Huddleston exploded into a fit of coughing.
Warwick appeared not to notice. "Their graces will remain here as guests of Queen Charlotte. Richard is coming with us to Angers. His majesty has particularly requested it."
To be thrown into closer proximity to her husband was the last thing Margery needed. Besides, the Duke was bound to berate his duchess further. It was necessary to try softer persuasion: "My lord father, Bella needs me."
"Must I be frank, daughter?" Warwick was looking irritated with her. "I had thought we could decide this without acrimony. You say Bella needs you? After what she said last night to you, no, Margery, I do not think so." He took another gulp, and scowled at her.
Margery averted her profile from Huddleston's scrutiny with a toss of her head. So Warwick had been listening to the Countess. That was predictable. The Countess must have thought Bella was accusing her of trying to seduce the Duke. That was why she was being separated from her half sister. But how could she tell her father the truth without implicating Bella? "I think there has been some misunderstanding. Have you discussed this with her grace, my lord?"
"No," snarled the Earl. "I shall not hurt her feelings further by even raising the matter. Besides, she is not speaking to me at present."
He flung himself back into his chair and pointed a menacing finger at Margery, like an angry king. His mouth could be cruel, she realized. "I have been at pains to restore you to grace, girl, and I tell you this, you will not have a second chance from me. From now on, you will behave as though you are a very saint. You will not trip! The eyes of Christendom will be on the Nevilles at Angers and I want no slur, no indiscretion, not even the slightest word or deed that could provide carrion for gossips to be leveled at me or mine. You understand?"
Margery nodded although indignation and rebellion were brewing within her bosom. Yet there was more humiliation to come, her father was relentless, his imperious gaze embraced Huddleston briefly before he looked sternly upon Margery again. "You will perform your wifely duties. I want a semblance of civility between the pair of you from now on, is that understood?"
Her lips parted in an outraged gasp. She avoided meeting the ironic gaze that Huddleston had fixed upon her.
"My lord, in truth the lady feels we are better apart." It was asserted softly, foiling her attempt to discern any regret in his tone.
"A pox on such foolishness, daughter!" snarled Warwick, slamming his goblet down on the small-table at his elbow. "Your eye falls on better winnings, no doubt, as is your wont."
"My lord!" She and Richard protested as in one voice and fell silent instantly, their glances falling away from each other.
"You have been harkening to false gossip," Margery exclaimed. She glared sideways. "Does he complain to you, my lord? I rather doubt it."
"My lord." Richard's tone was reasonable. "I do not know what is meant here but," his glance brushed her unhappy face, "the lady…"
The Earl did not let him finish. "The lady errs, man. She is a child of Eve. You let her run amok just like your dog."
Richard paled, speechless with anger.
Margery raised her chin at the man who had dishonored her mother and still presumed to wrong her. "You misjudge me, my lord of Warwick! I pray to God that I am the only thing that you misjudge."
She did not even curtsy. Once outside, she sped briskly down the passageway, lashing out at a wall arras in her fury as she passed. She might have known Huddleston would catch her. His hand fell upon her sleeve as she was about to cross the Great Hall.
"I am sorry for what you suffered in there." It was said with dignity.
She discreetly removed her arm from his touch, not meeting his eyes. He had abetted her father but she was not going to demean herself by accusing him. "I am used to it."
"Then it must cease."
Her glance snapped onto his frowning face. "You mean it beggars your reputation, Master Huddleston?"
The green eyes perused her thoughtfully. "No, it belittles yours. And would you care to explain what your father was talking about?"
That was a coffin of worms best left shut. "It would serve no purpose."
How could she mistrust someone but starve for his company? His mere presence added such spice to the everyday fare of her life. She wanted to blurt out that she had missed the gleam of the hunt in his eye from across the room and the sensation that his deep glance would rouse in her. Instead she inclined her head coolly and gracefully gathered up her skirts.
He made no move to delay or accompany her, merely gave her a formal short bow and returned toward her father's chambers.
