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 tugged at the corners of the lips she knew so well and she answered it with one of her own.
She had been a fool to think he would not intervene. Lord Orrick’s words earlier had caused her to doubt the man she knew. But now, as she could read in his expression, she still had his love and his passion. He would never give her away.
Content now with how this would end, she let out a breath and relaxed. Of course, when he made his announcement of an alternate arrangement for Lord Orrick, she could not allow the victorious feelings within her to show. While in public, she must behave as a chastened woman so that Henry’s pride was satisfied and so that he knew she had learned the lesson he taught.
Lord Orrick now walked to her side. The bishop’s clerk began to read out the betrothal agreement to those assembled. His booming voice echoed to all in the great hall and went on for several minutes as their properties and titles were announced. Henry had been generous to both of them or should she say would have been generous if the marriage was in truth. This “lord of the north” was to gain much by agreeing to marry her.
A pang of hurt pierced her as she realized two things: that she was nothing to this man Orrick except the gold and titles she brought him, and that Henry had made this bargain overly attractive so Orrick could not refuse it. No nobleman in search of power and wealth could.
Taking a deep breath in and letting it out, she purposely chose another explanation of this agreement, one that made more sense to her mind and her heart—Henry was demonstrating her worth and value to him by the amount he was offering Orrick. Henry would stand and put an end to this soon, but so long as the agreement stood, it was a significant sign of his affection for her.
The sudden silence startled her from the thoughts meandering through her mind and brought her back to the ceremony before her. Marguerite looked up and noticed Orrick approaching her side. Holding out his hand to her, he waited for her to place her hand in his grasp.
She looked to Henry for now was the time for him to speak. He nodded at her, looked only at her, as he did so. She fought the victorious smile that threatened to break out as she nodded back.
“My Lord Bishop,” he said, standing now as he spoke, “let the exchange of vows begin now.”
Chapter Four
’Twas luck alone that his hand was already offered to her, for Orrick knew that she would have stumbled or, even worse, fallen at the king’s words. Everyone on the dais could see the blood draining from her face at his order to begin. For a moment, he even thought she would faint. Now he prayed that her shocked condition would continue through the ceremony, for her legendary biting tongue and fierce temper would not help matters.
Confusion and disbelief
