The Maiden and the Unicorn

by Isolde Martyn

  If he turned her away, it would be the final blow into her belly of self-esteem and tears would bring shame. It was hard to demonstrate a sincere interest in the art of illumination when her husband and father would want to beat her for a whore.

  The scholar nearest them rolled his eyes heavenward. It was the eavesdropper's hostility that smoothed her passage, for, of a sudden, mischievous amusement glimmered in the faded blue eyes above her. The custodian snapped his fingers to summon a brawny young cleric and beckoned Margery to follow him into a forest of boards. Each was identical, but her guide eventually lifted the huge ring of keys that hung against his thigh and gravely unlocked one of them. A massive volume lay upon the shelf within. Its pages were edged with gold and the corners of its leather cover were reinforced.

  As Margery put her hand out innocently to open it, the custodian grabbed her wrist forbiddingly. She shook her head, raised an eyebrow like Huddleston did, and put on her most authoritative Neville expression. The man drew his hand reluctantly back and gestured her to proceed. She opened the pages just a few deep and nodded with approval, as if she were some master illuminator, at the rich colors. Briskly, she closed the cover and stood back deservingly. The custodian snapped his fingers to his assistant who bore the book awkwardly back to the outer room. Her guide crooked his finger at her and she obediently followed. Did they ever actually converse, she wondered.

  It was comforting to be distracted but the pain was still with her. They did not seat her at a bench and chain the volume to the shelf behind but set her at an individual stand. She smiled mechanically at the custodian as he personally turned the huge wooden screw of the lectern until the frame was at the right height for her. The book was set before her with pride and she was helped up onto the high stool and shown how to place her feet on the wooden support pedals. The latter were too distant, designed for men. She bestowed a watery smile on her helper as she twisted her ankles beneath the stool onto the cross brace. She did not fit here either. Where were women made welcome save to decorate or gratify?

  The librarian, miraculously sympathetic now, drew his celibate wrinkles into a smile and inclined his head with the dignified graciousness of age before he quietly glided back to his desk. Silence resumed.

  The kindness in tolerating her was almost her undoing. Tears bubbled to the surface, troublesome to hide, but at least she had her back to the others. Gold and azure swam before her vision and she kept her head back lest the salt drops mar the exquisite penmanship. To be able to sit in the learned quiet was an achievement but the wound to her reputation throbbed, open and smarting.

  It mattered to her so much that Huddleston respected her. Now he could drag her before a church court that could force her to walk barefoot in her shift through the streets as a penitent harlot. She tried to concentrate on the illuminations but she must have sat there unheeding for a least most of the time between the hour bells.

  "That must be a very interesting page judging by the time you have been staring at it. Are the rest pasted together or is that some incantation to turn me into a frog?"

  She sniffed and blinked up in surprise at Richard Huddleston. He was a dark shadow as her sight misted again. She was too choked to answer him. No doubt his soft words were but gentle rain before he lashed out his true fury.

  "How long have you been watching me?"

  "Long enough." Richard sounded kind. "Let me close the book. They say prayers against water in this place."

  She smudged the tears away with the knuckle of her forefinger and before she could protest, he swiftly eased her off the stool. She acquiesced—to have argued would have argued would have the silence and shocked the scholars. He almost had her past the threshold before she had the courage to hold back and speak to the custodian. It would have been clumsy to leave without whispering a promise to return.

  "Where are you taking me? To chastise me before my father?"

  "To admire the view, Margery. The wind from the north will dry your tears." How easily a smile seemed to weaken her, as if she wanted him to take charge of her. Ridiculous, she chided herself, that the firm hand hauling her up the spiral staircase should provide such simple pleasure.

  Apart from the ripening bruise, there was now no sign that he had been fighting in defense of her honor, but there was a harshness about his mouth that told her someone must have set the information before him like a welcoming carpet. Wet-haired, his expression resilient as he compelled her briskly across the courtyard, Richard Huddleston now presented the formidable, icy sleekness of rocks beneath a waterfall—impossible to conquer.

