As he left, Duncan shot Rolfe a piercing glance. Rolfe wondered what he would think had he known that Mary was hostage at Alnwick. For he was Mary’s half-brother.
When they were gone, the door firmly closed behind them, Rufus chuckled. “Jealous vultures, aren’t they? They all pant to know what news you bring; each and every man fears that you shall ingratiate yourself further with me and be awarded some priceless boon. And poor, dear Duncan is near frenzy, for of them all, he must know what passes so close to his birthright.” His gaze turned sharp. “So tell me, Rolfe, why are we closeted thus? What intrigue brews?”
“Stephen has taken Malcolm Canmore’s daughter hostage, Sire.”
Rufus choked on the sip of wine he had just taken. “God’s blood!”
Rolfe let the King absorb this momentous information.
Rufus began to smile. He rubbed his hands together greedily. His face was redder than ever, a ludicrous combination with his orange hair. “What luck. Ahh, Stephen, how well you have done. What shall we demand? Oh, he shall pay now!” He chortled. “And I shall find a way to reward your son.”
Rolfe said nothing.
“So what shall we demand?”
“A dowry.”
Rufus stared. “And who shall the lucky groom be?”
Rolfe stared back. “If Stephen marries Canmore’s daughter, a real and lasting peace if possible. What better way to reward my son? And if there is peace in the North, you can devote yourself completely to Normandy.”
Rufus smiled without mirth. “You want peace, Rolfe, or more power? Is not an earldom enough?”
“Have I ever betrayed you? Have I not supported you in your time of greatest need?”
“Have I not given you more than I have given anyone else?” Rufus replied.
“I seek to protect England and you, Sire.”
Rufus’s smile was bitter and even self-mocking. “I know you well, Rolfe, and never have you misled me like so many others. Asmuchas I can trust anybody, I trust you. In this quagmire we call a Court, amongst all the greed and ambition, you seek only to protect myfather’slegacy—do you not?”
“I seek to protect England and you, Sire; never doubt that,” Rolfe repeated firmly.
“Dammit,” Rufus said irritably. “I would have loved to rub his face in the muck!”
“His face is in the muck, Sire. He cannot be very pleased about this turn of events.”
“Stephen is betrothed to Beaufort’s sister,” Rufus said pointedly.
“Betrothals can be broken,” Rolfe said quietly.
“And when Malcolm dies?”
“When Malcolm dies, Northumberland supports England, as always.”
“And when you die?”
“My pledge is Stephen’s pledge.”
“So we are back to Stephen,” Rufus murmured. “We grew up together, as you know, but there is no great fondness between us,” he said grimly.
“Fondness means nothing; honor means everything. Are you impugning my son’s honor?”
“No!” Rufus heaved himself to his feet. “No, I am not. No man would be so stupid as to question Stephen’s honor. Is there a man in existence with more? I doubt it.”
Rolfe watched him. When he spoke again, his voice was soft and hypnotic. “I have ever been loyal to you, Your Grace, just as I was loyal to your father. Yes, I confess that I want a lasting peace on the border. I confess that I want this princess bride for my eldest son. But you, you must have Normandy.”
William Rufus fell still, silent.
