Excerpt from The Lady Doth Protest . . .
"I apologize for rousing you from your bed, Lady Margaret. Perhaps I should have waited until morning, but I could not rest easy until you knew about a new and unsettling development in the conduct of this siege and our negotiations."
I could not rest at all for thinking of you.
"Your dedication to seeing this situation resolved to the satisfaction of all parties is most commendable, my lord. Nor should you concern yourself about disturbing me, as I was not yet asleep."
I could not possibly sleep for thinking of you.
"Mistress Gunnilda’s cloak is over large for you. Take care lest you tread upon the hem. You are warm enough? Perhaps you would prefer to return and dress more, er, appropriately? I will be happy to wait outside."
You look absolutely charming, and the thought of you clad only in your nightclothes beneath that ugly cloak is going to drive me to distraction.
"I am quite comfortable, I thank you."
I am not remotely comfortable. You don’t even have to touch me and I go all breathless and weak at the knees.
"This will not take long. I will have you back in your bed in no time."
Sweet Jesus, what did I just say?
"I can ask for nothing more."
Mary, Mother of God, what can I be thinking by saying such a thing?
Sir Olyver cleared his throat.
Megge coughed a delicate little cough.
Sir Olyver wondered how a lifetime of iron self-discipline and exemplary presence of mind in the face of the most dire of circumstances could so readily desert him. Without further preamble he explained the reason for his untimely visit.
"King Edward comes."
Megge’s eyes went wide. "Here? To Castle Rising?"
"Aye. He is already upon the road. We may expect him in four or five days’ time."
Megge shivered. "I see." It could mean only one thing: The king had reached a decision regarding her next husband, likely the awful Sir Walter. Edward would see her wedded, bedded, and successfully impregnated if he himself had to stand over the marriage bed to see it accomplished.
Sir Olyver looked down at the motionless figure beside him, wishing he could see her face in the deep shadow of her hood. This must be devastating news for her. She had to realize that her daring scheme had come to naught. No one bargained with Edward.
"Is that the sum and substance of the king’s message, that he travels to Castle Rising?"
Sir Olyver wondered at her composure. Surely she understood the implications? "Not quite, my lady. I fear the rest may not be to your liking."
Megge pushed back the hood, and straightened her shoulders. "Have no fear, Sir Olyver. Let me spare you any distress you may feel in delivering your news. The king has settled on Sir Walter and will see us married within the week. How relieved you must be, sir," Megge continued with a thin smile, "to know that the part you have played in this matter has turned out so well for you."
Sir Olyver frowned. "My part?"
Megge gave a dismissive little wave of her hand. "You have no need to explain yourself, my lord. I fully understand."
"Well, I’m damned if I do," he snapped.
"Sir Walter will no doubt gift you with a fine property - Chateau de la Madeleine at Chevreuse would suit you very well, I think. You may also expect a suitable marriage, sanctioned by the king. I hear that the Lady St. Aubert would be most grateful for your attentions. His Majesty is as eager to see her wed as he is myself, so you should encounter no difficulty there. All in all, you must think you have done very well for yourself."
"What are you babbling on about, woman?" demanded Sir Olyver.
"I do not babble, my good sir," Megge retorted. "You know very well what I am talking about: your arrangement with Sir Walter.
"Well, it grieves me to inform you," she announced, quailing only a little before the fierce scowl that etched his normally impassive countenance, "that there will be no Château de la Madeleine for you at Chevreuse, and no buxom Lady St. Aubert in your bed. I have no intention of marrying Sir Walter, whether His Majesty wills it or no, so you must come up with some other scheme. As it is late, might I suggest that you retire to your bed and find what sleep you can in the few hours of the night that remain, and begin afresh in the morning? If you will excuse me, I will leave you now. I have no wish to discuss this further."
Megge sketched an ironic little curtsy, and marched away toward the postern door, only to be spun around and backed against the castle’s massive foundation wall.
"I do not," said Sir Olyver, emphasizing each word, "have any idea where you came by the mad notion that I have some arrangement with Sir Walter."
Megge glared up at him. "It is the only logical explanation to account for your willingness to command the siege of a castle held only by women and children," she declared. She could not be certain whether she was frightened or wantonly excited by the looming presence above her, perhaps a bit of both. "An endeavor, you will agree, my lord, that is so far beneath your rank and dignity as to be laughable. There must be some advantage in it beyond your usual fee for your services, a prize that is worth the expenditure of your time on such a trivial matter."
There is indeed. You.
"You will believe me, my lady, when I tell you that I do not consider it a waste of my time to fulfill my obligation to my liege lord when he so commands. As he does not consider the matter trivial, neither do I."
He could smell the flowery fragrance of her unbound hair, feel the delicate line of her shoulders beneath the coarse wool of her mantle. "In fact," he said softly, "I am finding it most—"
"Entertaining, I suppose," Megge grumbled. She tried to slip around him, only to find an arm as strong as an iron pike blocking her way.
"I wouldn’t say entertaining, no."
"Tedious?" she supplied testily as she feinted to his left, then made an unsuccessful dive to wriggle beneath his outstretched right arm. Sir Olyver was a superbly trained soldier; he could intuit an opponent’s intent by the slightest twitch of a muscle and had only to bend his elbows a few inches to keep her safely confined within the cage of his arms.
"Definitely not tedious, my lady. Quite the opposite."
"Um, intriguing?"
"Close." He snaked a thickly muscled arm around her waist to draw her softness against him; cradled the back of her head in his huge hand.
"I really must be going, my lord," she managed. Truth be told, at this point Megge could barely recall that there was anywhere else, much less that she should have a reason to go there.
He bent his head toward her. "I don’t think so."
In some dim corner of her mind, Megge felt she owed it to the dictates of propriety to make one last desperate stand before she melted like tallow in his arms. "That, sir, must be my decision, not yours."
Sir Olyver looked up at the stars as though seeking guidance on an important point of etiquette. "Hmmm. You are quite right, my lady." He stepped away, and tucked his hands behind his back.
"Oh." She adjusted her cloak.
"Well then." She backed up a step.
"I’ll just..." She faltered.
And launched herself straight into his arms.
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