Candace ROBB - The King’s Bishop

Mary turned away from Ned, stood with one hand to her chin.

“Mary?” Ned whispered.

She tossed her hair, took a deep breath, spun round prettily on her slipper, her silk rustling. “Perhaps I can change your orders.”

Ned grinned. “You, Mary? And how would you do that?”

She stood quite straight, her hands clasped behind her. “Mistress Alice might intercede for us. I shall tell her I cannot bear to be separated from you.”

In her innocence she was but a child. “You have forgotten what your mistress thinks of me. She would never succumb to such a plot. She does not support our union. In truth, it may be Mistress Alice who suggested me for this mission. And once I am away up north she will distract you with a more suitable man. A nice, elderly knight who can provide for you.”

Tears swam in Mary’s pretty eyes, her lower lip trembled. “I do not want an elderly knight. I would hate that.”

“People would consider such a man more suitable for you, Mary. Far better than a young spy with neither land nor title.”

Mary’s tears flowed freely now. She wiped them away angrily. “You must not go, Ned!”

“I must, Mary. And it will not be the last time you must accept my absence. If we wed, you must reconcile yourself to a life of separations. As Lancaster’s man I shall often be called away. It is the nature of my work.”

Mary crossed her arms, stomped a pretty foot, hung her head.

Ned stood there stupidly, hands at his sides, wondering how to proceed. Suddenly, in the gathering quiet, he saw Mary shiver, heard a trembling intake of breath. In one stride he had her in his arms.

“Mary, my dearest love,” he whispered, “I shall return. Never doubt it. With you waiting for me, I could not do otherwise. And when I return we shall be wed.”

She looked up into his eyes. “But how long, Ned? How long must you be away?”

He squeezed her hard. “Oh, my sweetness, my love.”

Mary clung to Ned. He picked her up and carried her to the bed, fumbled with the clasp of her cloak, drew it off her, tilted her head back. Her tears had stopped. Her mouth parted. He kissed her hungrily. Soon he held her soft, naked body in his arms.

“I am afraid,” Mary whispered, pressing herself against him. “Oh, Ned, I am so afraid.”

“You have nothing to fear, my love. I would never hurt you.”

Ned woke to the sound of someone quietly weeping. Disoriented, he glanced round, discovered Mary lying beside him with her hands over her eyes. “Mary, my love. I am not yet gone. Do not weep while we are so happy.” He gathered her into his arms. “Do you not know how much I love you? Do you doubt that I shall return to you?”

She kissed his chin. “I do not doubt you, Ned.”

“Then what is it?”

She did not answer at once. “I shall be so alone without you.”

“And I without you, my love. But soon we shall be together always.”

“But while you are gone, Ned. What about while you are gone? Am I strong enough to stand up to Mistress Alice and her ambitions for me?”

“You have stood up to her so far, my love. I have not played your protector in this. She thinks it beneath her to speak to me.”

Mary sat up with a sigh. “I weary of butting heads with Mistress Alice.”

Ned pushed himself up on one elbow, touched a finger to Mary’s cheek, catching a tear on the tip of his finger. “You are a strong woman, Mary.”

She attempted a smile, with modest results. “Ned, my love. Are you certain that Daniel’s death was truly an accident?”

Ned fell back on to the pillows with a groan. That again! “You know I did not do it!”

“No, no, please, Ned, what I mean is – well, do you believe it was an accident?” She leaned over him, her hair caressing him. Her eyes did not smile now, nor did they weep. She was quite serious.

Ned wearied of Daniel, even in death. He put a hand over his eyes. “ I don’t know, Mary. They said he drowned. They accused me of murder. That is all I know for certain.”

Mary lay down facing him, propping her head up on one elbow. “Why would it have occurred to them to accuse you? Why did they not assume at once that it had been an accident? Folk drown all the time.”

“It was because of our argument in the hall. I threatened him. Meaning naught by it, I swear. But I did threaten him – with the daggers.”

“I have heard no talk of knife wounds,” Mary said, “nor wounds of any sort.” She grew quiet.

Ned stole a peek at Mary. She was biting her lip, deep in thought. “What is it?”

“He did drown, didn’t he?”

“I did not see his body.” Ned stroked her hair, kissed her forehead. “Why does it worry you so?”

“I–” Mary looked confused.

Immediately suspicious, Ned grabbed her shoulders. “What was between you?”

“Nothing! For the love of God, Ned, I am fearful because if he was murdered, whoever did it might be in the castle. And I am in the castle. And when you leave, I’ve no one to protect me. No one to run to if I’m frightened.”

Ned pulled her to him, hugged her hard. “You have nothing to fear, Mary. You are in the King’s court, under Mistress Alice’s protection. You will be quite safe.”

Alice Perrers returned from an exhausting morning with the ailing Queen to find her bed unmade, her chamber not yet aired.

The elegant Mistresses Cecily and Isabeau sat near the window using the daylight for their embroidery.

“Where is Mary?” Alice demanded of them.

Mistress Cecily rolled her eyes. “Whimpering on her bed … my lady.” Cecily always paused on the last two words. It rankled her to serve Alice, who was of lesser birth than she. But as the King’s mistress, mother of his bastard son, Alice must be treated with respect. It was the King himself who had insisted on Alice’s serving women calling her “lady”.

“On her bed? At midday?”

Cecily and Isabeau dropped their eyes to their embroidery, tittering at poor Mary’s misfortune. Their needles did not move. Alice had no doubt they had sat there all the while in their elegant silk gowns and gossiped.

“Mary is worth ten of you, you lazy ornaments!” Alice hissed as she left the room. What had Queen Phillippa been thinking when she’d asked Alice to take them into her chambers?

Mary was different. She had been Alice’s choice, an orphan like herself, only two years younger. Alice trusted Mary, understood her lot in life. Ned Townley had upset the balance. He had been warned to stay away, but the damnable man had kept returning, swearing his undying love, turning Mary’s pretty head.

Well, if one considered a handsome man with pretty speech an ideal knight, Ned was that, and more. Lancaster would never have trained him as a spy if he were not brave and cunning. But he was a nobody. And would ever be a nobody. His sort never acquired property. Never advanced in rank beyond captain. Already it was plain that what little money Ned made he squandered on clothes. It was true he had an eye for colour and fabric, but clothes did not appreciate in value. Mary deserved better. Mary required better.

Alice found Mary sitting in a dark, airless room. She threw open the shutters. “For pity’s sake, Mary, how can you breathe?”

Mary blinked, then held her hands before her eyes to shield them from the sudden light. “Forgive me, mistress.”

Alice knelt down, lifted Mary’s face towards the light, pushing her hair back from her face. “ Mon Dieu , what a pitiful sight!” Mary’s lovely face was swollen and red, her eyes bloodshot. “Enough of this, Mary! I will stand no more. You must put your knife-thrower out of your mind. I have plans for you.”

Mary twisted out of Alice’s grasp. “I shall wed no one but Ned.”