Promise of the Rose (21 page)

Mary recalled his soft tone and seductive words of earlier that day. She shifted uncomfortably. “Why do you tell me this?”

“So you might understand my son, the man who is to be your husband. So you can forgive him when he forgets himself.”

Mary did not respond. It would be too easy to become intimate with this woman, it would be too easy to like her. She did not want to like her. Her situation was difficult enough.

“When will you know if you are with child?”

Mary’s eyes widened. Her face burned. “My monthly time is not always exact.”

“That is too bad. If you carry my son’s child, you must tell me at once.”

Mary pursed her lips.

The countess studied her. “I think we should speak freely with one another, don’t you?” She smiled. “I am most pleased with this alliance. Princess. As is my husband, as is my son.” Lady Ceidre took her hand. “You are not pleased. You are miserable.”

Mary took a deep breath, close to tears, undone by her kind tone. “I… Is it so obvious?”

“It is very obvious. Is it Stephen? He does not please you?”

Mary closed her eyes. She must not entertain such a question. Very softly she said, “He is my enemy.”

The countess looked at her.

“You are all my enemies, madame,” Mary said in the same tone of voice.

“An alliance has been made. You would disobey your father, your King?”

Mary could not answer, for she could not admit that treachery was afoot as she still owed her loyalty to Malcolm. But dear God, the countess was as certain of the alliance as her son, and neither of them were dim-witted fools. Quite the opposite; they were both extraordinarily astute. What if
they were both right, while she was wrong? What then?

Dear Jesus, if it came to marriage, if it truly did, what would she do?

   Impatiently the Earl of Northumberland waited for his firstborn. Stephen had not been at the keep when the earl arrived. The father knew the son’s habits. Until the noon meal, he would sit with his steward and attend to administrative matters. After that he would tend what he must personally, whether it be an inspection of a tenant’s holdings or the drilling of his household knights. Rolfe was impatient because he saw Stephen so little. In truth, ever since he had sent him to William I’s court as a hostage so many years ago, their paths seemed destined to diverge instead of come together. When Stephen had been at Court, Rolfe had been forced to remain in the North, warring and securing his borders. When Stephen had returned home, Rolfe had been free to go to Court himself, to protect his interests from those who would see them destroyed.

He sighed. He had few regrets, but that he lacked time to spend with his oldest son was one of them.

Stephen strode into the hall.

Rolfe leapt to his feet, smiling. “Little did I think we would meet next on the threshold of your marriage to a princess,” Rolfe said in greeting.

Stephen’s serious expression vanished. “Rufus has agreed?”

“The King has agreed.”

Stephen’s smile was brilliant. “I owe you much thanks, Father.”

Rolfe felt almost as triumphant. “Rufus had no choice in the end. He must regain Normandy, and he knows it. There were probably many petty factors in his decision, including his current displeasure with Roger Beaufort. Who, by the way, is furious.”

“I have little doubt.” Stephen gestured and his father sat back down, Stephen beside him. “One and all are undoubtedly appalled and shocked at this alliance—including my little bride.” He grimaced slightly.

“A reluctant bride?”

“To say so is to put it mildly.”

“And how did you gain Malcolm’s consent?”

Stephen looked his father directly in the eye. “He could not refuse, not when I handed him his greatest desire. I pledged to see his eldest son upon his throne.”

Rolfe looked at Stephen. “And when I am dead, when Rufus asks you to support him in his quest to place Duncan—whom he has chosen—upon the throne, how will you act?”

“I am ever his loyal vassal,” Stephen said coolly. “No matter how I despise him.”

It was the first time Stephen had ever openly revealed his antagonistic feelings for their King, and Rolfe was surprised. For many years he had suspected that Stephen’s feelings ran deep, and had wondered what could have possibly caused such hostility.

“You will play a difficult game,” he warned his son.

