The Maiden and the Unicorn

by Isolde Martyn

  Huddleston raised his head angrily, his eyes examining her face. "No? Oblige me in this or by Heaven you shall lie in your bridal bed this morning for my pleasure."

  "No, please, you know my mind," she protested and then, biting her lip, she lifted her face to his. Though disconcerted by the closeness of him, she tried reasoning. "I… I never thought to find compassion last night but I am in your debt for that. Let me go."

  "Willingly, except that I have my pride. You must obey me in this for both our reputations."

  Anger at the denial of her own will in the making of the marriage, and indignation at being sold to him rescued her from the betrayal of her own body. She summoned the memories of his insults, his high-handedness, his unspeakable arrogance.

  "No, I beg of you, I—" But as her lips parted to finish the sentence he kissed her, forcing her mouth open beneath his. She struggled but he held her in a grip of iron, forcing her to submit. A heat tore through her fast as a summer grass fire, searing her common sense, a blaze such as she had never experienced with Ned. She fought him, knowing he must not guess the effect he could evoke in her, but Richard Huddleston was ruthless, as if the quarrel between them was fought with lips. His new growth of morning beard rasped her cheeks. Her mouth felt swollen, used, when he finally released her to stand before him breathless and shaking with wrath.

  "That's better. You look at least as though you have evidence to support whatever lies your fancy may dictate."

  She deliberately drew the back of her hand furiously across her bruised lips, her breath ragged. "I think I hate you more than ever before for that, Richard Huddleston."

  He shrugged and softly unbarred the door. "Behold me terrified."

  "I do hate you. You are the most unbearable man I have ever met."

  "Unbearable? We shall put that exercise to the testing at some future day."

  Crimson with fury at his insolence, her fingers curled into claws.

  He grinned and put a finger to his lips. "Calm yourself, shrewcat, if you launch yourself on me like a flailing fury, it will be in the gaze of half the household. Shall we go to meet them or wait for the invasion? Ah, too late." He reached out and pushed her before him as the iron ring of the latch slowly moved. Several teasing faces peered around the door like detached gargoyles before a half dozen of the guests from the night before burst into the room. Margery gazed at their curious faces and slackened in Huddleston's grasp, glad of the support of his body behind her.

  "Come, sweeting." Huddleston hauled her after him down into the hall where a cheer went up from those still breaking their fast. He gave her a vigorous slap on the rump that drove her forward into the midst of the women. Dazed at her own feelings and rapidly trying to find the words for answers, she wanted to turn on him with a venomous look but the audience was too much for her. If she appeared as the tired addled bride, it was partly how she felt. She saw some of the tiring women disappear up the stairs to strip the sheets and gossip. Huddleston caught her glance with that maddening expressionless way he had.

  "Margery." A gentle arm came around her shoulders. "Margery, lambkin, come away." Ankarette urged her from the hall, out into the sunlight of the courtyard and across into the tiny mede garden. "Sit you down. Say nothing if you please. I am here if you need me."

  The kindness tilted the balance of Margery's courage. The tears came. Ankarette rocked her, soothing her with a motherly stroking on her back. "Was it such an ordeal?"

  "Yes… no. I mean the wedding was but he did no—"

  The older woman pulled back, incredulous, holding her firmly at arm's length. "For pity's sake, are you telling me the truth? Richard Huddleston? Now, you look at me square and fairly. You appear like any other bride to me." Margery turned her face away, Huddleston's kiss still fresh on her mouth. "Didn't he do anything?"

  "I… I." Margery sniffed and dabbed at her eyes with the corner of her sleeve. Her words had already spilt out sufficiently to send her friend's agile imagination whirling like a weathervane. You could not confide in Ankarette without it rippling out to every local village. "He was very considerate, I… I suppose," she heard herself saying, "but he… I'm not usually difficult, am I?"

  "You have had your moments, Margery, but no…"

  "I am normally a cheerful even-tempered person, am I not?" Her friend nodded. "Then why does Richard Huddleston make me want to strangle him the whole time?"

