The Maiden and the Unicorn (43 page)

He was one of three instructors circling the yard as the practice began, stopping combatants here and there to correct a thrust or parry. The English lads laughed cheerfully and heeded him.

She should be hating him but her reason was telling her that she had been the liar and deceiver and that he had every cause to despise her. Sweet Jesu, but it was a pleasure to be able to watch him unobserved, without the green mockery challenging her.

The fighting pairs suddenly ceased swordplay and regrouped. Margery watched Huddleston strip down to his gipon and hose, then he strode back into the midst of the yard, his sword naked, ready for combat. One of the French knights who had been bawling instructions saluted him and the pair of them moved slowly, demonstrating techniques to the younger men. Then the circle of watchers fell back, leaving the two men space for more serious combat.

Margery lingered. Not even Queen Charlotte could have dragged her from the spectacle. Was it sinful to admire the hard muscle, the long lithe body, to compare Richard Huddleston favourably against the men with protruding bellies or skinny, fat or misshapen shanks? Her appetite feasted on his manly shoulders and glistening skin. Do I need to confess this in church, she thought, this pride in my husband's appearance? I am lusting after him. And I cannot have him, cannot build any future. I have kicked the foundation stones aside already.

Her husband's opponent was stockier and there was great strength in his blows as he belaboured Huddleston skillfully. Steel rasped against steel and the circle of men shouted and cheered. Her Englishman was agile, his blade flashed swiftly, catching the sun as the two men slashed, spun and thrust again. The Frenchman's shirt was sticking to him and Richard's shoulders took on a sheen as though rubbed with oil instead of sweat.

"Margery."

She jumped as a man's hand came down on the bare skin of her shoulder. Startled, she faced her father. He was unattended. How long had he been standing behind her? Had he seen the hunger in her face, the passion within her as fierce as the conflict in the yard below?

Before she could curtsey, his arm slid around her shoulders, returning her to the casement. "Here is sport for a summer's afternoon. This takes me back to the golden days when the little dukes came to learn arms and wait at table. Remember the practice yard at Middleham?"

"We were happy then." Her fingers traced the carved stone about the window, uncomfortable with the Earl's presence. Below, the bout was over. Her husband was leaning against the wall, his arms folded morosely while the Frenchman who had been his duelling partner was talking at him, hands gesturing. Then he nodded and strode forward to watch the new combatants. "You have watched many a fight. What think you of the standard down there?" Warwick edged in, his alert gaze flicking over the men below, noting who was present. His eyes rested pensively on Huddleston before lifting to hers.

"There is always room for practice, my lord. Some of the men could do with losing weight."

Her father stroked his chin, his expression as sheepish as an earl's might get and he stuck a thumb beneath his belt, but there was little space. "Including me. I grow fat as butter with this feasting while Clarence stays skinny like a scarecrow with hunting every day. So you think I should be down there with them this afternoon?" Margery nodded honestly, her glance upon his paunch. He grunted. "Aye, you are right but I had as lief sit at a board and present smooth arguments as prepare for battle." He pinched her cheek. "And do not mistake that for cowardice but for age. You are right though. I shall have to put in at least an hour a day if I am to take England back again from that ingrate. Although speaking of Ned..." He turned Margery from the window, gazing upon her with a sadness which might have been calculated. She was never sure with him; he was, after all, a creature of politics.

"My dear." His hands framed her shoulders ensuring that he had her full attention. "Margery, this is not easy." Casting his blue gaze beyond her, he sighed. "Ah, nothing is easy these days..." But the sharp, intelligent gaze snared hers again. "I have something of import to say that requires mayhap absolution from you. Master Huddleston has spoken to me privily this day and I am grateful to him. He..." Letting go her shoulders, he again averted his eyes, his complexion darkening. "How may I couch this? The subtlety at your wedding feast—"

Margery cut in. "The lady and the unicorn?"

"Aye, that was it. Huddleston told me this morning that the lady in question was in truth a maiden."

Margery's mouth tightened. Her hand was caught and lifted between his own. "My daughter, it seems we all owe you the most humble and profound apology and I am the most culpable. I regret that you suffered at my hands. No name until now and all these years a false reputation."

"I thought you wished to gift me to the church, my lord father. My sin was opportune. Your hatred burned so brightly against Ned that you needed more fuel to nourish it."

"Margery, I do not deny it, but..." Bowing, he carried her hand to his lips, his voice hoarse, unusually humble, "The Earl of Warwick begs your pardon." He was giving her the triumph, a paltry gift of a few cadences of breath upon the wind without witnesses, and yet part of him did seem to sincerely give. He held out his arms to her.

Tears betrayed her, sparkled on her lashes and stifled her reply. She had never seen him behave like this. No wonder he had banished his attendants from the gallery.

The strong arms folded about her crushing her against the wiry silver embroidery of his doublet. "I am not sorry I tried to give you to God. For who knows, you might have chosen in time to take the veil... but I am sorry for your bruised reputation." His fingers stroked up and down her back. "You have had to put up with my lady's rebukes but I shall set her straight, I promise—her and your half-sisters."

Margery sensed it was time to draw away, to sniff back the tears. "Anne knew—no,
believed
rather than knew." She tried to wipe her cheeks with her fingers. "I am so grateful to her for that. She was the only one who listened."

"Child, you wring my heart."

Fumbling at length, Margery drew forth a kerchief from her purse. Using it restored her enough to show some of the Neville pride. She faced him unflinching. "Master Huddleston had no right to speak of this to you."

Her father seemed surprised at her stance. "How uncharitable of you, Margery. In my opinion, your husband wishes nothing more but to set the ledger to rights." Did her father notice her anger growing? He seemed not to, sounding more like a cleric by the minute. "Truth lies hidden half the time but when it does emerge into the light of day, we should value it even if it hurts us to do so. It pains me to know how much I made you pay for your indiscretion when the guilty one walks free. It was that cursed whoreson bent on seducing you who should pay. And he will, be sure of that! I will snatch the crown that I gave him back off his treacherous head."

