Last night had been an ordeal but it was worth it to ensure the little rebel gave them peace for the rest of the day. His eyes rested thoughtfully upon the splash of freckles across his prisoner's nose and cheeks, evidence of more time spent defiantly in the fresh air than mewed up embroidering some altar cloth. She had not followed the fashion of plucking her forehead either. That pleased him. The girl was neither vain nor did she ape her betters. On close inspection, the short hacked hair made her look more like an unruly maid scarcely turned woman rather than her true age. Certes, any woman of her years would be long wed by now and have ripened at least three babes within her womb. But this wench was special.
How old had she been when the King had seduced her? Sixteen or younger! Would the King still find her desirable if he could see her now with her hair like a boy's and weariness mixed with bad temper fouling her looks? Richard thrust his jealousy aside. If God had tripped the King in the castle yard, then mayhap the wench would have eventually given her maidenhead to him instead. God knows, he had surely wanted her more than the King.
The King's Receiver ate in silence for some while and then, the edge of his hunger dulled, he rewarded her with a more agreeable expression and tossed his salivating dog a hunk of bread. Hope of food had overtaken its desire for warmth and it sat dribbling for more.
"There will be hard riding this morning. My men will meet up with us after noon."
She checked over her shoulder to where the landlord and his wife were gossiping with his servant in the back kitchen, then without looking at him, she asked, "Do your men know you have your brother with you?"
"Ah, intelligent conversation, how very refreshing. No, they think I am abducting an heiress, I daresay."
"You dare a great deal, Master Stone." She raised her eyes coldly.
"I had rather dare with armed men to help me than try and protect your blemished honor unaided. Eat up, we have some weary miles ahead and I do not want you peevish from hunger."
"Why do you dislike me so?"
"Dislike you?" He was smiling wholeheartedly for the first time, his fine white teeth grinning at her. "Probably because you have done nothing but rail at me which seems totally unreasonable of you."
Margery spluttered as she took a mouthful of ale and looked tempted to fling the remains of her cup at him.
"No," he said softly. "Don't even think it."
"I wonder," she said sweetly, "how I could possibly have enjoyed life before your appearance, Master Stone. You add something indescribable to my well-being."
"No doubt you could find a suitable word since you seem to have spent most of your time cavorting in the stables." He grabbed her angry hand and held it fiercely down. "What, hit the King's Receiver, like some common slut?"
The taunt hurt but she retaliated. "Common sluts normally hit you, do they?"
"I trust I know none among my acquaintances." His thumb stroked sensually across the top of her hand as he deliberately let her know by his expression that he was examining her as a woman, assessing her, behaving like Adam after biting the apple from the Tree of Knowledge. Crimson flushed across her cheeks and throat beneath his gaze. She did not like it. Let her think he might be changing his mind about treating her like a lady.
Snatching her hand away as though he had dripped burning oil on her, she busied herself with the bread and cheese. Let her simmer a little more, he decided. Let her think that the idea of marrying her, openly voiced, had lifted the lid on a whole stew of trouble.
"Everything proper, sirs?" The alewife had stuck her head around the door.
"Aye, and your fresh bread has revived my brother's appetite."
He made small talk with the woman, giving his companion breathing space. His deliberate breeziness annoyed his prisoner. Little doubt there.
When the good dame had retreated once more to the back room, Margery maintained a grim silence, her chin in her hand, her eyes downcast. Unobserved, Richard was free to appreciate the fringe of gold lashes lapping the blue glaze. Her coloring was perfect. Did she know it? Did bastards at Warwick have a chance to see themselves in silver mirrors? Perhaps it was curiosity that finally stung her into raising her blue eyes. "Were you at Warwick or Middleham?"
Her question hurt. He was sure she knew who he was and if she did not, then had that fleeting moment when he had held her in his arms meant nothing to her? Was this another ploy to irritate him? He felt his smile slide away. "You know I was." His voice was soft, almost bitter. "I was at Warwick all that week."