  "You spent the whole night endeavoring not to squeeze his windpipe? Didn't you—"

  "No!" snapped Margery, reddening. "I certainly… that is, do stop staring at me as though I am part of the Tower menagerie." She straightened her back. "I have something very important to ask you, Ankarette, and I want the truth. Do you know who my father is?"

  Ankarette Twynhoe's eyes narrowed. "For pity's sake, how on earth can I answer that? What a question to ask a soul after your bridal night! Am I supposed to have been present at your parents' mating?"

  "You are being evasive, Ankarette. Who do the servants say my father was… is?"

  "Well, the Earl has let you off beatings many a time when my lady was in a temper with you. You have a way sometimes… Why, Margery? Have you found out your father's name?"

  "My… Huddleston told me last night it was common gossip that I am my lord's bastard. He believes it."

  "Well, for pity's sake! Do you mean to tell me you spent your wedding night discussing your birthright? How tedious. Ah well, each to his own."

  A shadow fell across them. The two women slid off the turf seat into curtsies at the feet of Isabella.

  "My lady mother is asking for you, Ankarette. Something or other she cannot find. Off you go!" Ankarette obeyed, her sulky mouth looking rather like a waterspout. The Duchess dismissed the esquire and page in attendance with a little flick of the wrist.

  "You look suitably used, Margery. Not much sleep?" The Duchess, cloaked in soft velvet against the cold of the morning, made herself comfortable on the seat, patting it. Margery sat down again apprehensively. Was the day to be a series of interrogations on Richard Huddleston's sexual prowess?

  "If anyone else is indelicate enough to ask me how Huddleston compares to a certain king, I think I shall do something I regret."

  "You shall not include me in that threat," declared Isabella, wriggling. "Oh this seat is damp. We shall have to walk instead. I thought that at least you would confide in me. Why do you imagine I sent the others away?" She pulled Margery's arm through hers.

  "But you never told me about your wedding night, madam."

  "That was only because you were away at the convent, stupid. I shall tell you now though that it was a grave disappointment. His grace did manage something unremarkable which was a miracle considering how drunk he was, then he fell asleep instantly and snored loudly all night. It was boring. It still is and I am not missing that side of it one bit." She paused and detached herself from Margery to tuck a wisp of corn-colored hair back inside her cap. "Did I miss much with Ned?"

  "Your pardon?" Margery was thrown off guard, wondering if she had heard aright.

  "Well." Isabella made concaves of her cheeks as she took her lady-in-waiting's arm again and they recommenced their stroll. "I am convinced that Father would have liked Ned to marry me. All the while he was negotiating for Princess Bona of Savoy, I think he was desperately hoping that Ned would suggest it, but of course Ned usually goes for extremely mature…" She eyed Margery consideringly with a faint frown. "Strange that he should find…" Her fingers played with the petals of a creamy iris, her attention focused away from Margery's questioning expression. "Now where was I? Yes, well you know how angry my lord Father was that Ned married that grasping Elizabeth Woodville instead. Just think, if Ned had married me, there would have been no need for Father to rebel. So now, back to my original question. You shall not escape it. How did Huddleston compare?"

  "Your grace, if you expect any torrid details, you may save your breath to cool your porridge. Besides, I need your advice."

 
; "How unusual, Margery. You cannot be quite yourself. Ask away."

  Margery slid her arm out of Isabella's hold. "If you could be honest with me, I should be grateful. No one else is prepared to be. Richard Huddleston thinks I am your… your half sister."

  She had been expecting an affronted look but the Duchess merely shrugged instead. "That's no surprise, is it?"

  "Bella!" The old childhood name tumbled out. "Am I?"

  "I believe so." Margery clapped a hand to her brow. "Now do not tell me you did not know. Do you imagine I should have bestowed confidences and friendship on you otherwise? Besides, being sweet to you annoys Mother. And I want you to know I am sorry I was not old enough to protect you from her anger after that business with Ned, but I confess I was rather jealous at the time. Anne and I did feel that our parents behaved unreasonably."

  "But I did not know, Bella. Why was I never told?"

