“And you do?” she queried with sarcasm. “Tell me, Roger, just when did you decide to murder Mary? Would it not have been enough for us if she had escaped?”
He paled. Then he shoved his face to hers. “If you betray me, sister dear, I shall implicate you up to your ears. If I fall, you fall as well.”
Adele jerked away from him. “Get out!”
His smile was ugly. “Perhaps I shall even speak with the good archdeacon. I do not think even your body would attract him should he believe you capable of murder.”
“Get out!”
Chapter 16
Mary was tense. Malcolm and Margaret had arrived in London yesterday; tomorrow she would be wed. Stephen had suggested she visit them at the King’s Tower, and as she could not refuse, they were on their way there now. Mary had almost refused. She had wanted to refuse. She did not want to face Malcolm, not now, the day before her wedding.
Three days had passed since her near death, such a brief period of time, but she had been happy. Although Stephen spent much time at Court, he had attended her every day. They did not speak of what had happened the day they had consummated their union again but Mary believed that they had attained a new and wonderful understanding. She trusted him—how could she not? Brand had been a visitor, and he had told her how Stephen had risked his life to pull her from the river. He had risked his life for her and then given her back her life. Oh yes, she trusted him completely.
And she had not dissembled when she had promised him that she would never betray him again. She recalled how moved he had been by her vow, and was certain that he trusted her as well.
She was afraid to visit even briefly with her family. She was afraid of what might happen, of what she might learn.
As they drew closer to the Tower—and to her parents—Mary realized that Stephen thought he did her a great favor by bringing her here for this visit. As Mary did not want to face her own feelings herself, she could not share her reluctance with him. But with every step that brought them closer to the Tower, her heart beat faster, her stomach tied itself into a tighter knot.
She had learned that Malcolm had arrived at the gates of London with a sizable army. He had only been admitted, however, with a few dozen men, and those men had been required to surrender their weapons once inside the bailey of the Tower. William Rufus was taking no chances with his most bitter enemy.
As she traveled across London, Mary worried. She knew her father well. He was undoubtedly furious at being forced to leave his men and weapons behind. She knew how quick he was to strike back when enraged. Would Malcolm disrupt the alliance at this last moment, or even disrupt the wedding itself? Mary was afraid. How she had changed. She did not want anything to interfere with their wedding, not even Malcolm. He was so ruthless with his enemies, and there was no doubt that he still hated Northumberland—and Stephen.
The King’s Tower came into sight. It soared above the walls of the bailey and reflected upon the smooth surface of the Thames. Mary had kept the curtains of the litter open. She began to tremble. Stephen rode ahead of her on his brown destrier, behind his standard bearer and the red rose of Northumberland. A score of heavily armed knights escorted them.
From the moment they crossed the drawbridge and entered the bailey, they were given a royal armed escort into the keep. Stephen helped her from the litter, surrounded not by his own knights now, but by the King’s men. Mary had been in the exact same situation before, and again she felt fearful and powerless. She did not release Stephen’s hand, and he gave hers a reassuring squeeze. Of course, the King himself would never disrupt their marriage now, he would not dare.
As they climbed the steps to the keep with their escort, Mary wondered if she would always fear and dislike the English Court, if she would always feel like an alien among the enemy. It was another sobering thought when she wanted to feel nothing but bridal jitters and real gaiety on the eve of her wedding.
Their party entered the Great Hall. Conversation dimmed and ceased. Every lord and lady they passed turned to regard their group, eyes bright with speculation. Mary regretted ever having attempted to escape. Stephen could not be pleased that her defiance had been so publicly aired. She had little doubt that many of the jealous lords here had been thrilled with Stephen’s brief humiliation.
As they crossed the hall, Mary glanced at him. His head was high, his gaze trained ahead, his expression unreadable. She thought she heard someone snicker and mention Stephen in the same breath as they passed, but when her gaze flew to the crowd, she could not find the culprit.
In time, she thought vehemently, the whole world would know of her love for Stephen and her loyalty. She would make it up to him.
They went directly to the King’s private rooms on the third floor. As soon as they entered, Mary saw that Malcolm and Margaret and three of her brothers were already within, her parents conversing rather stiffly with the Earl and Countess of Northumberland, near the dais where Rufus sat upon his throne. Mary was very surprised to see Doug Mackinnon standing between Edward and Edgar, and when he caught her eye, she quickly looked away.
She was horrified that he was here. She could not imagine why he had accompanied her parents. Also, she was struck by the knowledge that since the day she had first been captured by Stephen, she had hardly spared him a single thought. How could she have ever thought herself to be in love with him? And how would she ever face him now?
Mary peeked at Stephen, but he was expressionless. She realized he did not know who Doug was, and she found herself inordinately relieved. She knew him well enough now to be certain that he would not be pleased to make Doug’s acquaintance.
Her parents saw her. Mary was frozen, unable to move. She had avoided looking at her father except for a single first glance. She managed to smile at her mother, who appeared close to tears. She ignored Malcolm. She could not look at him.
Stephen and Mary greeted the King.
“I am glad to see you so well. Princess,” Rufus said expansively, red-cheeked and smelling of wine. There was a gloating look about him. “You do not look as if you have suffered from your near-death.”
“I am recovered. Sire.”
“How glad We are.” But Rufus was hardly interested in her. He was smiling at Stephen.
Stephen did not smile back. “Sire,” was all he said.
Mary looked at the man she loved, then at the King. Stephen’s face was unreadable, but the King’s expression was animated, his eyes sparkling. Mary could not move, could not even drop her gaze from William Rufus’s countenance. How well she recognized such an expression now.Dear God, the King is in love with Stephen!
Rufus finally looked at her, catching her staring, his smile vanishing, his gaze becoming cold. “Your father waits to greet you, Princess.”
