Edward paled. “Mary—you heeded Father? You would spy upon your husband?”
“No! No! Father told you that he asked me to spy? I would never spy upon my husband! I was curious, though, and you know how I am when curious.” She felt hot tears rise. “How I regret my foolish actions. We had discovered how pleasant marriage could be, when Stephen caught me eavesdropping. And now we are just recovering from that incident; Stephen was so close to forgiving me, perhaps even about to realize my innocence, when you came. I am glad to see you, I am, but now Stephen thinks me a traitor again. For he thinks that you are here to receive information from me or to plot and scheme with me against him.”
Edward sighed, leading her to the table. “I am sorry. In truth, Malcom sent me to find out why you failed to warn him about the invasion. I will be glad to tell him that you have no intention of breaking your wedding vows. Indeed, I already said as much, knowing you as I do.”
Mary hugged her brother. “Thank you, Ed.” It was on the tip of her tongue to ask Edward how their father could ask such a terrible thing of her, but the topic was still too painful, and she did not.
Instead, she thought of her husband, imagining the report his spies would make to him. Her spirits lifted immeasurably. “Now, no more politics. Is Edgar well? I heard he was wounded at Carlisle.”
Edward and Fergus stayed for dinner. Mary’s mood was joyous. She laughed readily and smiled constantly. What had begun as a disastrous blow to her marriage had now turned into a wonderful boon! For Stephen’s spies would report the conversation between her and her brother in exact detail— and he would know that she had not spied upon him, that she never would.
Obviously Stephen had yet to speak with his spies, for he did not appear to be pleased during their noon meal. He ignored Mary, and every time her laughter rang out, his mouth pressed hard together. She did not mind. Soon, very soon, he would know the truth, and he would hardly ignore her then.
At first there was much tension between Stephen and his guest, Edward. It was not their first meeting; they had spoken in London at Court, both before their wedding and during it. Mary vaguely recalled that they had gotten along very well then. Now, so soon after Carlisle, Edward was grim and quiet, Stephen displeased and brooding. As Mary’s attempts at making conversation were firmly rebuffed by her husband, it was left to the countess to smooth things over.
And Lady Ceidre was an expert at managing hostile factions in social settings. Swiftly she drew both Edward and Stephen into innocuous and pleasant conversation. Once broken, the tension swiftly died. It soon became apparent that Stephen and Edward liked each other despite the recent battle for Carlisle, despite the history of warfare and politics that lay like a gaping chasm between them. They began to converse with increasing amiability. Following the countess’s lead (and she was now obviously satisfied and sitting back quietly to observe her handiwork), they steered carefully clear of all topics politic.
As Mary watched her brother and her husband, her joy grew. One day Edward would be King of Scotland, she had no doubt, and it would be a great thing for Northumberland. Perhaps, because Edward was less of a fighter than her father, not any less brave, but more peaceful of character and less truculent, the constant battling in the border country would diminish and even end. Mary could imagine a day when peace reigned, she could even imagine more meals like this one, with her husband and brother at the same table, both amiable and well disposed towards each other.
Edward and Fergus took their leave after the dinner. They had come to Alnwick with a considerable force, and their men had been awaiting them outside Alnwick’s walls all this time. Mary watched them leave from the ramparts, feeling both terribly hopeful and unbearably sad. She wondered when she would see him again—she wondered if her dreams would ever really come true.
Mary was restlessly pacing the bedchamber, waiting for Stephen, when he finally appeared that night. He had disappeared after the noon meal, and she had not seen him since. She had been eagerly awaiting this moment all afternoon and evening. By now Stephen had learned of her innocence, and her final exoneration was near.
He seemed surprised to see her awake. Then his cool gaze slid right past her and he began to undress.
Mary was stunned. Wasn’t he going to say something? Or did he have so much pride that he could not admit he was at fault? Or did he no longer care? No—that was impossible! “My lord? Let me help you.” She sprang forward.
He did not look at her. “I can manage myself,” he said, removing her hands from his belt. “Go to bed.”
Mary froze.Something was not right.“Stephen?” She laid her palm on his back. He had yet to shrug out of his undertunic, but he turned quickly away, and her hand slid off of his body.
“Do not bother me, Mary.”
“What—what is wrong?”
“What is wrong?” He laughed harshly. “Nothing, dear wife, nothing at all.”
“But have you not spoken with your spies?” Mary asked frankly.
He looked at her as he dropped his undertunic on the floor. Firelight played over his wide, bare, muscular chest. “My spies?”
Mary’s heart began to sink. “Did you not have spies listening to my conversation with Edward today?”
“No, Mary, I did not.”
Mary was so stunned with disappointment that she could not speak. Tears finally crept into her eyes.
“How distressed you are.” He sat and kicked off his boots, one by one.
“Why?” she whispered, her vision so blurred, she could not see his face clearly. “Why not?”
“For precisely the reason you wished for me to have spies present, madame.” He stood, naked, and moved past her to the bed. “My spies would learn nothing of value, as you would admit nothing except what you wanted them to hear and relay back to me.”
Mary was aghast. She backed away from him automatically. She had been ecstatic all that day, thinking to be proven innocent at long last, dreaming of the joy that would come again into their life, dreaming of how Stephen would hold her, the endearments he might whisper in her ear, and now she crashed sickeningly and found herself at pit bottom. “I never thought in that manner,” she whispered. But hadn’t she, in a way? Hadn’t she been thinking of his spies as she spoke every single word?
“Come now, Mary, a clever lass like you? I would not waste my time spying upon you when you fully expected it.” His glance was brief but searing. Then he climbed into the bed.
Mary stared at the fire, unseeing. “I am not so clever,” she whispered finally. She turned to look at her husband, who was stretched out on his back, his eyes closed, as if asleep. And she was angry.
