The Marriage Parley

CHAPTER NINE

Richard's impatience grew as the tent remained closed to him. Through the cloth, he caught silhouettes moving. Margaret's silhouette sat at the table, mostly still, whilst the men moved around her.

Giving the fire a vicious poke, Yves continued to mutter about the deal Richard had brokered. Yves's pride would never allow him to admit that another had succeeded where he had failed.

Night had fallen, and with it a bitter cold that crept inside his bones. Elford men huddled around their fires, casting furtive and suspicious glances at the de Guilles men.

The slim figure near the tent post belonged to that snake, Arles. Of course, that cur wanted Margaret. Her beauty aside, she came with money and land, and some useful uncles. Arles worked through wives faster than a peddler through boots. Richard would slit the whoreson's throat before he allowed him near Margaret.

"They are taking too long." He spoke to nobody in particular.

"My lord?" A man glanced up from a nearby fire.

Richard shook his head. What he needed, the man couldn't supply. "They are trying to persuade her to change her mind."

Yves snorted. "A small blessing that would be."

"What did you say?" Richard's patience with Yves snapped. His men needed an occasional reminder of who held the reins.

Around him, William, and Yves, his camp remained restive. Men sat through the night, watchful and tense, snarling at each other like trained dogs, always aware their bitterest enemy rested within spitting distance.

"Softly." William spoke low. "Let us not put spark to this kindling"

Richard stood and paced. That wily ferret, Arles, would be using his cunning on Maggie, trying to inveigle himself with his compliments and ease his way into her wedding bed.

That idiot, Mortimer, would be helping him do it as well. Yves had watched them, thicker than ticks on a dog, when Richard had been alone with Maggie in the tent.

Mortimer favored Arles over Elford. For certain, the old fool's trust would be betrayed, but only once Arles had his boots beneath Maggie's skirts.

The idea sent him striding across the camp, needing air and space.

"Sir Richard." A bowman leaped out of his way. "Begging your pardon."

Richard growled an apology, but he had it not in him to stay and chat. Images of Arles with his swan-white courtier's hand on Maggie's skin beat in his brain.

"My lord," William called from behind him. "Sir Richard, you are being called to the tent."

At last. He whirled and changed direction. His boots smashed through mud and filth as he strode for the tent and thrust open the flap.

Arles's gloating face stared back at him.

"Get out." His voice came from deep within him. From a warlike fury that would never admit defeat.

Mortimer quivered with outrage. "Sir Rich—"

"GET! OUT!"

They scattered like rats. Even Arles sauntered faster than normal. He drew abreast Richard and smirked. "I will leave. For now."

Maggie gaped at him from where she sat at the table, her eyes huge in her face. "I assumed you didn't mean me."

"Nay." Richard wrestled with his temper. From his miserable sot of a father, he had inherited his violent temper. Once roused in battle, it raged through him until it spent itself and exhausted him. Part of the reason their families battled was his father's temper. He had seen insult where none existed and shattered peace for the sake of pride.

It rode Richard hard, the need to make war and win in the largest battle of his life. But he would sooner cut off both his hands than harm his Maggie. Clenching his fists, he forced himself to breathe. And breathe again. "What did they say?"

Maggie eyed him as she would a mad dog. "At first Simon bellowed loudest, but he fancies himself steward of Elford. His objections soon vanished."

"But not Mortimer." Like a caged beast, his voice came from the dark place within him.

"Nay." She sighed and toyed with her goblet. "Morty is..." She sipped her wine as she searched for words. "Morty is not always the best judge of character."

Richard waited, taut like a bowstring.

"He has the tendency to mistake swagger for substance." Maggie grimaced and poured a second goblet. "He is also incapable of believing a man could meet his eye and deceive him in the same instant."

The goblet was for him, he presumed, but he dare not reach for the delicate object lest he pulverize it.

"John, of course, had the most to say." She rose in one graceful movement that held him transfixed by its elegant simplicity. She moved like a willow bough in a spring breeze.

Richard grit his teeth and forced himself to keep breathing. Like a destrier scenting blood, his battle rage stamped at his resistance.

"He told me all about you." She stopped in front of him and held out the goblet.

Richard stared at the ruby wine glinting in the depths.

Lifting his hand, she placed the goblet within his grasp. Her fingers wrapped around his, so delicate against his darker, rougher skin.

"John had plenty to say on what a rough, loutish type you are." She peered up at him. Humor glinted in her eyes.

Humor? The beast within him stilled and cocked its head. Was she laughing? At him? John?

"Of course, with the way you are glowering at me now, I am inclined to believe him." She raised his cup to his mouth. "How fierce you look, Richard."

Obediently he sipped the wine. "Arles lies."

"Well, of course he does." Maggie laughed and raised her lovely face to him.

And the beast went quiet. The fight bled out of him, and he stood before her aware of his lumbering size, of his clumsy oafish hand between her slim fingers, of how breakable and fragile she was before his blunt, brutish strength. "Arles lies?"

"Richard." Her face softened as though she were chiding a beloved child. "Do you think me so foolish that I would believe a word from that man's mouth? Or do you judge me fickle enough to make a man a promise and change my mind moments later?"

"Nay, Maggie." He took the goblet from her and dropped it. "I judge myself as not worthy of you. I fear you will wake up and realize you have made a devil's bargain."

"Then let me be clear." She took his hand and pressed it to her heart. "I am yours, Richard. Just as you are mine."