“You both privately pledged your troth?”
It could be done that way. She could lie. She desperately wanted to, and felt sorely tempted, but such a lie could have dire consequences, and very public ones, and she wasn't that brave. “Not formally,” she said, hoping to leave a bit of ambiguity there.
He at least seemed moderately interested now. “Has this man offered for you?”
“His family sent him home from court before he could settle it.”
“He is some boy whom his family controls?”
She had to remember with whom she spoke. “A fam-ily's will may seem a minor issue for a man such as you, but he is part of a powerful family up north. One does not defy kinship so easily. Still, when he hears of this betrothal, I am sure that he will come back.”
“So, Christiana, you are saying that this man said that he wanted to marry you but left without settling for you.”
That seemed a rather bald way to put it.
“Aye.”
He smiled again. “Ah.”
She really resented that “Ah.” Her annoyance made her bold. She leaned toward him, feeling her jaw harden with repressed anger. “Master David, let me be blunt. I have given myself to this man.”
Finally a reaction besides that impassive indifference. His head went back a fraction and he studied her from beneath lowered lids.
“Then be blunt, my lady. Exactly what do you mean by that?”
She threw up her hands in exasperation. “We made love together. Is that blunt enough for you? We went to bed together. In fact, we were found in bed together. Your offer was only accepted so that the Queen could hush up any scandal and keep my brother from forcing a marriage that my lover's family does not want.”
She thought that she saw a flash of anger beneath those lids.
“You were discovered thus and this man left you to face it alone? Your devotion to this paragon of chivalry is impressive.”
His assessment of Stephen was like a slap in her face. “How dare such as you criticize—”
“You are doing it again.”
“Doing what?” she snapped.
“ ‘Such as you.’ Twice now. Another phrase that you might avoid. For prudence' sake.” He paused. “Who is this man?”
“I have sworn not to tell,” she said stiffly. “My brother … Besides, as you have said, it is none of your affair.”
He rose, uncoiling himself with an elegant movement, and went to stand by the hearth. The lines beneath the pourpoint suggested a lean, hard body. He was quite tall.
Not quite as tall as Morvan, but taller than most. She found his presence unsettling. Merchants were supposed to be skinny or portly men in fur hats.
He gazed at the flames. “Are you with child?” he asked.
The notion astounded her. She hadn't thought of that. But perhaps the Queen had. She looked at him vacantly. He turned and saw the expression.
“Do you know the signs?” he asked softly.
She shook her head.
“Have you had your flux since you were last with him?” She blushed and nodded. In fact, it had come today. He turned back to the fire. She wondered what he thought about as he studied those tongues of heat. She stayed silent, letting him weigh however he valued these things, praying that she had succeeded, hoping that he indeed had a merchant's soul and would be repelled by accepting used goods.
Finally she couldn't wait any longer.
“So, you will go to the King and withdraw this offer?” she asked hopefully.
He glanced over his shoulder at her. “I think not.” Her heart sank. “Young girls make mistakes,” he added. “This was no mistake,” she said forcefully. “If you do not withdraw, you will end up looking a fool. He will come for me, if not before the betrothal, then after. When he comes, I will go with him.”
He did not look at her, but his quiet, beautiful voice drifted over the space between them. “What makes you think that I will let you?”
“You will not be able to stop me. He is a knight, and skilled at arms …” “There are more effective weapons in this world than steel, Christiana.” He turned. “As I said earlier, you are always free to go to the bishop and declare your lack of consent to this marriage. But I will not withdraw now.”
“An honorable man would not expect me to face the King's wrath,” she said bitterly.
“An honorable man would not ruin a girl at her request. If I withdraw, it will displease the King, whom I have no wish to anger. At the least I will need a good reason. Should I use the one that you have given me? Should I repudiate you because you are not a virgin? It is the only way.”
She dropped her eyes. The panicked desolation of the last day returned to engulf her.
She sensed a movement and then David de Abyndon stood in front of her. A strong, gentle hand lifted her chin until she looked up into his handsome face. It seemed to her that those blue eyes read her soul and her mind and saw right into her. Even Lady Idonia's hawklike inspections had not been so thorough and successful. Nor so oddly mesmerizing.
That intensity that flowed from him surrounded her. She became very aware of his rough fingers on her chin. His thumb stretched and brushed her jaw, and something tingled in her neck.
“If he comes for you before the wedding, I will step aside,” he said. “I will not contest an annulment of the betrothal. But I must tell you, girl, that I know men and I do not think that he will come, although you are well worth what it would cost him.”
“You do not know him. ”
“Nay, I do not. And I am not so old that I can't be surprised.” He smiled down at her. A real smile, she realized. The first one of the evening. A wonderful smile, actually. His hand fell away. Her skin felt warm where he had touched her.
She stood up. “I must go. My escort will grow impatient.”
He walked with her to the door. “I will come and see you in a few days.”
She felt sick at heart. He was making her go through with the farce of this betrothal, and it would complicate things horribly. She had no desire to play this role any more than necessary.
