The Maiden and the Unicorn (20 page)

"Yes, an epic ballad with a hundred verses," Margery muttered. Huddleston heard her. He crashed his fingers across the harpstrings, jarring his bride's fragile composure. "You need not stall your patience or mine any longer, Mistress Huddleston."

Along the table, the Duke brayed his irritating laugh. "By St George, Meg, you have met your match. Take her to task, man!"

"And so I shall." Huddleston snatched up Margery's unsuspecting hand and proffered it to the Countess. "My lady, I give my bride to your good care."

It was the moment Margery had been dreading. She gave a desperate look around her like a condemned prisoner seeking a reprieve before the Countess and the other women led her away.

At the doorway to the bridal chamber she faltered, blanching at the folded back sheets strewn with rose petals and fertility herbs. The cloying scent of blossom mingled with candle wax threatened to overwhelm her.

Behind a screen, they removed her clothes and cleansed her again, drizzling her skin with perfumed water. She was shaking by the time they had finished and reached for her shift but Ankarette tugged it back. "Oh, do not bother with that. You will only have to take it off again to get into bed before the groomsmen arrive."

"But I am so cold," protested Margery. She was not used to being exposed without her clothes.

"Oh, let her have her way," the Countess intervened. "You are not cold, Margery. This room is like a furnace. It is your qualms about your duty to your husband, no doubt. Although I should have thought you would be the last person to feel bothered about such matters."

"As you say, madam." Margery's lips were a thin line of wilfulness as she jerked her shift away from Ankarette and swiftly pulled it over her head. The fabric was of such fine quality that it hid nothing but at least it made her feel less vulnerable. She sank down miserably upon the stool. Within her was no respite. It was as if a hundred points of jagged glass were directed against her fluttering agonised spirit.

"I will do that." Isabella took the brush from Ankarette and swiftly tidied Margery's hair.

"Make cheer, you could do worse!" exclaimed Ankarette. "Oh, Lord, madam, here they come and we have not put the bride to bed. Quickly, Margery, into the sheets and take that shift off."

"Oh, Jesu," Margery flinched as Ankarette pushed her towards the bed and struggled to disrobe her.

"No, leave her! It is too late," snapped the Countess.

Margery frantically snatched her discarded wedding gown from off the screen and clutched it to her as the chaplain swept in with two altar boys. Incense fumes enveloped them all.

Richard Huddleston arrived on the men's shoulders and was set down none too gently on his feet amidst rising laughter. Margery's heart began to beat wildly. She was praying furiously that the Countess would not let the drunken throng peel her naked before her abductor.

Richard hid his urge to stride from the bedchamber and go back to England. Beneath the incense, the bedchamber smelt like a Southwark brothel and his new bride was looking as enthusiastic as a princess chained to a rock waiting for the dragon to devour her. The women had been tardy in unclothing her and putting her naked between the sheets. Now the men about him were ogling her, their bawdy comments loud as they tugged at his sleeves to rid him of his doublet.

The chaplain took the holy water from one of his altar boys. Someone pushed Margery to her knees and she stayed there, ridiculously clutching the overgown to her bosom while drops of holy water were sprinkled all over the bed.

Richard bent his knee, inwardly cursing. The chaplain splashed the water liberally over him and flicked some over the crowd for good measure before he intoned the Latin blessing once more. Then with a pompous warning that Hell was waiting for all of them, he left.

As they began to unlace his shirt, Richard saw the young Duchess pull Margery to her feet and gravely place her palm against her belly. "May you have more happiness than I in the first child you bear." With surprise, he caught the fleeting wild fear in Margery's eyes and saw her shakily lay her fingers against the Duchess's cheek. Perhaps she was not defiant after all.

"Oh, Bella." Compassion was in his bride's voice as their two foreheads touched. Tears sparkled unshed for both.

For a brief instant Richard felt pity for the little Duchess, pity for all women. What to a man was a fleeting pleasure could end in hours of travail and an agonising death. Was that what his new wife feared or was it the act itself? He had never seen her courage ebb so low.

As the Duchess stepped back, he trapped Margery looking at him in dread like a snared rabbit. By Christ's blessed mercy, the wench was afraid of him. She knew her duty well enough surely... But had the King merely plundered without pleasuring her? Richard cursed. She should have given her maidenhead to him. Together they could have taught each other the delights, the arts, of love. Instead, the girl was fearful.

A merry hand tugging at the points holding Richard's hose brought him back to his own role. He thrust the drunken fingers away. It was going to be supping in Hell to deal with Margery but he was certainly not going to permit the revellers to embarrass her any further. Nor was he going to let these drunkards strip him naked as Adam and toss him into bed with her.

"Enough! Out!" Feigning laughter, arms wide as an eagle's wings, he swept everyone before him towards the doorway which they cluttered with wine-soused protests.

"But Huddleston, we have not put the bride to bed with you," George of Clarence swayed against the lintel.

"No, your grace," Richard growled. "That will be
my
pleasure!"

Chapter 10

Grabbing the wooden bar, Richard thrust it down onto the supporting brackets. Clearing the bedchamber had been easier than what faced him now.

He strode to the window and threw the shutters open. The cool evening breeze rushed in as if the stifling room itself was relieved to take a gulp of air. Richard took a deep breath too, steeling himself before he turned briskly towards the bed and inspected the tester. Its brocade showed no strange weight but he still slapped upwards at the heavy canopy with the back of his hand. No lewd page tumbled out but a cloud of dust was awakened. His bride sneezed.

