Rose Bride (29 page)

He had trained to use a sword as a boy, of course, like everyone else. But this was nothing like slamming a wooden sword against his fellow’s, knowing he risked nothing but a sore thumb. This was cold heavy steel in his hand, and an enraged and highly experienced knight as his opponent, plus the gnawing awareness that if Sir Christopher managed to break his guard, he was almost certainly going to die.

Would Marjerie be sorry if he died here tonight? Or would she turn away with a shrug, barely remembering his name this time next year?

Sir Christopher lunged.

Purely by instinct, Virgil managed to counter his stroke, then attacked in return, beating the man back a few paces.

‘Bravo,’ Lord Wolf said softly, away to his left.

Sir Christopher grinned, dancing lightly about and rolling his shoulders back as though getting comfortable. ‘So you know how to hold a sword, leech. But can you kill with it?’ His taunting voice mocked Virgil. ‘You whose duty it is to heal the sick, do you have it in you to
take
a life?’

Kate Langley called out, ‘Fie on you, Sir Christopher. Put up your sword. This brings you no honour.’

Margerie said nothing.

The door had been left open. Others had now gathered in the torchlit doorway to watch the fight. Virgil felt as though he were in a nightmare. There could be no hiding his interest in Margerie Croft now, nor their affair.

He felt sick, and furious too. And desperate.

Much as the king held him in favour at the moment, fighting in a royal palace without proper cause was an offence that carried the most stern punishment, and while Sir Christopher was likely to escape censure, due to his rank, he himself would be punished, then dismissed from court.

If, that is, he survived this night’s work . . .

Virgil parried two swift passes, then a thrust that almost broke through his guard, finding himself pushed back against the wall. He was being pressed hard by his opponent. There was sweat on his forehead, and already the sword felt like lead in his hand.

‘Have at you!’ Sir Christopher snarled suddenly, lunging with fatal intent.

But it seemed chance was on his side. A second or two beforehand, he had caught a flicker in Sir Christopher’s eyes and rightly interpreted what was coming. Parrying the death thrust to his heart, Virgil pushed on past it with a snarl of his own. Their swords clashed violently, slithering together, steel along steel, bringing the two men so close they were eyeball to eyeball.

Sir Christopher panted in his face, ‘I’m going to slice your belly open so she can watch your guts spill out!’

Virgil bared his teeth in response, ‘Not if I skewer you first, you bastard!’

‘Put up your swords!’ a voice cried from the doorway, ringing with authority. ‘In the king’s name!’

Virgil held his stance regardless, his furious gaze locked with Sir Christopher’s, neither one turning nor dropping his sword. He was unwilling to cede the ground he had taken, and besides, he was not sure he was in full control of himself any longer. Rage was in his blood, and for several minutes now he had known a very strong desire to make an end of the man in front of him. The knowledge that he was capable of such violent intent was not altogether comfortable.

Several pairs of hands plucked him away from the knight, and he stumbled backwards, his sword point lowered to the floor.

Hugh Beaufort took the weapon from his hand and slid it back into the scabbard at his belt. ‘Well fought, man,’ he said, and clapped Virgil on the back.

Virgil recognised the courtier who had interrupted the fight as Thomas Wyatt. No doubt some observer had brought him here to prevent bloodshed, for Wyatt was known for his skills of diplomacy when negotiating between enemies.

Thomas Wyatt came forward now, his gaze assessing both men’s condition, and spoke sharply to Sir Christopher – whose sword was still naked in his hand – demanding the nature of his quarrel with one of the court physicians.

Behind Wyatt, his face pained and uncertain in the torchlight, stood Lord Munro with several of the king’s guards.

Virgil looked at them dully. Was he to be the one arrested, then? He was not of Sir Christopher’s rank, after all. It would be on his shoulders that the blame for this night would fall, he did not doubt that.

‘This leech,’ Sir Christopher was saying, pointing contemptuously at Virgil with his blade, ‘spoiled my sport with a courtesan.’

