The Marriage Parley

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Margaret had never felt anything approaching the pleasure she had shared with Richard. That he would be her new husband and would be hers to have filled her with a deep contentment.

Afterward, he used his chemise to clean her and then sat with her tucked beneath his chin. The cuddling was as wonderful as the other and she pressed her cheek to his warm, bare chest.

"I think we should marry as soon as possible." His deep voice rumbled through her ear. "You could already be carrying my son."

"Or daughter." She could not seem to stop touching him. She traced the thin trail of hair that disappeared into his braies. "I did not conceive. Before."

"Aye, but you married an old man." He tightened his arms about her and brought his mouth closer to her ear. "And I intend to devote myself to the task all day, every day."

"Is that so?" Her senses responded to the idea of all day, every day. "I suppose we should allow our entourages back."

"Give us a few moments more." Richard kissed her neck. "Or perhaps a few more moments than that."

A shout rose outside the tent.

They both stilled and listened. Then came another shout. More voices joined the noise.

Richard put her aside and stood. "I do not like the sound of that."

The din around them grew louder, harsher. Anger wove through the raised voices.

"My lady." Simon pushed into the tent. "Something has happened. Your safety is in question."

He reached for her, but Richard intercepted him. "As her husband, her safety is now my concern."

"You are not her husband yet." Simon sneered at him. "And I am not sure if now you will be. We need to get her to safety before battle breaks out."

Richard grabbed his gambeson and threw it on without his chemise. "Tell me what has happened."

"Richard!" Yves burst through the door, sword raised. "I told you to be wary. That you could not trust these curs."

"You dare raise your sword before my lady." Richard's voice thundered through the tent.

Morty entered next, face flushed and eyes agleam. "War! My lady. Your men stand ready to defend one of their own."

"War." The blood drained from Margaret's head and she reached for Richard. "We cannot have war. We have agreed."

"You two may have agreed." John sauntered in looking smug. "But there has been a murder and both sides stand ready to declare."

"What murder?" Richard caught her hand and held it. "Will you stay here, or will you come?"

"I must come." It seemed as if she and Richard stood alone amidst the others who would see this fragile peace shattered. "I must come and see what has happened."

"Lady." Simon stood before her. "It is not safe. We must get you back to Rutherford now."

"Nay." In her confusion, she looked to Richard. "I shall not return without—"

The furor outside the tent had increased steadily. People ran and the clash of steel marked the ominous spark to the tension.

With her hand in his, Richard strode out of the tent. He raised his voice in a bellow that silenced all. "Enough!"

The tension could be spread as butter, it was so thick. Margaret inched closer to Richard.

Her men watched him with fury in their eyes and his men glared at her.