He then yanked the sheets fully back and felt between them where they tucked together. Satisfied, he brushed the mess of herbs from the heart of the base sheet and flung the bedding back over it.

Glancing sideways he was pleased to see that the trepidation in Margery's eyes had been somewhat softened as she watched his behaviour in silent fascination, albeit her body was still as tense as a soldier's before battle. Grimly, he grabbed the candlestick and went down on one knee to inspect beneath the bed for piglets, grass snakes, toads or giggling voyeurs stowed away to interrupt the bridal privacy. No one was hiding there either, and with relief in his face he straightened up and set the candlestick down upon his side of the bed.

Margery let out a deep breath.

"So you are still alive," he commented, pouring a drink from the flagon set upon a little table by the bed. "Shall you have some?"

She was frowning, watching his fingers upon the handle. At length she shook her head, seeming to grasp at the life rope of normal conversation he had flung out to her.

"You must have a good head for drinking."

Richard shrugged. "All pretence." He watched her over the rim of the goblet and, lowering it, studied her, making his own expression unreadable. By Christ's blessed mercy, if ever he had needed self-control, it was now. The silence was tangible. He watched her breath grow fast and uneven.

Surprisingly, she broke the stillness, falling back on her wit. "What would you like me to do? I left my seven veils at the convent."

"Do?" He let surprise into the coolness of his question while he studied her, choosing his next words, trying not to be conquered by the delectable curve of her breasts. The gown she hid behind had slithered fractionally, betraying a tempting semicircle of dark rose beneath the white lawn. His eyes slid over where his hands could not. He clenched his jaw and averted his gaze. "For a beginning you may cease standing to attention—and I am open to suggestions. You are, after all, experienced."

Margery's cheeks flamed. "I am out of practice."

It was time for the coup de grâce. He turned his back on her, filling his goblet once more to hide the battle within him. Anyone watching his steady hand might be fooled by his cold calm. It was going to take all the inner strength he possessed, every part of his considerable willpower to staunch the lust that had been consuming him. It was tempting to pit those skills that other women had taught him against whatever the royal whoremonger had taught her. But this was different. Tonight it was a nuptial bed and he was now married.

He allowed to himself that he might have erred in not handling Margery with the fawning care of a suitor, and he needed to be less hard on her. But to lose control and tumble her was to admit her mistress of his passion.

Now he could afford to be gracious and make amends. She was at last his wife for all her whorish past and he needed her compliant to make their marriage tolerable. Generosity of spirit could work in his favour and time was on his side. After all, he owned her.

"I am content to wait." He turned at last.

"To wait?" Her voice sounded shrill, betraying the alarm that must have been writhing like some monstrous serpent within her.

Richard nodded as he set the goblet back on the tray. The tension in the room was mocked by stifled giggles bubbling outside the door. Someone was sliding wafers and poking cherrystones beneath it.

He came back across to her and framed her face within his long fingers. "In the name of Heaven, cease looking as though I am about to sacrifice you on some stone or other. It has been a long day."

"You mean...?" Something inside her seemed to be unwinding with relief for her expression changed to grateful astonishment. He smiled wryly, surprised at his own reaction. The magnanimity he felt was enjoyable despite the ache in his groin. His mouth tightened as drew the ball of his thumb along her lips. It pained him to touch her but she still had to recognise his right to do so.

"That I do not desire to lie with you tonight when you are infinitely desirable? It is the common opinion out there. I could see it in their faces, every man jack of them, imagining you naked as Eve." He let go of her abruptly and turned back towards the door, as if something beyond it had distracted him. "Set the overgown aside and put something around you before I change my mind," he ordered harshly. "My wrap is on the bed, use that."

It was quieter now, the scraping of wood on stone of the servants clearing back the trestles reached them. He heard the rustle of the taffeta lining as she hastily thrust her arms through the hanging sleeves of his garment.

He turned back to her again but kept the distance of the room between them. "In an ideal world you might be begging me to take you in my arms but that's hardly likely to happen tonight, is it?" She shook her head, biting her lower lip. "Exactly, so as neither of us are virgins and we do not have to worry about evidence of our marriage's consummation tomorrow morning, let us at least call a truce." She was searching his face, trying to decide whether she could trust him. "I told you when I abducted you that you had nothing to fear. I am not the lout you obviously imagine me to be."

His new wife drew breath to make some answer, seeking some way of couching her thanks, but as her lips parted delightfully, lusciously, he forestalled her, angry at the temptation that was nagging at his loins. "By Christ's blessed mercy, I can see I have just rescued you from the jaws of Hell. Get into bed unless you intend curling up like a cur on the hearthrug!"

He strode round to his side of the bed. She stood hesitating and they frowned at each other across the coverlet. "I suppose now with the perversity of womankind you will think me weak for not exercising my husbandly rights." Her colour deepened as she trembled and solemnly shook her head at him. "Tell me, scourge me with a little truth. Is it the appearance of my person that offends you?"

She drew a deep breath. "I do not find you outwardly unpleasing."

Richard gave a bitter laugh. "How nice you are. Must I thank the Almighty for that small concession to my vanity?" He spat on his fingers and squeezed out the candle flame, his eyes not leaving her face. In the glow of the dying fire, he started to undress. "Your pardon if I remove at least my shirt." He could not tell if his sarcasm found its target. He knew she was watching him as he tugged the garment of Rennes lawn out from beneath his gipon and over his head. He tossed it across the bottom of the bed and thrust his fingers through his rumpled hair before he faced her again.