Rose Bride (31 page)

Yet indeed he had grown as a man since his marriage. More than that, he had become whole.

She had not missed his tender laughter as he spoke of his wife and her sister, nor the catch in his voice when he mentioned his newborn son. Wolf was not cold, nor controlling, but
controlled
. And her instincts told her that she could trust him.

‘Very well, my lord,’ she whispered, and shivered as she put her life in his hands. ‘Tell me what I must do.’

CHAPTER TWENTY

‘The king will see you now,’ Lord Wolf said curtly, and gestured him forward.

Summoned into the Royal Bedchamber while the king was being dressed, Virgil found all his carefully rehearsed words gone from his head when he dropped to his knees before his sovereign, King Henry.

To own the truth, he was still stunned by the news Wolf had brought him that morning while he was at his desk, hastily writing his will in case he should be committed to prison.

Lord Wolf. What was his part in all this, he wondered jealously? For his lordship seemed privy to things even Virgil had not known nor guessed about his mistress.

‘Margerie Croft is with child,’ Wolf had told him softly, watching Virgil’s face as though curious to know how he would react.

A child.

Virgil had stared at this unexpected news, struggling to hide his emotional response. But indeed he felt knocked off balance, not quite able at first to comprehend what it meant. His instinctive response was brilliant, unthinking joy. He was to be a father. He had to see Margerie at once. Speak with her privily, somehow persuade her to . . .

Then he saw Wolf watching him with those cold intelligent eyes, and reality intruded on his joy. Turned it inside-out like a sock so that all the knots and rough seams could be seen.

A child, he thought more logically, and groped his way towards sense. Perhaps his. But perhaps Lord Munro’s.

‘Does my lord Munro know?’

Wolf nodded. But his voice was curt, and Virgil sensed strong disapproval. ‘Munro insists he will not acknowledge the child as his bastard. His lordship says he will have nothing more to do with her.’

‘I will marry her,’ he said simply.

‘You think it yours, then?’

Ah, that blade drove deep. But he survived it, almost with relief shouldering the burden that he had secretly known would always be his from the moment of their first kiss. To shelter Margerie from harm. No doubt she would rail at the thought of marriage to him, and try to escape the dreaded knot. She had made her feelings clear at New Year. But if she was with child and Munro had abandoned her . . .

‘I will marry her,’ he repeated with cold determination, and met Wolf’s gaze without flinching. ‘If she will have me.’

Wolf’s mouth twisted. ‘Oh, she’ll have you. No question there, the queen will insist upon it.’

‘Her Majesty knows?’

‘Not yet, but soon. It cannot be hidden from either of Their Majesties. Indeed, it would be best coming from you. In the form of a frank confession of your guilt. Though you would thereby risk heavy punishment for her seduction, while Munro escapes his share of the blame.’ He paused. ‘Will you do it?’

‘I will, my lord. And at once.’

Wolf studied Virgil through narrowed eyes, then nodded, his look strange, almost admiring. ‘I thought . . . Well, no matter. If you are content to marry the lady, despite her association with Lord Munro—’

‘I am content.’ Virgil had no doubt on that score. ‘I care for nothing but my own part in her shame, and willingly make amends for it.’

But now he was on his knees before the king, and all he could think was that he had failed her. He had seduced Margerie Croft, not once but many times, and now . . .

‘Rise,’ King Henry said sharply, frowning down at him, his small dark eyes impatient.

The king was being dressed for hunting, his arms outstretched as his attendants laboured to fit his paunch into a flattering black and green doublet.

‘What is it, Master Elton? What is so important it cannot wait until after the hunt? If it is on the matter of your duel last night, you must know that it rests in Wyatt’s hands.’ The king glanced at Lord Wolf. ‘But it is true that you have served me well of late, and his lordship has persuaded me to hear you out. So speak.’

‘Forgive me, sire. I . . . I have a confession to make.’

‘Then make it, and be quick.’

