The Marriage Parley

CHAPTER EIGHT

Margaret smoothed her hair and hoped it did not show that she had been thoroughly and ruthlessly kissed.

Mortimer thrust open the tent flap and glowered at them. "My lady, I must insist on speaking with you. This lunacy has gone on long enough."

Gaze sharp and assessing, John glanced from her to Richard and back again. "Time grows short. The king will have his answer."

"Lady Margaret and I have come to terms." Richard stood and motioned to his party and John. "If you will follow me, we will leave my lady the privacy of the tent while both she and I tell you of our agreement."

John folded his arms. "I will remain with Lady Margaret."

She would prefer he didn't, but she had larger battles to fight.

"Meg...I mean, my lady?" Simon frowned at her. "I thought we agreed Mortimer and I would negotiate this on your behalf."

Like most men, Simon assumed that if the men agreed a matter that made it so. "I believe you and Morty agreed that. I was—"

"God's balls! Who untied him?" Simon went rigid.

Richard's gaze met hers and he raised a brow.

"I did." Margaret suppressed a smile. "If we were to speak more comfortably, it made sense to do so."

"Hmph!" Morty scowled at Richard. "Put your clothes on, man. Parading around like a cock on the crow, with your chest all out."

That time she very nearly did laugh, but Richard snatched up his chemise and tugged it over his head.

"Perhaps you might give us the tent?" She spoke only to Richard. "And I can let my people know of the terms we struck."

Richard snatched up his thick sable cloak and flung it over his shoulders. Holding up the tent flap, he motioned his party outside. "Let us find a fire and mug of mead."

"Meg!"

"Lady Meg!"

Morty and Simon rounded on her as one.

"Please sit." She motioned to the chairs, not relishing the task before her. They would argue and berate and insist they knew better.

John remained standing, shoulder propped against the same post they had tied Richard to. He toed Richard's empty wine goblet. "I take it you have reached terms for this marriage?"

"As Richard said, aye." Margaret held John's gaze. His expression did not change, nor did his relaxed posture, but he reminded her of a cat awaiting his time to pounce. Then again, John rubbed her fur up the wrong way merely by sharing the same space as her.

Morty splashed wine into his goblet. "Well, you may as well tell us what the smooth-tongued devil has wheedled out of you."

Smooth-tongued devil, Richard? She rather thought not, but that was how it would go. The men in her life conveniently forgot that she had both a will and a mind of her own. After a fortifying sip of wine, Margaret told them of the deal she and Richard had made.

The fuss over her moving to Elford raged on for a good ten minutes, in which she helped herself to the cheese and bread.

Simon gaped at her when she told him that as her Rutherford steward, he would now be residing in Elford. He didn't protest too much, however, as Elford was a much larger keep and it would add to his significance. He argued heatedly for being able to choose his replacement at Rutherford. But in that he would have to be disappointed.

Throughout his tirade, Margaret sipped her wine and helped herself to the thus far ignored food on the table. She had been too nervous to eat before they traveled, and too busy parleying since her arrival to correct that.

Morty went red in the face with outrage when he heard he would no longer control the de Guilles forces, and even redder when told that both forces would now be combined under a marshal of Richard's choosing. Being told he would form part of an advisory mollified him enough for him to tear the leg off a roast chicken and eat it.

Eventually Simon's hunger won out, too, and he made his arguments between filling his belly. Both of them shut up when they learned she had won control of her dowry and the final say in her future daughter's marriage.

Being men, they, of course, thought they would be able to influence her decision and make it work for themselves.

Elbow deep in a ham bone, Simon had a gleam in his eye that spoke of him making plans for his future.

"Well done, Lady Margaret." For the first time Sir John spoke. His eyes glittered cold and hard, but a smirk played about his mouth. "You have done well by your people."

"Thank you." The compliment held an edge that made her nervous.

John gave a wry smile. "I cannot pretend I am not disappointed." He spread his arms. "I had hopes to take my place as your husband."

Margaret barely contained her shudder. John's pretty face hid a cold cruelty that terrified her. Whispers abounded about his manner with women. She slapped her most charming simper on her face. "I think we both know that you could do so much better, Sir John."

"Come now." He did not take the bait. "But allow me to put my disappointment aside and speak as your friend, and one who sought to provide you with the protection of their name."

Except once married to John, who would protect her from him? "By all means, Sir John."

"Sir Richard is a...warrior." His smile tightened into a grimace. "A man of action. A man of war, rather than one of niceties."

Margaret nodded as if taking every word as truth. She rather liked that about Richard. The mix of rough with the smooth made him even more attractive to her.

"As such, he is inclined to exhibit..." John cleared his throat. "This is awkward, and I would not want to malign another man."

Mortimer puffed his cheeks and set his jowls to jiggling. "Tell us, man. Tell us into whose hands we place our precious lady."

Precious lady, indeed. Mortimer had pushed for an alliance with John all along. He knew where the currents of power ran and was eager to swim along. Also Sir Mortimer had lost a son to their war, and forgiveness for Elford rankled.

"There have been rumors." John held up a hand. "Only rumors, mind of young girls. Ill used and discarded. Loutish and lewd practices within Elford that scandalize his demesne." John's look of regret was flawless. "And, of course, the inevitable by-blows that result of such behavior."

"God in heaven." There went Morty's jowls again, quivering like a pudding.

John sighed. "And then, there is the violence. The brutality visited on those he regards as enemies. Not tales for a lady's ears."

"Stakes." Morty thumped the table. "Heads on stakes. Dungeons filled with pitiful souls crying out for mercy. Dear God." He covered his eyes with his hands. "I had hoped none of it was true."

Margaret cut her apple into slices and ate one. "And yet, the king would have me marry this monster?"

"The king has much larger responsibilities than the welfare of one young woman," John said. "Sadly, in this case, he sees only the stabilization of a border at a time when he must have peace amidst his barons. It falls to those of us who surround him to care for his flock."

Mortimer sat forward, wiry brows puckered over his eyes. "What do you propose, Sir John? We would not want to fall foul of the king."

"Nay indeed," Margaret murmured around another slice of apple. Nor would they want to fall awry of Morty and John's plan. Morty, she acquitted on the grounds of being a well-meaning buffoon. John's possible motives put her on her guard.

Sir John gave her a warm, avuncular smile. "You leave the king to me, my lady."