"What week?" she asked faintly, a frown puckering her forehead.
"You know which week. How do you think I know you otherwise, mistress? The week the King was with you." He hoped to put a brutal end to this conversation; her questions were like salt on his wounds.
"Oh," her voice shrank to a whisper and her eyes fell before his.
"Let us go." The trestle scraped back as he rose. He tucked his riding crop beneath his arm while he drew on his gloves, giving her a stern glance before he strode across to the doorway to the inner room and tapped on the door frame. The landlord came for payment and Long followed him in, wiping the crumbs from his chin with his sleeve.
Newly shod, Margery's horse was brought out of the smithy but Richard was forced to sit and wait while she made a long and silent fuss of the creature before mounting. He felt an absurd envy, not to mention impatience, at the unnecessary delay. Watching her struggling to mount unaided was satisfying but his irritation with life was growing apace like summer grass.
Three more days of travel lay ahead of them. The girl was not likely to run away now but she was going to test him to the limit. How fortunate that they had both been so tired when he rode with his arms about her earlier else she would have soon learned the power she had over him. He could not afford to let her find out. Not yet.
Margery pulled a face as she eased her leg across the shiny saddle. How she was going to endure the chafing, she did not know. At least, she consoled herself, she did not have to ride with him anymore. Did that rogue have to scrutinize her every movement? Well, she wanted as little to do with him as possible but her determination not to speak to him for the rest of the morning was soon forgotten.
"But this is not the road to Exeter!" she protested as Stone turned his horse in a northwesterly direction out of the village.
"Lettered but somewhat untutored," applauded her captor. "Even if you can read signposts, keep your voice low."
"The master has been commissioned to take the rebel Clarence's Devon manors. He can hardly appear before the King with just yourself in tow, now, can he?" The servant, Long, pointed this out to her, with his inevitable gap-toothed grin.
"I suppose not but I thought we were going direct to the King."
"The King is not yet in Devonshire." Stone's eyes ground into hers as if he were willing obedience into her head. "If you are thinking to escape again, the sand in your glass is spent. The Earl will have boarded ship by now for Calais."
"If his ships have arrived there in good time. We were originally supposed to be making for Southampton."
Her captor's face became alert. "Were you now? So why did he change his plan?"
"My lord received word that it was too dangerous. He sent some of our best soldiers to steal through to Hampshire and bring our ships west. I am only telling you this because it is too late for you to act upon the information."
She was thinking rapidly, worrying what would happen if there were insufficient ships to evacuate the rebels. Would Warwick stand and fight Ned?
"No matter, mistress. We shall be in Exeter by Wednesday to learn the news."
"Three days on the road!" The mare lifted her head at the sudden jerk upon the bridle. "Do you mean I have to put up with your unspeakable company for that long!"
The stallion circled the mare menacingly until its rider was within kissing distance. "Speak to me like that one more time, lady, and I shall give you cause to exercise your legs instead of your tongue. You shall walk
to Exeter if it pleases you."
Margery swallowed. She felt like driving a fist into one of those adamantine green eyes but his gaze gripped hers, his face barely a palm span away. He was invading the very air she breathed.
Suddenly the embers of her memory abruptly stirred to flame. Finally she understood the sudden feeling of familiarity that overwhelmed her. Sweet Jesu, last time they had met the knave had tumbled her down upon the floor of the hay barn bestriding her thighs, trying to bewitch her with that green fire.
She clenched her jaw. This time he had underestimated his victim. She was no longer a curious goose who was easily flattered by a man's attention and he could—well, he could just whistle in the wind until he was hoarse. She met the sorcerer full square, her eyes hard and brilliant. "You think you have unfinished business, do you not, Master Stone?" she taunted.
The imperious expression of her adversary gave no quarter. "I do not think it, mistress, I now know it."
