop desiring and hating Margery at the same time. His body yearned to have her encompassing him, soft and yielding; his mind warned him to avoid her until his anger had cooled. The normality of trivial conversation was an ointment on his hurts as he strode along the muddied path with the Scots lord.
Like the kennels, the French King's mews smelled little. The privileged predators sat proud as bishops, each upon its perch. The royal falconers had boys to regularly change the rushes that collected the droppings.
They stopped to inspect two of the King's birds before they came to those that Richard had taken out on the happy excursion he had shared with Margery.
"And how fares the little bride?" asked Lord William, running the side of his forefinger cautiously down the back of the touchy hawk. A mews servant waited at his elbow with a selection of dead mice.
"Assertive, contrary, as fractious as any new wife, no doubt."
The blue eyes twinkled knowingly. "Leads you a dance?" Gloved fingers hovered and then selected a furry corpse.
"The news is old, my lord." Richard watched, ensnared, as the mouse was swung by its tail across to the cruel hooked beak. Another mouse was selected for the neighboring bird and the servant withdrew.
The older man studied Richard's face from the other side of the predator. "King Louis is not within her league, laddie."
Hiding his surprise was almost beyond him. Richard's eyes stared unseeing at the cruel eyes of the hawk as it ripped at the dangled carcass. "Would you care to explain, my lord?"
"Och, it is none of my business, lad. I dinna mean to poke my spoke into the wheels of your cart but—"
"My lord, are you saying my wife has spoken with the King?" His voice was matter-of-fact.
"Aye, she has that, and offered to go to England when our negotiations are finalized to become King Edward's bedfellow. But I expect you know that." It was a probe.
To swear aloud or hurl the hawk from its perch would hardly have assuaged Richard's inward anger. He swiftly chose not to react. "It is important her father's enterprise should succeed," he answered carefully.
"Then that is a relief. I dinna ken all that is going on around Amboise but I like to keep my finger on the pulse, so to speak, but if you have a hand in the matter, then I will say no more."
"It could be dangerous. I appreciate your concern, my lord."
"Nay, the English King is soft. He willna harm he
r, but—"
"I should prefer not to talk about it further, my lord. Wars are not fought with plumes. We all serve where we can." Whores are not married except by fools.
"Aye, I hear your two younger brothers have arrived in Bayeux."
Richard forced himself not to stiffen. His displeasure at their leaving England was still raw and painful.
"Did Lord Montague send them, or are they here under their own canvas?"
"I have not been informed but certainly Lord Montague must be wondering how his brother Warwick is faring."
"Aye, no doubt, usually where there's treason in one brother, a canny king may smell it in the rest."
"As you say, my lord, perhaps my brothers felt it prudent to leave England." The fools, the cursed fools! He had enough trouble with his rebellious little wife, without two younger brothers now panting to be rebels, and he would not be here playing the spy if it were not for her! A pox on his stupidity!
He found Margery at tennez with Lady Anne and two of Queen Charlotte's maids of honor. How could she be enjoying herself when he felt angry and bereft?
"And how is Master Huddleston?" Ankarette, her eyes brimming with mischievous curiosity, linked her arm uninvited into his.
"Desirous of slapping his beloved's rump. Will that suffice, Mistress Twynhoe?"
"See, I told you." She grinned, too close for his liking, waggling her free forefinger at him. "Young Margery needs a firm hand. Had too much of her own way for one of her status and that is not good for marriage."
"Fetch her for me, if you would be so kind. Perhaps you may stand in for her."
Ankarette withdrew from him reluctantly. "You are out of luck there but I will do the office for you. Little good it may earn you, for you are not in her good books, I can tell you."
If Margery had seen him, she might not have slopped so willingly, but the instant Ankarette spoke, he watched his wife tense. She turned her head, chewing her lip. There were cries of female disapproval as she excused herself and came across to him, the wide tail of her gown over one arm, the front of her skirt gathered in her hand. Color shone in her cheeks from her exertion. By St. Richard, she was pretty! If only he had been able to trust her.
"You have been collecting feathers, I see." Sweet as marchpane laced with poison. "I have been expecting you."
He ignored the light service of humor. "Have you now? What exactly are you expecting—a surfeit of apologies? Am I to muddy my knees craving your forgiveness—one or both?" He plucked a feather from his hose. "I have been at the mews with my Lord of Concressault." He watched her gaze rise from inspecting his knees slowly to arrive at his face. Her misapprehension was evident.
"You know, do you not?"
"Oh, yes, Margery, I know." Her eyes were bright, a defiant, maddeningly beautiful blue. "Come." He held out his hand, palm up. It was almost trusting the way she laid her fingers on his. His own snapped down, and held hers fast.
"Where are we going?" It pleased him that she almost had to run to keep up with his pace and it was balm to his pride to shrug at her and keep striding.
Barking buffeted and bruised his hearing the moment they entered, for the kennel was the one place in Amboise where he could shout at her without the whole world hearing. He bribed the two kennelboys on duty to wait outside and bowed, gesturing her to lead the way to Error.
Margery ignored his insolent civility. Putting her hands to her ears, she ran across to the noisy hound, exclaiming, "Error, come lad!"
It was insane, thought Richard to be jealous of a dog that he no longer owned. Error was springing about madly on his short leash, woofing fit to burst until the instant Margery bent down and wrapped her arms about his neck, allowing the dog's pink tongue to exercise itself on her cap and veil.