  "Wait here!" Shaking, she heard the occupants of the guardhouse adjoining Queen Charlotte's apartments exclaim in laughter and the clink of coins tossed across the board before her husband reappeared, his mouth curling at a bargain well made. Miserably, she knew that her only chance of mercy was to tell him the truth. But to do that would be to betray all that she believed in. The message to Ned was more important than saving her marriage if it prevented England being ripped once more by civil war.

  She let him propel her around the curve of the tower away from the window. Here, only the baby swallows in a nest glued beneath the parapet of the turret were to be privy to her humiliation.

  She looked down at the street dizzily below them and shivered.

  "You are cold?" Surprisingly, he removed his cote and dropped it about her shoulders. The warmth lingering from his body was a false reassurance. She could smell the musk he favored alive in its soft folds and her heart ached. She waited, meek as Griselda, but Richard stood, his back to her, as if lost in thought, staring down the valley at the distant mirror-silver meander of the Loire.

  Now stripped to his shirtsleeves, his appearance lent the occasion the informality of the solar and the bedchamber. In black from the sleek knee boots to the embroidered gipon, he appeared wilder and more threating to her than ever. The wind blew fullness into the sleeves and made a grab at his hat. He snatched it back and kept it in his hand, allowing the wind to ruffle his dark hair with the fondness of a mother's hand.

  "When the thunderclouds gather and roll north, then the two kings will stand here and know the fleet will sail." It was a statement rather than a prophecy.

  "Why?" she asked softly, surprised as ever, wishing that his arms could enfold her.

  He turned his head and his enigmatic green gaze sent soundings into her soul. "Because it will take a great storm to disperse the cordon of ships that Burgundy has set to keep our fleet in harbor." His face lifted to the uninteresting hills. "It is decided that my brothers will escort you to England. You will leave in an hour's time."

  She bit her lip at the judgment so indifferently delivered and leaned her head back against the wall, shutting her eyes against the painful world. "Do not allow anything on this Earth to delay you."

  Margery's eyes opened in surprise. His lower lip was arching in distaste as if the words had been gall. He did not even want to look at her. It was all over; the bonfires that had been lit to warm her life had been trampled out and the night was cold.

  But surprisingly, Richard did turn to face her and half sat against the crenellation, idly fingering the brim of his hat.

  "When shall you be warming your beloved Ned's bed? Once a week? Or shall we be receiving reports more frequently?"

  Her chin rose. "Tuesdays, so please you sir. Or do you require it to be more often so you may fill your coffers?"

  Beneath his cunning fingers, the peacock feather was gradually torn to shreds. It belied his calm question. He rose, facing the west, away from her. "I was set upon yesterday. Tell me, was it intended to send me to my Maker or merely to keep me from returning yester eve? I should like to know if I should keep myself in a state of grace from now on." He looked around for an answer.

  Her eyes widened. He watched her fingers flutter at the veil scarfed around her throat. "Jesu, Richard. If you think I—" She jerked her face away as if seeking the right excuses from the very air. "Sir, nothin
g I can tell you now can mitigate the bruises to your face or your honor but I swear to you that one day if I may I will be a true wife to you again."

  His smile was like a player's. "When somebody has died? King Edward? George of Clarence?" He sighed. "I thought you might show some discernment by now. I must have taught you something."

  "Richard! Have mercy! I would not have had this happen for all the gold in Christendom." Astonishingly, she fell upon her knees, her palms raised to him. "Close your ears against what they are saying. Do you think I would deliberately shame you? At Angers we…"

  He regarded her sternly. Oh, yes, he had wanted her a supplicant at his feet but not here, not now. "Angers! By all the Saints, Margery, Christendom it seems is not great enough to encompass the pair of us. Get up!" She looked so wretched and defeated. Was this his brave, beautiful Margery who had lain with the Duke last night for King Edward's sake? Was it so? Could she have writhed beneath that giggling, jealous drunkard and let him… Richard pushed the thought out of his mind. He dragged his gaze away. It was unbearable to watch the tears pearl at the corners of her eyes. He could not tell her he knew why she must leave, that the sand would be through the hourglass today. That the decision was right but not the manner of it.

