A knight broke away from the others to approach her. He had a swarthy complexion, night-black hair and a beard that crawled across his cheeks to end near his eyes. The darkness of his hair and skin cast his blunt features in an unholy light. Maria did not need an introduction to recognize Roger Mortimer.
"Welcome, Lady Rendell!" Mortimer's teeth flashed white in his expanse of beard. Her dress accentuated her stomach. Watching his gleeful reaction, Maria felt a wave of revulsion along with her fear. How could Queen Isabella ever share such a creature's bed?
"'Tis honored I am to meet England's most celebrated whore." Mortimer's flat black eyes raked her. "The reports of your comeliness, Lady Rendell, do not do you justice. Though I did not hear tell of your current condition. 'Twould appear that, at least in bed, the Bastard is not impotent." He looked past her to Richard, who did not react to the taunt.
"Your brother was no match for me, Bastard, and neither are you," Mortimer called out. "I picked this spot with loving care. I know the peaks and valleys of this country as well as you know your leman's charms. 'Twas foolish of you to think that you could outwit me in my own territory."
He returned his attention to Maria, who, disguising her terror, forced herself to coolly return his gaze.
Leaning across his pommel Mortimer lifted a strand of her hair. "Though I usually enjoy the charms of fairer women, I look forward to sampling yours." His eyes narrowed. "And if you should make trouble for me, bitch, after I have my pleasure with you, I may just slice off your nipples. Was that not Edward's own punishment for adulteresses—and in this instance I would relish obeying our former monarch!"
* * *
They rode until sunset, stopping a few miles beyond the city of Worcester. Maria's wrists had been bound, which made dismounting difficult. She was helped by Ranulph Leybourne, the eldest son of her one time fiancé, Edmund. The men from her past were coming back to haunt her. Leybourne's son... and Phillip, for Deerhurst was no more than five miles southwest of their camp.
If you seek to remind me, Lord, of my many sins, I need no remembrance.
Tonight might be her last night on earth, surely it would be her most horrible, though she could not truly believe her forthcoming fate. Something will happen, she assured herself as Ranulph Leybourne tied her to a tree. But had the Despensers also believed they would be spared?
With the coming night the air had turned bitter. Maria's chausses were wet, her fingers numb with cold, her stomach a leaden weight before her. "Do not be frightened," she whispered to her baby. "Somehow we will persevere."
Maria shivered as a blast of air cut through her. She looked longingly at the campfire around which Mortimer and his men had gathered. The captors were grouped closer to the warmth than she, but Mortimer was being deliberately niggardly with his fire, as well as his food and drink.
Standing before Richard, the Marcher lord raised a measure of ale in mock salute. "I have much reason to celebrate, Bastard. All my queen's enemies are dead or imprisoned, and England will be the better for it." Mortimer wasn't certain that England was really better served, but he knew he was.
Night deepened; the drinking increased. More frequently Mortimer's gaze drifted to Maria, though others disapproved of ravaging a pregnant woman.
After talking among themselves, Ranulph Leybourne acted as spokesman for several. "'Tis wrong in the sight of God to thus violate a woman," said Ranulph, confronting their lord. "Her only sin is that she is the Bastard's leman. We agree we should take her to London and imprison her, if need be, but nothing more."
Mortimer stared at the chorus of bearded faces, all nodding in agreement. "You are as useless as a bunch of mewling, psalm-singing churchmen," he snarled. "You may stay away from her if you fear God's wrath. But Roger Mortimer fears neither God nor man. Pregnant or no, I intend to take my pleasure off the whore."
When Mortimer ordered the remaining scraps of food distributed among the captives, Ranulph brought Maria a cold slab of pork and enough ale to wet her lips.
After glancing at his lord, who was again unsuccessfully needling Richard, he spoke softly. "I would have you know, Lady Rendell, that I do not bear you any animosity. And I will try to divert my lord's attention to other matters so that he will leave you in peace."
"But Lord Sussex, what about him?"
"Lord Mortimer has assured me that the earl will receive a fair trial."
