Mary’s mind was chanting an incredible refrain. This man had just promised to practice celibacy until their wedding. In fact, he had promised her fidelity. Celibacy … fidelity … The refrain lingered as her mouth opened, as he sucked her lips and then plumbed her warm depths, as their tongues finally touched. Stephen drew back, panting. “But I shall undoubtedly lose my head every time you come near,” he warned. Then he smiled. It lit up his dark eyes.
In another era, Mary thought with sudden desperation, such a marriage would have been successful. Or even in this era, given different circumstances. But it could not be. For there would be no marriage—the betrothal was a ruse. But… Stephen seemed so certain, and he was not the kind of man to be easily duped. “What were the terms of this marriage?” she heard herself ask in a low, strained voice.
Stephen started. His smile was gone. “’Tis not enough for you to know that your father and I found cause to unite our families?”
“No. I must know the terms, I must.”
Stephen stared at her. Carefully he said, “Do you not remember that we discussed this yesterday?”
Mary had to fight for words, she had to fight to steady her voice. “Please, my lord, I would know what my father gains in giving my hand to you—other than—” she swallowed “—our child.”
Stephen was silent. Their gazes were locked, his dark and somber, hers glazed with unshed tears. Finally, gravely, he said, “Mademoiselle, you ask about matters politic.”
“This is very important to me.”
“I know, Mary. I know far more than you think. Trust me. I shall soon be your husband; I will take care of you from this day forth, I and no one else. Malcolm has agreed to the alliance; leave it at that.”
“I cannot,” she whispered. “I must know exactly what was said.”
Stephen regarded her. Very quietly he asked, “Will you by my loyal wife, Mary?”
Mary froze. She knew she must tell him one word, yes. Her heart beat with frightening intensity. She had never been one to lie, and found she could not do so now. Not about this, not to him.
She said nothing.
His face was dark, his words bitter. “I have just promised you fidelity. I have promised to take care of you. But you do not reconcile yourself to your duty. You do not reconcile yourself to me.”
She was torn. There was something in Stephen’s manner, in his eyes, that made her want to promise him all that he demanded, but surely that was insane. Surely he was enslaving her mind, as she had sworn he must not do. Because in the end there would not be a marriage—she was certain of it.
He gripped her chin, lifting it. “You will wed me, warm my bed, bear my sons, keep my household, and tend my people when they are sick? You will give me succor and comfort?You will give me loyalty?”
Mary whimpered. Faced with him now, like this, Mary was suddenly not sure of her own answer. But how could that be? Where her loyalty lay was clear—it had not changed.
His eyes flashed. “I must know!”
She shook her head, her eyes beginning to sting.
“Swear to me upon what you hold dear, swear to me upon the life of your father, that you shall do your duty towards me as I have stated,” Stephen commanded. “Swear it now!”
Mary inhaled. “I—I cannot.”
He released her. She realized he trembled. “You cannot give me your word, or will not?”
“No,” Mary said. “I c-cannot.”
“And you dare to ask me of politic secrets,” he said coldly. “You have one last chance, demoiselle.” A vein throbbed in his temple.“Will you be loyal to me, first and last, above all others?”
She dared not answer. But she said, “No.”
His eyes widened.
“I am loyal to Scotland,” Mary whispered, and she became aware that she was crying. The most recent image of her father’s hate-filled face came to her mind. How proud of her he would be. While she, she was repulsed.
“Even after we are wed?”
Mary prayed that they would not be wed. “Yes, even after we are wed.”
The Earl and Countess of Northumberland arrived later that day.
