“I did not give you such a gift.” His grey eyes had darkened ominously, turning into steel in his ferocity. “How did you come by that thought?”
She could not speak for a moment, so unexpected was his reaction. Then, sanity reigned, and she replied, “But only moments before you came to me, a page delivered it, saying ’twas a gift from you.”
“Did you drink of it?” He grabbed her shoulders, pulling her near him as he searched her eyes. “Maris, did you?”
Maris pulled sharply away. “Aye, but no more than a small sip. What ails you, Dirick?”
“It could have been poisoned. It most likely was poisoned!”
“Why should anyone poison me?” She could not contain her shock.
“For the same reason they should try to run you down in the market place. I do not know.” His face sagged into serious concern. “Maris, you must have a care! Someone here does not want you to live. Promise me, promise me, that you will go nowhere without me or Raymond until we leave this place.”
Maris nodded, the lump in her throat lodging any words she may have wished to speak inside. Why should anyone wish to kill her?
“Did you recognize the page? What did he say?”
She shook her head and described what had happened when he’d brought the wine. There were no answers there, she knew, and even only the suspicion that the wine had been poisoned. They would never know for certain.
“We will leave Westminster the day after we are wed,” Dirick told her firmly. “I will take you to Derkland for a time, to meet my mother, and then we shall go on to Ludingdon. At any rate, I shall take you away from this place and we shall stay where I know you will be safe. No one will be able to get to you in Derkland or at Ludington.”
Maris was just about to speak when another page approached. “My lady Maris?” She nodded acquiescence and he bowed. “I have been asked to inform you that your mother, Lady Allegra of Langumont, has arrived.”
“My mother?” she repeated dumbly. She had hardly given Allegra a thought in the last se’ennight.
“Aye. She has been shown to the ladies’ chamber, and wishes you to attend her.”
Maris rose, guilt blossoming inside her. “Aye. I will go to her.” She looked down at Dirick, who stared up at her with eyes that seemed to devour her. “I will look to see you at dinner this night,” she said, barely resisting the urge to touch his cheek.
“My lady, I look more to two days hence when we shall be wed.” He grabbed her hand and pressed a kiss to the inner part of her wrist, then released her. “Until then.”
Allegra had been summoned to Westminster in order to attend her daughter’s wedding. She’d had no choice but to respond to the king’s wishes, and the journey had been one of haste and discomfort.
When Maris appeared, she wore a surprised but pleased expression on her face. “Mama! How glad I am that you have come to see me wed!”
Allegra drew her daughter into a brief embrace, then set her back gently. When had her daughter grown into such a lovely, strong young woman? “You are to marry Sir Dirick de Arlande?”
“Aye, only now he is called Lord Dirick of Ludingdon.” Maris sat in a chair next to her. “Mama, why did you not tell me Papa is not my father?”
Allegra’s heart skittered in her chest, and stopped beating for a moment. “How did you come to learn this?”
A familiar expression of stubbornness crossed her daughter’s face. “It does not matter how I came to learn of it, only whether ’tis true.”
She closed her eyes, struggling to manage the sudden horrible foreboding that settled like a heavy stone in her middle. “Aye, daughter, ’tis true. Your papa did not sire you.” She clenched her hands tightly. “But how did you come to learn this? Tell me.”
“Papa wrote it in a missive to the king,” Maris explained.
“Your papa?” Suddenly, she couldn’t breathe. “Your papa told the king?”
“Aye, Mama.”
She swallowed tightly. “Your Papa did not know—oh, I did not believe he knew. I did not tell him. ’Twas my greatest sin….” Dear God, she was cursed. Damned!
If Merle knew that Maris was not of his loins, it would have been no hardship to tell him of Bon’s threats…and why he could not betrothe her to Victor. Instead, she had lived the lie, protected it for eighteen years. Now Merle was dead, and she still had judgment to face. A sudden trembling overtook her and she stuffed her hands into the folds of her skirts.
“I must go to confession.” She stood abruptly, moving without hesitation and without a backward glance, to the door. She ignored Maris’s shocked stare as she swept from the chamber.
Later, when night had come, and when Allegra had said enough paternosters and Ave Marias, she hoped, to salvage her soul, she crept from the chapel, tucking her graying hair into her veil. She cast about, looking for a page, a maidservant, someone to guide her back to the ladies’ chamber.
“Allegra.”
The smooth voice from the shadows caused her heart to leap into her throat, and she whirled to face him. “Michael! Oh, Michael!”
“Sshhh,” he admonished, stepping fully into the light. He pressed a finger against her dry lips with a soft caress, “‘Tis not meet for us to be seen together.”
“Why? Why should we care?” she said, just so she could feel her mouth moving against his beloved flesh.
“Come.” He dropped his hand from her lips and grasped her own fingers, firmly tugging her along in his wake.
Allegra followed. She would do anything he bid—and he drew her along in the shadows of the dark hall. Reaching a small alcove, he pulled her inside and into a bare chamber, then into his embrace.
With a cry of delight, she pulled his face to hers, sampling his mouth with her starving lips. “Michael,” she sighed. “Oh, my beloved, how I have missed you. I thought to lose you yet again after you left Langumont.”
His hands were warm and possessive over the swell of her hips, pressing into her the need that pulsed at his groin. “You are my only love,” he told her as his mouth slid to the hollow of her neck. “Marry me. Dearling, be my wife.” He pulled back so that she could see the glitter of hope and desire in his eyes.
“Oh, aye, Michael, aye. ’Tis half my life I have waited to hear those words of your lips!” Her hands were busy, pulling his tunic up so that she could feel his warm, solid chest against her fingers.
“’Tis a lifetime I have waited to utter them.” He helped her by yanking off his tunic, then pushing his chausses down past his waist. Michael slid her to the floor, pulling up her gown so that it bunched above her hips. When he thrust inside of her welcoming body, she cried at the pleasure of it, raising and lowering herself to meet his rhythm.
With a sharp, guttural groan, he met his end, and she with him. They lay for a moment in a heap of tangled clothing, sweat, and lust.
“Let us marry on the morrow,” he suggested, pressing a kiss behind her ear, at a place that never failed to cause her to shiver.
“But, Michael, what of the banns? We cannot find a priest to marry us so soon! And what of Maris?”
“I have already paid a priest to marry us without calling the banns. I meant to ask you tonight and could not bear to wait any longer than need be. He awaits us on the morrow. And,” he slid his tongue into the depths of her ear, sending a sharp, pleasant twinge down her spine, “let us not tell Maris as yet…she may look askance at us for marrying so soon after Merle’s death.”
Allegra pulled away as a thought struck her. “Did you tell Maris that you are her natural father?”
Michael peered down at her in the dim light as if trying to read her face. “What did you say?”
“Her betrothal to Victor was repudiated and now she is to marry Lord of Ludingdon…was it you who told the king of her relation to your son so that he would deny the betrothal?”