The Maiden and the Unicorn (51 page)

He was wrong. Past Langeais, they were ambushed.

* * *

It was easy to believe Blanche, Isabella's maid-of-honour, which was why Margery left everyone else listening to viols and poetry.

"Mistress Huddleston," Thomas Burdett followed her out and possessed himself of her hand. "It is the Duke who wishes you to await him, a matter of some urgency, I believe."

The candlestick quivered in Margery's hand. This had to be what she was hoping for, except she had no appetite to be alone with the Duke or any of his most trusted henchmen. A written message pressed swiftly into her hand would have suited her better.

"Do not look so concerned, Mistress Margery, I give you my oath as a gentleman that the Duke means you no ill. He wishes merely to give you a letter for a friend."

The dagger within her sleeve was reassuring as she followed Burdett up the staircase and along the gallery to the Duke's bedchamber. Candles flickered on the iron circle that hung from the ceiling in the antechamber and two more sat like altar lights on either side of the small-table where clean vellum had been set out. Through the open door to the Duke's bedchamber, she saw that the Duke's servants had turned back the emerald coverlet and arranged fresh napkins upon it. The air was gentle with the perfume of rosewater, musk and beeswax.

"No doubt you will take some wine, Mistress Huddleston? His grace sups with the Due de Guienne and will come as soon as he may. You may find him melancholy for it went ill for him at Tours. They can offer him naught for the great help he brings them."

Margery took the chased cup he offered and savoured the sweet excellence of the muscat. "Since he already owns much of the Lancastrian demesnes, I would rather imagine the original owners would like them back," she answered tartly. "With what do they plan to purchase his loyalty?"

Burdett grinned. "Ireland."

"A troublesome gift."

"And the duchy of York."

"Oh." She swallowed the wine painfully. The dukedom and title were Ned's.

"His grace can argue eloquently enow when it suits him. He and my lady Duchess are to be heirs to the throne if Prince Edouard dies without issue."

Margery pursed her lips. "Hmm, better than could be expected considering the circumstances."

"Too true, Mistress Huddleston. Best to make sure your dice lands the right way up." He refilled her goblet. "Forgive me not drinking with you but his grace will not thank me if I lack a clear head tomorrow. No doubt your husband will be joining us in the council chamber."

"I have not... that is, I believe so." The bells of the valley rang the hour. "I pray you, do not feel you have to entertain me, Master Burdett. Perhaps I can return tomorrow." She screened a yawn.

Her companion, keeping his distance, continued to stir the soup of conversation politely, although like most young men, much of his telling was to glorify his own prowess, and Margery was as drowsy as a bee in a poppy field by the time the Duke entered the chamber some half an hour later.

Apologising for his tardiness, the Duke flung off his tall crowned hat and sat down wearily. He was surprisingly sober for the late hour. Refusing wine, he lifted the goose quill pen and studied Margery, brushing the brown tip against the fair stubble of his cheek. Pale Plantagenet eyes ignited into a cold grin. "Here are we met for treason. What does my royal brother require from me, Meg?"

Margery's heart lifted. This was a wonder. She would have predicted a more qualified compliance. Cautiously, she glanced at Burdett. "Oh, ignore Tom. I have no better friend."

Margery rose and came to stand at the Duke's elbow. "A one
line
promise, my lord, but it must bear your signature. A tiny morsel of vellum that may be easily concealed."

"So be it. By St George, sit down, will you! Your perfume distracts me and here is matter to destroy kingdoms and make beggars."

Margery smiled, returning to the small settle to blink sleepily as the nib scratchily wrote out the few words that might ruin Lancaster's hopes. Then a jolt of panic twisted her innards painfully at the responsibility she would be carrying. Jesu, every agent in France would slit her throat to possess it. Well, at last she could put into action the instructions Ned had given her but she was too weary to think straight tonight.

