"You cannot order my conscience." She rolled over to rest upon her elbows, her delectable breasts creating an adit that beckoned to pleasurable depths.
Running a finger down the valley of her spine, he quoted softly:
"I wish her well, she wills me woe,
I am her friend but she's my foe."
"Are you my ally, Richard?"
"That depends on you trusting me."
She gave it some consideration before she added, "Would you be brave enough to stand before the King of France and tell him you will not let me go?"
"Perhaps if I offered him a white crocodilus and a phoenix."
"I do not believe in such creatures. You do not have the stomach for it, do you?" She wriggled angrily away from him.
Must she be always testing me, he wondered irritably. He turned his head. "Do not provoke me, mistress. I shall do whatever suits my purpose." She lapsed into silence at that. He did not want to think about why he had indirectly driven her to King Louis nor why she was willing to suddenly be so dutiful. If the wench would fall in love with him, then she would be like clay to be molded.
"I should like to meet your third brother. Is he also a riddlemaster?"
"John is the epitome of charm and possesses a pleasing wit. Unlike me."
"Oh, but you are very charming when it amuses you to be so and I am grown used to your humor. When you asked me at what time I wished you to deprive me of my virtue at Sutton Gaveston, I thought you were in earnest."
"How do you know I was not?"
"Because to do so would have dishonored you."
She was right, his little witch. So she thought she had fathomed him, did she? He needed to tug at the reins again, to remind her who was lord in this marriage. His hand skated down her flank. "Mayhap there is now a child taken root within your womb." The lovely curve beneath his hand quivered and he laughed softly at the success of his stratagem. "You are grown suddenly silent, lady."
"How many children are you expecting?" she asked in a small voice.
"Well, there's the babe I whelped on a cordwainer's wife in London, and yes, I am sure I told you the recorder's married daughter in Gloucester has twins swelling beneath her girdle. Her mother was a twin also, she tells me, and then there is a noble widow who lives on a fine manor outside Doncaster. Ouch!"
Margery was leaning on her arm, glaring at him, one lovely nipple thrust entirely too close for his peace of mind.
"You really do know all these women, do you not?"
"Yes."
"You seduced them under their husbands' noses."
"It was a close shave sometimes. Once I had to escape over the thatch. But it was all in preparation for you, mousekin." He touched the tip of her breast and felt her shiver at the sensation. Her answer, however, was shaky with indignation.
"No wonder you think so poorly of women, especially married ones. They fall off their trees into your lascivious hands like plums."
"It is true, I have met few honest women. I suspect Ankarette Twynhoe only qualifies because she has a shape like a barrel and a tongue that never stops clacking."
"You are very cruel."
"No, merely honest."
"Have you some bastard children?"
"I do not know, lady, nor, I suspect, do their mothers."
She clouted him at that and he laughed as he thrust his fingers into her hair, tugging her face down to him. "I can hear the trumpets."
She tried to draw back but he held her still. "W-what trumpets?"
"The kerchief is down again."
"Such a swift recovery, sir?" Her disbelieving fingers crept like scouts down the hair of his chest and belly to discover the position of the enemy and found he spoke the truth. He knew that if it had been day, he would have seen her cheeks turn to rose.
"You see," he said softly, and had her on her back again with swift strength. "I said you were 'mon seul désir.' " Her soft mouth yielded willingly beneath his lips. Her giving astounded him; the gentleness and the passion were the heady brew that he had dreamed of.
"Do you want me, Richard?" she asked when he let her breathe again.
"Yes, as the earth needs sunshine, but alas, the morning will come all too soon and Truth will hide her face again."
She pushed him away. "But do you want me for me?"
"Of course." His fingers were teasing the luscious berried tip of her left breast to a ripe perfection.
"No, I mean, do you care about me?"
"I think I have been asked that by every woman I have ever bedded," he answered with deliberate arrogance and in return received a punishment that was both instant and divine.
