The Maiden and the Unicorn (16 page)

"Oh, Ankarette. It is not like that at all." There was no answer to give. She could not excuse herself. Ankarette was the last person to confide in that she was waiting for the Duke's answer.

"You should be more careful. Now, cheer up, it is not the end of the world to be married."

How to make the Earl change his mind occupied Margery for the rest of the day. She ate supper in the hall without savouring her food, conversed with little animation and sat beside Ankarette that evening after the trestles were cleared away with the air of a felon condemned to the gibbet. Even the lively music of the travelling musicians from Caen failed to move her.

Ankarette twittered away, as was her fashion, while the wafers and hypocras were being served. She was in mid-comment on the appalling service of the French servants when a woman's shriek made her spill half her drink. The furore came from the other end of the hall as if the Devil himself had turned up unexpected. Another scream shrilled out close by as a huge hound, its ripped leash dragging from its studded leather collar, came scampering through—a dog so massive that everyone shrank back in horror.

The animal noticed this effect with little perturbation, took a snuffle in Margery's direction, and within seconds its paws were on her shoulders and its limpid eyes stared enthusiastically into hers while beads of saliva dripped from its tongue.

"Sede!"
roared Margery and the animal dropped its front paws back to the tiled floor and sat obediently in front of her. A scarlet-faced Long appeared between the skirts and houppelandes. He grabbed the dog's collar. "Pardon, madam, gracious lady. Oh,
mistress!"
His jaw dropped at Margery's fine appearance.

"Remove him from here, fellow, before someone plants a well-deserved boot on your backside," snapped Ankarette. Long needed no second bidding. Oaths and curses spat about his shoulders like large hailstones as he disappeared dragging the reluctant hound.

A chorus of praise surrounded Margery. One gentleman refilled her wine cup, another fetched a bench closer for her ease, while the condemnation of the dog's owner and its lax kennelman grew apace.

Ankarette sat down next to her. "Your poor collar!" Margery squinted down at her shoulders. Once dry, the dirt would brush off easily. "Say something, Margery! You've gone the colour of dough. How you were not scared witless by that brute, I shall never know."

"Leave me be, Ankarette."

It was like a dream, no, a nightmare, but as the daylight fled and the servants lit the candles in the sconces around the hall, Margery was left with a sense of unreality. If there had not been over two score of witnesses to the dog, she would have thought herself growing lunatic.

Ankarette gave a little whistle of admiration. "Now, that particular piece of steel bears further notice. They must be the party who arrived from the coast this afternoon. Finely tempered, that one. I would not mind a little dalliance with him. I'm sure I've met him before. Look round, the one in black, do you know him?"

Margery casually glanced round then jerked her head back abruptly.

"What is wrong?"

"Dear Jesu!" she hissed. "He is here. That's the wretched knave who abducted me."

"Truly, the man with the fine calves?"

"No—Yes, stop staring. I do not want him to see me."

"I think he knows you are here anyway. He's just looked this way. Breathe out, they are all going to make their bows to the Duke."

"I think I shall go." Margery rose but Ankarette grabbed her down.

"If he's one of my lord's new officers, you had better face him and have done. You cannot avoid him in a place as small as this. Besides, I should hate to miss such sport. Come, look merry, you will be wedded and bedded before the month is out so what harm can this man do you?"

"Ankarette, you have the tact of a page throwing up at a coronation."

"I shall catch his eye when he is done with my lord, just to annoy you. A little distraction will take your mind off your forthcoming nuptials."

"No, I forbid you. He will do nothing but torment me."

"Wonderful, just what you need."

"Mesdames." Master Stone accosted them later with a perfunctory bow but his eyes were alive with mischief. In his black leather doublet and shining boots, he was just as formidable as Margery remembered save that his hair was shorter, curling behind his ears now instead of at chin length. Cut to sit beneath a helmet.