CHAPTER 3
Margery was as avid for news as a fledgling for food by the time they finally arrived at the northern gate into the city of Exeter—together, that was, with half of the shire and its produce. The queue was enormous. A bubbling brew of panniered donkeys, driven livestock, jammed carts, and Devon curses. They received plenty of those as Stone, armored with authority and the advantage of his soldiers, nosed his horse through the throng, his fist tight on the leading rein of Margery's horse, so she was lucky to hear the news firsthand.
The tidings were rich indeed. For once Exeter was at the heart of the great matters occurring in the kingdom and the guards at the gate parted readily with the information.
The King had come to Exeter. That was the main part. The Earl and Duke had escaped by ship so there would be no beheadings or hangings. That was the second part and the third part was that the city was so full with the King's men-at-arms that there was no accommodation left except for fleas or any woman who would share a bed with a soldier.
Stone, not seemingly put out, ordered his men and Margery back to one if the outlying villages. Having set a guard about her, lie returned to the city to seek an audience with the King.
"Did you see him?" Margery asked on his return just before nightfall, breaking her long silence.
He nodded with such disinterest that she could have shaken him.
"He will see you. mistress. But before you whoop for joy, let me tell you that he is about to leave for Southampton. I am bidden to take you to him there and I have orders to take possession of some manors in Dorset, one outside Bridport and two more the other side of Dorchester. In other words, we shall have to tolerate each other's unwelcome company for another week."
"Oh." Margery's shoulders slackened with disappointment.
"Such enthusiasm," he applauded dryly. "However, we shall go into Exeter in the morning and sleep there tomorrow night. The sooner we are out of this flea-ridden hovel the better." He raised a disgusted eyebrow at the crumbling plasterwork of the room that had been her prison for the afternoon. "Besides, I have some errands and one that touches your person especially."
"And what is that?" she asked loftily.
"To have you properly gowned again as befits your sex. You cannot attend the King's grace at Southampton as you are."
"I do not think that he would care. I am sure he would be amused."
"I doubt it." Stone's contemptuous expression spoke volumes. "How old are you?"
Margery flushed beneath his rebuke. "Pray, leave me be. I'll answer to the King for my clothes. I need some protection."
"Only from the King," he muttered and raised mocking eyes. "Even a carrot within your codpiece would fool no one." Her hand lashed out at him, tears sparkling on her lashes, but he laughed, his arm easily foiling her, infuriating her even more. "Be still with you! I thought every woman welcomed the prospect of a new gown."
"Not from you. Nothing from you."
"You have no choice so be pleasant." He strode to the door. "Long will bring you up some supper." He opened the door, then hesitated, his fingers playing upon the latch. "I fancy some color that will enhance your eyes may also sweeten your tongue."
Margery drew herself up as tall as she could, her fingers clasped sedately beneath her breast. It was an attitude that both the Countess of Warwick and the Abbess had affected when they wished to preserve their authority. Her tone was proud but icy. "Do not treat me like some silly country maid. Do you think I am so easily pleased?"
"Yes," he snarled over his shoulder and banged the door behind him.
Outside the room, he leaned against the wall. At last within his keeping and yet… Christ, he was tempted to sin with her. A little time in Hell for a chance to flick open one by one the knops of her russet doublet, then slide his hands inside her shirt. How many Hail Marys would pay for peeling down the brown hose she wore so unabashed?
Soon, he vowed, very soon.
Margery smiled in relief as she heard his angry feet descend the stairs. The man was infuriating but at least he was honorable. He had restored her dagger to her and at each of the manors where he had taken possession, she had been given privacy and Matthew Long had slept guard outside her door. True, there had been a clash between them when he had insisted Long take the scissors to even up her hair and she had exacted an enjoyable vengeance in casually telling him she remembered him now—one of the youths who had held the wager with the King.
She could swear the words had drawn blood. His gaze had been as hard as rocks beneath green lichen. Served him right!