Margery woke with Huddleston's arms imprisoning her. Somewhere a rooster was issuing proclamations. She freed herself at the risk of awakening him and wriggled out of the sheets.
"This is where we have another devastating argument and come close to strangling one another." His voice found her at the window.
She turned around deliberately, no longer embarrassed to be as naked as Eve, aware of the full power of her body over him. Her gaze deliberately studied the dark river of hair that ran down the center of his chest and disappeared beneath the sheet about his waist.
He raised an eyebrow as if amused at her newfound confidence. "I cry you mercy, lady. You cannot have more. The petards and the pennons are all down and the crowds have gone home."
She frowned and sought a chastising answer. "My father will at least be pleased at your capitulation."
"What!" He was out of bed and joined her by the window, grabbing her wrists as he had done at his most bitter, so that her belly was against the hair of his. But the manacles of flesh were gentle this time. For an instant she had been afraid, and then he laughed and kissed the tip of her nose and let her go.
"Now heed me, pert one, before Alys arrives to help you dress." He held her chin between his thumb and forefinger, compelling her attention. "We may not have the luxury of a private conversation again for a while. Stop looking at me like that and hear me out. Angers will be full of eyes and ears. The world will be eavesdropping. As your father said, you must be very careful."
She searched his face, dismayed by his sternness, and stole her arms about his neck so that he too must perforce listen.
"Please, Richard, advise my father against Lancaster."
"No one advises your father. You know that." His fingers curled around her arms but he did not break her hold on him.
"No, I do not know that." She shook him. "I am merely a woman and banned from counseling. If I were his male bastard, he would at least listen to me."
"And this ridiculous conversation would not be taking place." He broke free and moved away from her to gather up his clothes. Then choosing his words with care, he set his garments on the bed and turned to her. "Listen to me. In Angers now there are Englishmen who have lost their lands because they supported their anointed king. Most of them are men who fought hard and valiantly in the long wars with France and deserve better of fortune. They believe your golden Ned is a whoreson and an upstart. So you will keep silent about your Yorkist loyalties, Margery, and if needs be, you will abandon them. We could be shortly witnessing a change of kings."
"Oust Ned?" She lay down across the bed and rested her chin in her hands. "Pah, you think a few ragtag exiles can thwart him?"
Her husband freed his head from the neck of his shirt and lugged it down before he scowled at her. "Mistress, are you deaf to my advice? If your sister Anne becomes the future queen of Lancaster, will you seek to undermine her and the heir she may carry? Will you oppose her because Edward of York once smiled at you and laid his head between your breasts?" He caught her fists before she could fling herself at him and compelled her wrists back against the sheets. She thrashed from side to side trying to free herself, trying not to meet the power in his eyes. "Lady, I think you are vulnerable in your present state of undress. You tempt me to take my hand to that delightful naked flesh of yours."
The instant he
let go, Margery sprang away with a curse and sat on the edge of the bed with her back turned against him, rubbing her wrists. This was not going as she had planned it at all. She had hoped he would be more malleable. Now it sounded as though he was going to lecture her.
"If your reasoning rested upon logic, lady, instead of your feelings, then I would say your arguments had some substance." She did not answer him. She could hear him lacing up his gipon and drawing on the woolen hose. "I think you and I may never feel easy with each other until you cease to worship Edward like some pagan idol."
Too much! She jerked her head around and found him watching her.
"That is what underlines your enmity, sir. What hypocrisy to accuse me when you cannot forget that Ned has held me in his arms."
"Quite right." His eyes held her gaze coolly as he looped the fastenings of his doublet over the row of buttons. "I cannot forgive his cruelty. He tried to make a whore of you to goad your father." His eyes glittered as he warmed to his argument and he leaned forward, resting his fingers upon the crumpled coverlet. "In fact, he succeeded in making you a whore, because from that day onward you saw yourself as one."
Margery tried not to let him see how his words flayed her. She turned her face away and scowled unseeing at the iron candleholder.
