Dark Champion (24 page)

There was the sudden interruption of a bellow from the watchcorn’s horn. The music broke off. FitzRoger glanced at Renald, and the darker man slipped out of the hall. At a signal, the singer continued.

Renald returned to murmur to FitzRoger, who then said, “Sire, it is the Earl of Lancaster. Is it acceptable to you that he be admitted?”

“The laggardly lover?” said the king with a malicious grin. “By all means!”

The order was given, but Imogen sensed a new tension in the air coming from the men on either side of her. It was not fear, but a kind of readiness, as men show before battle. Why? This doubtless would not be pleasant, for Lancaster would not be happy about the marriage, but what was done was done.

Except, she realized with a jolt, that it wasn’t done.

She toyed with a piece of fruit as the king and FitzRoger spoke quietly across her of Lancaster. It became clear that the earl was not a man Henry could afford to ignore, and that it was even possible Lancaster would throw his support behind Henry’s enemies if offended. He was known to have met with Belleme.

It was also clear that Henry’s distrust of Lancaster had been behind the move to marry her to FitzRoger, and behind the haste.

Lancaster might have been told she had agreed to marry FitzRoger, but he had come anyway. And they had known he would come.

To confirm her interpretation, Henry said, “Good thing it’s all settled. What happened to the sheet? We might have to wave it in front of him.”

Imogen stiffened, but kept her eyes shielded and hoped no other part of her revealed her anxiety.

“There was no mark on it,” FitzRoger said calmly.

“What?”

Imogen looked up at that, fearing she was about to be shamed in one way or another.

“That casts no doubt on Lady Imogen’s honor,” said FitzRoger. “Merely a matter of position and care.”

The king turned red. “By heaven, Ty, that was stupid. A wedding night’s no time for games like that!”

Lost, Imogen glanced between them. Games like what?

FitzRoger’s fingers turned his table knife. “Do you think Lancaster will contest my lady’s virtue? I hope he does.”

“Stop snarling,” said the king shortly as the Earl of Lancaster strode in. “I can’t afford a fight between you.”

The Earl of Lancaster was a big, fleshy man who generally looked magnificent in layers of finest clothing. Today he looked haggard and muddy. He clearly had, for once, rushed.

He scanned the situation and bowed. “Sire! I have made all haste to assist Lady Imogen, my affianced bride.”

FitzRoger rose and arranged seating for the earl by the king’s side. “I fear you are in error, my lord,” he said politely. “The lady is my bride.”

Lancaster froze. “But…”

“We were married yesterday.”

The earl looked at Imogen in shock. “Lady Imogen,” he said with an attempt at a smile. “How can this be when you are promised to me?”

Imogen swallowed. “Nothing was settled, my lord.”

“But your father’s wishes were quite clear, and should be sacred to a dutiful daughter.”

Imogen felt rather sick, but she kept her chin up. “Nothing was settled,” she repeated.

“Come, Lancaster,” said the king cheerfully before the red-faced earl could explode. “It is a suitable match and has my blessing. There is nothing to be done now. There are prizes aplenty in the land, and I promise you will have your pick of them. You have ridden hard. Take your rest. Eat. Drink. You are very welcome. We go shortly to bring Warbrick and Belleme to heel. You and your men can join us.”

Imogen saw that distract Lancaster, for though he always provided his due in soldiers for his liege, he was not a man to engage in battle himself.

She turned to her husband, and found him looking at her in that catlike way she hated. She knew he was watching for any move she might make to announce her virginity, ready to forestall it. She wondered how he would manage that, and was almost tempted to find out…

He took her hand and rose. “Will you excuse us, sire? My Lord of Lancaster.” The latter was not a request.

“Of course, of course,” said Henry jovially. “Off you go!”

Lancaster looked as if he would object, but after a glance at FitzRoger, he thought better of it.

Imogen thought of objecting also, but there was truly nothing to object to—it would not have caused comment if she and FitzRoger had kept to their room for a week. Still, she felt shamed by this blatant show of possession.

“We’re married,” she pointed out when they were in their room. “You’ve won. You don’t have to rub his nose in it.” She went to look angrily out of the window, trying to put space between them.

“What a suspicious nature you have. Lancaster can choke for all I care, but Henry’s patience is not limitless.”

Imogen turned. “What do you mean?”

“He’s waiting anxiously for the whores to be let in again.”

“
What
? But I said they were not to be permitted in the hall. In my father’s day—”

“Your father had his arrangements, but you can hardly expect the king to wander off to the village, or sneak into the bathhouse in the dark.”

Imogen was almost spluttering. “My father had no such arrangements. He loved my mother deeply!”

“Grow up, Imogen. Your mother has been dead for two years and was frail for many years before that. You have two half brothers and a half sister being raised in Gloucester. When you take up your duties and go over the accounts, you’ll find your father provided for them handsomely.”

“Bro—” Imogen snapped her mouth shut and tried to collect her scattered wits. It never occurred to her that FitzRoger might be lying, though. “How do you know this?”

“The business of Carrisford has been disrupted, but has not ceased entirely. Someone has had to authorize payments.”

Imogen wanted to protest that he had exceeded his authority, but as he said, someone had to do it. It was her fault for allowing personal matters to block out her duty.

“Tomorrow,” she stated, “I will take up the management here.”

“Excellent. You can also calculate what you owe me.” Before she could respond to that, he said, “I’m surprised Lord Bernard didn’t wed again, especially when he was without an heir.”

The matter of her father was still raw. She had brothers and sisters? “Some men, My Lord Bastard, take marriage more seriously than others.”

His eyes narrowed. “I assure you, no one takes marriage more seriously than a bastard. If you die without giving me at least two sons, Imogen, I’ll marry again at the first opportunity.”

