She pounced on the bed, on him. She hit him with her fists. He grabbed them instantly, restraining her, his own expression dark. “What is this?”
“I hate you,” she cried. In that moment it was true. “I have worked so hard …”
He lifted her to her knees, so they were face-to-face. “You have worked so hard, Mary? At what? At tricking me with your sweet body into trusting you, into forgetting the past?”
“No!” She tried to twist free of him and failed. “I have worked so hard to convince you that I would never break my vows!”
“If only that were true.” Stephen released her. “If only that were true.”
“It is true, damn you! I spied because I am a Scot, and it was obvious you were planning treachery against Scotland! That, I admit! But I did not try to warn Malcolm, nor did I intend to try!”
“You look like an avenging angel.” Stephen touched her hair briefly. “A man would be mad to doubt you.”
She was still, disbelieving.
He smiled as if forced to swallow bilious medicine. “A man would also be mad to believe you.”
“’Tis not fair!”
“Why would your wedding vows mean so much to you, Mary? When you have spent your entire life hating me, hating Normans, hating England?”
Mary took a moment to answer carefully. For her answer was a painful gamble. “I have hated Normans, yes, but—not you.”
He looked at her.
She reddened, hoping he would not remark it. If only she had less pride. Her pride did her no good now. Her voice was a whisper. “I have never hated you, my lord.” And she was thinking about the first time she had seen him, how mighty and invincible he appeared, how proud, how noble, how powerful and male. She had fallen in love with him then and there at Abernathy two long years ago.
Finally Stephen found his voice, and his tone was mocking. “Now the grand confession—that you love me?”
Mary choked. “You make it so very hard.”
He stared, silent.
“You do not deserve love from me,” she said after a long pause. His cruel doubt, his mockery, made it impossible for her to tell him the whole truth of her feelings for him. That her love had been so forbidden that her only recourse had been to hide behind a wall of hatred. She wiped a tear away with the back of her hand.
“And undoubtedly I do not have it,” he said caustically.
Mary turned away.
Stephen grabbed her. She gasped when he flung her on her back, beneath him. His eyes blazed. “You are playing dangerous games, madame.”
She shook her head in denial, unable to speak. He was furious, she was frightened. Yet she was suddenly excited and breathless and acutely aware of being beneath him and completely subject to his whim.
“If you love me,” he said, low and hoarse, “I suggest you prove it.”
Mary was sweating. She licked her lips. “Have I not proved it, my lord?” Her voice was husky and unrecognizable.
His smile was no smile, but more of an animal-like snarl. “You will never prove your love to me in bed, Mary. That is not what I am speaking about.”
Their gazes held. The primal thrill was gone. Mary’s heart sank with comprehension. Then Stephen turned away from her, and he did not touch her again that night.
The following day Prince Henry appeared at Alnwick. He was not alone; he traveled with a full contingent of troops. His many men were camped just outside the castle’s walls, covering the moors for as far as the eye could see. The landscape was changed into a small, raucous village. Local maids hid for fear of rape, local farmers swallowed their grief as their livestock was slaughtered to feed the vast numbers, both upon Stephen’s command and without it. It had been raining for days, but now the weather cleared. Which was fine with the mercenaries, who were restless and sick of the inclement English weather. Mock jousts were set up, more maids hunted down, anything to amuse the men.
Mary was glad that they only intended to spend one night. One of the kitchen maids had suffered at the hands of the men, and Mary had seen firsthand their cruel brutality. She had tended the poor weeping girl herself. True, she was no stranger to the proclivities of soldiers fresh from battle, but Henry’s mercenaries were worse than any she had ever so far seen.
Although she was very disturbed by the events of the night before, although she was angry enough to want to ignore Stephen as he now ignored her, she could not hold her tongue. She searched him out in order to protest vehemently about the presence of the undisciplined Normans—and to find out why they were there in the North.
“It is only for this day and this night,” he told her. “Henry could not restrain them even if he wanted to, which he does not.”