"Why do you persist in your support of Ned?" His tone was venomous. "All the world knows he is but a sluggard and a lecher. Follow your father's wisdom and see sense."
"Ha! Perhaps I missed all the rhetoric while I was at the convent. Tell me, was there anything in my father's speeches about allowing himself to be used as a fire poker by the King of France? The common people would rather have Ned than the Bitch of Anjou. They proved that when that let my father crown him king."
"The people will bend with the strongest wind that blows."
"They do not bend to a wind from France! And nor shall I! So, I have my answer, sir. You will support Lancaster. Anything that will bring Ned tumbling down into the dirt."
"Because of you, my sweet bastard?" His tone was scathing. The bed creaked as he took his weight from it. "Acquit me of making foolish judgments because I want some petty revenge." It was a few minutes before the door latch rattled and she turned her head.
The long fingers paused upon the iron ring. Oh, he was fine from his shining boot tips to the folded pleats of his high lawn collar. The grace of him thrilled her senses, but not his words. "It pleases me that you have learned at last to use your body, now learn to use your head."
"You arrogant—"
"Fortune hunter? If you say so."
He escaped through the door before the candlestick hit it.
CHAPTER 22
A distant trumpet distracted King Rene from explaining the origin of each piece of furniture that the Countess of Warwick was politely admiring.
"Madame, monseigneur, a thousand apologies. My daughter's party have been sighted crossing the Pont de Ligny and I must welcome her." If their host noticed that the Earl of Warwick's face tightened visibly at the news, he gave no sign of it. "You will like my grandson," Rene murmured, delaying to pinch Anne's cheek. The strong scent of lavender and musk departed with him.
The girl cursed and swung away to the window where Margery sat watching, her quiet mood unexpected.
"You will not see from here. I am going to watch, will you come?" Richard Huddleston held out an arm to each of Warwick's daughters.
"No!" Anne said shortly.
"No, Master Huddleston, it would not be seemly." The Countess was watching Anne, her mouth an upside-down horseshoe. Ill luck. "But you may go."
"As my lady pleases." His eyes lighted on his wife with a wicked gleam but she gave a brief jerk of her head, unable to look at him.
The Nevilles had to tolerate hearing the fanfares a second time as the castle welcomed home its aging princess. The sensitive visitors could easily believe today's cheering sounded less contrived. Their consolation prize was hot coffyned delicacies that were served on the small-tables in their apartments. Their hosts had decided it was judicious to keep the English guests out of sight for a little space.
Louis of France spent the next hour in a pendulum motion between the apartments of Queen Margaret d'Anjou and those of Warwick. It had been planned that Warwick would not be reintroduced to his bitterest enemy on his own. His brother-in-law, the Earl of Oxford, who had recently defected from England, had agreed to be present at the meeting with the Queen. The two rebel earls were supposed to shortly enter the grande salle together, but Oxford had not arrived and Warwick's temper was growing shorter as the afternoon shadows lengthened. They waited for the Earl for two hours before Louis ran out of patience and insisted the meeting no longer be delayed. The Countess, her matronly attendants, and Warwick's two daughters were conducted down to their places to observe the historic confrontation. It was still hoped that Oxford might yet ride across the drawbridge at any moment.
The grande salle was already crowded as Margery entered at a discreet halfpace behind her sister. The finely clad throng parted to let them through, clapping politely. Anne waited for her, her smile clenched. "I hate this! Walk beside me."
"Have a care, Anne, some of these people may be English, remember."
A squat "x" of a chair had been set at the side of the hall for the Countess. She did not seat herself but stood graciously smiling. It was a brave performance that neither of the younger women felt like emulating, but several of the Angevin nobles glanced at each other and then came forward to pay out words with polished smiles.
"Anjou must want this very much," Margery murmured.
The fifteen-year-old did not answer. A scarlet codpiece flamboyant against mustard hose beneath a sinfully short doublet had distracted her for an instant before she caught Margery's eye and blushed.
