centered.
No wonder Hal was so sure Mary would never bear him an heir. And no wonder he was now so kind to her m their bed. He could afford it.
“But for the most part,” Mary continued, “Hal comforted away the fear that I’d had of him.” She laughed a little. “Why, Margaret, I knew he’d harbored cruel thoughts, and I’d thought some of them directed at me. But now I know better.”
“I am happy for you,” Margaret said, but looked away before Mary could see the sadness in her eyes.
Mary lapsed into silence, presumably contemplating her good fortune in marriage. She stared at the road ahead, all the warmth and joy gone from her day. Dear Jesus, Man she thought, what would you do if you knew that one day Hal’s thoughts toward you might become worse than cruel if you do not die as promptly as planned?
As Mary had said, Bolingbroke was indeed an ambitious man.
A DAY later they arrived at the Savoy. Margaret’s anxious eyes searched the courtyard for Neville, wondering if the time they’d spent apart had given him the opportunity to regret his admission of love.
But when she saw him striding toward her, his eyes alight with joy, she knew that he did indeed still love her, and she laughed with relief as he swung her down from her palfrey and enclosed her within his arms.
“My lord,” she said breathlessly, finally freeing her mouth from his kiss, “you must not be so rough with me!”
“Are you so breakable, my lady?” he said, grinning.
“Not normally,” she said, and slid one of his hands between them so it lay sandwiched between their bellies, “but I do think you might want to take a little more care with your son.”
Neville’s eyes widened, and then he enveloped her in a huge hug. “You are wondrous beyond belief,” he whispered.
Across the courtyard, Bolingbroke had turned to watch them as Mary brushed off the travel dust from her cloak, and he did not fail to notice how Margaret had slid Neville’s hand to her belly. His eyes narrowed. So.
THAT EVENING, after supper, Bolingbroke knocked briefly at the door to Mary’s solar, then walked in.
He stopped dead the instant he entered. He couldn’t believe his luck: there was no one here save Margaret.
She was sitting close by the fire on a stool, a book of poems dangling in her hand. She was staring at him with the same surprise that he felt, then managed to collect herself and smile.
“Hal.”
“Where is Mary?” Bolingbroke said, closing the door softly behind him.
“She is gone to chapel with her other ladies.”
“And you thought to remain here?”
“You know I would prefer to pray to Christ Jesus anywhere hut in chapel,” she said.
“Aye. And Tom?” Bolingbroke sat down on a bench the other side of the fire. Close, but not too close. No doubt Mary and her ladies would soon return.
Margaret’s mouth lifted in a wry smile. “Attending to your household accounts, my lord. They shall make me a widow yet.”
Bolingbroke’s own mouth lifted in a smile, but it had nothing to do with what Margaret had said. “So, we have a chance for a talk. Finally. It is hard to be alone, you and I.”
She inclined her head, but did not speak.
“Tom loves you,” Bolingbroke said.
She hesitated, then nodded.
“Good. And, even better, you are with child again.”
Again she nodded, her expression far more guarded now.
“When are you due?”
“Michaelmas.”
Bolingbroke laughed. “Ah, my dear, I cannot believe it! Did you plan it this way?”
“I am not the manipulator you are, Hal.”
“I’m a fighter, Margaret, not a manipulator. And don’t forget that I fight for: your life, as well as for the life of every other one of our brethren!”
“Hal, I am sorry. I spoke poorly.”
He inclined his head, accepting her apology.
“Hal…”
“Aye?”
“I know that you have fought harder and longer than most… save—”
“Do not speak their names, Meg!”
“—well, save those two who come before us. What I wanted to ask you, Hal, was whether you are responsible for Alice.”
Bolingbroke frowned. “I cannot understand what you mean.”
“Tom’s guilt has driven him to admit his love for me, but that guilt has not been occasioned only by what happened to me.”
“Ah. Alice. He abandoned Alice, and watched her die, and so now he thinks he cannot do the same to you.”
She grimaced. “I hope so, indeed. But, yes, that is what I mean. Alice’s fate was very, very convenient for our cause, Hal, for she as much as anyone else has made it possible for Neville to dare to love me. I need to know, Hal. Did you push Alice into suicide?”
Bolingbroke looked at her steadily for a long minute before he replied. “Do you think that of me, Margaret?”
She remained silent.
“Sweet Jesu, Margaret, Alice did not only kill herself, she killed her three daughters and her unborn child! Do you think I would slaughter innocent children? Do you? Do you?”
“Hal,” Margaret said softly and with tears in her eyes, “I have loved you from the moment I first set eyes on you, from the moment I knew you existed in this hell we call life! Do I want to think you murdered Alice to further our cause? No, I do not… but in this past year you have become so cold, so calculating …”
“Sweet Jesu,” Bolingbroke whispered, “the only way we can succeed is if I be nothing but cold and calculating! Meg, all I want to do is to take you in my arms and hold you and comfort you and tell you it will all be well. Yet we must be so circumspect—”
At that moment soft laughter sounded outside the door.
“—but believe me, darling woman, Alice was God’s deed, not miner Margaret took a deep breath, believing him. “Then she was God’s great error, my love.”
The door opened, and Mary and two of her ladies stepped through.
“Hal!” Mary said.
Bolingbroke swiveled about on the bench and smiled easily at his wife. “I thought to find you here, sweetheart, but found you lost to God instead. Margaret has kept me entertained with some of Chaucer’s verses.”
Mary returned his smile, accepting his words without doubt. She walked over and sat on the bench beside him, her two ladies taking chairs a little closer to the fire, and soon all five were chatting back and forth about London gossip.
“BLESSED VIRGIN?”
Joan raised her head and looked to the door of her small chamber, keeping her expression sweet. She had hoped to have spent the afternoon in prayer…
Her companion, Marie, was in the doorway, her face unsure, her hands twisting before her.
“Blessed virgin … I am disturbing you. Perhaps—”
“No.” Joan rose to her feet and held out a hand. “You do not disturb me, Marie. Come, let us sit on this bench.”
They sat down, and Marie hesitated, looking everywhere but at Joan’s face.
Joan reached out and took Marie’s hands in hers. “Marie? Come, do not be afraid. What is it?”
“Blessed virgin,” Marie said in a rush, staring at the floor. “I did not know who else to talk to …
there is no priest within these walls as holy as you… no one else that I may confide in as readily as you.”
“You can trust me,” Joan said as gently and reassuringly as she could. She no longer minded being disturbed from her prayers. “Marie, come, tell me of what bothers you.”
Marie’s cheeks flushed, and her eyes jerked from regarding the floor to staring at Joan’s face.
When she spoke, her words fell over each other in Marie’s haste to get them out.
“Blessed virgin, I find this so hard to talk of. I cannot think of what has happened to me, why I
am so afflicted. It is not from want of prayer nor piety—”
“I have never met a maid as holy as you,” Joan said, meaning it.
“Not as holy as you!” Marie said. “Oh, if only I were as holy as you. Then I would never have fallen, never have committed so grievous a sin, never have—”
“Marie, just tell me.”
Marie drew in a deep breath. “Holy maid, you know that once I was married, and that my husband died only a few months after our vows?”
Joan nodded.
“I loved and respected him,” Marie continued, “I truly did, but I found the intimate nature of the relationship that exists between every husband and wife distasteful.”
“This is no sin, Marie. Indeed, your distaste was but an indication of your virtuous soul.”
Marie shrugged slightly. “Although I grieved deeply for his death, I was nonetheless relieved that my wifely duties would be no more.”
Joan nodded, encouraging Marie to continue.