“Please do not. There is no point.”
He turned and looked at her as he opened the door and led her to the steps. “As you wish, Christiana.”
She saw Thomas's shadowy form in the courtyard, and flew to him as soon as they exited the hall. She glanced back to the doorway where David stood watching.
Thomas began guiding her to the portal. “Did you accomplish what you needed?”
“Aye,” she lied. Thomas did not know about the betrothal. It had not been announced yet, and she had hoped that it never would be. Master David's stubbornness meant that now things were going to become very difficult. She would have to find some other way to stop this betrothal, or at least this marriage.
David watched her cross the courtyard, her nobility obvious in her posture and graceful walk. A very odd stillness began claiming him, and her movements slowed as if time grew sluggish. An eerie internal silence spread until it blocked out all sound. In an isolated world connected to the one in the yard but separate from it by invisible degrees, he began observing her in an abstract way.
He had felt this before several times in his life, and was stunned to find himself having the experience now. All the same, he did nothing to stop the sensation and did not question the importance of what was happening.
He recognized the silence that permeated him as the inaudible sound of Fortune turning her capricious wheel and changing his life in ways that he could only dimly foresee. Unlike most men, he did not fear the unpredictable coincidences that revealed Fortune's willfulness, for he had thus far been one of her favorite children.
Christiana Fitzwaryn of Harclow. The caves of Harclow. There was an elegant balance in this particular coincidence.
The gate closed behind her and time abruptly righted itself. He contemplated the implications of this girl's visit.
He had understood King Edward's desire to hide the payment fo
r the exclusive trading license that he was buying. If word got out about it, other merchants would be jealous. He had himself suggested several other ways to conceal the arrangement, but they involved staggered payments, and the King, desperate for coin to finance his French war, wanted the entire sum now. Edward's solution of giving him a noble wife and disguising the payment as a bride price had created a host of problems, though, not the least of which was the possibility that the girl would not suit him.
His vision turned inward and he saw Christiana's black hair and pale skin and lovely face. Her dark eyes sparkled like black diamonds. She was not especially small, but her elegance gave the impression of delicacy, even frailty. The first sight of her in the fire glow had made his breath catch the way it always did when he came upon an object or view of distinctive beauty.
Her visit had announced unanticipated complications, but it had resolved one question most clearly. Christiana Fitzwaryn would suit him very well indeed.
He had been stunned when the King had chosen the daughter of Hugh Fitzwaryn to be the bride in this scheme, and had pointed out that she was too far above him. Even the huge bride price that everyone would think he was paying did not bridge their difference in degrees.
The King had brushed it aside. We will put it about that you saw her and wanted her and paid me a fortune to have her. Well, now he knew the reason for the King's choice of Christiana. A quick marriage for the girl would snuff out any flames of scandal regarding her and her lover.
It was good to know the truth. He did not like playing the pawn in another man's game. Usually he was the one who moved the pieces.
He walked across the courtyard to Sieg.
“It is done then?” the Swede asked as he turned to enter his chamber off the passageway.
“It was not them.”
“The hell you say!”
David laughed. “Go to sleep. I doubt that they will come tonight.”
“I hope not. There's more visitors here at night than the day, as it is.” Sieg paused. “What about Lady Alicia's guard?”
David glanced to the end of the building, and the glow of a candle through a window. “He knows to stay there. I will bring her to him later.”
He turned to leave, then stopped. “Sieg, tomorrow I want you to find the name of a man for me. He is a knight, and his family is from the north country. An important family.”
“Not much to go on. There be dozens …”
“He left Westminster recently. I would guess in the last day or so.”
“That makes it easier.”
“His name, Sieg. And what you can learn about him.”
CHAPTER 2
CHRISTIANA SPENT a desperate night trying to figure out how to save herself. By morning she could find no course of action except writing to Stephen, bribing a royal messenger to carry the letter north, and praying that he received it quickly. But the betrothal was in a week, too soon for Stephen to get that letter and come for her.
The only solution was to speak with the King. She would not refuse the marriage outright, but would let him know that she did not welcome it. Perhaps, at the very least, she could convince him to delay the betrothal.
Steeling her resolve, she left the apartment that she shared with Isabele and Joan under Idonia's watchful eyes, and made her way through the castle to the room where the King met with petitioners. When she arrived, its anteroom had already filled with people. She gave her name to the clerk who sat by the door, and hoped that her place in the household would put her ahead of some of the others.
Some benches lined one wall. An older knight gave up his place, and she settled down. The standing crowd walled her in while she concentrated on planning her request.
As she waited and pondered, the outer door opened and a page entered, followed by her brother Morvan. She saw his dark head disappear into the King's chamber.
The King was going to tell him about the match now. What would her proud brother say? How would he react?
She had her answer very soon. Within minutes the measured rumble of a raised voice leaked through wall that separated the anteroom from the chamber. She knew that it was Edward who had lost his temper, because Morvan's worst anger always manifested itself quietly and coldly.