Margery hastened along the ramparts and found a place where the sentries would ignore her. Only the grotesque gargoyles below heard her muffled sorrow. Fury and frustration rose in her like bile, foul and bitter, and she knuckled the tears from her eyes. Oh, if she were a man, neither of these two male tyrants would abuse her so. Why was it women must be under the sway of men?
Her father had betrayed her again; he assumed the worst. He had enslaved her to an adventurer who had married her for ambition; Isabella was yoked to a drunken, selfish brat; and now the wretched man was dragging poor little Anne down to Angers for auction. And to tell her in front of Huddleston that she could not so much as glance at another man!
Margery savaged a corner of her veil between her fingers. Disillusionment was working in her like a slow poison. Where was the Earl's wisdom in all this? He had quarreled with Ned and now was but a pawn in the giant chess game between Louis of France and Charles of Burgundy.
As for her damnable husband! Huddleston merely wanted to control her. It had been a lie to say it was her reputation not his that concerned him. She desperately needed to escape him. When she was in his presence, she could no longer reason clearly.
Leaning her elbows upon the wall, she stared bleakly at the church across the valley. Could she take refuge there? No, she had had enough of the ways of the church. Churchmen only treasured women who starved themselves until they lost all bodily functions.
She could flee to Burgundy but the only person she knew there was de Commynes and he might still be in Calais. She could try to return to Ned—at least the French would not stop her—but Ned would not welcome her unless she carried a promise of Clarence's change of heart. It was still too soon for that. If the Bitch refused an alliance, Louis might turn once more to favor George. Anything to ferment mischief for Ned.
The forests blanketing the distant horizon were not comforting. Just the thought of setting out alone to cross several kingdoms when she did not speak any of the languages was daunting. That one night on the road to Exeter had been sufficient. Oh, Huddleston had schooled her well. He had deliberately exposed her to that adventure. Besides, he had proved that he could track her down and she instinctively knew he would come after her. His pride would not let her escape. She was his property even if he no longer desired to honor his marriage vows.
She cursed him heartily, reluctantly admitting to herself that she missed the hiss and rasp of words between them and that her body craved his touch. You are my plague, he had said.
Lust! she thought dismissively, but that passion remained simmering in her innermost being. He who had suffered in lust had passed it on to her like the pestilence, and now it no longer contaminated him. It was she who was now in fever. Did desire burn itself out? Did time heal? If only he was not coming to Angers, she might survive.
Slowly the shouts in the courtyard below distracted Margery. She had found a quiet corner that afternoon, escaping the rest of the ladies who were sitting sewing in the gardens. Idly, she moved to the window.
Below in the combat yard, a cluster of knights and esquires, after much discussion, was splitting into pairs, her husband among them. The quiver of excitement in her thighs was still disconcerting. She watched like a voyeur, unable to take her eyes off him.
He was one of three instructors circling the yard as the practice began, stopping combatants here and there to co
rrect a thrust or parry. The English lads laughed cheerfully and heeded him.
She should be hating him but her reason was telling her that she had been the liar and deceiver and that he had every cause to despise her. Sweet Jesu, but it was a pleasure to be able to watch him unobserved, without the green mockery challenging her.
The fighting pairs suddenly ceased swordplay and regrouped. Margery watched Huddleston strip down to his gipon and hose, then he strode back into the midst of the yard, his sword naked, ready for combat. One of the French knights who had been bawling instructions saluted him and the pair of them moved slowly, demonstrating techniques to the younger men. Then the circle of watchers fell back, leaving the two men space for more serious combat.
Margery lingered. Not even Queen Charlotte could have dragged her from the spectacle. Was it sinful to admire the hard muscle, the long lithe body, to compare Richard Huddleston favorably against the men with protruding bellies or skinny, fat, or misshapen shanks? Her appetite feasted on his manly shoulders and glistening skin. Do I need to confess this in church, she thought, this pride in my husband's appearance? I am lusting after him. And I cannot have him, cannot build any future. I have kicked the foundation stones aside already.
