Rufus turned to Stephen. “Is she a dimwit? Is her mind sound? I would not marry you to one who would breed you fools.”
“She is of sound mind, Sire, she is just overtired and, I think, distraught.”
Mary dared not look anywhere but at the floor. A few tears had managed to spill down her cheeks.
“I must trust your judgment, then, for always it is sound. Get rid of her. Send her to the chamber she shall share with some of the other ladies who sojourn here. We must talk. We have much to discuss after so many years.”
Stephen bowed, still gripping Mary’s arm firmly. “Sire.”
They moved away. Mary was barely aware of being marched across the hall and from the room. She moved like the dimwit she had been accused of being. Once outside the chamber doors, Mary gulped the air.
Stephen spoke quietly with a man-at-arms. Mary’s vision cleared. Her breasts began to rise and fall more rapidly than usual. She did not protest when Stephen again took her hand, and she ignored him when he gave her a long, searching look as they followed the soldier upstairs. “Mademoiselle?”
Her jaw clenched, she did not speak. She no longer breathed.
Stephen also fell silent. The guard cheerfully told them that this was her chamber, flinging open a door. Mary shrugged off Stephen, who let her go, and marched inside. He followed her, as she had known he would do, and then the guard was gone.
They were finally alone. “Mary,” Stephen began.
Mary screamed. As she screamed, and screamed and screamed, a scream of rage and agony, she raised her arm and open-handedly lashed him with all her might across his face. The sound of flesh cracking against flesh actually echoed. “Get away!” Mary cried. “Get away from me this instant!”
Chapter 12
For a moment, Stephen was frozen.
So was Mary.
And the sound of her hand cracking across his flesh seemed to linger in the stone chamber.
His disbelief coalesced into anger. “Mary,” Stephen said grimly. He took a step towards her.
“No!” she cried, raising her hands as if to ward him off. And the denial released a harsh sob.
He halted. He had sensed her nervousness as they entered the King’s bailey, had watched it grow ever since. He sorely regretted having to act as he had in front of the King, but he’d had no choice, knowing Rufus as he did. He did not blame her for slapping him after all. “Mary, I must explain to you my behavior in the King’s chamber.”
“No!” She backed away from him until her legs hit one of the room’s three beds. Instantly she jumped aside and backed into the wall—which was as far from him as she could possibly go.
“Mary,” Stephen said, forcing himself to remain calm, speaking as he might to an invalid, or someone deranged, “I could not let the King see how pleased I am with our forthcoming union. You must trust me. In time I will explain more fully, when you are reconciled to our union, when you are loyal.”
“I will never be reconciled—I will never be loyal!”
Stephen flinched.
“How I hate you!” Mary cried, choking on another huge sob. “Dear Lord God, we are truly to be wed!”
Stephen started, wondering if she was going insane. “Of course we are truly to be wed. ’Twas decided days ago.”
She moaned.
He felt helpless then, not understanding this at all. “You are distraught. When you are calmer—”
Her wild laughter cut him off, choked with tears. “Of course I am distraught! Can you blame me, Sir Norman? How would you like to be imprisoned here?!”
He stood unmoving, expressionless, except for the tightness of his jaw. A long pause ensued, in which he did not speak, his eyes pitch black, while she wept, almost silently. “You are not a prisoner, demoiselle,” he finally said, his tone harsh. “You are my bride, soon to be my wife.”
No sooner had he spoken than she covered her face with her hands, her shoulders shaking. This time her sobs were audible.
Obviously the thought of marriage moved her to this hysteria. He did not understand why she should have this crisis now, instead of earlier, and could only guess that his having humiliated her in front of the King had set it off. Stephen was unmoving, torn with guilt. Guilt not just for the crisis he had provoked, but because he was forcing her against her will to this marriage—a fact he could no longer ignore. Was he any different from William Rufus?