Imogen sat with a bump on the bed. “You really are a horrible man.”

“Of course I am. It’s my stock in trade.” He came to lean on a post. Looming. “Are you saying you want me to mourn you in celibacy all the days of my life? Hardly realistic. I wouldn’t expect it of you.”

She met his mocking eyes. “After this experience, my lord, I am hardly likely to marry again, even if I should be lucky enough to be free of you.”

“Unfortunately, I seem to live a charmed life.”

“Unfortunate indeed.” Imogen didn’t really want to be saying such cruel things, but it was as if she were being carried along by a stream in flood, a stream of vitriol.

“There’s always the knife,” he said helpfully. He took it from where it lay on top of her chest and placed it beside her on the bed.

She just gave him a disgusted look, and remembered where all this had started. “Those whores—”

“Are now serving their king.”

Imogen opened her mouth and then interpreted the look in his eyes. “Is this one of those matters in which I must be ruled by you, my lord husband?”

“Yes.”

She smiled tightly. “Then I’m surprised you aren’t down there availing yourself of their services.”

“So am I, since there’ll be little amatory release to be found here.” He returned her humorless smile. “After our touching song play, however, it would be a shame to shatter the picture, wouldn’t it?”

“Little…” Imogen was off balance again. She had assumed he was determined to consummate the marriage, particularly now Lancaster had turned up sniffing for an excuse to break it; a good part of her bitterness had been a desperate rear guard action. “What do you mean?”

He looked at her derisively. “Are you keen to assuage my husbandly needs then, Imogen?”

She could feel her color flaring. “I know my duty,” she muttered.

“Do you? As laid down by Father Wulfgan, I suppose. I’m afraid I’m too degenerate to be satisfied with that.” He moved away from her, opened a chest, and took out a chess board. He placed it upon a small table by the window and began to set up the pieces with swift, deft fingers. “I assume you play.”

“Yes,” said Imogen, bemused by his unpredictable moves.

“Well?”

“Yes.”

“Good. I like a challenging game. You can be ivory.”

Imogen moved to sit across the board from him. The board was inlaid in dark and pale woods; the pieces were silver and ivory. It was very lovely. She touched her elegant pale queen. “My father had a set similar to this,” she said.

“It was smashed, but the silver is around somewhere. It can be reworked.” His matter-of-fact voice was designed to give no quarter.

Imogen gritted her teeth and made the first move. She supposed it was a hopeless cause, but she would do her best to trounce him. She would dearly love to defeat him in something. Soon all her attention was fixed on the board as she fought for her life. FitzRoger played an unpredictably brilliant game, but she was holding her own.

Just.

While she contemplated a particularly complex series of moves, he rose and poured them both wine. She drank it absentmindedly, fighting excitement, checking for the third time that her plan wouldn’t spell disaster.

She couldn’t believe that she actually had a chance to win.

Struggling to look impassive, she moved her bishop three squares. Still standing, he moved a rook. She moved a pawn seemingly at random. He raised a brow and took it. She moved her queen. “Checkmate,” she whispered.

He sat rather sharply and studied the board for a long time. “So it is,” he said thoughtfully.

Their eyes met and a grin started on Imogen’s face that she couldn’t stop. She was gloating, but couldn’t help it.

He suddenly laughed, his face lighting in a most amazing way. “A true victory,” he said, and toasted her. “Remind me never to underestimate your mind, especially when mine is distracted by lust.”

It was like a dash of cold water. Imogen glanced nervously at the bed.

His smile faded. “I’ll give you notice, Imogen. I do believe that in time you will come to be comfortable with me. I am willing to wait if I can.”

“If you can?” she asked.

He shook his head. “I’ll wait. But you have to try to overcome your anxiety. It would help if you didn’t keep running off to that priest to have your fears reinforced.”

“I didn’t… I don’t… Why should I believe you, not him?”

“For no reason at all. But there are other opinions. When we have opportunity, perhaps you would like to ride to Grimstead monastery and consult with the abbot there. I have met him and he seems to be both good and wise.”

Imogen nodded, relieved by such a reasonable suggestion. “I would like to do that.”

“Good. I assure you, the last thing I want is to force you to act against your conscience, but this situation cannot go on indefinitely.”

“Particularly with Lancaster around.”

His glance was quick and sharp. “Quite.”

Imogen’s fingers tightened on her goblet. “What did you mean about position and care?”

He lounged back and sipped his wine. “With most women, if a man takes care, there’s little blood and pain, and if you weren’t on your back on the bed, there quite likely wouldn’t be blood on the sheet.”

Imogen opened her mouth and then shut it again. She had questions, but they were not ones she felt able to ask. She liked the fact, though, that he had answered her question so directly. She was used to people telling her not to worry her pretty head about things.

She should tell him about Warbrick and Janine. Panic seized the back of her neck just at the thought.

She took another tack. “I am ready to do my duty, Lord FitzRoger. I’m sure if you would just
do
it, it would be all right.”

She wasn’t sure, but if he were quick, surely it would be over with before the worst of her fears had a chance to gather.

“It might come to that, Imogen, but it’s not my way. And I hope for better.” He turned his goblet thoughtfully, then looked up at her. “You may not realize this, but it would have been no easy matter to complete the marriage last night. Perhaps it was the way you fought me, or perhaps it is the way you are made, but I could not have entered you without using a great deal of force.”

She hadn’t realized. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m not sure it is something you can control, but I’m sure it will help if you can ease your fears. Even if it does hurt you the first time, it is a natural thing, after all.” He was looking at her in that considering way, seeking out strengths and weaknesses. “Come here.”