Promise of the Rose

by Brenda Joyce

  It was deserted, a rare event. Except for her brother, of course, who sat at the long trestle table, accompanied by Fergus, one of her father’s closest kinsmen. Mary’s heart gladdened despite her predicament. How she loved Edward, and it had been so long. She struggled free of her husband’s grasp and rushed across the large chamber into her oldest brother’s arms.

  She cried a little as he embraced her. Edward loved her. From the time she could first walk, he had always been there to rescue her from her mischievous adventures, and after, he had always been there to defend her lack of restraint. He was not just her older brother and something of a hero, he was her dear, dear friend, a friend she had sorely missed, a friend she desperately needed. Finally Edward gave her over to Fergus for a gigantic bear hug. Mary wiped away her tears when the big redhead released her. Somehow she was both joyous and sad at the very same time.

  “How you glow, little sister,” Edward said softly while smiling and appraising her. When he smiled he was one of the handsomest men that she knew. His teeth were very white, his skin very tanned, his hair so dark an auburn that sometimes it seemed black. “Marriage must agree with you.”

  Mary almost laughed. A few days ago she would have agreed wholeheartedly. Then she realized that Stephen stood behind her, silently listening, silently observing. Her smile became determined. “I am not sorry to be wed.” That was the truth. She hoped Stephen understood.

  The look Stephen gave her was decidedly hostile. Mary almost backed away from him. He gave her a mocking smile. “Enjoy your visitors, madame. As you undoubtedly wish a private moment, I shall leave you to see to my own affairs.”

  Stephen was walking away. Mary forgot about her brother, racing after him. “Wait! My lord!” She caught up to him. “Stephen, what are you doing? Why would you leave me alone with Ed? Why do you not stay with us?” She spoke in a low, rapid whisper.

  “Do you not trust yourself, Mary?”

  She winced. “You think to test me?”

  “I think to let you hang yourself,” he said, and then he strode past her with the force of a whirlwind. The heavy front door of the keep thudded closed behind him.

  Mary trembled. Dear God, Stephen did not trust her at all, and had he not just told her why he had left her alone, she would think him mad. But he was not mad. For instead of sitting with her and her brother, not giving her a chance to play at treachery, he was coldly and deliberately allowing her the privacy to scheme against him if she willed.

  “He does not appear very pleased by my visit,” Edward sighed. “He appeared murderous while we were embracing. Unfortunately, I do not think it was because of misbegotten jealousy.”

  “No, he is most definitely not jealous of you, Ed,” Mary managed.

  “Are you all right, Mary?” Edward asked while Fergus scowled.

  “A’ course she is na all right,” Fergus said roughly in his thick brogue. “She’s married to the Devil himself, an’ hateful he is, too. We should take the lassie home wi’ us, Ed.”

  “No!” Mary cried, genuinely shocked by the idea. “He is not so bad, Fergus, really.” She took a calming breath. “I am just surprised that he would leave us alone.” But her surprise was wearing off. Did he think to trick her into revealing herself? For it occurred to her that he would never leave her alone to scheme against him—he must have spies about. And—her heart quickened—as that was not her intention, his spies would have nothing to report.

  “Mary?” Edward took her arm. “Are you really not sorry to be wed to him?” His voice was low, so that any spies might not hear him. Edward was also astute.

  “No, Ed, I am not sorry to be Stephen’s wife.” She spoke normally. Let the spies hear me now, she thought with sudden satisfaction. “But it has not been easy. You see, I have been trying so hard to win my husband’s trust. He has accused me of treachery, for he caught me spying upon him.”

  Edward paled. “Mary—you heeded Father? You would spy upon your husband?”

  “No! No! Father told you that he asked me to spy? I would never spy upon my husband! I was curious, though, and you know how I am when curious.” She felt hot tears rise. “How I regret my foolish actions. We had discovered how pleasant marriage could be, when Stephen caught me eavesdropping. And now we are just recovering from that incident; Stephen was so close to forgiving me, perhaps even about to realize my innocence, when you came. I am glad to see you, I am, but now Stephen thinks me a traitor again. For he thinks that you are here to receive information from me or to plot and scheme with me against him.”