"No, my lord." Margery recoiled.

"No?" exclaimed her father. "What means this 'no'? He was married—a grown man—while you were... by all the Saints, you scarcely had dugs."

Margery was adamant. "I never wished my affairs to be any part of your quarrel with the King, my lord, and I assure you he carries only half the blame." Warwick shrugged, his expression supercilious. "No, my lord," she asserted, combating that male condescension, "A few moments more and I would have willingly surrendered my chastity to Ned without remorse."

Warwick tossed up a dismissive hand at her and flung away, his back rigid and furious before he turned abruptly, shaking a finger at her. "Pah, the infatuated child in you speaks still. If you are presently lighting candles at that scoundrel's shrine then you are a fool and, believe me, Margery, I thought you had more sense." Then pity crawled into his eyes as he examined her face. "By all the Saints, you foolish girl, are you still imagining Ned loves you? Is this the reason why your marriage with Huddleston tosses like a ship in rough weather?"

Margery's lower lip curled stubbornly. "The ship flounders, my lord father, as I foretold."

He caught her chin, "Oh, by the Lord, I see my blood in you. You have my damnable pride." Yes, thought Margery, facing his steely blue eyes. He studied her, bending his head so close that she could see the angry broken veins beneath his skin. "I am warning you to make repairs, child. Steer for safe harbour. Huddleston cares enough for your reputation to make it sweet."

Furious, Margery jerked her chin away and turned back to the window. Richard was still in the courtyard. He was idly looking up at the windows. She swiftly ducked back. "No, my lord, he cares for
his
reputation. By repairing mine, he does himself good service. We all know he married me in order to gain your patronage."

The Earl looked irritated. "Come, come, you mistake him. He could have married an heiress."

"He is ambitious, my lord, I swear it. He now kisses Anne's hands more sweetly than he ever kissed mine. I wager you he will fawn upon the Bitch with equal charm."

"And so may I!" snarled Warwick.

* * *

Of course, she was expected to eat in the Great Hall, and so it was unavoidable that her husband would know exactly where she would be at a certain time. Richard paused before her outside the hall before supper, a cluster of combat companions at his back. His bow was formal, insincere, the gleam in his eye cold but predatory. "Your father tells me you take an interest in my swordplay." His deft fingers stroked down a brocade fold of her skirt with a teasing caress.

"I'll warrant she does," chuckled his erstwhile opponent, clapping him bawdily on the shoulder and sending Margery a hot stare.

She swallowed, ignoring Huddleston's gibe, as she tried to fathom that bright hard gaze, wanting desperately to feel his fingers upon her flesh again, to experience the eddies of feeling that he could conjure up like a magician.

"Swords hurt," she said dismissively to them all and walked away.

* * *

After dining she found him, disturbingly, at her elbow as she stood beside Ankarette while the trestles were cleared back for dancing. He was as stern as a louring thundercloud as he held out his hand to her. "A moment of your time."

Curious, she rested her fingers in his; her heartbeat quickened at touching him but she masked the impact. "I thought I was condemned like Socrates and not to be borne with. Have you discovered a patch of hemlock worth brewing?"

It drew a strained smile. "No, a bed of nettles. What I have to admire about you, my dear Margery, is your resilience. Come!"

Two youths waited in their path. She had a sense of familiarity and yet... Huddleston dropped her hand and, taking her by the shoulders, held her before him like a cloak to dry.

"Tom, Will, this is your new sister. Margery, my brothers."

Astonishment washed over her as her glance flicked back and forth. She knew from his stern tone that he had not welcomed their arrival.

Neither of the two youths was as tall as her husband, nor did they exude the calm power of command that seemed so natural to him. But she could see that well-chiselled noses prevailed within the family and that their smiles could melt hearts, even if they lacked those wondrous green eyes.

The two young men grinned at each other before the older, stockier of the two took Margery gently by the hands and kissed her cheek. "So this is the lady who cast a net over our Richard's heart."

"I did not know he had one," Margery answered gravely with a curtsey. Huddleston's hands lifted abruptly from her shoulders as if being close to her was contaminating.

The younger lad, flushing as pink as finger pads, shook her hand.

"Excuse me," Richard's voice was cool. "My Lord of Concressault is summoning me. I will leave you to be better acquainted."

"So he did not tell you we were coming. And here was me thinking he'd be that pleased to have us here." Thomas was frowning.

"Oh, not your fault, I assure you. I am the one in his bad books at present," exclaimed Margery brightly, but she was wondering the same as she reined the conversation in a safer direction. "Now I know naught save that one of you is wooing Lord Montague's daughter, Ysabel."

Tom burst out laughing. "Aye, that is Will here. We are both in Lord Montague's service. Our lord has sent us to determine what is happening here in France."

Margery smiled grimly. "My father is still negotiating. Nothing is resolved yet."

"So Richard informs us," Will frowned.

Thomas grinned. "Well, at least our curiosity is sated. We were agog when we heard that he had abducted you."

The younger lad grew bolder. "Aye, he has changed. He never used to do anything without hours of planning. If he had been the Almighty the Earth would never have been managed in a week."

Margery did not agree. "I have learned not to take him at face value."

Thomas gave her a formal bow but his eyes were impish. "Our mother has asked us to convey her apology to you for his behaviour." The humour in that was at least gratifying.

"Aye, that was another reason for coming. Our father was curious to learn what mischief our ambitious Richard had been about."

Margery bit her lip. "Will your father approve of your brother's marriage to me? Pray do not answer if you had rather not."