  "Because," the Duchess said, "this is an age that delights in keeping secrets from children. It was never spoken of as far as I know. Mother made it clear that it was never to be discussed." She arched her eyebrows. "Well, I suppose it is true. Father has never actually admitted it but it is clear from Mother's remarks that she certainly thinks you are his daughter." She giggled. "Finding out that in your bridegroom's arms! You must be pleased."

  "Overwhelmed."

  "I should imagine Huddleston is proud of himself too. 'Tis not every man who manages to become—let me see— brother-in-law to two dukes, son-in-law of a powerful earl, and cousin by marriage to a king and half the nobility of England in one night. I was forgetting he also becomes husband of the King's ex-mistress too." She regarded Margery shrewdly. "Calculating man, your new husband. It is no surprise to me that he did his sums correctly. I confess I do not find him easy. I like to know what people are thinking behind their eyes. He thwarts me every time."

  "Bella, are you implying that Huddleston married me merely because the Earl of Warwick may be my father?"

  "Oh, come now, you cannot be thinking he married you for love or even lust? Marriage is for profit. You are quite pretty but be honest with yourself, Margery, unless Father had given you a dowry, no man would have offered for you. No, do not look so nettled. By making this match, you have done uncommonly well for a woman in your circumstances. After all, Huddleston is even prepared to forget your lapse with Ned and that business with Littlebourne and Wyke two days back. I have taken his grace to task about that, by the way, and he has told Tom Burdett to scold them. Now stop being in the dumps, you may be sure that Father will put lands and titles Huddleston's way if this enterprise succeeds. And I shall ask his grace to do what he can when he becomes king. We shall certainly give you a place of honor at the coronation. I should not wonder if one day you die a baroness."

  "Thank you," exclaimed Margery dryly. She let out a deep sigh. Isabella's logic explained why Huddleston had not cared to consummate the marriage. He was after her prospects, not her person. "But, Bella, what I do not understand is this. If Richard Huddleston had the wit to see that Warwick must be my father then so had others. Why has no other man ever asked for me in marriage?"

  "I am sure there are several reasons. I suspect you were to be my father's gift to God. You said he told you something to that effect the other day. All noble families try to ensure one of their younger sons becomes a bishop. You know, like my uncle—our uncle—the Archbishop of York. Poor Father with no sons obviously could not give Anne or me to a convent so it had to be you. Personally, I have always considered that Anne would make an ideal nun. George and I have both said it to each other on many an occasion. Of course, Father did not foresee your waywardness. Your sinning with Ned was rather a blow to him but it did give him the opportunity to pack you off to a nunnery. I am sure he was hoping that if you were given enough time, you would take the veil."

  "What were the other reasons?"

  "Your safety. Father kept you out of the eyes of the world, away from Ned and safe from Elizabeth Woodville. She would not have wanted the King to have a Neville mistress. Huddleston must have guessed your parentage some time ago. Now I recall, he wrote to my lord about you. That's why Father sent for you from Nuneaton. By then he had given up all hope of you taking your vows. The Abbess had written to him that you were never likely to be godly. That was when he began to consider marrying you off."

  "He sent for me for Huddleston? In Heaven's name, why did you not tell me, Bella?"

  "Anne and I felt it would be cruel to raise your hopes and we were expecting Huddleston to come and visit to see if you pleased him. I am sure you would have been married to him months ago if Father had not been busy trying to make Ned behave better."

  Margery put her fingers to her temples. "Anne knew as well. This is becoming too much."

  Isabella patted her arm sympathetically. "I am sorry but you did ask. And you have successfully sent me down a side lane. I insist you tell me about last night."

  "There is nothing to tell. The zenith was discussing my parentage."

  "But you look… well, mauled sufficiently, to put it bluntly. I cannot imagine him behaving inadequately, a trifle cool perhaps but—"

  "Yes, he was cool and very controlled. You are right in your assessment of him, Bella."