  "Life is perverse," she whispered, rising to her feet. "If only I could—" She broke off, as if unhappiness were seeping like icy water through her every pore. "Now that I cannot have you, why is it I want your goodwill? It is against all reason."

  "Safeguard reason, Margery. It is less frightening than our other emotions. Forget all kings. Bid Tom or Will to take you to my home at Millom."

  She bowed her head, her eyes closing with relief as if God, not he, had pardoned her. Before he could stop himself, he turned and grabbed her fiercely by the shoulders. She shook within his hands, soft lips parting, her trembling hands reaching out timidly to touch his face. He had not meant to kiss her or to touch her but God knows he could not help himself.

  Her arms stole swiftly about his body and she was returning his kisses as if starved, clinging to him. "Oh, Richard, hold me." He stifled her words, his kisses wildly falling on her face, her shoulders, the curve of her breasts. Within an hour she would be gone. Let any other man within you and I will kill him, he wanted to snarl at her.

  Margery tangled her fingers in his hair. The molten fire burned within her once again as his fingers made forays down her spine. His cote fell from her shoulders and her body felt open, ready, as his mouth came down again upon hers. He might be a traitor to the house of York but he could transport her into a realm where thinking no longer mattered.

  She flung her head back as he kissed her shoulders. He held her back from him, his fingers unfastening the triangle within her collar to free a white orb of her breast into his hands, rubbing a thumb across her nipple while his eyes sought absolution in her face. As if he found his answer in the wildness of her eyes, he drew her down and pushed her gently back against his cote. His lips teased and tantalized her while the heel of his hand slid up between her legs and grasped her possessively.

  Margery gasped in sheer pleasure. Had the Devil offered her a kingdom, had the archangel Gabriel arrived with a written scroll of gold assuring her a place in Heaven, she would not have listened. She was aching and hot with longing to have him thrust inside her. But his hands and mouth abandoned her, pulling her skirt over her thighs. She growled in protest, fearful that mercurial as he was, his mind had changed. He was suddenly breathing uncommonly loudly.

  A dry laugh made her blood run cold. "The view is excellent from here," drawled a silky voice.

  Margery's eyes snapped open.

  Richard was struggling to stand while his devoted deer-hound was furiously trying to hold him down for a thorough lick of devotion, and the King of France was leaning back against the outer wall, his arms crossed. The royal smile upon Margery as she sat up, her fingers sprawled defensively across her naked cleavage, was admiring. She scrambled onto her knees and grabbed the cote to her bosom, only to have Error bound across to her to launder her cheek and shoulders.

  King Louis jerked his head at the Scots guard at his side to leave them.

  "Not what we had expected, and yet…" He gave a Gallic shrug and left the wall. "Your dog appreciates your taste in a mistress."

  Richard began to have sympathy for snared rabbits. How long had the King been playing the voyeur?

  "Beau sire," he murmured calmly, discreetly tightening the points that had been strained an instant ago. Wonderful, was it not, how the thought of being tortured had doused his ardor? He winced inwardly as the royal fingers grabbed his wife's chin and forced her face upward.

  "You think she will please the usurper Edward still?" The regal gaze marched over Margery's flushed face and the King twitched the garment out of her astonished fingers, savoring her thrusting breast.

  By Christ's mercy, Richard prayed quickly, let her not look my way for guidance. He held his breath, sensing her hesitation between indignation and compliance. To his relief, she gave the King a ravishing smile and impishly held out her hand for him to help her to her feet.

  "Why do you not answer, Richard?" she trilled, glancing over a provocative shoulder at him, her eyelashes moving as fast as birdwings taking off, her other hand tickling Error's back above his tail.

  "You need reassurance?" He let his voice drip sarcasm and she smiled back. Without her mocking eyes moving off his face, she slowly began to fasten the fill of silk back across her bosom.