"Do you really believe he will keep his word?"
"I do not know, my lady. Things are happening so fast..."
"Come away from her!" Mortimer strode to Ranulph and cuffed him hard on the shoulder. "You are not man enough for her, so leave her be."
After Leybourne stepped away, Mortimer yanked Maria to her feet. Still tied to the tree her wrists and back scraped against the rough bark. Mortimer kissed her; one hand squeezed her breast, the other swept downward over her stomach, to her crotch. He thrust upward.
Though her every instinct was to jerk away, Maria did not cry out or flinch, but willed her body to remain passive. As she met Mortimer's black eyes anger surged through her. "What a fine man you are, bullying a defenseless, pregnant woman. If this is a sampling of your prowess then God help England—for you will soon prove a poor master."
Mortimer's eyes narrowed, but his grin remained.
"Is this how you trapped our rightful king? Did you creep up on him in sleep, or when he was alone and you were armed with thousands? If you fear one woman so much you must keep her tied, how you must have trembled before our sovereign."
Mortimer removed his dagger from its sheath. "Your tongue flaps uselessly, whore. How would you like me to cut it out?" Mortimer suddenly leapt on her, slamming her against the tree trunk. Reaching behind he slashed her bonds.
"Does that feel better, bitch?" Seeing the terror in her eyes, Mortimer laughed. "You really thought I would mutilate you before I enjoyed my fill?"
He half turned away, then spun around, hitting her square on the jaw. She struggled to her knees, then, only semiconscious, collapsed.
Mortimer loomed above her. "Your time has come. You will soon rue your every word, that I promise you." He strode back to his watching men.
Senses reeling, Maria sprawled on the snowy ground. She heard Mortimer jesting concerning her immediate future. Finally her head cleared enough so that she could take measure of her surroundings. She rose to a semi-crouch. Her hands were no longer tied, though she had no idea how she might escape two score of men. The campfire was thirty feet in front; the forest behind only half that distance. Should she bolt for the trees she knew she could never outrun her captors.
But perhaps I can trick them, 'Tis dark in the woods and the pines are stout and close together...
Mortimer's back was to her, as were the backs of the men guarding Richard. Most of the others were preoccupied with the ale or the fire. She edged past the tree where she'd been tied. Once she reached the shadowed meadow, Maria crouched and dashed for the woods. Just as she gained the forest, someone shouted.
The camp erupted. The more alert had already grabbed their weapons, but though they made their way over the crusty snow toward the trees, their movements were not as swift as they might have been. It was not only Ranulph Leybourne who misliked Roger Mortimer's behavior.
Maria plunged deeper into the forest, then struggled up a tall pine, grabbing blindly for leverage. Needles scratched her hands and upturned face; bark scraped against her stomach.
If they catch me now, she thought, struggling to control her labored breathing, Mortimer will kill me within the moment.
Maria had barely maneuvered the lower branches before the first knight entered the forest. Not high enough! While the branches were thick, surely someone would spot her. The rest of Mortimer's men followed on the heels of the first knight, making obscene jests and vowing loudly to find her. But they milled about in a small area, and their boots obliterated her tracks.
Men thrashed past her, heading deeper into the forest. Directly below two kni
ghts paused. Maria recognized Roger Mortimer's voice and that of Ranulph Leybourne. Heart hammering in her ears, she clung to the tree. A clump of snow fell from a branch beneath her, thudding to the ground at their feet. Ranulph scanned the tree. She froze, certain she had been discovered.
"The whore will die slow," said Mortimer. "I mislike having to traipse about the woods when I had other pleasures in mind."
"She couldn't have gone far," Ranulph said, "But we'll not find her standing here. I am going on." He moved deeper into the trees.
Mortimer followed. Weak with relief, Maria relaxed her iron grip and inched upward, seeking more secure shelter.
Shadows again passed, this time heading back toward camp. When the knights returned they were trailing torches that tore apart the darkness. She could clearly see their tense eager faces; surely, they could see her as well. All they need do was look overhead, but mercifully their efforts were focused on the bushes and forest floor.
