By Arrangement

by Madeline Hunter

  Eventually a numb stupor claimed her. Only one thought came clearly, over and over again. She had to get away and leave this house and this man. She would not, could not, live with the reality he had forced on her this day. Not now. Not for a long while. Maybe not ever.

  The rain pounded relentlessly, its blowing spray stinging David's face. He stood on the short dock and watched the patterns that the drops made in the muddy Thames. Beautiful, rhythmic splashes, full of faint highlights of purity, existed for split instants before the dirty flow absorbed them.

  He let the rain wash over him. It soaked his clothes and plastered his hair to his head. After a long while it cleansed the black anger from his mind.

  And then, with the madness gone, he faced the memory of what had occurred. That would never wash away and he lived it all again. His spiteful words. Her harsh insults. His vicious debasement of her.

  Thank God she had gotten away.

  They knew each other well enough to point the daggers expertly and draw blood from each other's weaknesses. He would never forget what she had said, but he couldn't blame her for admitting those feelings and thoughts. Since the day she had come to him, she had tried valiantly to ignore what this marriage meant to her life.

  He had never been as cruel and hard to a woman as he had been with Christiana this day. Oliver and Sieg had been right. He should never have returned home and confronted her while the knowledge of her infidelity still flared like a fresh log tossed on a fire. He had known that they were right even as he ignored their advice and entreaties.

  He pictured Oliver sitting across the tavern table from him and Sieg, listening with studied absorption to their tale of waiting on the Normandy coast for signs of the fleet passing. David described how the days had turned dark with storms and how he had realized that this month at least he would be spared the decision awaiting him in France.

  And all the time that Oliver carefully listened and prolonged the tale with questions, he had watched the signs of ill ease on his old friend's face. They betrayed him worse when David asked after Christiana. Poor Oliver. He had tried to lie and then to equivocate when he probed for details. David knew that his own expression had turned dangerous when he felt Sieg's hand on his shoulder and that lilting voice urging him to stay away from the house for a few more days.

  Impossible, of course. He had to see her at once and look into those diamonds knowing what he knew. He wanted and expected to feel dead to her, to be free of the love that was complicating his life and making him suddenly indecisive.

  For when he had stepped off Albin's boat this morning after two treacherous days at sea, he had known that he loved her. He had recognized the feelings for a long time, but in Normandy he had put the name to them. He had sought out Oliver before returning home, because he knew that when he entered that house he would not want to leave again for a long while.

  In his mind he saw her running to him, face flushed and eyes bright. He had watched her exuberant greeting with dark fascination. He had not expected her to be so good at deception. And mixed with that initial reaction had been the appalling realization that he still wanted her.

  A dangerous mix, he thought now as he raised his face to the rain. Anger and desire and jealousy. Why had he let her play the game out? Why had he permitted those hours to pass as she pretended that nothing had changed and his own rancor grew? He grimaced and wiped the water from his face. He had been watching and waiting and, aye, hoping. Waiting for a confession and hoping it included the admission that her infidelity had been disillusioning.

  Waiting for her to beg forgiveness and say that she now knew that she no longer loved Percy.

  Fool. Unfaithful wives never did such things. Even when cornered with the evidence, the prudent course was to lie. Honesty was too dangerous. Men reacted too violently. He had certainly proven that today, hadn't he? He had forced her into lies born of her fear.

  He closed his mind to the memory of her shock and terror.

  She had denied it, but he didn't believe her. She loved Sir Stephen and her knight had been leaving for war. Her own testimony suggested that Stephen had no skill as a lover, but that did not reassure him in the least. A woman in love sought more than pleasure in bed and would forgive any clumsiness.

  He contemplated that denial as he walked back to his horse. One part rang true. Lady Catherine brought me to Stephen unknowingly, she had said. He believed that, and it was something at least. Christiana had not arranged that meeting on her own, but had been lured there. Considering how she felt about Stephen, perhaps the rest had been so inevitable as to make her practically innocent.

  As for Lady Catherine and her role in this …Well, when he settled this new account, he would permit himself the pleasure of revenge and not just justice.

  He couldn't stay away from the house forever, and so he rode back, not knowing what he would say to Christiana when he got there. The temptation presented itself to pretend that the whole day had never happened, that he had never confronted her in his rage.

  Would she accept their behaviors as an effective trade? One infidelity and betrayal for one attempted rape? If it had just been that, the accounts might be cleared, but his words and manner had insulted her more than any bodily assault could. To hurt her, he had told her that she was only a noble whore whom he had bought. She would not quickly forgive him that.

  He rode into the wet courtyard and handed his reins to the groom. As soon as he entered the hall, a corner of his soul suspected.

  The house felt as it had before their wedding. It had been his home for years and he had found contentment in it and so he had never noticed the voids that it held after his mother and master died. Only after Christiana filled those spaces with her smiles and joy had he realized their previous vacancy. Now he heard his footsteps echo in the large chamber as if all of the furniture had been removed. He paced to the hearth, avoiding the confirmation of his suspicion.