‘I have got Margerie Croft with child, Your Majesty,’ he said, ‘and request permission to set my fault to rights by marrying her.’

The king’s attendants froze, staring round at him, and even Henry himself looked startled.

‘Margerie Croft? But is she not Lord Munro’s mistress?’

Smoothly neutral, Wolf intervened before Virgil could think of a careful enough answer to that dangerous question. ‘Lord Munro has refused to acknowledge the child, sire. He is about to announce his betrothal to Alice Holsworthy, and I suspect he fears the marriage plans may be upset by such a revelation. The family is very . . . pious.’

Henry snorted. ‘Aye,’ he said drily, ‘and stubborn too. They will need watching.’ His interested gaze flicked to Virgil. ‘So you would take on another man’s bastard, Master Elton?’

Virgil nodded, his calm returning as he realised now how much he loved Margerie. Completely and without reservation, whatever her past sins.

‘If she agrees to accept my name, Your Majesty, then willingly, yes.’

‘She would be a fool to refuse you, given her shameful condition. Though it would not be the first time she has refused an offer and soiled her reputation by it.’

Wolf stepped forward to put his hand on Virgil’s shoulder, a gesture which indicated more loudly than words his approval of the match.

‘I suspect the lady will have fewer qualms about this match, Your Majesty,’ Wolf murmured, then changed the subject adroitly. ‘Might I suggest they be permitted to marry at once by special licence, before her shame begins to show? Though I fear their wedding may yet be delayed, with this other business hanging over Master Elton’s head . . .’

King Henry looked at him broodingly. ‘What do you suggest, my lord?’

‘Order both men fined for brawling, and bind them over to keep the peace. It can be done in a day, then your physician here will be free to marry his lady and return to his duties at court.’

The king nodded slowly. ‘Very well, let it be done as you have suggested.’ He looked at Virgil intently. ‘Your quarrel with Sir Christopher was over Mistress Croft too, was it not?’

‘Yes, Your Majesty.’

‘Never draw sword against one of my Gentlemen of the Royal Chamber again, regardless of the provocation. Or you will face more than the whip for your impudence.’

Virgil bowed his head, hearing the justified wrath in his sovereign’s voice. ‘Forgive me, sire. I lost my head in the heat of our quarrel. It will never happen again.’

‘You will apologise to Sir Christopher.’

He looked up sharply. ‘Yes, Your Majesty.’

‘But wait, there is something here I do not understand. Lord Wolf has more right than you, Master Elton, to take offence at this attempted rape. For Margerie Croft was promised to Wolf once. And knew him intimately, by all accounts.’ The king was almost smiling. ‘It was the talk of the court that year. Is that not so, Lord Wolf?’

‘As you say, Your Majesty.’

‘So it would appear I am alone in having been rebuffed by your chosen bride,’ Henry drawled, watching Virgil with cruel eyes.

For a moment there was a dangerous silence.

Virgil lowered his gaze with an effort, saying nothing, though his heart thudded with rage.

‘Of course the queen must give her consent too,’ the king continued coldly, turning to finish being dressed. ‘Mistress Croft is one of her seamstresses. But since she is already with child, a swift marriage would seem a
fait accompli
. Perhaps now the lady will learn to restrict herself to one man’s bed.’

Virgil’s hands tightened into fists, and it was only Wolf’s hand on his shoulder that kept him steady.

‘You have my thanks, Your Majesty,’ he managed, and bowed.

Safely out of sight of the royal apartments, Virgil leant his forehead against the wall and breathed deep and slow, struggling to regain his composure. Throughout that nerve-wracking interview, he had felt as though he had been riding full-tilt towards the edge of a high cliff. His palms were damp with sweat, and his stomach was churning. It was all he could do not to vomit.

He had never broken the law in his life. Now he had faced judgement for unlawful actions twice in one day. And endured a reprimand from the king himself.

Wolf stood waiting patiently. ‘Better?’

‘I may be sick.’