With a shake of her head, Margery turned her thoughts again to the King and what she must say to him. Ned was in her debt for all her six years' penance. Perhaps he might find her a place in one of his sisters' households or even at his own court. She needed a position that would provide a roof over her head until the Nevilles returned from Calais and the Earl came out of his sulks and made his peace.
Without a powerful protector like the Earl of Warwick, her past reputation and lack of parentage made her open game for any man. When he had sent her to the nunnery, Warwick had told her plainly that she had destroyed any chance of a respectable marriage. And she would do anything rather than become a courtesan, trying to please some man the whole time. Jesu, no, such a life would be just as much an enslavement as marriage. That left becoming a nun but… She sighed, yes, her whole future would hang in the balance at Southampton but at least she would be free of Richard Stone.
Riding into the city of Exeter next morning, Margery felt like a child going to a fair for the first time. The city, being the greatest in the shire and a river port besides, was far larger than Warwick or Middleham and much more exciting. It was smoky, noisy, and full of dung from the horses of the King's army, but stretching down the hill to the Exe Valley in one direction and toward the towers of the cathedral, proudly rising above the gables, there were shops and stalls everywhere.
The apprentices, catching the sleeves of passersby as they touted for their masters, were cheerful. The King, one lad explained in a soft Devon brogue as he grabbed hold of the bridle on Margery's horse to slow her down, had paid his army when they reached Exeter and the soldiers, their quarry fled, had spent lavishly in the shops and alehouses. Clever Ned, thought Margery, it was a subtle way to woo a city that had hitherto been partial to the Kingmaker's cause. Fortunate Exeter! Today its streets were mired with excrement instead of blood.
The girl within Margery could not help stealing her eyes sideways at the sight of all those trinkets and ribbons as she rode along following Stone. Each board that hung out on chains from every gabled house was groaning with the weight of its wares. How wonderful to have a bottomless purse on your belt. But sensibly she set such thoughts aside. Material possessions had meant little to her, for all she had ever owned had been supplied by the Countess and, besides, it would not do to let Master Stone notice her interest.
He saw his men bestowed at a prosperous hostelry in a lane near the guildsmen's hall. He was about to pluck her from
her horse when he caught himself in time and slapped her knee playfully instead with his glove. "Come, little brother, we'll make more progress on foot."
Curiosity compelled her to accompany him though she tossed her head defiantly before she followed him into the throng, picking her way with care around the muddy puddles of yesterday's rain.
Several stalls and shops sold cloth. Stone surveyed them all from the outside and then pushed her into the largest that was set halfway down the hill.
Margery stood dazed, discovering a veritable cave of forbidden treasure. Bales of material lay horizontal against the wall. Silk, tissues of gold and silver, brocades and velvets glowed in hues as rich as gems against the duller camlet and musterdevelys. Sable, marten, and coney furs for tippets, collars, and trims sat coiled upon a sideboard like strange animals and a basket of follybells nestled beside a painted wooden box of leather points already cut into lengths for tying hose to doublets. A merchant's wife, richly appareled, was choosing buttons to edge her cuffs from the samples the merchant had tipped out onto the counter. Margery stanched her envy. It would be wonderful to afford such luxuries and take her time choosing.
Richard had his lie ready. "Some cloth for our sister's gown, good sir. She is of my youngest brother's coloring here." The merchant pointed up questioningly to a creamy white damask but his customer shook his head. "By the Saints, not that. She is too much a rapscallion to keep such a gown clean. No, white is"—he paused, grinning at Margery—"inappropriate, don't you agree, lad?" The girl's hand curled into a fist but she kept her hand to her side. No question that she itched to clout him for mocking her for her lost chastity yet again. Richard was enjoying the sport. His mother had often sent him a long shopping list of items to send back to her in Cumbria so he was quite used to dealing with haberdashers and clothiers but buying for the young woman at his elbow spiced this occasion. He could see that Margery was trying not to show an interest in the fabric that rippled across the board for their perusal but there was a brilliance in her eyes and disappointment as he rejected each.
The Maiden and the Unicorn Page 5
