By Arrangement

by Madeline Hunter

  He kissed her temple and pulled her into the curve of his body. “The first time I met you and every time after you told me that you loved him, Christiana. Up until last Wednesday itself. Despite what happened between us when I kissed you, despite his misuse of you. Aye, darling, I was thorough. And calculating and clever. I deliberately made this marriage a fact and bound you to me. I took no chances that he might tell the lies that your heart wanted to hear so that he could misuse you again. Would you have had me do otherwise? Should I have stood back from this knight like the merchant I am? Would honoring my promise to let you go have pleased you?”

  She trembled a little at the blunt force of his words. It sounded very different when he put it that way, when she saw it through his eyes. It had been so easy to forget how she had been before last Wednesday.

  “Nay,” she whispered, and it was true. She would not have been pleased at all if he had proven indifferent and had simply let Stephen lure her away. Another reaction that she feared to examine too closely.

  The silence descended again, and after a time she relaxed in his embrace. Sleep had almost claimed her when she heard him laugh quietly in her ear.

  “Aye, my girl, I was thorough and took no chances. I saved the sheets.”

  CHAPTER 14

  DAVID WAS DROWSILY aware of the curtains being pushed back. He turned his face away from the flooding light.

  “Hell,” a man's voice said, pulling him awake.

  He opened one eye a slit. Unless he was still dreaming, his wife was gone and the King of England stood beside his bed.

  “Damnation, David.”

  Not dreaming.

  “My lord?” He rose up on his elbows.

  The King stared down with a frown. “Will you be wanting to repudiate her? Philippa assured me the girl was whole, I swear. I told her we should have her examined, but she and Idonia …”

  David looked to where the King gazed. The coverlet and sheets were bunched over to reveal a bloodless marriage bed.

  Hell. The last thing he had expected was someone looking for evidence of Christiana's virginity. What was Edward doing here, anyway?

  “Do not let it concern you, my lord. There will be no repudiation.”

  Edward's frown relaxed. “Damn chivalrous of you, David.”

  “I am a merchant and we are apart from chivalry. That is reserved for your knights. I assure you that my wife came to me a virgin, though. If I had thought that someone would seek the evidence this morning, I would have bled a chicken.”

  Edward looked at him blankly.

  The man was still half besotted. David noted the red robe. The King had been here all night. Where and with whom? David decided that he didn't want to know.

  “Do you need to see the original sheets? I have them,” he offered with a laugh, but as soon as he said it he realized that Edward's mind had moved on.

  “I want to speak with you. It will save you a ride to Westminster.”

  David glanced around the bed. Christiana's and his clothes were still strewn around the posts and floor. “Perhaps in the solar?”

  Edward nodded and drifted off.

  David grabbed a robe off a peg in the wardrobe, threw it on, and followed. Edward stood by the solar windows with a speculative, hooded expression on his face. David joined him and glanced down at the courtyard. A redhaired serving woman from a nearby house lounged against the well, surrounded by the litter of the night's revelry.

  Edward sighed. “I suppose I have to give her something, eh? Hell, I can't even remember.” He patted his robe for evidence of a purse or coins.

  “She is not a whore,” David said. “Wait one moment.”

  He went back to the wardrobe and returned with a purple silk veil embroidered with gold thread.

  Edward examined it. “Awfully nice, David. Don't you have something plainer? I don't even know if I enjoyed myself. This would be good for Philippa, though. Peace offering …”

  David went to the wardrobe once again and fetched a blue veil with no embroidery.

  “What, do you keep a whole box of them to give to your women?” the King teased as he stuffed them in his robe. “Best hide them from your wife. See my wardrobe treasurer about them.”

  David pictured himself arriving at Westminster without a debenture or tally to claim payment for two veils purchased by the King for his slut and his neglected wife.

  “Consider them gifts,” he said dryly. “You wanted to speak with me about something?”

  “Aye. The council met two days ago. It was decided to embark right after Easter. I'll summon the barons shortly.”

  David waited patiently for the rest of it.

  “We received word that Grossmont engaged with the French and has secured Gascony,” the King continued.

  David nodded. Gascony, below England's Aquitaine on the west coast of the continent, was territory held by Edward in fief to the French king. Among the many points of contention between the two monarchs had been the degree of control which France wanted to exert there. Henry Grossmont had been sent to stabilize the area.

  “Furthermore, he has pushed as far north as Poitiers,” Edward said. “The port of Bordeaux is secure now. We will go in that way, join with him, and head northeast. I'll not be needing that last bit of information from you after all.”

  “Poitiers is a long way from Paris. The spring rains will make movement difficult.”

  “The council considered all of that. Still, our army and Grossmont's will be a formidable force. And debarking at Bordeaux will be riskless.”

  Presumably the council of barons knew what they were doing. They were experienced soldiers. But it struck him as a fruitless strategy.

  Edward watched him with an amused expression. “You do not approve. Speak your mind.”

