Rolfe hesitated. The question burned. A question he had wanted to ask for the past ten years, one he had not dared ask, afraid as he was of the answer.
But Stephen was about to wed. Private times between them were so rare. He might never have this chance again. “Stephen. For many years I have wondered why you dislike Rufus so.”
Stephen just looked at him, his thoughts unreadable. The brief moment of wildness had been locked away.
“Is there something I should know about, something that occurred, perhaps, when you were a fosterling in his father’s household?”
“No, Father, there is nothing you should know about.”
Stephen’s tone was quiet but firm, yet Rolfe felt as if he had been soundly slapped. Immediately he withdrew, for Stephen was a man, and he had every right to his privacy. Still, Rolfe could not help but wonder if, had the past been different, had there been more time, Stephen would have confided in him.
“I will never let her sojourn there alone,” Stephen said firmly. “I will remain at Court with her.”
Rolfe also knew that Stephen despised the Court. Not that he blamed him; a man could only be on his guard for so long without respite. “I am glad you wish to accompany her. You and Mary can leave for Court immediately after the betrothal tomorrow. I will join you once I have met with Malcolm to finalize the details of this marriage.”
“Have no fear, Father. Until we are wed, I intend to remain alert. Too many will try to wreck this alliance otherwise.”
Rolfe laid his hand upon Stephen’s arm. His voice low, he said, “It might be politic to get her with child as swiftly as possible, just in case problems do arise.”
Stephen stared. Then, very firmly, he said, “I shall deal with any problems as they come. But Mary will not share my bed until after we have wed.”
Rolfe was startled. Then, wisely, he said no more. There was far more here than met the eye. He had never dreamed to see his son enamored of his bride. He turned away, hiding his pleasure.
Chapter 11
“‘Tis your brother, Sire, Prince Henry. He requests an audience with you,” the sergeant said.
Rufus scowled. He was alone with his squire in his private chamber, in the midst of completing a change of habit for a royal hunt that would take place that afternoon. “Balk him. I am in no mood for my brother now.”
The door to the royal chamber burst open. Prince Henry stood on the threshold, his face strained with anger, his eyes blazing. Behind him two other sergeants were ashen at having their Majesty so interrupted.
Rufus glared at his brother. “What display is this? I am not available, dear little brother.”
“Then make yourself available, Sire,” Henry almost snarled, striding into the room. He was tall and muscular as their father had been, topping his older brother by more than a hand. Unlike his brother, now clad in a vivid red surcote trimmed in ermine and matching ankle boots, he wore muted shades of gray and blue, his tunic and mantle spotted with mud from a long, hard ride. “I have heard a rumor that could not possibly be true.”
Rufus sighed, and snapped his fingers. Instantly the three sergeants were gone, the door closed behind them. He faced his page. “Bring me the crimson mantle, the one lined in sable, and my crimson and gold hat.”
The young, pretty page scurried across the room to obey.
“Tell me it is not true,” Henry said, his handsome face contorted. “Tell me you have not allowed a betrothal between Stephen de Warenne and Malcolm Canmore’s daughter!”
Rufus smiled. “Jealous?”
Henry inhaled, his fists clenched at his sides. “Are you daft? Have you completely lost your wits? To give Northumberland such power?”
“Power that belongs irrevocably to me,” Rufus countered, no longer smiling. He locked stares with his brother. “De Warenne is beholden to me more than ever before.”
“Rolfe, yes. But the son? We all know how fond he is of you, brother.” And now Henry was mocking, knowing as he did his brother’s darkest dreams.
Rufus’s ruddy face gorged with blood. “Do not think that I would be soft upon Stephen de Warenne. Should he prove a traitor, he will suffer the same as anyone. And he has everything to lose, unlike you, who has nothing.”
Henry made an effort to control his rage, having an infamous temper exactly like that of their sire, William the Conqueror. “You jump ahead of my meaning,” he finally managed. “Who spoke of treason?” And he shrugged.
Rufus smiled, pleased at winning that battle.
“Sire,” Henry continued coldly, “You must think on what you do. ’Tis exceeding folly to give Northumberland such power. Especially as the land concerned is all in the North. Soon Stephen will rule in his father’s stead. What if he allies himself with Scotland against you?”
Rufus’s face was bloodred again. “Oh? So now you think to protect my interests?” But he began to wonder if he had made a mistake.