Margery rose and held out her hand. "Well, here is a surprise. I expect to see flying pigs by morning."

"I am sure the local peasants will be out early with their bows and arrows if that is the case." His eyes gave her a lazy caress from head to foot that made her twitch her fingers out of his clasp.

"Though I am loath to admit it, I quite missed the volley of words," she conceded.

"How charming of you to acknowledge that."

"You are aware that your monstrous creature has already embraced me in front of the entire household and caused two ladies to swoon." She heard Ankarette splutter behind her with astonishment.

"I do apologise." The clever eyes lingered on her collar at the shoulders before they moved downwards. "I understand you managed not to succumb to swooning."

Margery swept a bold eye over him, "Why sir, it would take more than something of yours to make me swoon."

Ankarette coughed loudly and stood up. Margery glanced round.

"I do beg your pardon, Ankarette. Allow me to introduce Master Richard Stone. He specialises in abductions, rent-collecting and Irish deerhounds."

Ankarette stared from one to the other in fascinated amazement, then she recollected herself and dropped him a flirtatious curtsey.

"Mistress Margery remains as provocative as ever." He took Ankarette's hand and carried it to his lips. "We have met before. Some years ago at Warwick and Sheriff Hutton, I recall."

"Yes, we have," murmured Ankarette. "Your father, Sir John, he is well? And what of young William and your other brother? John?"

His smile was broad. "Three brothers, Mistress Twynhoe, all in good health. William is busy wooing my lord of Warwick's niece or so he was boasting last time I saw him. You have a good memory, mistress. So do I, and I can recall that you dance like an angel. Would it please you to demonstrate?"

Ankarette simpered, plumper than when she had last danced with him, and let him lead her away.

Margery frowned. So the man's family aimed high if one of his kin was wooing a Neville. She must ask Ankarette which of Lord Montague's daughters was so unlucky. She summoned a passing page to refill her winecup with hypocras. As if she did not have enough problems without Master Stone to provoke her further.

One of her knightly admirers from earlier in the evening moved over to congratulate her yet again on her bravery, but her glance kept wandering to the dancers. The insufferable Stone was giving Ankarette his entire attention. In fact Margery was so irritated that she did not notice the Earl of Warwick, conversing as he moved among his retainers, until he was right before her.

He forestalled Margery's curtsey and bent his head to her ear. "Bound and shackled, I believe, was your request, Margery. So be it. Attend me tomorrow after mass." Was gloating a sin? Well, let Richard Stone enjoy the evening—he would have little reason to smile in the morning.

Ankarette was talking as she danced and Richard Stone was not answering her with yeas and nays but at length. Even when the viols and tabors ceased, their conversation continued. Ankarette appeared to be listening quite earnestly and then she suddenly clapped her fingers to her lips and shrieked with laughter. When others joined them, she detached herself from the group.

"I like your Master Stone, Margery," she announced, smoothing her silvery grey skirts, her eyes bubbling with merriment.

"He is not
my
Master Stone," snapped Margery. "You try being abducted by him on a freezing March morning. If I had a rose noble for every time he has insulted me, I should be a wealthy woman."

"Well, I vow I have not been so amused for months."

"Excellent, for I think you please him, Ankarette. He is bearing down on us again like an ill wind."

"Your turn," murmured Ankarette. Before Margery could protest she had swept off in a rustle of taffeta through the nearest doorway.

"You are annoyed, I think," stated Richard, setting his cup down on the nearest board.

Margery checked about her to see whether anyone was within earshot. The emotions she was feeling measured from a grass level of astonishment to a steeple-high trepidation; Master Stone made even the air crackle with danger. It was like being out in a thunderstorm.

She settled for a safe indignation. "To be truthful, now I am over my surprise, I am disappointed to see you of all people here. I thought you had greater sense." Her companion raised an inquiring eyebrow. "You were an officer of the King. You had prospects. Why become another fugitive dependent on the whim of the French?" She sighed, "Now your lands are forfeit, I suppose. I really despair of men sometimes. Why make this your quarrel? It is a foolish cause. I heartily pray that within the month my lord will make his peace with the King and we can all go home."

