But Stephen had regained complete control. He looked at his brother. “Wipe that smirk from your face, Geoff. This lady has refused to reveal her identity, choosing instead to give me her maidenhead. Undoubtedly some border lord is about to seek vengeance. I have other duties to attend to, as you know.”
Geoffrey was startled. “You are not thoughtless. You are not rash.”
Stephen did not respond to him. Abruptly he held out his hand to Mary. “A truce, mademoiselle. I declare a truce.”
His tone was firm with authority. Worse was his gaze, which had become soft and seductive, perhaps with memory. Although he was unsmiling, he was undeniably attractive, much more so than either one of his brothers. Mary stared at his hand. It flitted through her mind that she could accept his offer of peace, and cease all defiance. That she could accept him.
As if sensing her thoughts, Stephen stepped closer, a second later catching her palm in his. “Give to me, mademoiselle,” he coaxed. “Instead of fighting me when you are going to lose, why not bend? There is much to be said for anticipation. Even now, I anticipate being in your arms again—and I believe you share the same feeling. I am going to pleasure you regardless of your willful pride, and we both know it.”
“I believe you are trying to seduce me even now!”
Stephen straightened, his height and breadth overpowering. “And if I am? What upsets you so? That you find me as desirable as I find you? If you bend to me, you will more than enjoy your stay at Alnwick.”
“I desire you, it’s true,” Mary said slowly through stiff lips, hating admitting it, even to herself, “but I do hate you more. Whoreson bastard!”
His grip tightened; he almost smiled. “I much prefer the sound of my given name coming from your lips.”
There was no mistaking to what he was referring. “Do you prefer the sound of your name coming from my lips—or from Adele Beaufort’s?” Mary hissed.
Stephen froze. Then, “She has never spoken my name with therelishthat you have.”
“Oh?” She was shaking, as much in hurt as in rage. “So she is too good for you to abuse? You only abuse maids you abduct, sirrah? Even when they are not as they seem? Or is it because I am a Scot? Is that why you took my maidenhead without a care for the consequences? I am aScot,but your heiress is anEnglishwoman!”
Red tinged his cheekbones. “I did not abuse you, so cease with your abominable hypocrisy. And what is done is done. I do not regret my actions. I am sorry, though, for the price you must bear. When the time comes, demoiselle, I will provide for you. You need not worry on that score.”
She drew back as if he had slapped her. Already he referred to the time when he would grow tired of her and send her away. Tears stung. “And I should be relieved that you will not toss me aside penniless? Oh, how noble you are!”
Mary turned to flee. His grip clamped down on her wrist and she was jerked around to face him. Very low, he said, “You might remember that a man cannot mate alone, and you were as willing a wench as any I have ever taken to my bed. More so, in fact.”
Mary cried out inarticulately and tried to yank her arm free. She failed.
“You could have revealed yourself to me,” he said, his eyes black and blazing. “You were a partner to the deed, demoiselle, and you may choose to forget it, but I do not.”
“I am returning upstairs. I am no longer hungry,” Mary said with great dignity. The truth burned. She had been a willing partner to his passion, no matter that her ambition had been only to continue her deceit. She refused to give in to the rising tears which had no rightful place in this bitter confrontation. “But I am very tired. If you would excuse me?”
Stephen stared at her. Finally he said, “Go then, to the women’s solar. I will send your break-fast to you. And remember, demoiselle, I wish a truce, but I alone cannot achieve the peace.”
Chapter 6
Mary contemplated disobeying him yet again. But in the end she rushed into the solar as if it were her refuge. Closing the door, she leaned upon it, out of breath. Her mind spun. All she could think of was their recent encounter, the one last night, and the one that would occur this evening.
She did hate him. He had ruined her uncaringly; he had said he did not believe her to be Mairi Sinclair, yet he had continued his lovemaking, taking it to its final conclusion. He was ruthless, vain, and self-serving. Mary knew without a doubt that he would never ravish his English bride, he would not even ravish the daughter of an insignificant English knight. The difference was that she was a barbarian Scot.
A barbarian Scot, yes, but a princess, Mary reminded herself. Had he known the truth—that she was Malcolm’s daughter—he would not have taken her to his bed. Mary was certain of that. She reminded herself that her loss of virtue was insignificant, that she had consciously chosen to martyr herself instead of revealing herself.
But what, she wondered with despair, awaited her now? When he tired of her and freed her, then what? It had been somehow easy to think of returning home to Doug before last night. How could she ever face Doug again? What if the Norman used her so mercilessly that he got her with child? Mary froze with the thought.
She was diverted from her brooding. A light rapping upon the door reminded Mary that he said he would send her break-fast. She bid the serving maid to enter, and was surprised when his little sister, Isobel, skipped into the chamber as well.
They had met yesterday. In her distress, Mary had barely paid attention to the child, answering her inquisitive questions automatically. Now, when the maid left, she found herself alone with the girl. For the first time she really looked at her. She was a beautiful child, one who promised to become a stunning woman.
“Do you mind my company?” Isobel asked with a pretty smile.
In truth, pleasant companionship would be refreshing. Mary sank into a chair, aware for the first time that day that she was exhausted and overwhelmed from all that had passed, not to mention a sleepless night. She was tired of thinking. “I do not mind. I could use some company.” In fact, she could use a friend. “Would you like to break the fast with me?” A hopeful note had crept into her tone.
Smiling, Isobel came closer, shaking her head negatively. “I have eaten.” She inspected Mary openly. “But I will gladly keep you company.”
Mary smiled.