  "And he's over in the courtyard now, see!" The Duchess picked up her brocade skirts and hurried across. Huddleston was arrayed in his riding garments, booted and spurred. About him were a score of men-at-arms. One of the men coughed in an obvious manner and there was a rumble of laughter as he turned from checking his saddlebags to see what was amusing the others. The glimpse of his white teeth as he grinned was predatory. Margery retaliated with a bored aloof expression and waited politely behind her mistress.

  "I have been teasing your wife no end," the Duchess was saying. "How very sad that you have to leave so soon."

  "They say that absence fans ardor, your grace," observed Richard dryly. Margery gave him a withering look. He had a capacity for saying what seemed to be the right thing— until one shook the memory out later.

  "Then I shall leave you two together to make your reluctant farewells." The Duchess lilted her skirts and swept elegantly back toward the hall, giving Margery a feline grin as she passed.

  Exposed to his inspection, Margery gave Richard a dismissive smile and started to hurry after Isabella. His hand was on her arm instantly and he whirled her around, possessing himself of her hand and carrying it to his lips.

  "I do like an audience, don't you?" He raised an eyebrow at the waiting men-at-arms and the other knights and esquires in their vicinity, keeping hold of her reluctant hand. "My new sister-in-law is in fine fettle today," he observed. "Lady Anne tells me her grace was in poor spirits until you arrived from Calais. What ails you?" Margery had snatched her hand away at his words as if he had jabbed a needle in her finger.

  "Nothing of matter." That was if she disregarded his capacity for ingratiating himself not just with Bella but evidently with Anne as well. Ambition was crawling all over him. "Good day, Matthew." She ignored the master and called sweetly to his servant. "I trust you are in good health."

  "Never better, Mistress Huddleston. May I offer my humble belated congratulations on your marriage to my master."

  "He likes big words." Richard moved his hand to her elbow and propelled her toward his horse.

  "No, Matthew, you may not." Her gracious tone hid nothing from the discerning.

  The great stallion nuzzled her shoulder. "He expects an apple from you. We all do." Richard grasped the reins and mounted easily, sliding his boots into the stirrups. Was he intending to make her feel like a mouse beneath a falcon's gaze? "The Duchess has been tormenting you a little, I think. Never mind, Margery, who knows, you may be putting flowers on my grave a few months from now. Is that what you are wishing?"

  "I am praying hard to my namesaint that a bucket of horse dung may descend over your head this very moment."

  "How very delightful." Huddleston nonchalantly signaled to one of his moun
ted men to sound the horn. At its harsh summons, two more horsemen ran tardily across the yard. "A Dieu, lady." He whistled and his deerhound materialized from behind the stables, its grin as vulpine as its master's. It bounded up, eyeing Margery with enthusiasm.

  "Veni!" snarled Huddleston. Error looked at his new mistress regretfully before he fell in behind the black stallion's hooves. His master gave Margery a taunting look before he touched his spurs lightly to the black flanks. In an instant they were all through the gateway, leaving a tiny flurry of dust to settle about her skirts.

  "The trouble is"—Ankarette was suddenly at her side— "that if one is not in love with one's husband, the only chance for satisfaction is to take a lover. I should not try that in his absence. Perhaps if we ever return to England…"

  "I am soon going back to England with or without a Neville army. As for Richard Huddleston, may he—"

  Ankarette laid her fingers on Margery's lips. "May he miss you. I think he will. After all, did he not go to the labor of abducting you? I cannot wait to see how you manage him on his return."

  "He is unmanageable. It is like living with the Devil."

  "I have always felt a little sorry for Lucifer." Ankarette glanced around as if a priest might be eavesdropping. "In fact, I think he would be very amusing company. Maybe he will give me an easier time in Hell for saying so. Stop looking daggers at me. I think after sharing Huddleston's bed a second night, you may sing to a different tune."

  Margery's face was adamant. "There will be no second night!"

  CHAPTER 12

  The women curtsied as the Earl of Warwick drew off his riding gauntlets and thrust them behind him onto the settle before taking the silver cup that his wife was holding out to him. There was a self-satisfied glint in his eyes as he quaffed down the contents and snapped his fingers at a page for more. He had returned from pirating without the Duke or, to Margery's relief, Richard Huddleston.