“I realize that. But I made no offer that I did not brood carefully upon. Duncan is weak, far too weak to remain for long as Scotland’s King, and Edward is young. There will come a ripe time for young Ed. I did as I had to do.”

“I do not chastise you,” Rolfe said, and then he smiled. “You did well, Stephen.”

Stephen smiled, apparently pleased with the praise. “Thank you, Father.”

Rolfe continued, his tone brisk. “There are several minor conditions. Rufus has declared that the wedding must take place at Court.”

Stephen stilled. “What game is this?”

“He obviously wishes to humiliate Malcolm by having the nuptials take place there. However, the betrothal can take place here upon the morrow.”

Stephen nodded; briefly his eyes flashed with satisfaction. Then he said, “Rufus will undoubtedly try to provoke Malcolm by reminding him that he has sworn fealty to him on bended knee. And Malcolm’s temper is hot.”

“Do not fret. We shall make certain that Malcolm and William Rufus do not come to blows—nothing is to interfere with this union. Rufus has also stated that Mary is to be his guest at Court until the wedding.”

“Why?” Stephen asked harshly. “What does he think to
gain, to prove? Does he think to hold her captive until we are wed?” Stephen was on his feet, and his eyes were wild.

“Do not agitate yourself,” Rolfe said as Stephen began to pace.

“Or does he intend treachery?” Stephen demanded. “What game does he play now with me and mine?”

Rolfe hesitated. The question burned. A question he had wanted to ask for the past ten years, one he had not dared ask, afraid as he was of the answer.

But Stephen was about to wed. Private times between them were so rare. He might never have this chance again. “Stephen. For many years I have wondered why you dislike Rufus so.”

Stephen just looked at him, his thoughts unreadable. The brief moment of wildness had been locked away.

“Is there something I should know about, something that occurred, perhaps, when you were a fosterling in his father’s household?”

“No, Father, there is nothing you should know about.”

Stephen’s tone was quiet but firm, yet Rolfe felt as if he had been soundly slapped. Immediately he withdrew, for Stephen was a man, and he had every right to his privacy. Still, Rolfe could not help but wonder if, had the past been different, had there been more time, Stephen would have confided in him.

“I will never let her sojourn there alone,” Stephen said firmly. “I will remain at Court with her.”

Rolfe also knew that Stephen despised the Court. Not that he blamed him; a man could only be on his guard for so long without respite. “I am glad you wish to accompany her. You and Mary can leave for Court immediately after the betrothal tomorrow. I will join you once I have met with Malcolm to finalize the details of this marriage.”

“Have no fear, Father. Until we are wed, I intend to remain alert. Too many will try to wreck this alliance otherwise.”

Rolfe laid his hand upon Stephen’s arm. His voice low, he said, “It might be politic to get her with child as swiftly as possible, just in case problems do arise.”

Stephen stared. Then, very firmly, he said, “I shall deal
with any problems as they come. But Mary will not share my bed until after we have wed.”

Rolfe was startled. Then, wisely, he said no more. There was far more here than met the eye. He had never dreamed to see his son enamored of his bride. He turned away, hiding his pleasure.

“‘T
is your brother, Sire, Prince Henry. He requests an audience with you,” the sergeant said.

Rufus scowled. He was alone with his squire in his private chamber, in the midst of completing a change of habit for a royal hunt that would take place that afternoon. “Balk him. I am in no mood for my brother now.”

The door to the royal chamber burst open. Prince Henry stood on the threshold, his face strained with anger, his eyes blazing. Behind him two other sergeants were ashen at having their Majesty so interrupted.

Rufus glared at his brother. “What display is this? I am not available, dear little brother.”

“Then make yourself available, Sire,” Henry almost snarled, striding into the room. He was tall and muscular as their father had been, topping his older brother by more than a hand. Unlike his brother, now clad in a vivid red surcote trimmed in ermine and matching ankle boots, he wore muted shades of gray and blue, his tunic and mantle spotted with mud from a long, hard ride. “I have heard a rumor that could not possibly be true.”