  Edward sighed, leading her to the table. “I am sorry. In truth, Malcom sent me to find out why you failed to warn him about the invasion. I will be glad to tell him that you have no intention of breaking your wedding vows. Indeed, I already said as much, knowing you as I do.”

  Mary hugged her brother. “Thank you, Ed.” It was on the tip of her tongue to ask Edward how their father could ask such a terrible thing of her, but the topic was still too painful, and she did not.

  Instead, she thought of her husband, imagining the report his spies would make to him. Her spirits lifted immeasurably. “Now, no more politics. Is Edgar well? I heard he was wounded at Carlisle.”

  Edward and Fergus stayed for dinner. Mary’s mood was joyous. She laughed readily and smiled constantly. What had begun as a disastrous blow to her marriage had now turned into a wonderful boon! For Stephen’s spies would report the conversation between her and her brother in exact detail— and he would know that she had not spied upon him, that she never would.

  Obviously Stephen had yet to speak with his spies, for he did not appear to be pleased during their noon meal. He ignored Mary, and every time her laughter rang out, his mouth pressed hard together. She did not mind. Soon, very soon, he would know the truth, and he would hardly ignore her then.

  At first there was much tension between Stephen and his guest, Edward. It was not their first meeting; they had spoken in London at Court, both before their wedding and during it. Mary vaguely recalled that they had gotten along very well then. Now, so soon after Carlisle, Edward was grim and quiet, Stephen displeased and brooding. As Mary’s attempts at making conversation were firmly rebuffed by her husband, it was left to the countess to smooth things over.

  And Lady Ceidre was an expert at managing hostile factions in social settings. Swiftly she drew both Edward and Stephen into innocuous and pleasant conversation. Once broken, the tension swiftly died. It soon became apparent that Stephen and Edward liked each other despite the recent battle for Carlisle, despite the history of warfare and politics that lay like a gaping chasm between them. They began to converse with increasing amiability. Following the countess’s lead (and she was now obviously satisfied and sitting back quietly to observe her handiwork), they steered carefully clear of all topics politic.

  As Mary watched her brother and her husband, her joy grew. One day Edward would be King of Scotland, she had no doubt, and it would be a great thing for Northumberland. Perhaps, because Edward was less of a fighter than her father, not any less brave, but more peaceful of character and less truculent, the constant battling in the border country would diminish and even end. Mary could imagine a day when peace reigned, she could even imagine more meals like this one, with her husband and brother at the same table, both amiable and well disposed towards each other.

  Edward and Fergus took their leave after the dinner. They had come to Alnwick with a considerable force, and their men had been awaiting them outside Alnwick’s walls all this time. Mary watched them leave from the ramparts, feeling both terribly hopeful and unbearably sad. She wondered when she would see him again—she wondered if her dreams would ever really come true.

  Mary was restlessly pacing the bedchamber, waiting for Stephen, when he finally appeared that night. He had disappeared after the noon meal, and she had not seen him since. She had been eagerly awaiting this moment all afternoon and evening. By now Stephen had learned of her innocence, and her final exoneration was
near.

  He seemed surprised to see her awake. Then his cool gaze slid right past her and he began to undress.

  Mary was stunned. Wasn’t he going to say something? Or did he have so much pride that he could not admit he was at fault? Or did he no longer care? No—that was impossible! “My lord? Let me help you.” She sprang forward.

  He did not look at her. “I can manage myself,” he said, removing her hands from his belt. “Go to bed.”

  Mary froze. Something was not right. “Stephen?” She laid her palm on his back. He had yet to shrug out of his undertunic, but he turned quickly away, and her hand slid off of his body.

  “Do not bother me, Mary.”

  “What—what is wrong?”

  “What is wrong?” He laughed harshly. “Nothing, dear wife, nothing at all.”

  “But have you not spoken with your spies?” Mary asked frankly.

  He looked at her as he dropped his undertunic on the floor. Firelight played over his wide, bare, muscular chest. “My spies?”

