The Maiden and the Unicorn (42 page)

Margery crossed herself. "But as you said earlier, Queen Margaret may not agree. Sweet Heaven, she cut off his father's—my grandsire's head right willingly."

"Yes, you might be right. The woman is perverse and stubborn. Oh Meg," he sniffed, like a man betrayed, and took her by the forearms, "send... tell my brother what is happening if you have the means."

"I will, certainly, but be cheerful, my lord, it may not happen."

A door had opened, the music from the Great Hall was louder. Margery sprang back, away from him. Her sister peered around the curve of the tower looking for them.

"What are you doing, George?" Isabella's voice was suspicious as she joined them. The Duke took his wife's arm and steered her further away from the door.

"Trying to discover if Huddleston has told Meg here anything I have not gleaned already."

"Has he?" The Duchess sounded somewhat relieved.

"No. I should be the last person he would confide in, Bella." Her tone was shrewish.

"You must wheedle what you can from him," hissed Isabella. "It is important, Margery. He talks to everyone. He is high in the Scots lord's favour and speaks French as though he was born to it."

"You must pardon me in this, I cannot help you."

"
Will
not, you mean. If you will not help, Margery, you are a baseborn traitor."

"Ah, there you are, Bella. Oh, I see I interrupt." The Countess's gaze flicked over each of their faces. "What is this about treachery?"

"Nothing, madam," muttered Isabella sullenly. "There are
some
in this castle who have forgotten where their family allegiance lies!"

The light from the spluttering cressets seemed just enough for Lady Warwick. Her eyes narrowing, she glanced suspiciously from the Duke to Margery. The Duke laughed nastily and Margery, angry, unwisely turned away from Isabella's pouting and stared up at the indifferent stars. It was unfortunate, but what could she say?

* * *

Vengeance came on the heels of sunrise. Margery was summoned to an audience with her father. Richard Huddleston was there before her, leaning back against the table like a priest perched on a misericord, his arms folded, his expression inscrutable. Evidently he already knew why she had been sent for. He straightened, more like a great cat stretching languidly, and gave her a formal nod. She eyed his indifferent expression with scarcely concealed hostility although some instinct reassured her this meeting was not of his making.

Her father appeared to watch this by-play with little amusement. He sprawled in his chair, the ringed fingers of his right hand tapping impatiently on its carved claw.

Why was it that men always seemed to spread themselves as if their very mass could subjugate all lesser beings, Margery wondered as she made obeisance. It was like an act of power, of self-aggrandisement directed at the encompassing air. Women were not permitted to do such things. Nor did they seem obsessed with doing so.

Her father dismissed the servants and regarded the pair of them sourly. "Pour us some wine, Richard."

Huddleston turned to the tray that had been set upon the polished oak. He raised a cold eyebrow at Margery. She shook her head.

Warwick regarded her with irritation. "I am making changes, daughter. It is decided that you are no longer to be part of Isabella's household." There was a stubborn determination dug deeply round his mouth that brooked no refusal but Margery, guessing that the Countess had daubed her reputation the colour of mud, faced him undeterred.

"Why, my lord? Has his grace of Clarence decided I am an evil influence on Bella? We have all observed he is whimsical even when sober. Or has Master Huddleston here decreed it does not suit him?"

Green eyes impassively met her blue fury, but the air crackled invisibly between them.

Warwick, seemingly unruffled, took a deep breath and studied his son-in-law questioningly. Huddleston shrugged. The patronising masculine rapport stung her. "A phase of the moon approaching perhaps, my lord," he offered.

Margery whirled round on him, "How dare you!" She watched a devil's smile steal into the corners of his mouth.

"What wasp stung you, daughter?" Her father rose. "I thank the Almighty, Margery, that you were not born on the dexter side of my escutcheon or you would be an even greater plague to Christendom than you are to me." He whacked her on the rump and took the cup that Richard held out to him. "From now on, daughter, you will serve Anne. Your duties will begin in two days' time when we travel to Angers."

"Angers!" A whisper edged with surprise. It was true. Her father was going to meet the Bitch of Anjou. Margery raised an appalled face but now she dared not voice her displeasure. Her father's face was as stony as St Peter's must have been when he turned back Mephistopheles at the very gate of Heaven.

"Yes, what of it?" Warwick's tone dared her to protest and Margery, who could think of a score of reasons why her father should never set foot in the stronghold of King René of Anjou, darted down a less dangerous path. How could she watch her father even touch fingers with the accursed House of Lancaster? "I understand that the Duke and Duchess intend to go back to Normandy." She waved her hands, searching for more reasons. "I... I thought that Master Huddleston would be returning to the fleet at Honfleur." She avoided her husband's gaze, her tone sweetening. "We will be closer to each other if I am with her grace at Valognes."

Huddleston exploded into a fit of coughing.

Warwick appeared not to notice. "Their graces will remain here as guests of Queen Charlotte. Richard is coming with us to Angers. His majesty has particularly requested it."

To be thrown into closer proximity to her husband was the last thing Margery needed. Besides, the Duke was bound to berate his duchess further. It was necessary to try softer persuasion: "My lord father, Bella needs me."

"Must I be frank, daughter? You say Bella needs you? After what she said last night to you, no, Margery, I do not think so."

Margery averted her profile from Huddleston's scrutiny with a toss of her head. So Warwick had been listening to the Countess. That was predictable. The Countess must have thought Bella was accusing her of trying to seduce the Duke. That was why she was being separated from her half-sister. But how could she tell her father the truth without implicating Bella? "I think there has been some misunderstanding. Have you discussed this with her grace, my lord?"

"No," snarled the Earl. "I shall not hurt her feelings further by even raising the matter. Besides, she is not speaking to me at present."