The torches thrashed deeper into the timber. She climbed higher.
To Maria, it seemed her captors searched the entire night, but when Mortimer finally called off the search, dawn was yet hours away.
"The Bastard must be returned to London and we'll not get our sleep chasing his leman. Sussex is my main concern." Mortimer held high his torch. "If the ground were not plagued by a foot of snow, I'd set fire to the underbrush and flush her out."
"She is probably halfway to Hereford by now," Ranulph said. "If not, most likely we'll meet her on the road."
Mortimer stroked his beard thoughtfully. "Her husband has a manor near here. Mayhap we should lay in wait for her."
"Every moment we waste will give Sussex opportunity to escape. Besides, Phillip Rendell is a proud man. No woman would be so foolish as to beg the man she so publicly cuckolded for help."
Mortimer laughed. "She does make a habit of cuckolding her lovers, doesn't she?" When Ranulph did not rise to the gibe concerning his dead father, Mortimer continued, "I can always deal with her at my leisure. Perhaps I will even send her the head of her paramour in a basket."
He threw his arm around Ranulph and the two men moved away from Maria.
"Aye. A present from Roger Mortimer, baron of Wigmore, and someday, if God wills it, king of England."
Chapter 32
Deerhurst
Deerhurst's fields stretched in a ghostly blanket, deserted save for cows drifting toward a milking shed and occasional flocks of bleating sheep. Approaching the manor castle's graceful crenellated towers, Maria was too exhausted to worry about her probable stormy reception. She'd been walking since early morn, and her wet boots had rubbed painful blisters. She was increasingly plagued by sharp, insistent contractions.
"Do not betray me now," she whispered. "Just a bit longer. Then, if we're lucky, we will enjoy some hot spiced malmsey and a bed." If Phillip didn't turn them away.
Pray to God her husband was at Deerhurst, for she did not know where else to seek help and 'twas her manor as well. The city of Hereford would be crawling with the queen's loyalists. Even if Maria reached it, what kindness could she expect from townspeople who had so gleefully destroyed Hugh Despenser?
At the first sight of riders she'd been careful to hide in the nearest ditch, wood or shelter. While Roger Mortimer remained her greatest fear, England was filled with those who shared his sentiments. She dared not trust anyone.
When Maria reached the castle drawbridge, the sergeant-at-arms, who was beginning to lower the portcullis, challenged her entrance.
"I beg a bit of bread and a place out of the wind for the night, nothing more." Maria did not recognize the man. How odd that, less than eight months past, she'd been Deerhurst's chatelaine. The sergeant looked her over, then with a grunt waved her past. "Be off with you then."
Servants were scurrying from the nearby cookhouse. The fragrant dinner smells made her stomach growl. Of a sudden her knees buckled. She collapsed against the castle curtain until the wave of exhaustion passed. Then she approached a page dawdling at the cookhouse entrance.
"Sirrah, might I speak with you a moment?" She did not recognize this lad either.
The page's eyes widened when he took note of her manly attire and protruding belly. "Aye... madam."
"Could you tell me whether Sir Rendell is in residence?"
"That he is." The lad cocked his head to one side, studying her. "I saw him in the hall not an hour past."
After pausing to consider, Maria slipped her marriage ring from her finger and placed it in his hand. "Would you take this to Sir Rendell and ask him to meet me in Deerhurst's chapel?"
"'Tis nearing suppertime and I have duties..."
Fumbling with the clasp of a silver and amethyst locket, Maria removed it from around her neck and placed it beside her ring. "The necklace has some value. If you will but relay my message, 'tis yours."
The page pocketed the locket, nodded and spun on his heels.
In the chill gloom of the chapel Maria awaited Phillip. She slumped against a wall in the nave, near the font where Tom had been baptized. He'd been such a sweet babe and now she might never see him again, as she might never see Richard.
Wearily, she sank to the ground and placed her head on her knees. She must have dozed. When she finally became aware of approaching footsteps and raised her head, she saw, not Phillip, but his older brother.