  Mary’s heart began to sink. “Did you not have spies listening to my conversation with Edward today?”

  “No, Mary, I did not.”

  Mary was so stunned with disappointment that she could not speak. Tears finally crept into her eyes.

  “How distressed you are.” He sat and kicked off his boots, one by one.

  “Why?” she whispered, her vision so blurred, she could not see his face clearly. “Why not?”

  “For precisely the reason you wished for me to have spies present, madame.” He stood, naked, and moved past her to the bed. “My spies would learn nothing of value, as you would admit nothing except what you wanted them to hear and relay back to me.”

  Mary was aghast. She backed away from him automatically. She had been ecstatic all that day, thinking to be proven innocent at long last, dreaming of the joy that would come again into their life, dreaming of how Stephen would hold her, the endearments he might whisper in her ear, and now she crashed sickeningly and found herself at pit bottom. “I never thought in that manner,” she whispered. But hadn’t she, in a way? Hadn’t she been thinking of his spies as she spoke every single word?

  “Come now, Mary, a clever lass like you? I would not waste my time spying upon you when you fully expected it.” His glance was brief but searing. Then he climbed into the bed.

  Mary stared at the fire, unseeing. “I am not so clever,” she whispered finally. She turned to look at her husband, who was stretched out on his back, his eyes closed, as if asleep. And she was angry.

  She pounced on the bed, on him. She hit him with her fists. He grabbed them instantly, restraining her, his own expression dark. “What is this?”

  “I hate you,” she cried. In that moment it was true. “I have worked so hard …”

  He lifted her to her knees, so they were face-to-face. “You have worked so hard, Mary? At what? At tricking me with your sweet body into trusting you, into forgetting the past?”

  “No!” She tried to twist free of him and failed. “I have worked so hard to convince you that I would never break my vows!”

  “If only that were true.” Stephen released her. “If only that were true.”

  “It is true, damn you! I spied because I am a Scot, and it was obvious you were planning treachery against Scotland! That, I admit! But I did not try to warn Malcolm, nor did I intend to try!”

  “You look like an avenging angel.” Stephen touched her hair briefly. “A man would be mad to doubt you.”

  She was still, disbelieving.

  He smiled as if forced to swallow bilious medicine. “A man would also be mad to believe you.”

  “ ’Tis not fair!”

  “Why would your wedding vows mean so much to you, Mary? When you have spent your entire life hating me, hating Normans, hating England?”

  Mary took a moment to answer carefully. For her answer was a painful gamble. “I have hated Normans, yes, but—not you.”

  He looked at her.

  She reddened, hoping he would not remark it. If only she had less pride. Her pride did her no good now. Her voice was a whisper. “I have never hated you, my lord.” And she was thinking about the first time she had seen him, how mighty and invincible he appeared, how proud, how noble, how powerful and male. She had fallen in love with him then and there at Abernathy two long years ago.

  Finally Stephen found his voice, and his tone was mocking. “Now the grand confession—that you love me?”

  Mary choked. “You make it so very hard.”

  He stared, silent.

  “You do not deserve love from me,” she said after a long pause. His cruel doubt, his mockery, made it impossible for her to tell him the whole truth of her feelings for him. That her love had been so forbidden that her only recourse had been to hide behind a wall of hatred. She wiped a tear away with the back of her hand.

  “And undoubtedly I do not have it,” he said caustically.

  Mary turned away.

  Stephen grabbed her. She gasped when he flung her on her back, beneath him. His eyes blazed. “You are playing dangerous games, madame.”

  She shook her head in denial, unable to speak. He was furious, she was frightened. Yet she was suddenly excited and breathless and acutely aware of being beneath him and completely subject to his whim.

  “If you love me,” he said, low and hoarse, “I suggest you prove it.”

  Mary was sweating. She licked her lips. “Have I not proved it, my lord?” Her voice was husky and unrecognizable.

  His smile was no smile, but more of an animal-like snarl. “You will never prove your love to me in bed, Mary. That is not what I am speaking about.”

