The Maiden and the Unicorn (38 page)

She lay, erotic as Richard had imagined, watching him pull off his boots and ease his arms out of shirt sleeves and the gipon. He had not felt so aroused in all his life. With one lithe movement, he pushed down gipon, shirt and hose and stepped free. He stood for a moment as if exulting in his arousal, letting her see what her body did to his.

Margery's eyes were large as a cat's by night. She was lying so still that Richard dared not even guess her feelings. He needed her compliant but not dutiful, wanton but not lewd.

"We will not hurry this. I want you moist and open for me." He sat down upon the bed. He touched her hair and drew his long fingers down her cheeks and across her lips while he eased the undergown up above her thighs with his other hand, his pleasure audible. He rubbed the ball of his thumb across the peak of her left breast, watching her harden at his touch before he lifted her face to his and explored her mouth again. To ensure her body was a confusing, dizzying mass of sensations was paramount. He wanted her yearning and pleading for him to assuage her own lust. His left hand lifted the scalloped hem of her undergown even higher and slid upwards, moving between her thighs to enjoy the centre of her. She gave a low female growl as his fingers began their work. A door not used for years needed a slow unlocking.

Feeling her body swelling lusciously at his touch, readying for him, he rejoiced that she was not fighting him. Another time he would tease her to anger with verbal thrusts while his fingers tantalised her.

Margery's head went back and her body arched towards him of its own volition. It had been too long. She knew now how much she had been aching for his hand upon her.

Suddenly he was sitting back; his hands had left her. Her eyes opened in astonishment, her body—hot for him—was clamouring its loss.

"Were you like this for the King?" The shadow of Ned fell between them as if his tall body stood like a colossus astride the bed.

"Why now?" she asked, raising herself on her elbows, brazenly studying the firm sleek body.

"Stand up. Remove your skirt."

Sulkily, sensuous, she rose languorously from the bed and undid the laces at her waist. It fell in a billow at her ankles, leaving her in gartered fine wool stockings and her costly collar. Was this how a whore behaved? Surely virtuous wives were not expected to... He was making her feel like a slavegirl, watching her from the bed like some naked eastern potentate from a divan. What was she supposed to do now?

"Ever since I felt you between my thighs in that stable at Warwick, I have planned your seduction. I have not forgiven the King of England for taking what was mine. And you are mine!" He slid off the bed and stood before her as if she was a spoil of war before a naked conqueror. His hand slid between her thighs, his fingers searching out the nub of her again, demanding, tormenting.

She caught at his wrist. "Damn you, my virginity was not yours nor Ned's to take. It was mine own alone to—" His mouth robbed her of further words as he pushed her imperiously down against the pillows and pushed her legs apart so he might kneel between them.

"Your body tells me I can please you, Margery." She writhed beneath his coaxing. Her thighs were purest fire, her body arching as his fingers relentlessly drew her onwards until she was no longer in control and gasped in one fierce shudder.

He thrust into her at last with exultation but she was tight, six years tight, albeit wet and willing. She tensed. He cursed and thrust again, entering her to the shaft and took care to move gently, sensing her tenderness. With another lover, he might have been heedless of her sensitivity but this time he was competing with a king. He held off from his own relief, his caresses bringing her to climax again until she arched like a bow and cried out with womanly pleasure. It brought his own release and a sensation that was paradise.

Sated at last, he lifted himself onto his elbows and saw the tears, like mysterious pearls, upon her cheeks. "It has been a long time for you." He kissed them away. "It will be even more pleasurable next time."

"Too long," she whispered.

"I could stay entwined by your thighs and let the world go by."

"I pleased you?" she asked timidly, her fingers tucking back the lock of dark hair that was falling, hiding his face from the candlelight.

"Pleased me?" He carried her fingers to his lips. "How could you not please me?"

His eyes slid over the hills and valleys of her body in the light of the risen moon. All this was now his. The siege was over and the city lay open with its defence down at last.

Margery's body was still vibrating like a used bowstring, as if something within her was pulsating quietly back into place. If this man could change her like this, then his power was great indeed.

In the distance an owl hooted. "What is the matter?" he asked.

"You want my mind too, sir?" She turned wide eyes on him, no longer fearful to have his face so close.

"Oh yes, I want that too but your soul I will leave to the Almighty. I am not yet grown so presumptuous."

"Are you not, Richard Huddleston?" she retorted dryly and received his wandering hand for her pains, teasing her appetite for more.

"Jesu, lady, you heat my blood as I knew you would. Let me still that errant tongue of yours."

Later she lay awake while he slept, his arm possessively flung across her, knowing now that their marriage had entered different country. Could surrender be turned into conquest? Could the captor become enmeshed in the net too?

Once more before dawn, like a veritable bridegroom, he stirred and took his pleasure of her, driving her before him as hungry as he.

As the sun came through the glass, Huddleston stood up, stretching with a leopard-like grace. His body was sleek, his skin healthy and shining and the ripple of hair descending from his breast to his thigh would have pleased the most voracious of female appetites. Indeed, he looked as satisfied as a great cat that had killed and feasted.

"Rise up, sleepy one, let me see how beautiful you are in the light of day." She growled and turned over, hugging the sheet against her but he forced her to her feet.