"You!" Humphrey Rendell hissed. "When Grimald showed me the ring I couldna believe you would be so bold as to show up here. But I should have known. You are brazen enough to attempt anything."
Maria struggled to her feet. "I would talk with my husband, Sir Humphrey." Oddly, she found it difficult to form her words. "I did not know you were master of Deerhurst as well as Winchcomb." She tried to look past Humphrey's bulk, but she was having trouble focusing her vision and her thoughts.
"Your husband is not here, for which I thank God. Now be gone before I call my men to extricate—"
"I need not you to fight my battles, Humphrey." Phillip, who had entered unnoticed, moved between his brother and Maria. "I will take care of this myself."
After a cursing, muttering Humphrey left, Phillip addressed her.
"What you are doing here and why you are dressed so strangely." His eyes carefully remained away from her stomach. "Where is Sussex?"
"Mortimer has him. We were bound for sanctuary, to Wales, when he captured us, not far from here. I escaped, but Mortimer is taking our lord to London where he intends to have him die a traitor's death."
Phillip thought of Hugh Despenser's body, twisting from the gallows, its thud as it plummeted to the earth, the thump of his head as the executioner cleaved it from his body....
"So..."
He turned away, struggling with the images and a past he could never escape. His lord and his wife lying together. He saw them as clearly in his mind's eye as if he'd personally witnessed their betrayal.
"What do I care for Sussex's fate?" he asked softly. "I hate him with a lasting hatred. You were a fool to come here seeking help."
'Tis my home too, she wanted to say. But instead she managed, "I had nowhere else to go." If her limbs didn't feel so impossibly heavy, perhaps she could reach out and touch him, as if that might somehow miraculously bridge the gap separating them. "Who would have thought we would come to this?" she whispered. "I loved you so much. I still do...."
Phillip's mouth twisted. "Aye. Your body shows ample proof of that."
"If you had stayed I would never have turned to him."
Phillip sighed. "You and our lord were as inevitable as rain in spring," he said softly. "I know that now. Perhaps I long knew it—though I pretended otherwise. But I cannot forgive you. You belonged to me, Maria. You were my property and nothing in heaven or hell had the right to take what was mine. I did not ask or want much—a loyal wife and one man I could call friend as well as lord."
"Richard is your friend; he loves you well." A sudden sharp contraction caused her to press her hand against her belly.
> "I do not call it friendship to steal another man's wife." A spasm of emotion flickered across his face. "I am so poor with words. I cannot sort things out in my mind, or in my heart, it seems. I only know that I am not capable of forgiveness." He looked beyond her to the shadowed altar. "Did you know, wife, I had to force myself to stay away? Two weeks after I left England, I wanted nothing so much as to return, but I kept telling myself I was weak, that if I just went to Paris, then Milan, and then Rome the excitement would return. There wasn't one day that I did not think of you and the children."
"Then why did you not return? Everything could have been so different."
"I think not, and that is why I cannot help Sussex, even if I would. He chose to remain loyal to King Edward. He knew then the risk he took. We cannot cheat our destiny. Not even our lord would say different."
Maria kept her hand upon her stomach. Mercifully, no more contractions. Not now when it was so important that she make her husband understand...
"But we do not know our lord is meant to die. Mayhap he is meant to be rescued, to return and wrest England from Mortimer's tyranny. We must try. Perhaps to do less is cheating destiny, not fulfilling it."
Drained beyond further argument she slumped against the chapel stones. Perhaps Phillip was right. Why struggle and scheme and have your heart torn out by hurt and love and unhappiness when life was but a shadow passing on a wall?
She felt the lightest contraction. Then another, more insistent. Something warm trailed down her leg. Maria knew that her water had broken, that she was going into labor. The chapel receded. Darkness seemed to swallow her. Raising her arm, she clutched for support at empty air.
"Hold on to me." Phillip voice emanated from a long narrow tunnel. "I will send for a midwife."
Maria leaned against him. She thought she nodded in agreement, but she couldn't be sure. Not that it mattered, any of it. She understood the most important thing—that she was about to lose her babe.
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