  Their gazes held. The primal thrill was gone. Mary’s heart sank with comprehension. Then Stephen turned away from her, and he did not touch her again that night.

  The following day Prince Henry appeared at Alnwick. He was not alone; he traveled with a full contingent of troops. His many men were camped just outside the castle’s walls, covering the moors for as far as the eye could see. The landscape was changed into a small, raucous village. Local maids hid for fear of rape, local farmers swallowed their grief as their livestock was slaughtered to feed the vast numbers, both upon Stephen’s command and without it. It had been raining for days, but now the weather cleared. Which was fine with the mercenaries, who were restless and sick of the inclement English weather. Mock jousts were set up, more maids hunted down, anything to amuse the men.

  Mary was glad that they only intended to spend one night. One of the kitchen maids had suffered at the hands of the men, and Mary had seen firsthand their cruel brutality. She had tended the poor weeping girl herself. True, she was no stranger to the proclivities of soldiers fresh from battle, but Henry’s mercenaries were worse than any she had ever so far seen.

  Although she was very disturbed by the events of the night before, although she was angry enough to want to ignore Stephen as he now ignored her, she could not hold her tongue. She searched him out in order to protest vehemently about the presence of the undisciplined Normans—and to find out why they were there in the North.

  “It is only for this day and this night,” he told her. “Henry could not restrain them even if he wanted to, which he does not.”

  “But you do not allow your men to ravage the countryside and rape and maim as they choose,” Mary flared. She glared at her husband, trembling with anger, an anger having far more to it than that induced by the subject they were on.

  “My men are not mercenaries,” Stephen said, and then he dismissed her before she could question him any further.

  Mary had not anticipated Stephen being able to rectify the situation. She would not protest again, and she would guard her people the best that she could. She ordered the guards in the barbican to allow all locals free entry into the bailey to escape the Norman knights. As she did so, she was very aware of the irony of her actions. Stephen saw her as an outsider, but she had already taken his people and his home to her
heart, and genuinely felt it her duty to protect Alnwick and those bound to it. Hopefully her husband would not find out about her efforts on his behalf, and if he did, she did not think him barbaric enough to countermand her.

  But what in God’s name was the prince doing there? Although common gossip held that he went to Carlisle to relieve the current garrison there, Mary was terribly afraid that his presence signified far more than that.

  And Henry made her nervous. In fact, he made her far more nervous than his marauding troops. She did not trust him. He had sharp, roving eyes, eyes that searched out far too much, that saw far too much. However, Mary knew better than to be anything other than pleasant to him.

  He sat on the dais with her and Stephen and the countess, between her husband and her mother-in-law. Mary was glad that Stephen shielded her from him, at least with his physical bulk. If Henry got too close to her for too long, he would soon discern that something was wrong.

  She had hardly slept last night. She had tried to seduce Stephen after he had turned away from her, instinctively knowing that she must quickly recover the territory she had lost that day, territory that had been painstakingly regained in the past week. She could not let their marriage continue this downslide. Yet she had been firmly rebuffed. His blatant rejection, one not even politely disguised, had been the final blow. She had sagged in bed beside him, for the first time in her life bewildered and feeling defeat.

  That morning she glimpsed the dark circles beneath her eyes in Isobel’s looking glass. She was a sore sight. And now Henry was here, and his keen gaze had slid over her, covering every inch of her, making her exceedingly uncomfortable. Mary suspected he found her desirable. When he looked at her she suspected his thoughts were shameful. She did not want to guess at them, but because Stephen had initiated her so thoroughly into the many manners of lovemaking, she could guess too well what they might be.

  They spoke little at supper. Conversation in general was light. Henry openly stated that he would relieve the troops at Carlisle. Afterwards he planned to return to his holdings in Normandy. She did not particularly care what transpired in Normandy, as long as it did not affect Northumberland or Scotland, but she knew, as did practically everyone, that William Rufus coveted his brother Robert’s Norman duchy and would probably go to war one day to gain it. Would the prince once again go to war for one brother, against the other? And if so, which brother would he support this time?