A ROYAL ENGAGEMENT
by
Olga Daniels


For Olga Daniels, home is a sixteenth-century reed- thatched farmhouse
in Norfolk.  Her study overlooks the beautiful gardens created by her
husband, Stan.  History clings to the ancient ivy-clad flint walls, the
nearby round-towered Saxon church and the waterways and marshes of
Broadland.  A lovely, lonely place, the inspiration for Olga's tales of
romance and intrigue.

"Love is the most intangible of all human emotions," she says, but she
has no doubt of its existence, its strength and its power.

A ROYAL ENGAGEMENT

Olga Daniels

MILLS &- B 0 0 1ST

To Luke, wishing him all the good things in life.

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are pure invention.

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First published in Great Britain 1999 Harlequin Mills & Boon Limited,
Eton House, 18-24 Paradise Road.  Richmond, Surrey TW9 1SR

Olga Daniels 1999 ISBN 0263 81948 5

Set in Times Roman lO'/i on 12 pt.  04000275447

Printed and bound in Spain by Litografia Roses S. A. " Barcelona

Chapter One

Q^zrys^Q

It was market day in Norwich, and the city was crowded.  Not only had
the country folk walked in from the villages and hamlets round about,
but most of them had brought in livestock and produce to sell.

Anything and everything that might be marketable was penned or tied up
or offered in baskets or sacks.  On that fine summer day most of the
people who lived within the high flint walls of the city were also out,
filling the narrow streets.  They were haggling and bargain-hunting,
drinking and eating, or just gathered together for a good old gossip.

Meg, or Lady Margaret Thurton to give her full name, was threading her
way back towards the nunnery, with a rush basket hooked on one arm.

She lifted her skirts in a hopeless attempt to prevent them from being
muddied and messed by the muck and puddles left by passing animals, or
the even more unpleasant rubbish tipped from the overhanging upper
storeys of the houses that lined the street.  She shouldered her way
through the crowd, just as everyone else did, and she was dressed just
as everyone else was, too, in rough homespun garments.

She hurried down Goat Lane and turned into Potter- gate, aware that she
had been out for longer than usual for she had found poor old Betsy
Carter so ill she could no longer move from the straw mattress on which
she lay, crippled with arthritis.  Meg had administered a dose of
physic she had made from herbs grown in the priory garden or gathered
from the heath beyond the city walls.

"Bless you, my dear," the old woman murmured as she settled back on the
pillows and closed her eyes.

She was so weak and frail that Meg was reluctant to leave her, for
there was no one to look after her other than her husband, Davy, and he
was blind and rather soft in the head, and more often out of the house,
as now, than at home.  Meg sat on beside old Betsy, gently holding her
thin, twisted hand.

"I was so sorry to hear that your dear mother had died," Betsy said,
and tears glistened in her eyes.

"I remember so clearly when she first brought you to see me.  You were
but a wee mite of a thing then."

"That must be fourteen years ago--I was about three years old--' Meg
broke off, too choked to continue.

Her mother.  Lady Elizabeth Thurton, had then been newly widowed, and
had been forced to flee when her villainous brother-in-law, Edmund,
Earl Thurton, had seized all his older brother's property: the castle,
its vast estates and his wealth.  His heartbroken widow had had no
strength to resist the Earl's claims.  When she had protested, he had
threatened physical violence, not only towards herself, but also to
little Meg.

Knowing him to be utterly ruthless.  Lady Elizabeth had fled to the
nunnery on the outskirts of Norwich,

where the Prioress was a distant relation.  She had received them
coolly, but as part of her religious duty had provided all that they
needed, including the privacy of a small suite of rooms, befitting
their noble status.  There they had lived in modest comfort, frugally
but in safety, and Meg had known no other life.

Now everything was to change.  There was fear throughout the order.

King Henry VIII had issued an edict.  for the dissolution of all
religious houses, and that included the Benedictine nunnery.  The
future was uncertain for all the inmates, and Meg had nowhere to go, no
one to whom she could turn.  The one thing she knew for certain was
that she had no calling for the religious life.  A shiver of fear ran
over her at the unknown future.

"You better go, my lady," old Betsy said.

"Don't you worry about me--' She would soon drift away into a sleep
partly induced by the herbal sedatives.