She had to leave immediately. With the King enraged, there could be no benefit in speaking with him today, and when Morvan left that room, she did not want him to see her sitting here.
She was rising to leave when Morvan hurried out, his black eyes flashing and his handsome face frozen into a mask of fury. He strode to the corridor like a man headed for battle.
She still needed to leave, but she dared not follow him. He might have stopped in the passageways leading here.
She glanced around the anteroom. Another door on a side wall gave out to a private corridor that connected Edward's chambers and rooms. It led to an exterior stairway, and there were rumors that secret guests, diplomats, and sometimes women came to him this way. Without it ever being formally declared off limits, everyone knew that it meant trouble to be found there. Even the Queen did not use that passageway.
She pushed through the crowd. She would slip away and no one would know that she had even come.
Opening the small door a crack, she slid through. The passageway stretched along the exterior wall of the castle lit by good-sized windows set into shallow alcoves. She scurried toward the end opposite the one with the staircase.
The sound of a door opening behind her sent her darting into one of the alcoves. Pressing into the corner, she prayed that whoever had entered the passageway would go in the other direction. She sighed with relief as she heard footsteps walking away.
Then, to her horror, more steps started coming quickly toward her from the direction in which she had been heading. Crushing herself into the alcove's shallow corner, she gritted her teeth and waited for discovery.
A shortish middle-aged man with gray hair and beard, sumptuously dressed like a diplomat, hurried by. He did not notice her, because he fixed all of his attention on the space ahead of him. It seemed that he tried to make his own footsteps fall more softly than normal.
“Pardon. Attendez,” she heard him whisper loudly.
The other steps stopped. She heard the men meet.
They began speaking in low tones but their words carried easily to her ears. Both spoke Parisian French, the kind taught to her by the tutors, and not the corrupted dialect used casually by the English courtiers.
“If you are found here, it will go badly for you,” the other man said. His voice sounded very low, little more than a whisper, but the words reached her just the same.
“A necessary risk. I needed to know if what I had heard of you was true.”
“And what did you hear?”
“That you can help us.”
“You have the wrong man.”
“I do not think so. I followed you here. You have the access, as I was told.”
“If you want what I think you want, you have the wrong man.”
“At least hear me out.”
“Nay.”
The men began walking away. The voices receded.
“It will be worth your while,” the first man said.
“There is nothing that you have that I want.”
“How do you know if you don't listen?”
“You are a fool to speak to me of this here. I do not deal with fools.”
The voices and footsteps continued to grow fainter. Christiana listened until their sound disappeared down the stairway. Lifting her hem, she ran back to her chamber.
She was sitting on her bed in Isabele's anteroom, fretting over whether to approach the King another day, when Morvan came storming into the chamber still furious from his meeting with the King.
He stomped around and ranted with dangerous anger. Rarely had she seen him like this, and keeping him from doing something rash became her primary concern. She felt guilty calming and soothing him, since she knew that everything was her fault an
d he, of course, did not. Morvan laid all of the blame on the King and the merchant.
“This mercer did not even have the decency to speak with me first,” Morvan spat out, his black eyes flashing sparks as he strode around. He was a big man, taller than most, and he filled the space. “He went directly to the King! The presumptions of those damn merchants is ever galling, but this is an outrage.”
“Perhaps he didn't know how it is done with us,” she said. She needed him calm and rational. If they thought about this together, they might have some ideas.
“It is the same with every degree, sister. Would this man have gone to his mayor to offer for some skinner's daughter?”
“Well, he did it this way, and the King agreed. We are stuck with that part.”
“Aye, Edward agreed.” He suddenly stopped his furious stride and stared bleakly into the hearth. “This is a bad sign, Christiana. It means that the King has indeed forgotten.”
Her heart went out to him. She walked over and embraced him and forgot her own disappointment and problems. She had been so selfishly concerned with her own pride that she hadn't seen the bigger implications of this marriage.
Fleeting, vague memories of another life filtered into her exhausted mind. Memories of Harclow and happiness. Images of war and death. The echo of gnawing hunger and relentless fear during siege. And finally, clearly and distinctly, she had the picture of Morvan, ten years old but tall already, walking bravely through the castle gate to surrender to the enemy. He had fully expected to be killed. Over the years, she came to believe that God had moved that Scottish lord to spare him so that she herself would not be totally alone.
When they had fled Harclow and gone to young King Edward and told him of Hugh Fitzwaryn's death and the loss of the estate, Edward had blamed himself for not bringing relief fast enough. Their father had been one of his friends and supporters on the Scottish marches, and in front of Morvan and their dying mother Edward had sworn to avenge his friend and return the family lands to them.
That had been eleven years ago. For a long while thereafter, Morvan had assumed that once he earned his spurs the King would fulfill that oath. But he had been a knight for two years now, and it had become clear that Edward planned no aggressive campaigns on the Scottish borders. The army sent there every year was involved in little more than a holding action. All of the King's attention had become focused on France.
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