Her husband's opponent was stockier and there was great strength in his blows as he belabored Huddleston skillfully. Steel rasped against steel and the circle of men shouted and cheered. Her Englishman was agile, his blade flashed swiftly, catching the sun as the two men slashed, spun, and thrust again. The Frenchman's shirt was sticking to him and Richard's shoulders took on a sheen as though rubbed with oil instead of sweat.
"Margery."
She jumped as a man's hand came down on the bare skin of her shoulder. Startled, she faced her father. He was unattended. How long had he been standing behind her? Had he seen the hunger in her face, the passion within her as fierce as the conflict in the yard below?
Before she could curtsy, his arm slid around her shoulders, returning her to the casement. "Here is sport for a summer's afternoon. This takes me back to the golden days when the little dukes came to learn arms and wait at table. Remember the practice yard at Middleham?"
"We were happy then." Her fingers traced the carved stone about the window, uncomfortable with the Earl's presence. Below, the bout was over. Her husband was leaning against the wall, his arms folded morosely while the Frenchman who had been his dueling partner was talking at him, hands gesturing. Then he nodded and strode forward to watch the new combatants. "You have watched many a fight. What think you of the standard down there?" Warwick edged in, his alert gaze flicking over the men below, noting who was present. His eyes rested pensively on Huddleston before lifting to hers.
"There is always room for practice, my lord. Some of the men could do with losing weight."
Her father stroked his chin, his expression as sheepish as an earl's might get and he stuck a thumb beneath his belt, but there was little space. "Including me. I grow fat as butter with this feasting while Clarence stays skinny like a scarecrow with hunting every day. So you think I should be down there with them this afternoon?" Margery nodded honestly, her glance upon his paunch. He grunted. "Aye, you are right but I had as lief sit at a board and present smooth arguments as prepare for battle." He pinched her cheek. "And do not mistake that for cowardice but for age. You are right though. I shall have to put in at least an hour a day if I am to take England back again from that ingrate. Although speaking of Ned…" He turned Margery from the window, gazing upon her with a sadness that might have been calculated. She was never sure with him; he was, after all, a creature of politics.
"My dear." His hands framed her shoulders ensuring that he had her full attention. "Margery, this is not easy." Casting his blue gaze beyond her, he sighed. "Ah, nothing is easy these days…" But the sharp intelligent gaze snared hers again. "I have something of import to say that requires mayhap absolution from you. Master Huddleston has spoken to me privily this day and I am grateful to him. He…" Letting go her shoulders, he again averted his eyes, his complexion darkening. "How may I couch this? The subtlety at your wedding feast—"
Margery cut in. "The maiden and the unicorn?"
"Aye, that was it. Huddleston told me this morning that the lady in question was in truth a maiden."
Margery's mouth tightened. Her hand was caught and lifted between his own. "My daughter, it seems we all owe you the most humble and profound apology and I am the most culpable. I regret that you suffered at my hands. No name until now and all these years a false reputation."
"I thought you wished to gift me to the church, my lord father. My sin was opportune. Your hatred burned so brightly against Ned that you needed more fuel to nourish it."
"Margery, I do not deny it, but…" Bowing, he carried her hand to his lips, his voice hoarse, unusually humble, "The Earl of Warwick begs your pardon." He was giving her the triumph, a paltry gift of a few cadences of breath upon the wind without witnesses, and yet part of him did seem to sincerely give. He held out his arms to her.
Tears betrayed her, sparkled on her lashes and stifled her reply. She had never seen him behave like this. No wonder he had banished his attendants from the gallery.
The strong arms folded about her crushing her against the wiry silver embroidery of his doublet. "I am not sorry I tried to give you to God. For who knows, you might have chosen in time to take the veil… but I am sorry for your bruised reputation." His fingers stroked up and down her back. "You have had to put up with my lady's rebukes but I shall set her straight, I promise—her and your half sisters."