"Leave that!" snarled Richard, grabbing her elbow with one hand and hauling her to her feet. "Now you will explain yourself!"
"No!" She wiggled her shoulders rebelliously. He had difficulty hearing her, even though she was shouting above the din. "And do pat him, he is waiting."
It was a foolish idea to bring her in here. "So am I, damn you! And it is my dog, remember!" But he could not resist curling his free hand around the back of the hound's head and scratching him behind the ear, which was one of Error's greatest pleasures.
"Was!" she corrected loudly.
Richard raised his head, hoping he looked arrogant. And he is still mine, he swore inwardly, and so are you, mistress!
"Was my dog but you are still my wife and we will remain here until you apologize. How dare you offer yourself when you are my wife!" She was pulling like fury, her teeth clenched. It was necessary to coil his other arm about her and yank her to him. His mouth came down on hers with a control that surprised him. What undermined him even more was that her lips, after token resistance, parted beneath his and let him through. She was trembling within his hands, out of control. He wanted to raise her skirts and sink himself into her, show her who was master. Instead he held her by the forearms and set her back from him, his breath as uneven as his temper. "You will not gull me that way," he insisted firmly.
She slapped his hands away and thrust her fists upon her hips. "You demon! You want everything but give nothing back. How could you walk away from me when you had pleasured yourself all night?"
"So this was the perfect revenge, was it, my mistress? To spin the wheel of destiny full circle, to do something that would stick in my maw to the utmost, to go to your beloved Ned once more and even be paid royally for it?" He could have shouted "whore" at her but his bitter words already seemed to sting her as much.
"No more than your own idea, Master Huddleston. You said you had raised the price for my services; well, it is now too high for you!"
He could have slapped that pert adorable face but the folly of his own words whipped back like a tiltyard quoit to lash him instead. He stood for a moment letting the emotions chase across his face before the fury drained out of him and his shoulders fell. "Oh, God save us, Margery, you stupid little fool!"
Margery's lips parted. She looked around the room, at the floor, at the beams, and then back at him. "Do not tell me… But… Upon your soul, did you lie?"
Only two dogs were barking now. Error was whining, straining on the chain to reach them. As if she could not bear to meet Richard's face, Margery moved back to the animal and held the dog against her skirts as she confronted him. It was outnumbering and hurtful, as if he had lost them both. Were tears gathering in the corners of her eyes? She tugged her cross and chain over her head with difficulty, cursing as she caught it on her veil, and thrust it out at him. "Upon this, swear!"
He felt as though he were stone, nay, numb from the ice of winter. She thrust the cross at him again as though she were fending off the Prince of Darkness.
"Answer me, Richard Huddleston!"
He took the silver in his hand. "I exaggerated." His lower jaw almost trembled. She cold not look at him now, her anguished gaze was on the crossbeams. Why was it this knot of flesh and bones, this female fiend who had the body of a siren, could torture him so? Why was she making him defensive when it was she who had erred?
"Margery, by Christ's blessed mercy, you caught me on the raw last even. You should have heeded Matthew Long when he warned you. Can you not tell when a man is tired beyond reason?"
"Ha! I have not had the practice of knowing when a man is tired beyond reason. I was a virgin until the other night, was I not? Or," she warmed to the argument, "am I to be accused of smearing chicken blood upon the sheets to deceive you? You have accused me of everything else since you abducted me."
A polite canine cough echoed at the other end of the kennel. The dogs were listening attentively and the kennel-boys would be back within an instant.
"We will speak of this further, madam." Richard made a sortie toward the double doors and halted a few paces away, swinging around on her. "I should have expected that you would seek some excuse to return to your King's bed."
Her shoulders
were back, her head proud. "Why not when you do not want me in yours?" Richard surveyed her, deliberately letting her feel some heat from his gaze. The truth was obvious. Why could she not read him yet, know when he was in earnest?
"I never said that. Of course I want you in my bed."
The door ring rattled; the kennelboys were warning of their return.
"You want me, sir?" Margery's voice was cool, disbelieving.
"I can no longer remember a time when I did not want you. You are my plague, Margery, my cross. I do not know what destiny or unkind hand cursed me with such desire but cursed I am. You should have trusted me, lady." He stepped back from her before he was tempted to fasten his arms about her.
Seeing his hesitation, she turned away, cradling her shoulders as if she shivered with an ague. She met his gaze across her shoulder, tears sparkling on her cheeks. On the other side of the courtyard and from the town came the tolling of the hour bells. "Well, there is no going back, sir." Her voice shook. "You begat this strategy."
He understood. Somehow he pitied her. The yearning and the heat that he felt now burned as brightly in her face. To touch her was to ignite a fire that would burn them both.
His face was inscrutable; his soul was in torment.
"Yes, my fault. I thought I had taught you to forget the married king who did not give a damn if he took your maidenhead. But, no, I can see you still burn candles for him. Well, your heart may be his but your body is mine. I can ripen you to passion anytime I choose. However, I will respect your wishes. We had best avoid each other as much as possible from now on. I accompany my lords and King Louis to Tours tomorrow."
Margery swayed but kept her balance. "Well, excellent, sir! That will please me very well!"
CHAPTER 20
The illustrious lords' departure for Tours was delayed by several days of thanksgiving and rejoicing following the birth of the longed-for Dauphin. Only the townsfolk were grudging in their celebrations. Their royal master had given orders that no more dwellings were to be permitted, confirming the gossip that he had plans to divert trade to Tours to prevent visitations of the plague threatening his precious heir.
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