"I'll come again tomorrow," Meg promised, though even as she said it
she wondered if Betsy would last another day.  As always, she was
saddened to realise how little she could do to ease the sufferings of
the poor people.

Now, out in the narrow street, she struggled through the crowd, making
her way back to the priory as quickly as she could.

"Clearthe way."  An imperious voice was raised above the cries of
vendors and the chatter of country voices.

The shout was reinforced by the clatter of horses' hooves.

"Make way for your betters, you scum."

Meg looked behind her in amazement; there was scarcely space for
pedestrians, let alone horses.  Men and women pressed back under the
eaves of the overhanging houses, pulling their children with them,
lifting the smallest for safety.  A narrow gap was opened, through
which the horsemen were proceeding, three of them, their magnificent
steeds walking, tossing their heads, blowing foam from wide nostrils,
as if they had been ridden hard and disliked this slow pace.

Then Meg noticed old blind Davy.  He was standing immediately in the
path of the horses, gazing around him, bewildered and afraid, not
knowing which way to go, unable to understand what was happening.

"Watch out, Davy," shouted someone.

"Hosses a'comin'."

One of the horsemen flicked a whip in the direction of the old man; it
caught him on the shoulder of his ragged shirt.  He tried to turn, to
move, too quickly, and his feet slipped in the slime of the gutter.  He
fell in the path of the horseman.

^Out of the way, old man.  Make way for Sir Richard.  "

Meg dashed forward.  She glared at the horseman.  He sat high in the
saddle, a dismissive sneer on his haughty face, lank blond hair hanging
from beneath his blue velvet cap.  His expression betrayed a callous
disregard for the people around him.

"Move back," she shouted.

"Tell him to get up--quick--or he'll be trampled under the horse," the
man growled impatiently.

"Give him time--and space," Meg flung back at the horseman.

"Old Davy can't see--' " Shouldn't be out in the street, then.  " Sir
Richard's man tried to push Meg aside, but she stepped forward and
stood defiantly between the horses and old Davy.

"He has as much right as anyone to be out on the King's highway," Meg
said, loud and clear.

"Leave him, Gervase."  The voice was coolly authoritative.

She looked beyond the first rider and caught the eyes of the gentleman
behind him, instantly assessing him to be the highest ranking of the
three, the one referred to as Sir Richard.  The third man remained a
few paces behind.  He might once have been handsome, but his face was
disfigured by a scar that puckered his left cheek.  Sir Richard,
mounted on a powerful black charger, towered over all.  Dark brown hair
curled up the sides of his flat hat of crimson velvet, decorated with
an ostrich plume.  He was richly clad in a broad shouldered doublet,
cut square, revealing a strong neck that proclaimed strength and
masculinity, and he carried his head proudly.

He returned her gaze and she felt her heartbeat quicken.  She was
unaccustomed to such a searching look from a gentleman.  It infuriated
her, yet she gazed back at him, strangely mesmerised, for there was
something arresting about his face, something that demanded respect.

And though she did not find it handsome--it was too rugged for
that--she could not help admiring the strength of his clean shaven
features.

His expression, however, showed only disdain, making her aware not only
of the poverty of her costume, but also how dirty and dishevelled she
had become from the muddy gutters and the animals' droppings.

Still she stared back at him, determined not to allow herself to be
cowed by this man, despite the curious effect he was having upon her.

"If he's your grandfather, you should take better care of him, young
woman," he said.

He spoke slowly, with an edge to his voice, as if he had chosen his
words deliberately to annoy her, or maybe just to test her reaction.
All the while he continued to run his eyes over her, and, inexperienced
though she was, she knew that look was triggered by the male in him.
How dare he regard her like that?

Yet she could not deny that something deep in her being throbbed in
response--and that infuriated her.

"You should watch where you're going," Meg replied, with a sharp toss
of her head.

She might at that moment look like the scum of the earth, and was
indeed virtually penniless, but she knew her own standing.  Through her
mother she was descended from one of the ancient kings of England,
though she could never remember which.  Her selfesteem and the
tightness of her attitude gave her assurance and enabled her to stand
her ground.

