Henry put his hands on hers, raising her to her feet. He was slow to remove them. “A real beauty, more beautiful even than Adele Beaufort.” He was amused, imagining she knew not what.
Mary had not forgotten that hated name. She did not actually believe the prince, and found herself wondering if the Essex heiress might even now be within the Court.
Stephen said nothing, but he took Mary’s arm, entwining it with his, the gesture possessive, his hard gaze on the prince.
Henry raised a brow, then laughed. “Do not fear me. Are we not longtime allies? I will not trespass, dear Stephen.”
Stephen’s smile was winter-bare. “Then you have changed since we last met,mon ami,for you have enjoyed trespassing upon other men’s properties for as long as I can remember.”
Henry shrugged. “But not without invitation,” he said. “Never without an invitation.”
“There will be no invitation here,” Stephen rejoined without rancor. He spoke as if stating a fact.
“Do you grow soft?” Henry appeared amused once again, and incredulous. When Stephen only smiled, he shrugged. “Come,” he said, with an expansive sweep of one arm, “it is chill and your bride shivers. From the cold, of course.”
“Of course,” Stephen said, molding her arm to his body.
Mary could barely breathe. She sensed a firm friendship between the two men, but she also sensed a strange rivalry. Surely they were not arguing over her! She almost whimpered as her temples began to pound with splitting intensity. She had the unparalleled urge to climb into bed and pull the covers up over her head.
They climbed up the wooden front steps of the keep and entered the second-story hall. Officially it belonged to the Constable of the Tower and was filled to overflowing with ladies in their finest gowns and jewels, with noblemen in brightly colored tunics and hose, and others looking as if they had ridden for many days, so mud-spattered and begrimed were they. Because there were so many within the four walls, it was hot and suffocating. There was no hint of the evening’s air or fall’s advent there. And the noise! Mary would have had to shout to make herself heard to Stephen if she had any desire at all to speak with him, which she did not. He, meanwhile, had to shove his way rudely through the crowd, guiding her across the hall and to the next set of stairs. To her surprise, Henry left them there, giving her another sardonic look along with a courtly bow.
On the landing it was quieter. Mary’s heart began to slow its pounding, so relieved was she for this moment of respite. She massaged her throbbing temples. “Where are we going?” she asked.
“To greet the King, of course.”
Her heart slammed again. Sick dread welled up in her.
On the landing above they encountered a group of descending noblewomen, a flurry of rich silks and bright brocades, heady with perfumes and painted with powders. Stephen politely stepped aside, still gripping Mary’s elbow. The ladies passed them with many covetous looks at her captor and wide-eyed glances at her. One woman paused. She faced them, making Mary’s stomach coil up into even tighter knots of apprehension. The woman ignored her, having sultry eyes only for Stephen. “My lord,” she said, her voice husky and low, and she sank into a deep curtsy.
“There is no need for that, my lady,” Stephen said.
She straightened, barely condescending to notice Mary. She was strikingly beautiful, tall and voluptuous, her hair blacker than midnight, her eyes as dark and beguiling. Mary had not a doubt that this was one of his mistresses, so seductive was she.
“I want to wish you felicitations, my lord,” the temptress said softly.
“That is very generous of you.”
Her lashes swept down, long and black, then she gave him a look, one that scandalized Mary. “I hope we can still be friends.” Her tone was even more promising, and Mary was certain he was intimate with this woman.
Stephen’s mouth curled in what appeared to be a smile: “As you wish, my lady,” he said, bowing abruptly. Then he pulled Mary with him, leaving the woman standing there on the landing.
Mary hated the other woman. The hatred filled her with such force that it left her heart thundering and her lungs breathless. She had understood their wordplay too well! His mistress intended to continue their relations in spite of his marriage to Mary.
“You are shaking anew,” he commented, eyeing her.
“You promised me …” She could not get the word out. And even as she spoke, she knew with her brain that she should not care—but she did. God help her, she did.
His dark, intense gaze locked with hers. “Fidelity? So I have, Mary, and you can rest assured.”
Some of her anger—and her incredible jealousy—dimmed. He might be a treacherous Norman, but Mary thought him a man of his word. Whatever had been between him and the other woman was now over.
“You must trust me, Mary,” Stephen murmured.
His kind words, intended to soothe, brought forth the overpowering urge to weep. She was seriously overwrought.
They had entered another hall, this one high-ceilinged and vast, far grander than the one below, obviously a part of the royal suite. Here only a dozen men or so, and as many women, waited and were engaged in conversation that was much less animated than that downstairs. Mary’s heart pumped fiercely now. She tried to convince herself that she had no real cause for fear.
“The King’s chambers are over there.” Stephen nodded across the room where two sergeants stood guarding massive, closed oak doors.