Richard leaned upon the board, shifting his cup to smudge the wet circle it had made. "I find King Edward sluggish and indolent, yoked like a carthorse to his Queen's wagon. Your guardian can rule the kingdom better."

"But his soldiering is another matter." She quickened to the argument. Ned had never lost a battle. Criticism was easy—winning a battlefield against him was not.

Master Stone languidly raised his green eyes, "Ah, you found time to discuss soldiering with him."

She thrust her chin up. "A little time, yes." She paused, bruised by the fresh jab at her past. Her eyes followed the Earl as he moved through the hall back to the dais. "Ned once told me that my lord of Warwick was one of the worst tacticians he knew and it was not surprising that he lost the second Battle of St Albans." She returned her gaze to Stone's face triumphantly but he set the conversation sailing in another direction.

"Then you are fortunate that you will never have to ride into battle with so hopeless a leader," he answered softly.

"Oh yes." Her tone was bitter. "The only advantage there is in being a woman." Her fingers twisted, crushing the gauzy tisshew of her veil.

"Is it so difficult, mistress?" The hard, sardonic glint had softened into kindness. Almost she felt she could drown in the deep pools of his eyes.

"Yes, Master Stone, it is."

"But a woman may lose a husband or lover in a battle."

"I fervently hope so," she exclaimed, thinking it would be one way to be rid of the husband fate was about to thrust upon her so unkindly. Then imagining the face before her all bloodied and smashed, she shuddered and apologised.

"I am sure I for one shall make a fine corpse," he assured her laughing.

"How can you jest?" She lowered her voice. "This is all so foolhardy. England will dance to the tune of Louis XI if this enterprise succeeds."

Richard Stone eyed her shrewdly then he too glanced cautiously about him. "You are correct, of course. The situation between my lord and the King's grace should never have reached this impasse. Word was that King Edward believes Warwick will gain no real aid from King Louis because the French will not wish to break the peace treaty with the Burgundians."

"Then King Edward has misjudged his enemies. There have been many messengers between here and the French court. You will know that my lords Warwick and Clarence purloined half a dozen or so Burgundian ships on the way down from Calais."

He nodded. "Very clever, was it not? Deliberate provocation. Your Ned will not be pleased when he hears."

"And Louis has not turned us out of his realm, has he? He is the powerbroker in this affair. You see, Master Stone, have I not proved it would have been wiser for you to stay in England and watched to see which way the wind blows?"

He straightened up. "You wax too serious, lady. There is another set forming. Come, let us forget the whims of the mighty for a small moment." He put his arm beneath her elbow, turning her in the direction of the dancers. She should have declined but his touch sent a shiver of excitement up her arm. Was it imagination or did the other women glance enviously at them as they made their way through the throng? He was a new face, a pleasing one at that.

Margery regarded him gravely as she took her place opposite him at the end of the set. There was spice in any conversation with him, she could not deny it. And he was watching her again, his smile controlled but with an edge of mischief, giving her the same wholehearted interest he had given Ankarette. But there was a difference—when Richard Stone had smiled that way before, she had ended up utterly in his power. There was always that dangerous air about him that placed her instincts upon alert.

As their right hands met to clasp as they circled, she was astonished at the jolt her body felt. Like earth juddered by a thunderclap, a feeling so difficult to describe in words yet it moved from some centre in her being and shivered through her body. She felt it every time he touched her.

They had reached the top of the set now and he sped her up the colonnade of clapping dancers, spun her round, left her as they each hand-chained their way down the lines to meet with hands round each other's waist to finally stand laughing, warm and breathless opposite each other, clapping while the new lead couple took over. She suddenly wished with all her heart that they had met in different circumstances.