Sir Richard reined in his horse, bringing it to a standstill as the
crowd gathered around, listening in awed silence to Meg's boldness.

They knew her as the young lady from the priory who, as a child, had
accompanied her mother on errands of mercy to the poor.  When the sweet
and kind Lady Elizabeth had become too ill to carry on with her
mission, Meg had continued to visit those in greatest need.  She was
safe amongst them, even though she walked alone, taking herbs and
lotions to those who were sick, loaves of bread to the starving.  They
would have defended her if one of their own had dared to molest her,
but to challenge the powerful lords, as she was doing now, was a
different matter.

Her usually soft blue eyes flashed with fury, but she controlled it and
spoke with her normal cultured precision of tone, which was directed at
Sir Richard.

"Kindly move back, sir."

Careless of her own safety, she moved almost under the nose of the
great horse.  She heard the intake of breath from the crowd, followed
by a tense silence.  She stood absolutely rigid, staring up at Sir
Richard.  She had never been so frightened in her life.  Time seemed to
stand still.  Then unexpectedly he lifted his elegant velvet that in a
flamboyant gesture, which could have been gallant had not a sardonic
smile twisted one corner of his shapely lips.  Then, to her relief, he
drew his horse two steps back.

Immediately Meg put a hand under the blind man's arm.

"Are you all right, Davy?"  she asked gently.

"My lady--help me.  Please help me."  He recognised her voice.

"It's all right."  She spoke to him calmly.

"Try to stand."

"You knows I doesn't mean no harm."

"I know, Davy.  I won't let them hurt you," she said.

"Now, then, up on to your feet."

A young man came forward out of the crowd and took hold of Davy's other
arm.  Everyone had been afraid to get involved until Meg had moved, but
now several willing hands reached out and helped the old man back close
against the walls of the houses.

Only Meg now prevented the horsemen from moving on again.  She was very
much aware of them.  The breath from the horses' nostrils wafted over
the thin linen of her cap and she kept a watchful eye on their strong
sinewy legs.  Their hooves pawed restively on the cobblestones; the
animals were anxious to move on.  She had to trust their riders to hold
them back, yet forced herself to ignore them, hiding her fear.  She
didn't mean to look up, she didn't want to meet that disturbing gaze
again, yet perversely she felt drawn to do that.

Her eyes clashed with his.

"What is your name, young woman?"  he asked.

"What is that to you?"  she countered.

Coolly she picked up the basket which she had set down on the cobbles
when she'd gone to Davy's aid.  One more glance towards the old man, to
make sure he was safe, then, satisfied on that score, she turned
sharply.  For a few paces she marched along in front of the riders. The
sound of their hooves told her they were moving slowly behind her.

Nervous though she was, she would not increase her pace, until she
reached an alleyway with a steep set of steps.  She ran then, through
the bystanders, who parted to make way for her, and darted down it,
fleet, sure-footed, even in her wooden-soled shoes.  It was in the
wrong direction, and it would take her half an hour longer to get back
to the nunnery and she had already been out longer than usual, but that
couldn't be helped.  Her one desire was to get away.

Her courage had been false.  She was shaking and mightily relieved when
she stopped, close to a high wall, and looked back to see the horsemen
pass on along the street above.  Breathing heavily, she leaned on the
wall, glad of its support.  Never before had she been so close to
gentlemen of quality.  It was that, more than the event, that had
unnerved her.  Until that morning she had spoken to very few men, other
than the priests and poor labourers.  They had been cringingly
subservient, knowing that she was a relation of the formidable
Prioress.  Never before had she encountered anyone whose eyes had met
and held hers with such a challenge.  Sir Richard had seemed to be
looking right into her inner being, as if he knew some of her secret
thoughts-thoughts that she would never have spoken even at confession.
She blushed at the very idea.

Thank goodness she was never likely to see him again!

Back at the priory, Meg slipped in through a small side door that led
into the cloisters.  She stood for a moment, savouring the cool, calm
peace of the place.  This was the only home she had ever known.

Her childhood had not been unhappy, for she'd had the love of her
gentle mother.  Lady Elizabeth had been intelligent and better-educated
than most women of her age.  She had passed on her knowledge to her
daughter, instructing her in those social graces necessary to a lady of
breeding as well as reading and writing.  An elderly priest, who had
been like a grandfather to Meg, had added to that by teaching her
Classics and mathematics, as if she had been a boy.