Wyatt glanced at Margerie Croft, who was still standing motionless with Kate Langley, her expression unreadable.

‘You mean this lady?’

‘Lady?’ Sir Christopher sneered. ‘She is a whore, sir. Let us not be delicate about the matter.’

Munro muttered angrily, ‘God’s blood, sir!’ but to Virgil’s surprise and contempt did nothing further to silence the man. Did the ungrateful, slick-haired youth not care what happened to his mistress? Virgil glared at him and wished he still had Beaufort’s sword to hand.

‘Forgive me, my lord Munro,’ Sir Christopher continued, ‘but my reputation is at stake. But if it makes Mistress Langley uncomfortable, I shall temper my words. As I was saying, my cousins and I were . . . conversing, let us say . . . with Mistress Croft, alone in this private chamber, when that oaf barged in and attacked me out of hand. I gave him no provocation, but the lunatic would make a fight of it, so out came the swords, and the rest you have seen for yourself.’

Wyatt turned to him with cold eyes. ‘Master Elton, is it not? You are a doctor?’

Virgil nodded.

‘Is this a true account of your quarrel, sir?’ Wyatt looked him up and down as though the courtier had already made up his mind who was at fault here. ‘Did you attack Sir Christopher without provocation?’

Virgil looked again at Margerie, and found her watching him. There was a strange intensity in her face, her slanted green eyes alight with it. He wondered what it might mean. Was she angry that he had caused this rout and brought her reputation into question?

She had never looked more beautiful, he thought.

To explain himself would entail a disclosure before all these people that she had been his mistress as well as Munro’s. To act as courtesan to a nobleman was acceptable at the royal court. But to lie with a man of lower rank would mark her out as a whore. He could not permit that to happen.

‘I did, sir, yes,’ he heard himself say, and waited for his arrest.

There was a stir from the others watching, then Margerie stepped forward, dropping Kate Langley’s hand. Her face was very pale, but he had seen that determined look in her face before.

‘Master Wyatt,’ she said clearly, and a hush fell at once, all heads turning to listen, eager to hear the wicked courtesan’s version of events.

‘Mistress Croft? You need say nothing, madam, it is all resolved.’ Wyatt was plainly warning her to stay silent, shaking his head. Virgil felt a sense of relief, for it seemed he was not the only man there who wished to protect Margerie’s reputation. ‘This is not your concern. You may leave, if you wish, though you may be required to give evidence later.’

‘I wish to give evidence now,’ she insisted.

Lord Wolf had been leaning against the wall through much of these exchanges but straightened now, coming forward into the torchlight. Those around him fell back in silent deference, for he was known to have the king’s ear.

Wolf sounded almost angry. ‘Pray be silent, Mistress Croft and listen to this gentleman’s advice. You can do no good here and may do great harm.’

‘Let the woman speak,’ one of the older men in the doorway called out, a star glinting on his chest, and several others with him agreed loudly. ‘She wishes to be heard; let us hear her.’

‘My lord, this is hardly the place for a testimonial . . .’ Wyatt remonstrated with the elderly nobleman, but sighed, nodding to Margerie to continue. ‘Briefly then, madam. For I must discharge my duty and take this man prisoner.’

‘There was provocation,’ she stated calmly, looking directly at Virgil, her back very straight, her chin up as though unafraid.

But Virgil knew her too well to be fooled, and noticed what others would miss: the trepidation in her eyes, the slight tremor in her voice. He knew what courage it had taken for her to speak on his behalf, and raged inwardly as she publicly destroyed herself for him.

For him!

‘This vile man,’ she said, and indicated Sir Christopher with a nod of her head, ‘and his cousins trapped me in this room and planned to rape me. They would have succeeded but for Master Elton’s, who came to my defence and attacked Sir Christopher in a fair fight.’

Sir Christopher’s face was mottled with fury. ‘Rape you? You jest, surely? No man can take what is so freely given. You were more than willing to sport with us tonight, and this man, Elton, was jealous. Because he is one of your many lovers at this court. Is that not so, Mistress Croft? But alas, the poor dupe thought himself the only one . . . and see how he suffers now for your whoring.’

