“The King is determined to depose Donald Bane.”
Mary stared, blinking at tears. “You despise your King. Must you follow him always?”
Stephen’s tone was as sharp as the point of his sword. “Madame, I am his vassal, and as you have sworn to uphold and follow me, I have sworn to uphold and follow him.”
She walked away from her husband. She knew she had just angered him even more by turning her back on him with such obvious displeasure, for his breath hissed as he drew it in, but she could not care. Her growing belly had made her somewhat swaybacked now, and unconsciously she rubbed the aching muscles at her spine. She stared out of the window, noticing the profusion of blue wildflowers in the meadow without interest. She was well aware that she must tread carefully. She must not interfere in her husband’s affairs. It had almost destroyed them once.
“Would you really have me disobey my King, Mary, to whom I have sworn fealty on bended knee?” Stephen asked tersely.
Mary could not lie. “You uphold your oath to your King, but what of the oath you made to my father—my King?”
Stephen was at once both disbelieving and furious. “I beg your pardon?”
Mary inhaled. “What of the promise you made, the sworn promise, to put Edward upon Scotland’s throne?”
Stephen stared.
Mary cried, “Surely you would not default on such a pledge now! Surely you intend to launch Edgar, not Duncan!”
He advanced towards her, only to stop in the center of the room. His countenance was thunderous.“Did I not make myself clear when we reconciled?”
Mary lifted her chin. She had gone too far and she knew it, but she could not retreat. The fate of all three of her brothers hung in the balance. They might be treated as exalted guests now, but they were royal prisoners, nothing more. They had nothing to their names, not a single coin, not a single estate, nothing but the clothes upon their backs, Rufus’s goodwill, and Stephen’s pledge. “Yes, you did,” she whispered. “But I am your wife. Your cares are mine. I do not mean to upset you, only we must—”
“‘We’?”
Tears filled Mary’s eyes.
“There is nowe—not in matters politic.”
She blinked back the tears, telling herself it was because of the child; she cried so frequently these days. “What of Edgar?” she heard herself whisper.
Stephen’s eyes were black, his jaw rigid. “I do not even want to know how you have discovered my most secret pledge, Mary.”
“Edward told me,” Mary whispered, “the night before he died.”
Stephen’s expression changed in an instant—from anger to sympathy. “Edward would have been a great King.”
“Edgar will be a great King!”
“You tread dangerously, madame, into the affairs of men.”
Recklessly Mary cried, “Can you justify deposing one monster in order to crown another, my lord? Can you?”
Stephen was incredulous—then furious. “You dare to question my actions? My integrity?”
“But I am your wife! If you trusted me …” She trailed off. What was there to say? He did not trust her with his secrets—had he not said he would never forget her treachery? The old hurt was there, gnawing at her deep within her bones, for it had never gone away, it had only been buried deeply and purposefully. She had thought she could leave it there in its grave forever, apparently she was wrong.
“You are my wife, and I suggest you behave in a wifely manner, madame, unless you wish to bring this marriage down around our heads.” Stephen stalked to the door and through it without giving her another glance.
Once he was gone, Mary rushed as best she could to the door and slammed it closed behind him, as hard as she could. Then she gave in to her tears.
What kind of marriage did they have? Damn him! He was a pigheaded, arrogant man! She had a right to know what he intended, for her brothers were now her responsibility with their parents dead. Their only hope lay in Edgar one day seizing the throne. Even if they were free to depart London, they dared not leave the refuge Rufus had provided them. Men had murdered one another over Scotland’s throne; the nation had a long and bloody history. Donald Bane had already issued an invitation to her brothers, one they dared not accept. Undoubtedly the moment they arrived in Scotland, they would become lifetime prisoners, or lifeless corpses.
Thus Edgar had little choice now but to remain at Court in London, currying favor with the King, in the hope that one day Rufus would help him in his quest to gain the Scottish throne. His future hinged upon Rufus’s goodwill, as did that of his brothers, who were allied with him. One day, if Edgar became King, they would become great lairds in their own right.
Mary did not want to fight with her husband. These past weeks they had enjoyed a triumphant peace—one she wished to endure for a lifetime. But she was not a woman to remain meek and ignorant, yet he refused to share his affairs with her. Where did that leave them?
Perhaps, if the subject were not so dear to her, it would not matter. But her brothers were her affair—more than Stephen’s. She had every right to urge her husband to a solution that would assure their futures. Why could he not understand that?
