Henry laughed. “I do not mean in bed, my dear. Do not look shocked. I have known Stephen since we were both boys, he six, myself just one year older. We have wenched together on many occasions—I know just what he is capable of.”
Mary made no more pretenses. She yanked her arm free. “How dare you,” she hissed. She knew now, with a combination of fury, horror, and indignation, that Henry had imagined all the ways Stephen made love to her. She felt as if he had actually been in their chamber spying upon them. “How dare you intrude upon us that way!”
“Have I intruded?” He still laughed, his gaze feigned innocence. “How have I intruded, Mary? Because I know Stephen well? Because I know him better even than you in some ways?”
Mary said nothing, boiling.
“Has he forgiven you, Mary? Will he? I do not think so.” Henry still smiled. “You were very foolish, as was he. I cannot believe he allowed you to visit alone with your brother. Do not look surprised. I know every happenstance of import in this realm.”
“You keep a spy here?” Mary gasped.
“All great men keep spies everywhere, Mary; surely you know that. Does not your father keep you here?”
Mary tried to slap him. He caught her arm, and suddenly her cape fell away and she was pressed against the rough stone wall—and Henry’s hard body was pressed against hers. “Release me, this instant. Stephen will kill you.” She did not call out, though. She saw that the guards were on the other side of the ramparts, their backs to them, and thus unaware of what was happening. As Henry obviously knew.
“Or I will kill him.” Henry laughed. Mary was horrified. “But I won’t tell him about our tête-à-tête if you do not.”
Mary stared at his handsome face, at his glittering eyes. She wanted to spit and claw, but he held her too tightly. She knew she would say nothing, because Henry was the King’s brother, and because he was also a fearless knight. She did not want to take the chance of him killing her husband.
“Relax,” Henry said huskily. “You are a beauty, to be sure, but in truth I am only protecting Stephen—and my own interests. I have no intention of raping you, sweet, no matter how I’d like to feel you beneath me. Surely it is your body that keeps Stephen derelict in his duty to himself and his patrimony. I am more than curious, I admit. Now, an invitation is another matter. That, I would accept.” Henry straightened, releasing her.
Mary was still cornered by his body, her back to the wall. She shook, she so badly wanted to strike him. “You will never get an invitation of any kind from me!” Her bravery was a sham. For she was also shaking with fright. Had the guards been absent, Henry could have raped her in an instant, and she would have been powerless to stop him. She did not put such behavior past him. Not anymore.
“But you are a real woman, beneath that fragile, seemingly innocent facade, I know; I sensed it the moment we met. You cannot do without a man. And Stephen will not suffer your treachery for long. One day you will make a fatal mistake, Mary. Fatal. He will never forgive you, and he will send you away as he should have already done. But do not fear. I will not forget you. Even if you are cloistered, I will not forget you.”
Mary did not move. Henry’s confidence and arrogance were frightening. She could not miss the intent behind his words. If she was exiled, as he thought she would soon be, he would be there to ease her distress. Sexually. She shuddered. God help her, but if she was ever sent away, she had not a doubt that Henry would come to her door. “I will never betray him.”
Henry was quiet, regarding her. Then he said, “How strange, I almost believe you.”
“He errs. I have not betrayed him, and I will not. Not ever.”
“No? Perhaps I have judged you wrongly. Perhaps you have yet to betray your husband, my friend. But what if I tell you the real purpose for my visit this night to Alnwick?”
Mary’s heart began to beat with dread. “What real purpose? Surely you seek a bed and a roof over your head—nothing more!”
Henry laughed. “I know you are not so naive! I have already told Stephen, now I shall tell you, news he will undoubtedly keep to himself. Your father, your illustrious sire, is amassing the largest army Scotland has ever seen.”
Mary could not move. She tried to speak, but no words came out. She had to swallow and wet her lips first. “Why?” It was a croak. She already knew.
“To retaliate, of course. More specifically, Malcolm has sworn to bring England to its knees, and his invasion of Northumberland is imminent.”
Chapter 22
Mary fled. She thought that Henry’s soft laughter followed her, but in her shock, she could not be sure. She rushed down the steep, spiral stairs and fell. Fortunately she was at the bottom when she did, and it was only down the last step, but it was enough to make her pause before getting up, panting.
She clutched her abdomen. Dear God, what was she doing? She must take care! She would never forgive herself if she lost her babe through her own lack of caution, her own recklessness. For the child’s sake, she must begin to use restraint.
Mary rose to her feet. Her head pounded, but she forced herself to think. She did not doubt Henry’s words—how she wished she did. But she knew her father. He would never let a transgression go unchecked. She moaned. He had to be stopped! She could only imagine what a full-scale war would do to them all, the Scots, the Normans, Malcolm, Stephen, herself.
“Mary?”
Mary jerked at the sound of her husband’s voice. He stood in the narrow, dark hall, holding up a taper. Mary realized that she was clinging to the wall, not having moved from the foot of the stairwell where she had fallen. She stared at Stephen as if he were a stranger.
“Are you all right? Did you fall?” Swiftly he came forward.
He was obviously concerned. With a small, glad cry, Mary leapt into his arms. Not only did he care about her a little, she needed him now! She needed him to be her ally in this dark, frightening time, she needed comfort and hope, she needed his strength. To her dismay, Stephen did not hold her. Firmly he set her away, his face grim, as if he did not want to touch her. “Did you fall?” he repeated. “Are you hurt?”
“I am all right,” she said, clenching her fists so she would not reach out to him again. He might be concerned, but he had yet to forgive her anything, and Edward’s visit was obviously still fresh upon his mind. “Is it true? Does Malcolm intend war? Does he plan an invasion of Northumberland even now? Is it imminent?”