  He knew that a merchant's mind was irrelevant, but he spoke it anyway. “Bordeaux is a seven-day sea voyage. A long way to take an army by boat, and you risk bad winds. The French already await you at Poitiers. Even with a decisive victory you will be a long way from Paris. If the French crown is your goal, you must take that city and the royal demesne, must you not?”

  “I will have twenty thousand with me,” Edward replied jovially. “We will cut through France like a hot blade through butter.”

  Like all armies paid with spoils, yours will slog through France like a feather through cream, David silently replied.

  “Those weapons you offered me,” Edward mused. “Where are they?”

  “Nowhere near Poitiers. I have one here, outside the city. If you have room on one of your ships, it is yours. Send me some men and I will train them in its use.”

  “Ah well, one toy is probably enough. I will need the maps that you have been making of that region. Do you have them ready? We will want to know all of the possible routes and the best roads. Especially where to cross the Loire river during spring floods.”

  “They are in my study.” The King followed him through the door by the hearth into the small chamber.

  He took some rolled parchments off the shelf and placed them on the table. “This one is of the north. This other is Brittany, from Brest to the marches of Normandy. The large one shows the routes out from Bordeaux.” He unrolled the largest parchment. “Remember that I was there in November, and the marked river crossings are based on conversations that I had with the people in the area, and not on what I saw for myself. The conditions of the roads were obvious even in late autumn, however.” He pointed to one line. “This road is fairly direct for your purposes and lies on high ground, so it should be in better condition than the main one. It passes through farmland, and there are few towns along it.” Few opportunities for looting. The barons would press for the muddy low road so that they could pay their retinues.

  Edward admired the drawing. “You have a knack for this sort of thing. I told the council that you would do the job and none would be the wiser.”

  “Do you want them all?”

  “You can bring the others later. Thi
s one I will take now. We are itching to begin our plans.” He took the parchment and tucked it under his arm. “A clever idea, to have you map out three possibilities. I know your own mind on this, but it will be Bordeaux.”

  Aye, David thought. The army will land and engage. Battles will be fought and towns besieged, and knights and soldiers will grow rich from the looting. And after a summer of fighting, you will come back and nothing will have been resolved. Until you take Paris, this will never end.

  What this decision meant to him and his own plans was another matter, and one that he would consider carefully later.

  A sound behind made them both turn. Christiana stood at the threshold to the bedchamber with a startled expression on her face. She carried a tray with food and ale.

  “My lord,” she said, stepping in quickly and placing the tray on the table. “My apologies.”

  They watched her go.

  “Do you think that she heard?” Edward asked, frowning.

  “If so, she will say nothing.” It really didn't matter. One could hardly sail hundreds of ships down the coast of Brittany and France and not be noticed. There would be little surprise when this invasion finally happened.

  Was it over? He smiled at his King, but already his mind began recalculating.

  On the fourth morning after their wedding, David told Christiana that they would ride north of the city a ways.

  “I recently acquired a property in Hampstead,” he explained as they headed out the city gate side by side. “We will go there so that you can see it. I have to speak with some workers, and there are other matters to attend.”

  “Is it a farm?”

  “There are farms attached to it, but it is the house that you should see.”

  “Many farms?”

  “Ten, as I remember.”

  “Aren't you afraid that the income will put you over the forty-pound limit? That Edward will force knighthood on you?” she teased.

  “Aye. That is why I put the property in your name.”

  “My name!”

  “Yours. It belongs to you, as do the farms' rents.”

  She absorbed this startling news. Married women almost never owned their own property. It went with them to their husbands. The only woman she knew who owned land outright was Lady Elizabeth. Joan had told her that Elizabeth always demanded property in her name as part of her marriage settlements to those old men.

  “The dowry manor that Edward settled on you is yours as well, Christiana.”

  “Why, David?”

  “I want you to know that you are secure, and without land you never will feel thus. I am comfortable with wealth based on credits and coin, but you never will be. Also, I take risks in my trade, sometimes big ones. I want to know that should my judgment fail, you will not suffer.”

  It made a certain sense, but still it astonished her.

  “There is something that you should know about this house,” he said later as they turned off the road onto a lane. “It came to me through moneylending. You should also know that it was owned by Lady Catherine. If you do not like that, you can sell it and purchase elsewhere. Near London, though. I want you to have someplace to go when the summer illnesses spread in the city.”

  The twinge of guilt that she felt at this news disappeared as soon as she saw the house. Wide and tall, its base built of stone and its upper level of timber and plaster, it sat beautifully inside a stone wall at the end of the lane, surrounded by outbuildings and gardens. A bank of glazed windows on the second level indicated its recent construction.

  Workers were laying tiles on the hall floor when they entered, and David went over to speak with them. She explored the other chambers. Very little furniture had been left, and the building echoed with their footsteps. David explained that he would leave furnishing the house to her.

  “We need to ride out onto the property,” he said as they reclaimed their horses. “There are some men awaiting me.”

  The men worked half a mile away on an open field. Three of them stood around a big metal cylinder, narrower at the top than the bottom, propped and angled up on logs. A bulky man with black hair explained something to the others as they approached.