Rufus sighed, and snapped his fingers. Instantly the three sergeants were gone, the door closed behind them. He faced his page. “Bring me the crimson mantle, the one lined in sable, and my crimson and gold hat.”

The young, pretty page scurried across the room to obey.

“Tell me it is not true,” Henry said, his handsome face contorted. “Tell me you have not allowed a betrothal between Stephen de Warenne and Malcolm Canmore’s daughter!”

Rufus smiled. “Jealous?”

Henry inhaled, his fists clenched at his sides. “Are you daft? Have you completely lost your wits? To give Northumberland such power?”

“Power that belongs irrevocably to me,” Rufus countered, no longer smiling. He locked stares with his brother. “De Warenne is beholden to me more than ever before.”

“Rolfe, yes. But the son? We all know how fond he is of you, brother.” And now Henry was mocking, knowing as he did his brother’s darkest dreams.

Rufus’s ruddy face gorged with blood. “Do not think that I would be soft upon Stephen de Warenne. Should he prove a traitor, he will suffer the same as anyone. And he has everything to lose, unlike you, who has nothing.”

Henry made an effort to control his rage, having an infamous temper exactly like that of their sire, William the Conqueror. “You jump ahead of my meaning,” he finally managed. “Who spoke of treason?” And he shrugged.

Rufus smiled, pleased at winning that battle.

“Sire,” Henry continued coldly, “You must think on what you do. ’Tis exceeding folly to give Northumberland such power. Especially as the land concerned is all in the North. Soon Stephen will rule in his father’s stead. What if he allies himself with Scotland against you?”

Rufus’s face was bloodred again. “Oh? So now you think to protect my interests?” But he began to wonder if he had made a mistake.

“I do.”

“Hah!” Rufus was barely amused, for while they both knew that Henry was indeed a formidable knight and commander, his loyalty was questionable. On more than one occasion he had allied himself with their oldest brother,
Robert, the Duke of Normandy, against William Rufus. By playing brother against brother, he had succeeded in gaining a territorial base for himself in the fortress town of Domfront, and was a count in the Cotentin. His growing might was both a help and a hindrance to Rufus, for Henry could be seduced into loyalty if the price paid was high enough, but likewise, he could be pried away in exactly the same manner. Rufus was no fool. He understood his brother’s ambitions exactly, and coin was not the issue.

Rufus accepted his mantle from his page, allowing the lad to help him slip it on. “Fetch me the ruby brooch,” he ordered. He turned to his brother. “And I value your loyalty,” Rufus finally said.

Henry was silent.

Rufus smiled. “In truth, I thought a bit about marrying her myself; after all, eventually I must wed. But—” he sighed dramatically “—apparently Stephen could not restrain himself. She might be with his child.”

Henry was grim.

“Of course, this fact prevents me from even considering wedding with her, for my heir must be mine.” He studied his brother. “Come now, be honest, Henry. You are distraught. But is it the thought of my unborn heir that upsets you now or your friend’s betrothal? Did you not come here to beg me to give
you
the princess?”

Henry said nothing.

“It did cross my mind,” Rufus said. “After all, you are my brother. A prince and a princess make a perfect match, do they not? Still, I decided I prefer Northumberland. Him I know.”

Henry said, “But I am your brother. You can trust me.”

Rufus raised a brow, and was unable to resist another jab, “Perhaps I will give you FitzAlbert’s daughter.”

Henry’s face grew even darker. “She is a baron’s daughter, with naught but a lowly manor or two.”

Rufus laughed softly. “As you have naught but a petty estate or two, then aren’t you both equally, perfectly matched as well?”

Henry could not contain himself any longer. “You are going to regret this, brother.”

Despite himself, Rufus felt a twinge of fear. For he did not trust Henry for an instant. He was too much like their father. The time had come to placate him. “There is another sister, one unsoiled, in the convent, actually, and as yet too young to wed.”