"Madame, forgive me." One of the older Angevin ladies had overheard and drew Margery apart. Her English was heavily accented, her breath just tolerable. "If only your noble earl can restore our princess, then Anjou will be able to hold its own against the might of France. We fear invasion when our lord dies."
"But the Duke of Calabria can surely prevent this?"
"No, my lady, not without England on our side. The Duke is ailing and our King is an old man. I beg you tell my Lady Anne that we pray for her marriage with Prince Edouard."
Margery sighed, "I shall tell her but you must understand that she was raised to regard the Prince and his lady mother as enemies of her blood. This is not going to be easy, least of all for my lord of Warwick."
"We understand."
There was a temporary hush from the back of the hall and the Angevin courtiers bowed and hastened to their places, but the Kings had not arrived and the buzz of conversation renewed.
"Look there, have you ever seen such a fashion?" Anne whispered, directing her sister to an effete young man with hair down to his shoulder blades and pikes on his shoes that were so long they were attached to his knees with tiny silver chains. "I wish I'd seen him come in. He must look like a duck when he walks."
"Hush, Anne," hissed the Countess. "Anyone would think you had never been at a court before."
"Well, it is true. You never let us go to Ned's. He invited us several times."
"Only because he knew your father would not accept." The Countess sat down and fanned her face with her hand. "Ned is the last person you should be talking about now of all times! And pray refer to him as 'the unsurper' from now on if you insist on mentioning him at all. Margery, set a good example."
Margery was too distracted to be irritated. Two thrones draped in heavy silk had been set upon the dais beneath canopies embroidered with the coats of arms of each kingdom. A third chair of state sat empty on the floor of the hall but she could see from the leopards and lilies gleaming in gold thread on the brocade that it was for the Lancastrian Queen.
"It begins." Richard Huddleston materialized at her side, too handsomely lethal for her peace of mind. His gaze noted his gift around her throat and he gave her an i
ronic smile.
Margery was not pleased to see him. "I thought you would be in my father's party."
"He sent us ahead. That wretch Oxford has definitely failed him. I have been playing lookout for the last hour." No wonder his brow was hot and beading. He glanced about him. "I should have worn my contrasting codpiece. Have you signed them all up for assignations?"
She smiled though her tone was icy. "How can you jest? Yes, of course, I have signed contracts. I need to gain some expertise from somewhere." He was heating her blood by letting his glance linger on her body. And he knew the full extent of his power, curse him!
The clear warning notes of the Angevin trumpeters sounded from the gallery. The Countess rose. Margery said a quick prayer for her father and turned to face the center of the hall. Stiff-backed, Anne shook like a wobbly funeral effigy.
The trumpeters produced an elaborate fanfare. The two kings walked in side by side, Louis slowing his pace to the older man's, and took their places on the thrones as the echoes died away. The Duchess Jeanne de Laval followed, her train whispering softly up the steps of the dais to stand beside her husband's throne. The French King fidgeted, rearranging the blue satin folds stitched with the golden fleur-de-lis that hung from his broad ermine collar. Rene of Anjou sat still as stone; only his eyes nickered from face to face.
Preceded by her herald, Queen Margaret arrived to a complex fanfare, on the arm of her brother, John, Duke of Calabria. A tiny page carried her train and behind her strode a grinning youth, his tunic stitched with the triple feathers of the Prince of Wales.
Margery felt Anne hold her breath. The lad was nothing remarkable. He would have topped young Gloucester by a head but he definitely lacked the muscularity that years in the combat yard would eventually bestow. The light brown hair was neatly cut and curled in line with a jawbone that hinted at no great strength. This was supposedly the grandson of the victor of Agincourt. Which, of course, might be quite true. But according to his enemies—actually the Nevilles had fanned the smoke of the rumor more than most—he was supposed to be the son of the late Duke of Somerset. Everyone knew King Harry VI had been reputedly mad at the time of conception. Anne's glance met Margery's. The Prince's potential bride was not impressed.
The Maiden and the Unicorn Page 33