"I do not want to go back to the castle," he groaned, winding his arms about her, burying his face in the tangle of her hair. Suddenly she felt him tense.

"By Christ! Margery!" He let go of her as if she had burnt him.

"What is wrong?"

"Oh, by the Saints!
The sheet
!"
His hands grabbed her elbows and shook her, his face contorted with disbelief. "Margery, you liar! You—" Words failed him for once and he let go of her roughly. "What have I done?" he exclaimed, turning away from her, his hands clapped to his head.

For once, it was she who had the reins of the situation. "You lay with your wife, Richard. You finally managed to lose that self-control of yours." She reached down and jerked her underskirt out from beneath the fallen coverlet. It was creased and she shook out its folds.

He swung round to face her, an Adam who had bitten of the apple and found he was barred from Paradise. "You lied! You lied to the whole world. Why, for the love of Christ? Why did you let them do it to you?"

She stepped into the skirt and tied it at her waist. "Because no one at Warwick would listen to a bastard wench like me. You all thought you knew it all."

"Do not pack me in with the rest!"

"You were there, Richard. You did not come forward asking for the King's leftovers then." Listening to herself, she was astonished at how cool and controlled she sounded, whereas he for once was off guard. The visor was up and the chinks in his armour where a rondel of words might pierce were showing.

He turned away, running his hand through his hair. "I do not know what to say." He paced to the window and swung round on her. "But you were found with King Edward."

"Oh yes, found, in a state of considerable undress, but we were unfortunately interrupted."

"But why did he not—"

"Tell the truth? Well, you see, no one actually asked him. My father refused any explanation and demanded he leave. Ned and I never saw each other again until you took me to him at Southampton." She found a comb in the purse on her belt under the debris of their clothing and began to draw it painfully through her tangled hair.

"But why did you live the lie ever since?"

"Because I enjoyed being the King's ex-mistress. It made me special. It kept all the wolves from my door—except, finally, you. You were persistent, driven by ambition. You wanted the King's mistress and Warwick's daughter. My past gave you an opportunity to feel gracious and generous. A respectable man bestowing his good name on an undeserving but well-connected wanton." She paused to examine a lock of hair that was resisting the comb. "You were so clever. There were several times when I almost gave myself away."

"The maiden and the unicorn."

"Anne was ten when I was sent away. She was the only one who questioned the lies, the only one who listened to what I had to say. I remember how everyone laughed at her folly at our wedding feast."

"No, I never laughed."

"Yes, that is true, and there was a moment when I thought you had guessed but then your vanity overrode your intelligence."

He reached for his shirt and holding it, said, "You have a low opinion of me, it seems."

"No, Richard, I cannot admit to that. But does it grieve you that you were wrong, that you do not know all the answers any more?"

He sat down on the bed and buried his head in his hands. "Why did you not trust me? If you had told me, I would—"

"You would have done the same. But I did enjoy it, Richard. Perhaps there is a harlot's blood in me. I am sorry I cannot tell you that you were better than the King of England." He groaned and shook his head but she persisted, "Comfort yourself with the fact that everyone still thinks your wife was the King's—pardon,
usurper's
—lover. Nothing has really changed. You have even married a virgin bride."

He thrust his arms angrily inside his shirt sleeves and stooped to snatch up the rest of his clothes. "You always said you hated me. You must loathe me even more now. Mayhap you shall have one of your wishes and I shall be a mangled corpse within the year." He tied his points swiftly, angrily, and when he had done, he stood and faced her, no longer bothered by her half-nakedness. "Fear not, I shall trouble you no further." It was spoken with a curt bow. "I regret any hurt I have done you. That was never my intention. Here!" He snatched the newly bought wedding ring out of his purse and threw it down upon the bed.

"Richard
." Margery realized she had said too much in her hunger for revenge. Now she wanted to throw her arms around him and dispel his foolish pride but his fierce look brooked no forgiveness.

He reached the door. "If I come through this campaign alive, we shall reach some settlement. No doubt the King will help you apply to Rome as you intended."

"But—"

"You never wanted me, did you, Margery? I have behaved like an infatuated boy throughout all this. Well, God be with you. From now on, I shall behave like a man." He opened the door and turned. "Long will come to escort you back to the castle since you cannot bear my company."

"Richard, no! It is not—" The door slammed in her face. "
Richard
!"

Chapter 19

It was one thing to have an angry husband but quite another to have a missing, angry husband. When Richard Huddleston did not appear in the Great Hall that evening for supper, Margery finally sent for Matthew.

"Master's not here, mistress." Long gave her his best gapped-tooth grin as he stood looking down at her, his great hands fumbling with his felt hat. "Came back this morning as angry as a buck hare that's had its burrow blocked and I told him my lord of Warwick wished to see him."

"About what matter, Matthew?"

Long scratched his head. "Lord, mistress, I am cursed if I know, some news from England I reckon, but the master came out looking like a condemned man and he's taken himself off on Comet. Wouldn't hear of me going with him neither."

"Do you know where he went? Surely not back to the coast?"

"Nay, he said nought about that but for sure he'll ride for hours when he's in a pother. Did it at Southampton. Nay, do not frown, mistress. He will survive. Always does. Has a good head for drinking, my master does."