  The King's eyes flickered suspiciously from one to the other, the oily mousy hair barely moved in the wind. Richard tried not to hold his breath. She had overplayed; the Spider would want to test her between the sheets, did she not realize that? Or… ? The ugly thought that his wife might have already passed examination sprang across his mind.

  "My wife leaves for England within the hour with your majesty's permission." He bowed belatedly but the King's attention would not be drawn away.

  "You are cleverer than we thought," answered his most Christian Majesty. It seemed he was speaking to Richard and yet he was still studying Margery. "And being a king, Monsieur 'uddleston"—the dark eyes swerved to pinion him—"is quite different to being a commoner or even Dauphin. We can have anything we want"—Richard noted the cruel pause—"and we will have this union between the Earl of Warwick and the Queen of England. She is arriving today but you know that, n'est-ce pas, monsieur, and you know also what she will ask." He drew a fingernail lightly down Margery's cheek and poked his forefinger under her chin like a knife, jerking her head higher. "You know the two greatest currencies, Monsieur 'uddleston?"

  "Yes, beau sire."

  "Name them!"

  "Money and fear."

  "Exactly." His smile would have tortured babies. "We wish you every success in the usurper's bed, madame. Continue your farewell, monsieur." He handed Margery back the garment and with a polite grin disappeared around the curve of the tower as quietly as he had come. They did not even hear his footsteps. Richard counted ten heartbeats and then followed the wall of the tower toward the courtyard. The King indeed had gone, the dog at his heels like a final insult. Richard came back to Margery. Her shoulders were heaving as she stared unseeing across the valley.

  She whipped around on him and flung his clothing at him. "I feel contaminated, degraded, sullied, spiritually ravished, anything you please."

  "You mean by me?" He thrust his arms angrily through the split sleeves.

  "No, I do not mean by you!" she snapped. "Can you not feel the threads of his web sticking to you? It reaches to Ned's court, be sure of that. Go to Millom? His agents will track me down and tip poison in my wine." She swept along the rampart, every inch of her angry.

  "No!" Richard halted her. "Come here, your bodice is awry." Sullenly she came back to him. "Listen to me." With husbandly concern for propriety, he undid the silk triangle and refastened it to conceal the tiny buttons underneath the broad "V" of her collar. Her eyes upon his face were wells o
f cynicism.

  Why was it that each time he made love to her, it gave her the confidence to be disobedient and provoke him? By rights, the wench should be feeling the back of his hand across her cheek. His fingers gripped her shoulders, his mouth tightening at how rigidly she held herself. He tried to stanch the rising panic he sensed within her and to divert the direction of his own misgivings. "You do not have to do any of it. No, listen, woman! Once you are with King Edward, you will be safe. Tell him you need an armed guard and a food taster."

  "The safest place in England is in his bed at Westminster. We both know that, do we not, Monsieur 'uddleston!" Surprisingly, she had King Louis's accent to perfection. It was her best attempt at French so far.

  "If I had wanted a wasp for a wife, I could not have done better." Richard refused to be drawn. He thrust her from him and picking up his hat, tried to smooth out the woeful feather. An apologetic whining eased the silence. Error had reappeared. In panic, Margery rushed around into the courtyard, wondering if the King had returned but there were only two of the sentries sauntering back to the guardroom. "You had better go and prepare." Richard calmly caught up with her, relieved that the dog had returned alone.

  Margery had recovered sufficiently to be suspicious. "What is your wonderful Queen going to ask?"

  He deliberately watched a hawk circling against the clouds beyond her head. "Nothing if you are gone from here like an honest traveler. Come!" He put his hand beneath her elbow to steer her around the tower wall and across the courtyard to the logis but she caught at his hanging sleeve and forced him to look at her. "Oh, Jesu, Richard, stop playing with words. I am afraid of the King of France. He puts people in cages."

  His green eyes showed kindness at last. "Yes, I know."

  CHAPTER 24

  Richard returned from the forest at sundown. The drawbridge was winched up as the echoes of Comet's hooves died beneath the archway. He was not expecting Matthew to materialize from the shadows and grab the bridle to bring him to a halt. Richard swore and seized him by his collar. "What in God's name—"