Margery sensed it was time to draw away, to sniff back the tears. "Anne knew—no, she believed rather than knew." She tried to wipe her cheeks with her fingers. "I am so grateful to her for that. She was the only one who listened."
"Child, you wring my heart."
Fumbling at length, she drew forth a kerchief from her purse. Using it restored her enough to show some of the Neville pride. She faced him unflinching. "Master Huddleston had no right to speak of this to you."
Her father seemed surprised at her stance. "How uncharitable of you, Margery. In my opinion, your husband wishes nothing more but to set the ledger to rights." Did her father notice her anger growing? He seemed not to, sounding more like a cleric by the minute. "Truth lies hidden half the time but when it does emerge into the light of day, we should value it even if it hurts us to do so. It pains me to know how much I made you pay for your indiscretion when the guilty one walks free. It was that cursed whoreson bent on seducing you who should pay. And he will, be sure of that! I will snatch the crown that I gave him back off his treacherous head."
"No, my lord." Margery recoiled.
"No?" exclaimed her father. "What means this 'no'? He was married—a grown man—while you were… by all the Saints, you scarcely had dugs."
Margery was adamant. "I never wished my affairs to be any part of your quarrel with the King, my lord, and I assure you he carries only half the blame." Warwick shrugged, his expression supercilious. "No, my lord," she asserted, combating that male condescension, "I am in earnest over this. A few moments more and I would have willingly surrendered my chastity to Ned without remorse."
Warwick tossed up a dismissive hand at her and flung away, his back rigid and furious before he turned abruptly, shaking a finger at her. "'Pah, the infatuated child in you speaks still. If you are presently lighting candles at the scoundrel's shrine, then you are a fool and, believe me, Margery, I thought you had more sense." Then pity crawled into his eyes as he examined her face. "By all the Saints, you foolish girl, are you still imagining Ned loves you? Is this the reason why your marriage with Huddleston tosses like a ship in rough weather?"
Margery's lower lip curled stubbornly, "The ship flounders, my lord father, as I foretold."
He caught her chin. "Oh, by the Lord, I see my blood in you. You have my damnable pride." Yes, thought Margery, facing his steely blue eyes. He studied her, bending his head so close that she could
see the angry broken veins beneath his skin. "I am warning you to make repairs, child. Steer for safe harbor. Huddleston cares enough for your reputation to make it sweet."
Furious, Margery jerked her chin away and turned back to the window. Richard was still in the courtyard. He was idly looking up at the windows. She swiftly ducked back. "No, my lord, he cares for his reputation. By repairing mine, he does himself good service. We all know he married me in order to gain your patronage."
The Earl looked irritated. "Come, come, you mistake him. He could have married an heiress."
"He is ambitious, my lord, I swear it. He now kisses Anne's hands more sweetly that he ever kissed mine. I wager you he will fawn upon the Bitch with equal charm."
"And so may I!" snarled Warwick.
Of course, she was expected to eat in the Great Hall, and so it was unavoidable that her husband would know exactly where she would be at a certain time. Richard paused before her outside the hall before supper, a cluster of combat companions at his back. His bow was formal, insincere, the gleam in his eye cold but predatory. "Your father tells me you take an interest in my swordplay." His deft fingers stroked down a brocade fold of her skirt with a teasing caress.
"I'll warrant she does," chuckled his erstwhile opponent, clapping him bawdily on the shoulder and sending Margery a hot stare.
She swallowed, ignoring Huddleston's gibe, as she tried to fathom that bright hard gaze, wanting desperately to feel his fingers upon her flesh again, to experience the eddies of feeling that he could conjure up like a magician.
"Swords hurt," she said dismissively to them all and walked away.
After dining she found him, disturbingly, at her elbow as she stood beside Ankarette while the trestles were cleared back for dancing. He was as stern as a looming thundercloud as he held out his hand to her. "A moment of your time."
The Maiden and the Unicorn Page 30