  “What is that?” she asked.

  “A toy. You will see how it works.”

  He tied the horses to a tree and walked over to the men. She wrapped her cloak more tightly around her and sat down on the dried grass near a small fire that had been built. David and the others fiddled and fussed with the toy a long time, and the black-haired man kept crouching behind the low end of the cylinder and spying along its length. Her eyes followed the man's line of sight, and in the distance she saw an old wooden building.

  David poured some sand in it from a leather bag and stuck a stick down after it. He lifted a large stone from in front of it. A mason had clearly worked it, for the stone was perfectly round. He rolled the stone into the cylinder.

  He came over to the fire and lifted a flaming torch.

  “Cover your ears,” he said. He lit a line of the sand snaking along the lower end of the toy.

  A moment later the loudest clap of thunder that she had ever heard cracked the winter silence. Smoke spewed out of the cylinder and it jumped back. Across the deep field, a few seconds after the toy was fired, the farm building's roof burst into pieces.

  She jumped up and crossed over to the smoking cylinder. The black-haired man drew the other two aside and began to explain something that sounded a lot like geometry.

  “What is this?” she asked, peering into the hot hollow.

  “The future. It is called a gonne.”

  She walked along its length, and noted the stack of round stones nearby. “It is a siege machine, isn't it?”

  “Aye, that it is.”

  She knew more than she wanted about siege machines. As a child she had watched the towers and catapults built outside Harclow. She had seen the horrible damage that they wrought and had lived in fear of those flying missiles and baskets of fire. She looked at the farm building. Only the shells of its side walls remained. It had been old, and built of wood, but this toy possessed more force in hurling its small stones than any of the machines which she had seen at Harclow.

  “Do you plan to make and sell these?”

  “Nay. But they will be made by others. It is inevitable. I first saw them on my way home on my first trip. There was a demonstration near Pisa. They didn't work well, and never hit their mark then, but already they improve. They fascinate me, that is all. This one is for Edward. Other kings will have them, so he must.” He walked toward the horses. “I am going to check the building. You can come if you want to.”

  She wasn't at all sure that she wanted to, but she went nonetheless.

  She gazed at the tatters of the building. No wonder David did not want to be a knight. Of what use were armor and shields against war machines like this?

  There were other buildings nearby, all neglected. This had once been a horse farm with many stables.

  “I should tell you that this section of the property is not yours,” he explained as he dismounted.

  She saw no signs of labor here. It appeared that David had kept the poorest portion for himself. “You need a field with old buildings to play with your toys?”

  “Aye. And to collect that which makes them work.” He led the way into one of the stables.

  The roof of this structure was in disrepair, and splotches of sunlight leaked through its holes. David went into one of the stalls and crouched down. He wiped his fingers across the dried dirt and lifted his hand. A sandy substance glittered.

  “It is found in stables like this that have been used a long time, and other places where animals live. The powder that makes the machine work requires it. It is said that the secret was brought back overland from Cathay in the Far East. It has no English name, although some translate it to saltpeter.”

  “Are those men back there from the King?”

  “Two are. The other brought the machine fr
om Italy.”

  “Will Edward use it? Will he take it with him to France? To Bordeaux?”

  He did not answer her. They remounted and rode back to the men who had already prepared the machine again. David spoke in Italian to the black-haired one and then led her away.

  “I know that you overheard Edward in my study, Christiana,” he finally said. “You know, I'm sure, that you cannot repeat such things. Even when everyone else suspects and talks of it, you should pretend ignorance.”

  It was true, then. She had heard the King mention Bordeaux and had seen the rolled parchment under his arm. It was one of those maps she had noticed that day in David's study. Her husband did not just deliver messages. He did other things for Edward as well. Much more dangerous things. Dangerous enough and important enough that the King told him about Bordeaux.

  She prayed that now that Edward had chosen his course, David would be out of it. He wasn't a knight or noble. It wasn't fair for the King to use him thus when he would see little profit and significant loss from such wars.

  They approached the house from the rear. The tilers' wagon had left. A new horse was tethered by the side of the house, however, and a man stood beside it.

  David stopped his horse. He gazed hard at the newcomer.

  The stranger was a tall man with long white hair and a short beard. A dull brown cloak, no more than a shapeless mantle, hung to the ground. The horse beside him looked bony and old.

  David dismounted and lifted her off her horse.

  “Wait outside while I speak with this man.”

  “It is cold.”

  “I am sorry for it, but do not come in.”

  They had been out most of the day, and the chill had long ago penetrated her cloak. “I will go up to the solar and you can use the hall,” she suggested.

  “You are not to come into the house while he is here,” he ordered harshly. His gaze had not left the waiting man. “I insist that you obey me on this, my girl.”

  His tone stunned her. She watched his absorbed attention with the figure by the house. His awareness of her had essentially disappeared. The withdrawal was so complete that she had never felt more separate from him than she did at that moment, not even the night when she first met him as a total stranger in his solar. This sudden indifference, contrasting so vividly with the constant attention that he had shown her since their wedding, sickened her heart.