At other times she'd had free run of a large part of the extensive
buildings and the well-kept gardens of the nunnery, though there were
some parts she was not permitted to enter.  These were the magnificent
rooms which the Prioress had built for her own private use.  That lady
was a being apart, aristocratic and wealthy, quite unlike most of the
nuns, who came from all walks of life, some from very humble
families.

Most of them were kind and friendly, and, whenever they were free from
their devotions and their work, the younger ones had enjoyed playing
with the pretty little girl whose unfortunate mother had so often been
unwell.

Slowly, at a pace befitting her surroundings, Meg made her way along
the cloister to the suite of rooms that she had shared with her mother.
Sarah Wilgress was sitting beside the empty chair which Lady Elizabeth
had occupied for many hours in the last months of her life.

"Thank goodness you're back, my lady."  Sarah jumped up as Meg
entered.

"You've to get changed into your good clothes and go to the Lady
Prioress at once."  She began to pull Meg towards her bedchamber.

"Why?  What has happened, Sarah?"

"All I know is that Sister Obligata came to say the Prioress wanted to
see you immediately, and that was half an hour ago.  I said as how you
was out visiting the sick, just as your dear mother did before she was
took ill.  Sister Obligata seemed upset about that--well, you know the
Prioress never did approve of you goin' out on your own.  Now come on
through here, an' be quick about it, do; she'll be back a-clackin' on
again."

"I can't possibly visit the Prioress in this state--' " That you can't,
my lady.  You gotta get washed and changed right away.  " Sarah began
to unfasten Meg's clothes even as she spoke.

"You know the Prioress don't like to be kep' waiting."

"I know, but the town was crowded--and poor old Betsy was so poorly--'
" That I have no doubt, mistress.  But do get changed double quick.
I've got water in the kettle, an' I've kep' it a-simmering, so's you
can get properly cleaned up.  Sister Obligata's been back here twice
already looking for you.  I've put your best gown out--' Sarah had been
brought to the nunnery as a child, orphaned when her parents had died
of a fever that had ravaged the countryside.  Lady Elizabeth had taken
the poor, sad and undernourished child into her motherly care, and she
had grown healthy and strong.

Two years older than Meg, Sarah had played with her, and they had grown
up like sisters.  Sarah had been encouraged to take part in some of
Meg's lessons, and had learned to read and write, but she had found
little interest in other subjects.  She had been happiest when she was
sewing or cleaning, or looking after Lady Elizabeth, whom she had
adored.  When the elderly woman who had been Lady Elizabeth's servant
had died, Sarah had insisted that she should be allowed to take her
place.  No one could have been more loyal and conscientious.  She
mourned the death of her mistress as deeply as did Meg.

For both of them, as for all the inhabitants of the priory, the King's
threats to the monasteries made their future uncertain.  But Sarah
willingly tackled her daily tasks and sang the old songs of the
countryside as she worked.  If the Prioress was not about she'd dance
too, clattering her wood-soled shoes on the stone floors.

Meg was not unwilling to get out of the muddied everyday clothes.  It
was good to get washed and feel pleasantly clean again.  Sarah stood
holding a clean skirt tie, ready to drop it over Meg's head, and at
once began lacing it up.  Her best gown was of blue-green velvet, with
a tight bodice, beautifully fitted, enhancing her small waist,
decorously edged with narrow frilling and trimmed with pearls.  The
skirt, long and full, trailed on the ground.

The garments were old-fashioned, for there had never been money to buy
anything new for Meg.  The beautiful gown had been made for her mother,
and she had worn it only once, on the occasion of a grand banquet at
Bixholm Castle, shortly before her husband had left for France.  He had
been killed leading his troops into battle so had never returned.

Meg unfastened her plaits and Sarah brushed out her long fair hair,
then covered it with a tight-fitting under- cap.  Over this went a
French hood of black silk with front lappets decorated with a
multi-coloured pattern of embroidery.

Even though the transformation was carried out with all possible speed.
Sister Obligata came bustling in before they had quite finished.  The
tiny nun, one of the oldest in the nunnery, was wringing her hands
anxiously.