‘You lying dog!’

This time it was Lord Wolf who attacked him, his face a mask of cold contempt, hands tight about the knight’s throat, all but throttling him until he was pulled away by Wyatt and Beaufort.

‘Enough, my lord!’ Wyatt cried angrily, his face flushed, then signalled to the guards. ‘Take both Sir Christopher and Master Elton away for further questioning. There is more to this matter, and I will find out the truth. Mistress Langley, pray convey Mistress Croft back to her quarters, and stay with her tonight. She will be questioned separately tomorrow.’

CHAPTER NINETEEN

‘Sit down with me, for pity’s sake,’ Kate begged her from the cushioned fireside bench. ‘You will wear out the soles of your shoes.’

Margerie stopped pacing the narrow chamber where she had been left until Master Wyatt was ready to question her, and looked wearily at her friend. She had spent the long wintry night and morning as she waited to be questioned thinking about her predicament. Stripping away the lies and self-deceit from the simple truth in her head. Now the time for thought was over and she yearned to act. Yet still nobody came.

‘Forgive me, Kate. I cannot settle. Not until I know Master Elton’s fate.’

‘Oh come, I have told you, the worst will be a whipping or a few weeks in the Fleet prison,’ Kate said with a shrug, no doubt thinking this prediction would reassure her.

‘A whipping?’ Margerie did not understand how Kate could seem so calm about that prospect. ‘On
my
behalf? For coming to
my
defence?’ She shook her head. ‘It will hurt, Kate. Badly. And he will be disgraced, perhaps even dismissed from his post here. Can you not understand how wrong that would be?’

‘No,’ Kate admitted, but looked at her pityingly. ‘Though I know you will be lucky to escape a whipping yourself. I thought you had finished with Master Elton, and very wisely too. Now this.’

‘I tried not to think of him.’ Margerie sat down at last beside her friend, suddenly exhausted. Her hands were trembling. She regarded them crossly, then pushed them into her lap. ‘I put Virgil Elton out of my mind, told myself it would not do. But he kept returning there. He would not be forgotten. I . . . I love him.’

‘You fool, Margerie.’

She nodded, not denying it. ‘I know.’

‘A doctor.’

Margerie’s head rose and she regarded her friend sharply. ‘What of it? Yes, Virgil Elton is a doctor. He heals people, saves their lives. He does not spend his days clerking like your own husband, or trying to make up for the sins of his past like Thomas Wyatt. He is his own man and wends his own way.’

Kate’s mouth twisted in a wry smile. ‘You leave my husband out of it. He is chief clerk, anyway. He makes others clerk while he sits and grows fat on the court’s bounty. And keeps me in fine gowns, so I will not leave him.’

‘Forgive me,’ Margerie said at once, squeezing Kate’s hand. ‘That was very wrong of me, I should not have spoken to you like that. You have never deserted me, even though it might stand against you when my reputation is so besmirched. I am just on edge because . . . Oh, why does no one come?’ She jumped up and walked restlessly to the door, then back again, staring at the floor. Her hands clenched into fists at her side, and she muttered, ‘I must go home. That is it. I will leave court as soon as the queen agrees to release me.’

Kate Langley watched as she paced back and forth. Her eyes narrowed, then she asked, ‘Why must you go home? This business will not ruin you. Her Majesty knows you are Munro’s mistress and has condoned it. Besides, you cannot return home yet. Did your grandfather not send you back to court to seek a husband?’

‘Then old Master Croft must be disappointed. For I shall never marry now.’

Margerie did not look at her friend. She was remembering how Virgil had fought for her honour so fiercely, though he was no trained fighter like Sir Christopher, had never borne arms in defence of his country, and must have known his very life was in danger with every cut and thrust.

She closed her eyes, there again, seeing his dark, familiar face, how his voice had struck through her like flint against stone, setting her body alight. Virgil could be suffering now because of her. If only he had not followed her. What had he been thinking? She was not worth his disgrace.