The Maiden and the Unicorn (26 page)

Margery cursed under her breath.

The Duke edged round to the window and glanced out of it from the side so that he could not be seen. They waited but only the whooshing of the wind through the newly-leafed trees reached them.

He let out his breath in a long sigh. "Do not worry. Let us wait a few more minutes and then I will go down alone. Here's the flint. Keep the candle with you for the stairs, but snuff it out before you reach the courtyard. If it is safe for you to follow, I shall give you an owl hoot."

At another time she would have laughed. His owl hoots took her back to the days of hide-and-seek at Sheriff Hutton. Yet now, Jesu, what a different world! Here he was, attainted, his dukedom lost, meeting her virtually on a rooftop in some insignificant French town, and she a bride in name only. "Till tomorrow, and be sure to unbar Bella's door." He arranged his hood so that it hid his face and then curled his fingers in a mocking wave before disappearing into the black gloom of the staircase. The owl hoot finally came.

Some sixth sense of impending disaster sent a shiver of fear down her spine as she felt her way down. A horn lantern would have been a blessing. The candle flame dazzled her as she edged her way down each step and sent horrific shadows everywhere. A rat streaked across her bare foot. The surprise of it nearly pitched her down the twisted hollow stem of the tower. A faint sound made her shudder. She faltered and a draught blew the flame away, leaving her in utter darkness.

* * *

Richard stepped back into the shadow of the porter's lodge just as a figure, far too tall to be a woman, came furtively out of the tower and slid in and out of the shadows like a wraith. It stopped, looked about, then, turning, incredibly made the cry of a night owl.

A tight smile twisted Richard's mouth. Curious, he watched the man disappear into the shadows. What mischief was George of Clarence up to? A further movement drew his attention. Someone else was lurking in the shadows watching. Richard edged through the dark on the opposite side of the courtyard towards the tower door and waited.

A third but slighter figure let itself out and stood for a second giving Richard sufficient time to glimpse a skirt. As the woman reached out to tug her hood further forward, his heart gave a painful lurch. He knew that gesture. Christ, his untouched, king-handled bride had been meeting with the Duke.

Fury fizzed through his veins like the fiery local apple brew. As quiet as a cat, he edged swiftly around the other side of the courtyard so that he was now behind Margery. She was moving slowly along the logis wall. As she reached the next doorway, his hand slid down over her mouth and he yanked her back against the stone ribs of the narrow porch.

"Do not dare scream," he said quietly in her ear. To his amazement, she slackened within his grasp instantly, but her heart was thumping wildly as a captured rabbit's against his sleeve. He slowly removed his hand but did not let go of her. He felt her breath struggle to become even again.

"I thought you were in Honfleur," she whispered with matter-of-fact cheerfulness as if they had met at supper.

"Obviously. What were you and your high-ranking friend doing up there—sketching the constellation of Cassiopeia on vellum, or were you teaching him how to launch a broomstick?"

Witch, that's what she was. The wench deserved a broomstick across her naked rump. God knows he was a fool for yoking himself to her.

She was trying to wrench her arm free. "How clever of you. It's the way you point the handle."

"What!"

"The twigs, too, there is an art." He responded with a growl that drew a swift torrent of words from her. "Sir, I can explain but I am not going to. You almost scared me to death jumping out on me then. What are
you
doing? Spying on me?"

He felt her cross her arms between them, hugging her shoulders. The little wretch was chilled.

Spoken aloud, his answering curse would have scorched her ears. Richard was amazed that he could answer calmly. "You think innocent outrage makes the best buckler? Someone is in the courtyard watching us."

She stiffened within his arms. "Oh, Jesu! So it was not you." Damn her! The presence of some unseen onlooker bothered her more than his did.

"Do as I say, Margery. Take my hand." He appreciated the fact that she did not argue. A cold little hand fumbled and half wrapped its fingers around the warmth of his. Her trust blew away some of his anger. He wished there was enough light so he could read her face.

Without warning, his grip tightened. He hauled her out across the courtyard at a run. Margery gave a shriek of protest as she nearly tripped over her hem, which set the dogs off in the kennels. She was forced to race along with him, snatching up her skirt with her free hand. He stopped abruptly at the entrance to the garden and her momentum carried her straight into his arms. He lifted her high above the ground despite her protests and whirled her around as if she were no heavier than a babe.

"Put me down!" she protested, not caring who heard.

"Are you befuddled yet?"

"No. Oh no, not more, stop, stop." He spun laughter out of her.

She hung onto him dizzily, trustingly, as he set her back on her feet. Delightfully bewitching, his and not his. She had been up in the tower with the future king of England. The agony of anger twisted the knife in him but reason prevailed. He had to convince whoever was watching that he had just come down the tower staircase, that he had been up there with her.

The new moon was hidden but the little light escaping through the clouds showed her hair wantonly tossed. If I could trust her, he thought, this would be magic.

"It seems we are having an assignation. I wonder if that has convinced whoever is watching." He hoped there was a sackload of indifference in his tone. Had she wriggled close against him, she would have known better.

"Can you see where he is?" she asked, tapping her fingers for attention against his breast.

He turned her slightly. It would be easy to lie but he was sure whoever it was still skulked. "I think so." He could see her parted lips clearly in the silver light, moist, waiting. "No doubt this will displease you, Margery, but I am going to kiss you. You had better not resist if we want to deceive whoever it is watching."

She curled her lips inward for a second, deciding. "Very well, it sounds sensible."

Sensible! She was about to find out how wondrously sensible. He brushed his lips against hers, gently this time. Amazingly her soft mouth opened under his and he had the entry he desired. She tasted as innocent as she had a week ago. A tempting sweetness that could make him drunk for her. No telltale smell of recent carnality, no dampness on her gown. His relief was a pleasure in itself.