He flung himself back into his chair and pointed a menacing finger at Margery, like an angry king. His mouth could be cruel, she realised. "I have been at pains to restore you to grace, girl, and I tell you this, you will not have a second chance from me. From now on, you will behave as though you are a very saint. You will not trip! The eyes of Christendom will be on the Nevilles at Angers and I want no slur, no indiscretion, not even the slightest word or deed that could provide carrion for gossips to be levelled at me or mine. You understand?"

Margery nodded although indignation and rebellion were brewing within her bosom. Yet there was more humiliation to come, her father was relentless, his imperious gaze embraced Huddleston briefly before he looked sternly upon Margery again. "You will perform your wifely duties. I want a semblance of civility between the pair of you from now on, is that understood?"

Her lips parted in an outraged gasp. She avoided meeting the ironic gaze that Huddleston had fixed upon her.

"My lord, in truth the lady feels we are better apart." It was asserted softly, foiling her attempt to discern any regret in his tone.

"A pox on such foolishness, daughter!" snarled Warwick, slamming his goblet down on the small-table at his elbow. "Your eye falls on better winnings, no doubt, as is your wont."

"My lord!" She and Richard protested as in one voice and fell silent instantly, their glances falling away from each other.

"You have been harkening to false gossip," Margery exclaimed. She glared sideways. "Does
he
complain to you, my lord? I rather doubt it."

"My lord," Richard's tone was reasonable. "I do not know what is meant here but," his glance brushed her unhappy face, "the lady—"

The Earl did not let him finish. "The lady errs, man. She is a child of Eve. You let her run amok just like your dog."

Richard paled, speechless with anger.

Margery raised her chin at the man who had dishonoured her mother and still presumed to wrong her. "You misjudge me, my lord of Warwick! I pray to God that I am the only thing that you misjudge."

She did not even curtsey. Once outside, she sped briskly down the passageway, lashing out at a wall arras in her fury as she passed. She might have known Huddleston would catch her. His hand fell upon her sleeve as she was about to cross the Great Hall.

"I am sorry for what you suffered in there." It was said with dignity.

She discreetly removed her arm from his touch, not meeting his eyes. He had abetted her father but she was not going to demean herself by accusing him. "I am used to it."

"Then it must cease."

Her glance snapped onto his frowning face. "You mean it beggars your reputation, Master Huddleston?"

The green eyes perused her thoughtfully. "No, it belittles yours. And would you care to explain what your father was talking about?"

That was a coffin of worms best left shut. "It would serve no purpose."

How could she mistrust someone but starve for his company? His mere presence added such spice to the everyday fare of her life. She wanted to blurt out that she had missed the gleam of the hunt in his eye from across the room and the sensations that his deep glance could rouse in her. Instead she inclined her head coolly and gracefully gathered up her skirts.

He made no move to delay or accompany her, merely gave her a formal short bow and returned towards her father's chambers.

Margery hastened along the ramparts and found a place where the sentries would ignore her. Only the grotesque gargoyles below heard her muffled sorrow. Fury and frustration rose in her like bile, foul and bitter, and she knuckled the tears from her eyes. Oh, if she was a man, neither of these two male tyrants would abuse her so. Why was it women must be under the sway of men?

Her father had betrayed her again; he assumed the worst. He had enslaved her to an adventurer who had married her for ambition; her older sister was yoked to a drunken, selfish brat; and now the wretched man was dragging poor little Anne down to Angers for auction. And to tell her in front of Huddleston that she could not so much glance at another man!

Margery savaged a corner of her veil between her fingers. Disillusionment was working in her like a slow poison. Where was the Earl's wisdom in all this? He had quarrelled with Ned and now was but a pawn in the giant chess game between Louis of France and Charles of Burgundy.

As for her damnable husband! Huddleston merely wanted to control her. It had been a lie to say it was her reputation not his which concerned him. She desperately needed to escape him. When she was in his presence, she could no longer reason clearly.

Leaning her elbows upon the wall, she stared bleakly at the church across the valley. Could she take refuge there? No, she had had enough of the ways of the church. Churchmen only treasured women who starved themselves until they lost all bodily functions.

She could flee to Burgundy but the only person she knew there was de Commynes and he might still be in Calais. She could try to return to Ned—at least the French would not stop her—but Ned would not welcome her unless she carried a promise of Clarence's change of heart. It was still too soon for that. If the Bitch refused an alliance, Louis might turn once more to favour George. Anything to ferment mischief for Ned.

The forests blanketing the distant horizon were not comforting. Just the thought of setting out alone to cross several kingdoms when she did not speak any of the languages was daunting. That one night on the road to Exeter had been sufficient. Oh, Huddleston had schooled her well. He had deliberately exposed her to that adventure. Besides, he had proved that he could track her down and she instinctively knew he would come after her. His pride would not let her escape. She was his property even if he no longer desired to honour his marriage vows.

She cursed him heartily, reluctantly admitting to herself that she missed the hiss and rasp of words between them and that her body craved his touch.
You are my plague,
he had said.

Lust! she thought dismissively, but that passion remained simmering in her innermost being. He who had suffered in lust had passed it on to her like the pestilence, and now it no longer contaminated him. It was she who was now in fever. Did desire burn itself out? Did time heal? If only he was not coming to Angers, she might survive.

* * *

Slowly the shouts in the courtyard below distracted Margery. She had found a quiet corner that afternoon, escaping the rest of the ladies who were sitting sewing in the gardens. Idly, she moved to the window.

Below in the combat yard, a cluster of knights and esquires, after much discussion, was splitting into pairs, her husband among them. The quiver of excitement in her thighs was still disconcerting. She watched like a voyeur, unable to take her eyes off him.