  Geva entered from the kitchen with crockery plates in her arms. She glanced at him and shook her head.

  “You be soaking wet, David. Best get out of those garments,” she scolded.

  He turned his back to the fire. Geva hummed as she set out the plates for supper. She acted as if nothing was amiss, and his foreboding retreated. With one final glance at him, she disappeared back into the kitchen.

  He looked at the tables. He counted the plates. One short. The foreboding rushed back.

  He slowly walked across the hall and up to his chambers, knowing what he would find.

  In the wardrobe, hanging on their pegs and folded in trunks, were all of the garments that he had given her, including the red cloak. He flipped through them, noting that her other things, her old things, were mostly gone. Not all of them, however. One trunk still held some winter wools. He lifted them to his face and savored her scent, and an invisible hand squeezed his heart.

  He left the wardrobe and passed quickly through the bedchamber, not wanting to look at that space that still held the vivid images of the wounds they had inflicted on each other.

  Sieg squatted in the solar, building the fire. He raised his eyebrows at the soaked garments.

  “Did you throw yourself in the river then?”

  David ignored him.

  “Did you harm her?”

  He shook his head.

  Sieg finished with the fire and then rose. “I told you to wait, David. Your mood was blacker than night. I've not seen you like that, even when the Mamluks first threw you into that hell with me after that slut sold you out to them. Not even during our escape when you killed the one who had flogged us.”

  “I should have listened.”

  “Ja, well you never have where this girl goes, so this is no different.”

  David hesitated. With any other man he would not have asked, but Sieg had seen him weak before.

  “Where is she?”

  Sieg's eyes flashed and his posture straightened. “Hell! You don't know? I swear she told me that you'd agreed to i
t or I'd not have taken her …”

  “Where?”

  “Back to Westminster.” He turned toward the door. “I go and get her now. Hell.”

  “Do not. Leave her stay awhile.”

  “Do you mean to say that you will stand down to this fool of a knight who steals your wife? You will permit this?”

  “If it comes to that, I have driven her to it,” he said. “Do you think that she plans to remain at court? Did you sense that she intended to continue on elsewhere?”

  “She promised to remain there, which I found odd, since she owes me no explanation.”

  “Sir Stephen left for Northumberland several days ago. Oliver told me. She knows that I will know, or find out. Her promise was to assure me that she does not go to him.” He smiled thinly. “I said that I would kill him if she did. My behavior gave her reason to believe me.”

  Sieg threw up his hands. “It makes no sense, David. If this man is up north, why does she just go to Westminster? If she doesn't go to him, why run away at all?”

  David didn't reply, although the answer was obvious. She does not run to Percy, he thought. She runs from me.

  Christiana sat in a garden redolent with the scent of late May flowers. She gazed at the pastel buds and smiled. Being a woman instead of a child wasn't all bad. Last year she would have taken the flowers' beauty for granted. Today she carefully admired their fresh purity.

  David had taught her this. To pay attention to the fleeting beauties in the world. Not a small gift.

  She sighed into the silence. The garden was empty despite the warm weather because the court attended dinner in the hall right now. She had avoided those crowded meals and all other events where she would be required to chat and make merry. She had escaped to Westminster for sanctuary and to heal her heart and soul.

  She had found welcome and sympathy when she arrived. Lady Idonia had taken one look at her and known the reason for the visit. That little woman asked no questions and settled her in as if they had been expecting her. Joan and Isabele, warned by Idonia no doubt, sought no explanations either.

  They were the only family she had known for years, and they surrounded her and protected her in her pain. Even Philippa, on hearing of her extended stay, had come to see her. Alone together in the anteroom, the Queen had tried to be a mother to her for once as she explained the difficulties of marriage. Upon leaving, she had offered to write to David and say that she requested his wife's continued attendance. He would not dare come for her then, and Christiana would have more time.

  More time. For what? To reconcile herself to living her life with a man who at most wanted her available to satisfy his needs? Who had purchased a well-bred and well-formed bedmate, much as he carefully chose his horses? A man who did not believe her now after she had always been honest with him to the point of cruelty? A man who barely cared for her at all, but whom she loved despite everything?

  There lay the real problem, of course. The rest she could manage and accept if she didn't love him. It was the lot of most women, and she had even ridden to her wedding assuming that it would be hers. Mutual indifference would make it bearable. Wasn't Margaret surviving?

  Aye, she needed time. Time to stop loving him.

  She had been working hard at that these last few weeks. She kept the memory of his harsh indifference and his attempted rape sharp in her brain. She reexamined the evidence implicating him in some treasonous game. It hadn't worked and she was in a quandary. The love wouldn't die and he had robbed her of the chance to build illusions out of ambiguities.

  She looked up from the flowers. More time. How much would it take? How long before she could return to that house and that bed as indifferent to him as he was to her? How long before he could touch her and she would feel no more than simple pleasure or, if not that, remove herself from the experience? Hadn't David said that Anne handled her whoring that way? What was she but some incredibly expensive whore?