For a moment she seemed to melt within his arms but when he moved his hands discreetly down over her cloak and splayed his fingers around her buttocks urging her towards him, she tensed, trying to draw back without making it obvious to whoever was observing. Straining back from him, she pushed against his chest with her forearms, unaware that doing so only pressed the lower half of her body tantalisingly against his groin. Regretfully he drew back from her, lifting a hand to smooth her hair back from her face.

He ached to be able to heave her into his arms, carry her across into the garden and plunge himself into her soft white body. If he had his sleeping chamber to himself, that might have been a possibility.

"Is he still there?" Her voice was businesslike with a delicious hint of breathlessness. Her fingers brushed at her skirts as if she was embarrassed.

"Don't look round. Here." Swiftly he thrust his hands inside her cloak upon her waist to turn her. By Christ, she had nothing on beneath her gown!

Margery stiffened, aware from his oath that he was about to personify a Deadly Sin—either Lust or Anger. She trembled, but being Huddleston, he surprised her. For an instant longer, she felt his fingers tighten and then he removed his hands as if she had burnt him.

His voice was stern and astonishingly controlled. "I ought to beat you, really I should. Your honour and mine, does it mean nothing?"

"Sir, I have not had any honour for so long that I scarce remember what it feels like. I have not been unfaithful to you if that is what is bothering you."

"Bothering me? Oh hardly
bothering
me." He thrust the knife home further. "If you have any wits at all, you'd hardly be unchaste with our marriage sheets scarce creased. Let us try the mettle of this spy." He gripped her upper arm and urged her towards the garden.

"No, I need to go back. If I am missed they will think—"

He halted, amazement in his tone. "You are a married woman."

"But..." She was afraid of him, of herself. She was cold and tired and confused.

"You are lawfully allowed to be with me. Whatever you were doing with George of Clarence is sanctioned by my being here now. With good fortune, whoever is spying on you will think that it was I who was up there playing broomsticks with you and, with luck, we shall have suffocated this rumour before it has time to draw breath."

 
"It is very kind of you."

"Kind!" he exclaimed incredulously as he tugged her between the huge manicured hedges. "Anyway, why are you so fearful of me? There is a heavy dew and puddles on the ground."

"What of that?" she asked nervously.

"You fear I might tumble you on some gritty, dirty apology for a mede? Strangle you more like, and I prefer my pleasures in a bed. Come, let us entice our spy onwards."

There was no sound save the swish of her gown and the crunch of his boots upon the gravelly path between the boring neatness of the ankle-high herbs. They passed the turf seat beneath the rose arch, squatting dew-spangled, pretending to be a meadow bank.

"If we stand in the shadows under that apple tree, we can see if anyone has followed."

She followed him obediently. "Are you cold?" He offered her the bargain of the shelter of his cloak along with his arm but she solemnly shook her head.

"What
were
you doing out here, sir?"

"It is a strange world, mistress. I am a married man and yet there was no wife warming my bed. Unpardonable of me perhaps but it left me with a certain restlessness."

"You were out seeking a woman?"

He did not answer. His cold silence was as unpleasant as the damp dirt beneath her feet. Margery felt guilty at having asked. "How long must we stay here?" she asked testily.

"As long as it pleases me." There was danger in that voice.

"Sir, I—" She stopped instantly. "Look!" A shadowy figure was blatantly staring out across the garden, seeking them. They both tensed.

"Sir! Master Huddleston, are you here?" The lilt of a western dialect reached them. Richard stepped out onto the path. "Ralph?"

A man in brigandine and sallet, a sword in his hand, came closer. "Oh, sir, it is you. We thought—"

"Too much time thinking. You should have been out of the guardhouse in an instant. I could have boiled an egg by now waiting for you."

Margery moved out of the shadow unexpectedly and slid her hand through Richard's arm.

"Aye, Master Huddleston." The soldier touched his hand to his forehead respectfully. "I beg pardon for disturbing you. I did not know it was you who had a woman with you."

"I am Margery Huddleston." It was the first time she had called herself so.

"God's truth!" You could almost hear the sudden slack in the man's jaw. "By Our Lady, mistress, I did not mean to imply that... Your pardon, sir, I—"

"Did you see anyone else?"

"I thought I heard other footsteps towards the chapel. We went that way first and..."

"And?"

"And we heard a woman laughing a few moments ago. That's all, sir." He touched his helmet in deference and hastily departed.

"Fortunately, Ralph gossips like any woman. It will be all over the hall by the end of breakfast that Master and Mistress Huddleston were responsible for waking half the household. Such is the stuff of courtly romances, except that we are unfortunately married." Huddleston's amusement was genuine.

"Please, will you see me back, sir?" Margery asked. "My feet are frozen and I have had more excitement than I care for."

His warm fingers touched her hand. He must have felt the gooseflesh. Before she could stop him, he had an arm beneath her knees and had swung her up into his arms. The sensation was pleasant and to have protested would have been ungracious. He had, after all, saved her reputation. She slid an arm up about his neck as if they had been doing that sort of thing for years. As long as it gave the situation some normality, it blew out the fire that was set to light the blaze within her.

"You see, I did not spy on you." She felt his voice vibrate in his chest next to her elbow.

"I believed you," she answered.

"Why?" His voice was cool. She did not dare look at him but she felt the tickle of hair at the nape of his neck on the back of her wrist.

"Because from the little I know of you I do not believe you would do anything that dishonourable. But what's more to the point, do you believe me?"

"I can tell that you have not lain with the Duke." She was relieved at the absolution but he was not finished with her. "You cannot, Margery. While you hold me at arm's length, you dare not. I should know any child you conceived was not mine."