‘But the job is done. You did well. You will marry Margerie and take her into Kent. I will arrange it all. I will even pay your fine for you.’

Virgil raised his head, staring. ‘My lord, I cannot accept such generosity,’ he began, falteringly, then stopped, frowning at the nobleman. ‘Why are you helping me? Forgive me, my lord, I have no wish to sound ungrateful. But I do not understand. I thought you and Margerie were enemies, to be frank.’

‘As the king said, I wronged the lady a long time ago,’ Wolf told him softly. ‘This should go some way towards redeeming my fault, I hope. Besides, I owe her a favour for her help with Eloise last year. And I do not like to leave my debts unpaid for long.’

Virgil nodded, straightening. ‘What now, my lord? For you seem to have all the answers.’

‘Now you ask Margerie to marry you. And hope to God the stubborn wench does not refuse.’ Wolf grinned, and clapped him on the back. ‘That is one answer I cannot give you, alas.’

He had always been hard on her. Too hard. Not merely demanding in bed, a trait due to his nature perhaps, which was earthy and physically needful, but demanding on her as a woman. To submit to him, to agree with him, to leave when he was tired of her company, to remain when he was aroused and bring him to pleasure. He had accepted that she was Munro’s mistress too, and hated it at the same time as he shrugged it off, telling himself she was a wanton. For he had known all along that she was not. He knew the smile and simper of an experienced courtesan, and Margerie had neither. She was simply herself, in bed and out. And he loved her.

Yet standing before her later that evening, Virgil found himself unable to articulate a single one of those thoughts.

‘You are with child,’ he stated bluntly upon entering the room where Wolf had arranged for them to meet.

No greeting for her or Mistress Langley, who was standing a little apart to give them privacy during this interview. No bow, no courteous asking after her health, or kissing her hand.

Instead, he directed a searching glance at her belly – no more rounded than he remembered it – then raised his gaze to her face, which was very pale. She looked, he thought, as though she had been crying.

For a moment his resolve faltered.

Then he remembered the difficult meeting with the king, and he felt resentment, blaming Margerie for the king’s cruelties even though he knew with his rational mind that she was not at fault. The king was merely angry that she had not lain with him for the asking.

‘Well, madam?’

She raised her chin, her eyes defiant. ‘Since you know my condition already, sir, my confirmation can hardly be required. Unless being a doctor, you wish to examine me yourself? To satisfy yourself that I am not . . . mistaken.’

He ignored that last, knowing it to be mere goading on her part. Besides, he had already met with Master Greene and discussed her symptoms in detail. The dates were right. Both for himself and Munro.

‘We will be wed tomorrow morning at ten,’ he informed her coldly. ‘It is all arranged. Lord Wolf and Hugh Beaufort have agreed to act as witnesses. Perhaps Mistress Langley will help you dress and accompany you to the chapel.’

The slanted green eyes widened, and her lips parted in surprise. ‘But . . . you are already betrothed to another woman. Indeed, I thought you might even be married by now.’

He said nothing for a moment, but felt a tell-tale muscle jerking in his cheek. Then he inclined his head stiffly. ‘Christina has released me from my obligation. Our betrothal is at an end.’

‘Good God, because of this?’

He looked at her then, bitingly angry. ‘What kind of man do you think me? You believe I would go to a lady I have long admired and respected and hurt her with a debauched tale like this?’

Margerie’s face worked in silence, and he thought she might explode with wrath herself. He was almost disappointed when she seemed to get herself back in hand.

‘I do not know,’ she said, her voice so quiet he strained to hear her. ‘But I will marry you, Master Elton, since that seems to be my only choice besides disgrace and destitution. And I owe my unborn child better than a short and brutal life on the streets.’

He had expected more from her at his announcement of their impending nuptials. An argument perhaps. A shining forth of passion on her bright brow, he thought with a sudden uncharacteristic burst of poetry. Not a rather still, composed expression and downcast eyes, as though she had been asked to fold the laundry or preserve fruit.