"Hold it tight, man." The Duke drew the point of his dagger down on either side of the message as if he was cutting a pastry strip. "If this," the sides of his mouth tightened in bitterness as he wound the tiny scrap about his finger, "falls into the hands of the Bitch's agents, I am a dead man. They will poison me or find some other foul means to end my life." With a swift movement, he strode across and gripped the wooden arms on either side of where Margery sat and leaned over her until his face was level with hers. "Is it your plan to deliver this in person to my brother, for I swear on my dead father's soul that Tom here will draw his knife across your lovely throat should you betray me to my enemies." Flecks of spittle found her face.

Margery drew back. His lips, drawn back from his teeth, were far too vulpine. "N-not personally, but I have instructions. All... all I need to do is wear a certain token and your brother's people in Amboise will contact me."

The Duke's blue eyes glittered but he straightened and stepped back, testing the vellum strip between his fingers. "I think you should find some means to leave straightway. I should prefer you to take this and the fewer who know of it, the easier I shall sleep."

"I think so too, your grace." She could not help but yawn again. "Do not concern yourself. I have plans laid, but it needs my father's consent for me to go. Huddleston will be no problem."

The Duke picked up his dagger, fondling the jewelled haft. "So sure of him, Meg? When we all know he oils the Bitch's hands with slavering."

"I am sure that is an... ohh... exaggeration. He will not protest so long as the French pay him enough."

"The
French,
for the love of Christ!" The Duke exchanged a look of panic with Burdett and, drawing breath, unsheathed the dagger and stuck the point beneath her chin. "Be plain with me, woman! What in God's name are you babbling about?"

Margery scowled. She wished this was finished so she might go to bed. "I told King Louis that I would spy for him in... in Ned's arms. So when I go from here, it will be with his majesty's blessing and Huddleston knows and will be compensated. Now let me go to bed."

The Duke's angry expression metamorphosed into disbelief before resolving itself into a nasty smile. "To bed, yes. And all this for the sake of peace, dear old Meg." He exchanged grins with Burdett before adding, "I think you lied to me last time when you spoke of England; you just want to be Ned's whore again."

"I have a whole basketful of reasons but they will feed your purpose, never fear." She eased herself off the settle and stood unsteadily. "Pray give me the message and let me go hide it presently." She put a hand out to regain her balance.

Burdett took her arm to steady her. "The wine was too young perhaps."

Margery put her fingertips to her brow and gave her head a little shake, trying to clear the gathering cloudiness. Wine did not normally have such strong effect but there had been little to do but sip and listen to Burdett.

"Grab her garter, Tom." The Duke had moved behind her and with a swift unexpected movement dragged her arms behind her back. "Hush, Meg, it is all for our cause. We will hide the message in your garter."

She should have kicked Burdett or slammed her heel back into the Duke's shin but her limbs weighed as heavy as ancient branches. Burdett's fingers fumbled up her right leg and pulled her garter down around her ankle and free of her leather slipper.

"Now, Meg, listen before you fall asleep. In the morning you shall leave for England. There, hush now, Tom will put the garter back in place but we must remove the rest of your clothes. No, do not struggle." She thought of her dagger but the room had acquired the vigour of a windmill sail and her mind was strapped to it. Burdett dragged the overgown up over her head. The moment it was free of her she drew breath to scream, but the Duke's fingers fastened hard across her mouth. "Be easy, Meg, this is no assault. We just will send you swiftly on your way to Ned, that is all."

Burdett was unlacing her sleeves from the underkirtle. "Carry her to the bed, your grace."

"My whore for the night." The Duke smacked a wet kiss upon her shoulder as he lifted her. "Pity Bella is privy to this," he sniggered.

"B-Bella?" Margery tried to free herself.

"And Huddleston has been inconveniently delayed but he should be back in time to wave you farewell. Clever, eh, Meg?"

"She admits she is a harlot. Are you sure one of us can't enjoy her, my lord?" Burdett lifted her legs up onto the bed and dragged her underskirts down over her hips. Margery, cursing them, saw his eyes dwell lewdly upon her nipples before lowering his gaze to the triangle of hair between her thighs.