"Wherever have you been, Meg?  There's an important visitor waiting to
see you."

"A visitor?  To see me?"  said Meg.  Such a thing had never happened in
her life before.

"That's right.  Are you ready now?"

"Wheesh, Sister," admonished Sarah.

"You don't want her gown to be coming apart when she gets to the
Prioress's room, now, do you?  She'd have the shock of her life!"  She
pulled the lacing tighter as she spoke.

"Sarah," admonished Sister Obligata.

"That is no way to speak of the Prioress."

"I know."  Sarah hung her head, then glanced at Meg and whispered, "But
it's true, my lady, isn't it?"

Meg shook her head reprovingly, but could not keep the smile from her
lips.  She turned to the little nun.

"Sister, dear, why is there such a hurry?  Who wants to see me?"

"You'll find out soon enough.  No need for me to tell you," said Sister
Obligata.

"Come along now."

Despite her age and small stature she set off at a pace that was almost
undignified for one in holy orders.  Realising it would be useless to
ask any further questions, Meg followed in silence.  They waited
briefly outside the solar.  The little nun cast a critical eye over
Meg, tweaked at one of the lappets, then knocked on the door.

"Enter."

Meg braced herself.  Visits to the Prioress had never brought her any
joy in the past.  They had usually followed some small misdemeanour
over which the Prioress had lashed out with her stinging tongue.  She
prepared herself for the encounter on this occasion, as she had done in
the past, by holding herself very upright, her head high and an
expression of defiance on her face.

Sister Obligata opened the door and indicated that Meg should pass
through, whilst she remained outside and closed the door.  Meg stepped
into the sumptuous apartment of her distant relative--and almost cried
out in surprise.  Her heart began to thump violently and her mouth felt
suddenly dry.  She stood stock-still, stunned, taking in the scene.

The Prioress, as she had expected, was seated on one side of the stone
fireplace--but opposite her was the horseman she had encountered in the
street that morning.  The one they had called Sir Richard.  He sprang
to his feet.  She stared at him, lifted a hand to her mouth to stifle a
gasp.

"An important visitor waiting to see you," Sister Obligata had said.

What did that mean?  Who was he?  Why did he want to see her?  Was his
presence in some way connected with the earlier episode in the
street?

Had he made a complaint about her behaviour to the Prioress?

Her eyes sought his--she remembered with shame and anger how scornfully
he had looked at her then.  Now his expression was quite different--for
one thing he appeared to be just as surprised as she was.  Their eyes
met and clashed, yet lingered.  He recovered his equilibrium quicker
than she did.  She saw his expression relax, though his eyes remained
fixed on her.  It was a searching contemplation, and this time he gave
the impression of being pleased with what he saw.

Then he looked down, his gaze moving slowly, taking in the length and
slenderness of her neck, which rose elegantly from the square line of
her gown, dropping lower to move over the gentle swelling of her bosom
to the smallness of her waist.  Again that sardonic smile lifted a
corner of his lip as his gaze swept back up to her face.  She wished
desperately that she was able to regard him coolly, but she felt
flustered, was aware that she was blushing and unsure of herself.  She
was quite unable to think of any reason why he should be there, or why
he had asked to see her.

"Sir Richard--this is the young lady you have come to fetch; Lady
Margaret Thurton, the daughter of my second cousin.  Lady Elizabeth
Thurton."  The Prioress performed the introductions in her usual
haughty manner.  Turning to Margaret, she added, "Sir Richard de
Heigham has been sent by your uncle Edmund, Earl Thurton, to escort you
to his castle at Bixholm."

Meg could scarcely believe what she heard.  She had no recollection of
her uncle, had never even seen him, and everything she knew about him
was disturbing.  He had forced her mother to flee from Bixholm, even
though it had been rightfully hers.

"Lady Margaret."  Sir Richard executed an elegant bow.  His voice was
smooth and friendly.

"It's a pleasure and an honour to make your acquaintance."

With her mind in turmoil, Meg pulled herself together and lowered
herself in a curtsey.  She knew he did not mean those gallant words he
uttered.  She had no doubt that he had recognised her, and was grateful
he made no reference to their encounter earlier in the day.  It would
have been difficult to explain to the Prioress, whose ideas on seemly
behaviour were very different to her own.

