“You would be wiser to defend yourself, not him,” Stephen said. He smiled, but it was chilling. “Princess?”
She inhaled. “It was my duty to escape—just as it was my duty to deceive you.”
“Was it your duty to give me your maidenhead?” Stephen did not care that all of his men heard him; it was his intention that the whole realm know that Mary had slept in his bed.
Her breasts heaved. She was red. “Far better to lose my virtue than to become your hostage.”
His brow lifted. “You sacrificed your virtue to save your father a ransom?” He was incredulous.
“I know you!” Mary cried, her fists clenched but shaking. “You would cripple him, would you not? You would demand far more than silver—you would demand land!”
He stared. “Indeed I shall demand far more than silver coin.”
“When?” Mary demanded, but a tear trickled down her cheek. “When will you ask this ransom? When will I go home?”
“Malcolm and I must meet.”
Mary nodded, the single fat tear rolling to her chin.
Stephen almost flicked his finger against her smooth skin to wipe away the lonely tear. The urge disturbed him, made him uneasy. It was very clear that she was distraught by her predicament and that she wished to leave him. Last night had not made her yearn for him. Undoubtedly she would reject any effort he made to soothe her. He hesitated, torn. He told himself he must be wary of this child-woman. Finally he said, unsteadily, “You need not cry, mademoiselle. In the end, there will be much to be gained for both of us from this circumstance.”
Mary raised her fist and rubbed her wet cheek, the gesture absurdly childlike, increasing Stephen’s discomfort. “No,” she whispered, “you will gain, not me and mine. For I have failed. I have failed my country, my King.”
He was astounded yet again. “Spoken like a man! A woman is not expected to best a man, mademoiselle. In fact, you have played a man’s game, a game in which you could not possibly understand all of the consequences, a game you could not possibly win. ’Twas most unwise.”
“I understand the game well enough.” Mary raised her chin, her mouth pursed. “I did as I had to do. I am Scotland’s daughter.”
Something in him became fierce. “You are amazing, mademoiselle,” he murmured. And he thought of the son she would give him, shrewd and strong and proud. Then, “Come, let us return, and let us begin again.” He held out his hand.
She glared at him through her tears. She did not give him her hand. “We begin nothing! My father will kill you! And I shall dance on your grave!”
Stephen realized that he still held out his hand. He flushed dully and let his gauntleted arm fall to his side. “Malcom might try, but if I were you, I would do my best to dissuade him, for your father is no longer young, and I am in my prime.”
She lost all her color. “You would cross swords with my father?”
He regretted his words. Not for the first time, he wondered at her love for such a scoundrel. “Only if forced to do so.”
“Jesu,” Mary moaned. “I can see the two of you when you meet to discuss the ransom!” Mary took a step towards him. “Do not kill my father. Please!”
It was only correct that she be loyal to Malcolm, but Stephen was inexplicably angry with her now for that loyalty, especially as she had just rejected him in no uncertain terms. Of course, it did not matter one whit whether she hated him or not; hateful wives abounded in this life. “Perhaps you might use pretty words and pretty manners to convince me? Perhaps you might act as a woman should?”
She blanched. “Knowing who I am—you wish me to warm your bed again?!”
“I did not say that, demoiselle. Perhaps ’tis you who wishes for another encounter like the one last night.”
At first Mary did not respond, but her face was pinched, her eyes huge. “How I wish now that I were more like my sister, Maude,” she whispered.
All the strange sympathy, even mixed-up as it was with anger, fled. “I did not know that Malcolm had another daughter,” Stephen said sharply. Another daughter could change everything. Mary could become a political sacrifice as long as Maude was there to take her place in Malcolm’s plans. Stephen wondered if he dare force Mary to the altar should Malcolm refuse to sanction the alliance.
“She is a novice in the Abbey at Dunfermline. She is very pious, very good.” Mary’s voice trailed off. But she added, “Unlike me.”
“Do not berate yourself; it is not becoming,” Stephen said sharply.
But Mary gasped. “Oh, dear Mother of God! How could I have been so thoughtless! They will betroth her to Doug, will they not? And it is me,me,that they will send to a convent!”
“Do you cry for your lover now?” He was furious. There was no mistaking his jealousy. His hands gripped her shoulders, his face came close to hers. “After the night we have passed?”
She shook her head. “No! No! I am not such a hypocrite!” She pressed the back of her hand to her mouth, in order to hold back sobs. “To be locked away in a convent, surely I will die!”