"I-I will kill you first, wh-whoreson."

"Unstrap her weapon, man, we do not want her using it on me in the morning."

She heard no more. Her befuddled wits gave out and night came down like a great blue curtain snuffing out the candlelight.

* * *

She woke with the Countess's voice shrill in her ears. There was no meaning in the words, not yet.

"Mother, I will have this handled my way, you hear!" That was Isabella, unusually decisive in her mother's presence.

"Wake up, Margery! What is the matter with you?" An ungentle hand slapped at her face but her eyelids were pasted to her cheeks.

"I told you there was something wrong. Is it poison, do you think? Could she have drunk something intended for me?" The Duke's voice.

With a curse, Margery remembered and struggled up. It seemed that the bell being hit by a clapper was her head.

"Just look at you, you wanton," hissed the Countess, somewhere near her right ear. "How you managed to deceive Huddleston, I will never know. I hope she gives you the pox, George!"

"Just go, mother!" Isabella snapped. "And make sure you leave me to deal with Father! If you say a word to anyone about this, I swear I will never speak to you again. I will not have the whole chateau sniggering at my expense."

The door slammed. Someone broke the silence with a giggle. Margery's bleared vision cleared to show the Duke and Duchess standing at the end of the bed, both in their dressing wraps, spluttering with laughter as if they had been caught at some prank.

Margery heaved her tangled hair back and dragged the sheet up tightly. "What in God's name have you agreed to, Bella?"

The Duchess folded her lips like a naughty child and swept round towards her. "Is it not a wonderful plan? How else could we gain Father's permission for you to leave so soon? You can take George's message and all will be well."

Margery closed her eyes painfully. "Keep your distance, your grace," she warned through clenched teeth. "I have a sudden aversion to fools." It was obvious from her innocent glee that Bella had neither thought the matter through nor could grasp the fact that her bastard sister's fragile standing in Warwick's opinion, not to mention Huddleston's, would be in shards now.

"Oh do not be so peevish. You wanted to be free of your marriage." Isabella sat down on the bed. "I promise," she crossed herself, "that once we return to England, George and I will write to his Holiness and every bishop in England, if need be, to have you free again."

Free—and then?

"You shall retain your dowry, Meg, and a rich pension." The Duke ran his fingers through his hair. The colour in daylight reminded her of fresh dog dung. "Smile, wench, and get yourself dressed while Bella and I talk to the old man. You need not face him."

Wench indeed! She grabbed a silver cup from a tray that lay upon the bed and hurled it at him. He gave his braying laugh, and, arm about Bella's waist, escaped into the antechamber.

Alone, Margery put her head on her knees and wept angrily. Her tears continued to fall as she thrust back the sheets. Only the tiny twist of vellum about her garter band was some consolation. Swiftly she dressed and finding the Duke's brushes bullied her hair back into her headdress. Squinting into his mirror, she stared in growing horror at the lovebite on her neck. Had the Countess seen that? Panic rose. Could either of the men have violated her? No, surely she would feel bruised, penetrated? Her breathing calmed and she wrapped the tail of her veil firmly round her neck. Thank God Huddleston was not back to see her shame, but where was he?

The Duke was waiting for her in the outside chamber. His servants had been dismissed except for Burdett whose grin made her turn crimson.

"Be charitable, cousin, did you not undress me in my bed at Valognes? Wait!" The Duke put a hand out to delay her but she slapped him away.

"What you have done was vile and to make poor Bella agree to it too! Let me go!"

"Right willingly," whinnied the Duke. "All the way to England."

Tears blinding her, Margery stumbled down the stairs and stood groggily, bewildered to find the courtyard a standstill of carts and wagons being unloaded for the feast next day: Queen Margaret was expected on the morrow. The bustling servants stepped around her. Where could she go to gather her thoughts and hide her shame?