Was there some other plotting going on? Did the king have some punishment in mind for some imagined wrongdoing on his or his father’s part? Why this sham of marriage if Henry planned to arrest him on some charge? His gut tightened and he worried about what would happen to his people if he were imprisoned or hanged. Finally, he took a breath and asked.
“And what is to come?”
“My lord Henry is simply using this charade to put me in my place. I overstepped myself and he wishes me to know what he could do if he is displeased with me. I fear you have been caught up in a lovers’ quarrel.”
The roiling in his stomach lessened a bit as his own suspicions grew. Would Henry go through all of this very public display of giving her in marriage and then default at the last moment? Orrick had signed most of the papers involving the transfer of property and titles and, indeed, had received a portion of the gold promised already. Aye, a king could undo all of that with a word, but would he?
“Henry will call off the wedding today?” he asked, searching for something more. His instincts told him there was much more going on here.
“Of course he will! He loves me and will not give me away to some northern lord who never attends court.” She must have seen his look of disbelief for she added, “I was raised as consort for a king, not some…some…”
“Barbarian of mixed blood, my lady?”
Oh, her words had been duly reported to him just after she’d uttered them. He had chosen to ignore them for in the strange situation it was sometimes difficult to discern who said what to whom about whom. The challenge had been offered and accepted—there would be no more of the courtly niceties between them in this conversation. She did not soften her stance at all; indeed she seemed to be strengthened by the fact that he knew how she felt about him.
“Just so, my lord. Surely the king will find a more suitable match for you from among his English nobles. I fear I am far too accustomed to living at court and in my own country that it would make me too sad to move so far from it.”
And too far from Henry. Those words remained unspoken, but they echoed in his head as though she had shouted them.
“Is your purpose in telling me this to force me to Henry with a request to call off this arrangement? Is that what you hope for?”
She looked away as though she was not going to answer and then turned back and met his stare. “I was simply trying to save you the humiliation of facing the court at a wedding without a bride at your side. I thought you should know that Henry will claim me and not allow you to marry me as you’ve been asked to do.”
Her voice was soft and he could almost believe that she was sincere. For a brief moment he did believe her, and then a stab of pity tore at his heart as he realized the truth of the matter.
She believed it.
Marguerite believed that Henry would step in and stop the wedding. She was either ignorant of the arrangements already in place, or she was simply denying it to herself. He guessed that, after years of being the king’s favorite, ’twas too difficult to admit that she no longer held his affections or that unofficial place of honor within the court. The gossips had not named a new paramour to the king, but it would simply be a matter of time before one was identified and took her place.
How could it feel to have lived less than a score of years and already be considered a castoff? Loved, abandoned and now given away to a stranger. From the look in her eyes and the tilt of her chin, she did not want pity from him or anyone else. So, he would give her none. But as she had warned him, he would offer one of his own.
“I, too, believe that humiliation will be the order of the day, Marguerite, but fear you will feel its bite and not I. I suggest you prepare yourself and protect your heart if you wish to survive it.”
She blinked rapidly as though trying to understand, and he knew it was time to leave. He put his hand to the knob of the door and she stepped aside, allowing him to pass without comment.
There was nothing else to say to her. They were both pawns, playing out the moves of the game in front of the Plantagenet court and before the game master himself.
God help them all.
Marguerite smoothed the elaborate gown over her legs and stood motionless as the women crowded around making adjustments to her hair and dress. It did not bother her for she had been raised this way—servants carried out their tasks and nobles took no notice. Apparently they reached that point when they were either satisfied or ran out of time, for a long polished looking glass was positioned before her and she had her first look at the fruits of their labors.
If her eyes seemed a bit too bright or her skin a bit too pale, no one noticed but her. The pale blue satin-and-silk gown and undertunic brought out the creaminess in her skin and the iciness of her eyes. The double-thick length of gold chain that surrounded her waist twice and then rested on her hips reflected the brightness of the many candles in the room. Matching gems and ribbons had been threaded through her hair, which now fell almost past her ankles as she moved.
’Twas appropriate as an unmarried woman to show her hair thus, in all its glory and richness. If the marriage truly happened, ’twould be the last time it would be displayed openly to be seen by one and all. After seeing Henry’s reaction to it unbound, and now Orrick’s, she began to understand the power of such a feature. She nodded at the servants holding the heavy glass and they took it away.
Her visit with Orrick had been startling in its results. He was not as barbaric as she thought he would be. Tall and muscular, he looked fairly attractive in his court garments. His pale brown hair fell to his shoulders and he wore neither beard nor mustache as many men at court did, and it left the masculine angles of his face exposed. His cool green eyes showed intelligence when they gazed at her, and his voice was deep and rich. In many ways his appearance pleased her. But it mattered naught for she was not for him.
She gave away no sign of her anticipation of Henry’s arrival, but she knew he would see her before the planned ceremony. He would explain his arrangements to keep her at his side and everything would make sense to her. She had paid a price for her presumptuous behavior, and now duly chastened, she would return to court as Henry’s favorite. The knock at the door startled her from her thoughts. Before she could say otherwise, a serving woman pulled the door open. Her uncle entered, alone, and bowed to her.
Ah. Marguerite understood that her uncle would take her to Henry before the ceremony and put an end to this. Without a word, her mother’s brother offered her his arm and they walked through the corridors of one of Henry’s favorite palaces. Servants, guests and enemies lined the great hall to witness her fall from grace. Acknowledging no one, Marguerite focused her gaze on a place ahead and walked steadily alongside her only male relative in England.
Sooner than she would have thought possible, they reached the front and climbed to the raised dais. The maid assigned to her on her arrival at Woodstock stood off to her side to assist her as needed. Other than those two people, she was alone.
Uncertain if she should look for Henry, Marguerite gathered her nerve and looked from one side of the dais to the other. Lord Orrick stood with several of his retainers and an older woman who must be his mother. Roger, the bishop of Dorchester, who would perform the ceremony, sat in one of the two chairs placed in the center. She looked to the larger, more ornate chair and finally saw the king for the first time in several months.
He exuded a force of life unlike anyone else she had ever met. In spite of the personal battles he fought within his family and those he waged on behalf of his kingdom, he appeared invincible to her. If his hair was a bit grayer or if his waist had gained a few inches, it did not detract from his appeal.
His piercing gaze captured hers and for a moment she lost her breath. Marguerite knew that nothing had lessened his desire for her…not the time that had passed, not the babe she bore him and not this farce of an arranged marriage. A smile