  Surely just being away from him should kill these feelings eventually.

  A palace door opened. Morvan paused in the threshold. He looked at her a moment before walking over. He sat down and stayed there in silence with his arm around her back. She let her head rest on his shoulder.

  She hadn't spoken with him all of this time and had actually avoided him. When they briefly saw each other, she turned away from the questions in his eyes. Now he had deliberately sought her out and she felt grateful. He possessed so much strength that there always seemed to be extra to spare for her.

  She turned and looked at his profile and saw his concern. She also saw something else and suspected with a numb resignation that her time was up.

  “Why are you here, Christiana?” he finally asked, demanding the information that no one else had required.

  “I could not stay there.”

  “Why not?”

  Because my husband does not love me at all. She could not say it. It sounded too childish. Like most nobles, Morvan probably thought the issue of love irrelevant in marriages.

  “Did he hurt you? Abuse you?”

  “Nay.” Not the way that Morvan meant. If he had, she would have lied. She did not want her brother killing David.

  “Does he use you too hard?” he asked softly.

  “Nay,” she whispered.

  “Has he gone to other women? If it is that, Christiana, I must tell you that with men …”

  “To my knowledge he has not, Morvan. He thinks that I went to another man. To Stephen. He does not believe me when I deny it. He was mad with anger and jealousy. We argued and said things … ugly things.”

  “All couples argue. Our parents had terrible fights.”

  “This was different.”

  “Perhaps not.”

  “Did our father love our mother?”

  The question surprised him. “It was a love match. I think they still loved each other at the end.”

  “Then it was different.”

  “That is a rare thing, Christiana. What they had. I do not think that it is given to most. Not really.”

  “Not you?”

  “Nay. Not me. Like most men, I settle for brief simulacrums of it.”

  She thought that sad. She remembered David saying that Elizabeth would not marry Morvan because of their uneven love. She understood Elizabeth now and knew why Elizabeth had chosen instead that old baron for whom she felt nothing. Marriage to Morvan would have torn her heart daily.

  “You cannot stay here,” Morvan said gently. “Philippa spoke with me. Edward has become aware of your presence and questioned her about it. She does not think that David said anything, but the King has some affection for your husband, it seems, and interfered on his own.”

  “I cannot go back there.”

  “There is no place else to go.”

  She closed her eyes.

  “God willing, Christiana, the day will come when I will have a home. If you still need to leave, I will take you in forever and keep him from getting you back. But for now, there is no choice.” He paused and added carefully, “Unless you want to go north to Percy. Did Stephen offer to keep you?”

  She uttered a short laugh. “Nothing so formal or permanent, brother. Even if he had, I would not go, because I do not care for him now and would not dishonor you thus even if I did. Also I would not go because David has said that he will kill Stephen if I do, and I believe him.” She smiled mischievously. “Would you have let me go?”

  “Probably not.”

  “I did not think so.”

  He smiled kindly at her. “I have asked Idonia to pack your things. Horses await. I am taking you home now.”

  Her stomach twisted. “So soon?”

  “Whatever is between you and David will only be a day worse tomorrow.”

  He rose and held out his hand.

  “I do not know if I can bear this, Morvan. The last time I saw him …”

  The last time she saw him, he was about to hit her because she had spoken to him noble to commoner and implied
that his touch would debase and dirty her. The last sound she had heard him make was that kick trying to break down the wardrobe door.

  “He will probably be happy and relieved to see you,” Morvan said as he raised her to her feet. “It occurs to me that this is the third time that I have brought you to him. The man should have great affection for me by now.”

  She forced a laugh at her brother's attempt at levity, but she didn't think for one moment that David would be relieved to see her.

  David heard the horses enter the courtyard just as dinner ended. Andrew was leaving the hall and he glanced over meaningfully, confirming the riders' identities. Michael, crowding in behind Andrew at the door, announced happily to the servants that their mistress had returned.

  David gestured for everyone to go about their business. He went to the door and stepped outside. The apprentices greeted Christiana as they passed her on their way to the gate. She rode forward slowly beside her brother.

  She had been gone for almost three weeks. No messages or notes had passed between them, and his option of fetching her back had been cut off by the Queen's interference. Three weeks and before that two more. He'd only had that horrible afternoon with her in all of that time.

  They stopped their horses right in front of him. Christiana looked down impassively. Morvan tried to appear casual and amiable. He swung off his saddle and walked around to lift his sister down.

  “Christiana asked me to escort her home,” he said as he began untying the small trunks on the saddle. “She was finding Westminster tedious.”

  David waited. Christiana walked a few steps and faced him.

  “He is lying,” she said quietly. “He made me come.”

  “All the same, it is good to have you back.”

  She glanced at him skeptically. “Did you keep Emma?”

  “She is inside.”

  “I will go and rest now,” she announced. “I find that I have a headache and am a bit dizzy.”

  He let her pass, nodding acknowledgment of her old excuse for avoiding him.

  Morvan set the trunks down near the door.

  “I thank you, Morvan.”