Chapter 27
Rufus had just returned from a day of successful hunting, and he was in high spirits. As he descended from his private chambers to the Great Hall, he threw his arm around Duncan, who was at his side. “Undoubtedly today was an omen,” he told his longtime friend. “We shall snag far greater prey soon.”
“I am counting on it,” Duncan said tersely. These days he could hardly smile, he was so tense and anxious. Although the King had only hinted to him of his plans, Duncan had heard enough hearsay to know that soon, very soon, a great Anglo-Norman army would march north to depose Donald Bane and Edmund. He craved the position at that army’s head—and then upon Scotland’s throne.
Rufus ambled through the hall, which was overflowing with courtiers, pausing repeatedly to exchange words with his favorites. His eyes widened and his spirits lifted even more when he saw a dear and familiar face at his table, close to and just below the dais, a face he so rarely saw. Although Stephen had remained in London since the New Year, when he had escorted the three sons of Malcolm Canmore to their fate, he rarely came to the Tower, and then only when his personal presence was necessary or summoned.
Rufus stared at his handsome profile for a beat longer than necessary. With reluctance he dragged his gaze from Northumberland’s heir and marched through the crowd, which gave way to him immediately, no longer dispensing any conversation.
“Sit with me,” Rufus said amiably to Duncan. Together they climbed the dais. Rufus’s gaze strayed unerringly to Stephen again. His smile died instantly.
Stephen was feeding his wife a morsel of lamb.
It was only polite, of course, for him to do so. But there was nothing polite about the way he stared at her, or about the way his eyes smoked and his nostrils flared. Indeed, even from this distance, Rufus could smell the scent of his arousal.
He looked at Mary. Her face was full, her breasts big, disgusting. Undoubtedly if she stood, she would waddle and resemble a cow. A woman in her condition should not be out in public, and he was infuriated to have to tolerate her in his hall. Not only that, he knew, beyond any doubt, that Stephen had been bedding her since his damn stupid brother had brought her to London, and that he would do so again. From the look on his face, he would probably plow her the moment they left his table.
Duncan followed his gaze. “Amazing, the power my little half sister holds over that man. Amazing—and dangerous.”
Rufus looked at him. “She indeed poses a threat to you, dear Duncan.”
“We have never spoken of it, you and I, Sire. But do you think de Warenne covets Scotland?”
Rufus shrugged. In truth, he was almost certain the man did not, but he had an interest now, one he wanted served. “He can never claim the throne himself, my friend, but of course, what man would not want to see his son crowned? De Warenne is like his father, ambitious and determined in the extreme.” Purposefully Rufus did not finish his thoughts.
“Perhaps the brat she bears will die.”
Rufus laid a restraining palm upon Duncan. “We need Stephen, Duncan; never forget that. He must support us in our efforts to regain Scotland for you.”
Duncan flushed with exultation at hearing the King speak so openly of his fondest dream. And his mind raced forward. Did he dare remove the threat that Mary and her child posed to him and his ambition? He feared her child more than he did her three young brothers, more than he had ever feared her. He could imagine, too well, Stephen declaring himself a Prince Regent.
“Clearly I have erred in arranging the match,” Rufus said in a low voice. “Perhaps there will come a time to rectify the matter. Perhaps, when you are secure upon the throne …” Rufus trailed off.
Duncan said nothing.
Rufus loudly demanded his wine.
And the meal continued as if the pact had never been made. But Duncan had just been given royal sanction to do what he must to insure that Stephen de Warenne’s ties to Scotland’s throne were severed once and for all.
“Why do we return to Alnwick now, so suddenly?” Mary asked as Stephen ordered his squire to prepare for their immediate departure. The lad ran from the chamber. “What passes, that we must leave this very day?” Her voice was high.
It was early May. Mary had been at Court for four weeks, but she was not bored. She was too busy rediscovering her husband’s body, his smiles, his kindness.
Stephen faced her slowly. “I would prefer you bear the child at Alnwick, Mary. As I must return immediately, ’tis ideal for me to escort you to Northumberland.”
“But you have not answered my question, my lord!” Mary cried, panicked. For there had been rumors circulating about the Court, rumors she could not help hearing. Rumors, Edgar had told her bitterly, that Rufus was going to attempt to put Duncan on Scotland’s throne. But such rumors could not be true.
“You do not wish to go home? You wish to bear our child here in the midst of summer? London is not so pleasant then.”
Home.Mary tested the word in her mind. Her heart warmed at the thought of returning to Alnwick and giving birth to their child there. But… all was not innocence. Or there would not be this rush to leave. “I will deliver our babe wherever you tell me to,” Mary said earnestly. “The choice of Alnwick suits me, Stephen, of course it does. But will you not answer my question?”
He was grave. “I go to war, Mary.”
Mary cried out. She had known it. She had known with some shrewd sixth sense that the damnable rumors were true, and that Stephen would be at the head of the army that would invade Scotland and depose her uncle and her traitorous brother. She could not believe that Stephen would break the vow he had given her father, to see his eldest son upon the throne. Edmund had betrayed the family, and Ethelred was a priest, so that left Edgar. Edgar must be Scotland’s next King!
And if such a sickening circumstance were not enough, fear consumed her. ’Twas only six months ago that she had lost her parents and brother because of war, and she had yet to stop grieving. Indeed, there were mornings when she awoke consumed with soothing dreams in which they were all together, when she forgot that they were dead. On those mornings she expected to see her mother smiling at her and standing there at the foot of her bed. It was the most dark, grievous moment when the cobwebs of sleep were cleared from her brain and she was struck by rude reality. That her mother, her brother, her father, would never be with her again. She could not help being afraid for Stephen now. She had lost those dearest to her in one war, she could not bear to lose Stephen in another one. She would not be able to live without him. “Do not go,” she heard herself say. Stephen’s jaw tightened. “Do not speak like a fool.”
Mary closed her eyes. “How can you do this?”
