“Just as he intended to marry you for your wealth,” she retorted. But her tone was weak. This woman was ripe in the way all men preferred, and Mary could recall too well Stephen’s words to the King just a few minutes ago. Perhaps the King had even been referring to Adele Beaufort when he had said Stephen had always liked fleshy women. Of course, she did not care. She hated him for all that he had done.
“For my wealth, yes, and for so much more,” Adele said in husky tones.
Mary could imagine them in a torrid embrace, and found herself hating this woman again. How could that be? As Adele had said, she was being forced to wed Stephen, and he had not just insulted her but failed to defend her in public, and worse, far worse, she despised him for destroying her relationship with her father, for destroying her life.
Yet in spite of all happenstance, Mary began recalling intimate moments shared by her and Stephen, moments of sublime, uncontrollable passion. Had he touched Adele as he had her?
Adele stepped forward until they stood facing each other. She dwarfed Mary, although Mary was not cowed by her giant size. “I can help you.”
Mary started.
Abruptly Adele turned and went to the door, flung it open, and peered out into the corridor. No one spied upon them. She shut the door and leaned against it. Her eyes were brilliant, like onyx drenched by the sun. “I can help you,” she said again, her voice low and terse.
“I do not understand,” Mary said slowly, but in truth her mind had raced far ahead, and incredulously, she began to comprehend where Adele Beaufort would lead. But surely—she did not dare follow!
“You do not wish to wed him.”
Mary nodded, her gaze locked with the other woman’s.
Slowly Adele smiled the smile of a temptress. “Do you wish to escape?”
Mary hesitated. Two competing images flashed before her eyes: her father’s face, at once hate-filled, and Stephen’s, seductive with promise. She shook herself free of the snare. “Yes.”
“Then I will arrange it.”
Stephen left Mary in the chamber she was to share and walked downstairs. He refused to make eye contact with anyone, not wanting to be drawn into a conversation. He desperately needed some fresh air. He desperately needed to think.
“Stephen!”
His brother’s voice brought him to a halt. Stephen turned and saw Geoffrey crossing the Great Hall, apparently just having left the King’s chambers. As he came closer, Stephen saw that his jaw was clenched so tightly, a muscle ticked just above it.
Geoffrey drew abreast of him. “I heard you had arrived with the princess,” he said.
Stephen did not want to talk about Mary, not now, not after she had revealed the extent of her feelings for him. “Yes.”
“Where do you go?”
“Anywhere but here. Perhaps for a ride. Do you wish to join me?”
Geoffrey’s laugh was short and hard and angry. “Like yourself, I have no wish to linger here!” But as Stephen made to go, he gripped his arm, halting him. “You have left someone to guard her?”
There was no question of whom he spoke. Stephen flushed. It was not like him to be so thoughtless. “No.”
Geoffrey’s voice was an urgent whisper. “Your marriage is the talk of the Tower. Many are displeased. Many are afraid. Especially Beaufort, Montgomery, and Duncan. You can not leave her here alone and unguarded. I have not a doubt that one of the parties will seek to end the alliance—and what easier way than to harm Mary?”
Stephen was furious with himself. “Or kill her,” he said grimly. “God’s blood, she has upset me so, I was running out without a thought to her welfare—and I know well of what you speak. I did not come with her to court for my amusement, Geoff.”
“Come.” Geoffrey took his arm. “I saw Brand downstairs when I came in; he can take over guard duty until you send someone else.”
They went down the narrow stairs and found Brand waiting in the hall below with several other household knights, whiling away the time as he was wont to do when he was not off in the countryside squelching rebellions and in other ways fighting for his King. His face brightened when he saw them, then sobered when Stephen made his request.
“Have no fear,” he assured his oldest brother. “I will stand outside her door until you return. In truth, I hate loitering at court—I much prefer battle.”
Stephen and Geoffrey left the keep. “He is still young,” Stephen commented. “In a few years he will find war tiresome.”
Geoffrey’s face darkened. “It seems my battles have just begun.”
They paused in the open space in front of the keep, ignoring servants, knights, and courtiers coming and going around them. “What has passed?”
