Geoffrey said nothing, standing tall, straight, and unmoving, his eyes brilliant but opaque.
“But you and the King have been fighting for four years—ever since Lanfranc died,” Adele said. Her brow furrowed. “Why would Rufus appoint you to such a position of power and preeminence?”
“Do you not see?” he asked dryly. “I am being bought, Adele. The King thinks to remove a prickly rose thorn from his side.”
Adele looked at Geoffrey, proud and cold and indomitable, and shuddered. She was more than afraid. She knew him. From the next Bishop of Ely, the King would expect unwavering loyalty, but Geoffrey was not the kind of man to compromise his cause. And his cause was the Church.
Adele’s fears increased. The subtle kind of warfare Geoffrey and the King had so far engaged in had been nothing compared to what would erupt if Geoffrey, once invested, continued upon his present course. ’Twould be suicide! “You must not do anything foolish once this appointment comes to pass! You must cease your mulish confrontation with the Crown!”
Geoffrey regarded her. “What? Could it be that you have some fondness for me after all—outside of the bedchamber?”
Adele shivered, his tone frightening her. And she could not help glancing at the open door, but no one lurked there who could overhear them. Still, Geoffrey was never so careless. “Of course I do.”
His lifted brow spoke of pure skepticism.
Adele’s fear grew. “Geoffrey, what is happening to you? Dear God, you have just received a great honor from the King, an appointment other men would die for, cheat for, steal and lie for—but you have attained it honestly! Yet you hardly seem pleased!”
“I am pleased.” He smiled, but it was not mirthful. “How could I not be pleased?”
Suddenly Adele realized that his appointment could be deterred, and Geoffrey had many enemies. He had said so himself. “You will have the appointment—will you not?”
“Indeed I will. I have received another missive this morn, from Anselm, who returns on the morrow to ordain me. He promises his full support, which means that election by the cathedral chapter is assured. Investiture shall be a mere formality.”
Adele could not breathe easier. She was thrilled with his appointment—God, how it suited him—but already he had changed. She was dismayed as well as overjoyed. For he seemed aloof, remote, distant.
And the power she had seen in him from the first was magnified, emanating from him in cool, undulating waves.
Adele trembled. Geoffrey de Warenne faced her from across the chamber in his long, dark robes and heavy gold cross, strikingly male, reeking of virility, blond, blue-eyed, and beautiful. She shook. He was one of the premier prelates in the realm, and one of the King’s most powerful vassals. He was the Bishop of Ely, and dear God, he was not quite twenty-three.
Even she was awed.
Chapter 26
Mary did not want to face Stephen again at Court after all of the time that had passed. She wanted no large audience to witness their exchange. Prince Henry took her directly to the door at Graystone. Mary politely thanked him for his efforts on her behalf, and as politely invited him in. He grinned. “I would not miss this for the world, Mary.”
Mary had hoped he would decline. She was angered once again, especially because he made no attempt to hide his anticipation of the scene that would surely follow. Mary had enough to worry about without having the enigmatic prince around.
She was not feeling brave at all. Her heart was in her throat and she was sick to her stomach. It had taken two days to get to London. Because of her condition, she had ridden in a litter. During those two days she had not been able to eat or sleep. Fear consumed her. So much was at stake. Her future was at stake. She could imagine, with dread, what Stephen’s reaction upon seeing her would be. At the very best he would coldly order her to return to Tetly; at the worst, he would be enraged that she had defied him yet again.
She could not, however, even begin to imagine what his response to her pregnancy might be. Although she had good reason to have denied him the news until now, he would hardly see it that way. She was regretting the deception with every breath she drew. What should be a joyous moment was one clogged with fear and dread.
Mary pulled her cloak and cowl more closely about her, the prince at her side, and walked to the front door. It was late in the day, dusk was falling rapidly, and there was a strong chance that Stephen would be home. The large contingent Henry traveled in had made a commotion as it halted in the meadow across the road, so their advent was no surprise. The Earl of Northumberland stood in the open doorway, watching them approach. He smiled in greeting at Henry.
His gaze slid back to her, unsmiling and searching. Although Mary hoped to hide her face—and identity—for as long as possible, she suspected that her small size gave her away.
“What brings you here, Henry?” Rolfe asked.
“I am delivering a surprise,” Henry said with a chuckle.
Mary followed the two men inside. Her heart dropped to her feet. She wished to disappear. Standing facing them, his broad back to the hearth, was Stephen de Warenne.
“A surprise?” Rolfe asked with skepticism.
Henry only laughed.
Stephen stared. Mary cringed. He knew. For disbelief clouded his features, warring with rage. He had known her instantly.
“You bring her here?” he asked Henry incredulously, but his hard gaze was on Mary.