"The honour is mine.  Sir Richard," Meg replied, managing at last to
take control of herself and speak with studied politeness.  Then,
turning towards the Prioress, she asked, "May I ask why I am to be
taken to my uncle at Bixholm?"

"I sent a message to your uncle, informing him of the death of your
mother.  God rest her soul," said the Prioress.

"Lord Thurton is now your next of kin, Margaret.  He replied almost
immediately, sending a messenger to enquire about you.  I did not
inform you before, for I was not sure of the outcome, but as you are
now alone in the world he has most generously offered to give you his
protection--until he can arrange a suitable marriage for you."

"M-marriage?"  Meg stammered.

"Of course.  You are no longer a child, my dear."

Meg did not recollect ever before such an endearment falling from the
tight, thin lips of the Prioress.  Far from reassuring her, it
increased her alarm.

"Must I go?"  she asked.

"It is undoubtedly in your best interest."  The Prioress wore an air of
smug satisfaction.

"You should be grateful to your uncle for this beneficent gesture."

"But I do not know him," Meg protested.

"He never came here to see me or my mother--' " Your uncle has a great
deal to attend to," snapped the Prioress.

"He moves in the highest of circles and is in constant attendance at
Court.  Besides, you must know there was ill feeling between him and
your mother; that was the reason she brought you here.  Now he is
willing to overlook the past, and I deem it exceedingly generous-of him
to make you this offer."

"But I have no wish to leave--please, dear Mother Prioress, will you
not allow me to stay?  I can make myself useful--' " No, Margaret,"
said the Princess.

"It is all settled.  You will go to Bixholm and behave in a manner
befitting the training and tuition you have received here in the
priory.  I trust that you will obey your illustrious uncle and
endeavour to please him in every way."

Meg regarded the Prioress with growing horror.  She had never heard a
good word about Earl Thurton.  She feared him, even more than she
feared the

"Please--' She was about to plead further but the Prioress silenced her
with an up sweep of one long pale hand.

"It is no use arguing, Margaret.  I know you have no calling for the
religious life.  You have told me so in the past."  She brought her
lips together tightly, her eyes chilling in their disapproval.

"The priory is soon to be closed.  Everyone has to go.  Though I shall
be permitted to stay on in my own apartments and keep my own staff.  I
have worried about what should become of you and it was for that reason
I wrote to Lord Thurton."

Meg's last hope faded.  She had to accept that she was no more than a
chattel, to be passed from one to another, and it was true she had no
wish to become a nun.  She stood in silence as the Prioress
continued.

"This is the ideal solution for everyone.  I shall pray that a suitable
husband will be found for you, and that you may bear him many strong
sons."  Again she clamped her thin lips together, making it absolutely
clear she was not prepared to discuss the matter further.

Meg turned to Sir Richard and looked at him with such resentment it was
near to hatred.  She did not trust him.  He and his entourage had been
arrogant, careless of the safety of poor old Davy.  She was uneasy at
the thought of being escorted by such a trio, not least because
undoubtedly they were all in the pay of the uncle who had used her
mother so cruelly.

"When am I to go?"  she asked bleakly.

"We set out in two days' time," Sir Richard answered.

"We shall rest the horses tomorrow, and leave at dawn the day after."

His manner was coolly practical.  He was simply undertaking a mission
for his master.

Meg nodded.  They would be up at dawn.  Everyone in the nunnery was up
early for prayers.  She was pleased that she would also be able to make
one last visit to old Betsy, as she had promised.

"May I take Sarah with me, if she is willing?"  she asked.

"Sarah?  Oh, your maid?  Certainly," the Prioress agreed easily.  Sarah
meant nothing to her.

"I would like to assure you, my lady, that you will be perfectly safe,"
said Sir Richard.

Meg looked at him keenly but made no reply.  She had nothing to say to
him.  She was deeply troubled about the whole arrangement.  Why should
her uncle have sent for her?  She had nothing.  He had robbed her
mother of everything that should have been hers.  He had forged papers
purporting to show that not only was the title to pass to him, but that
he should own all the worldly goods that had rightly been her
mother's.

Her uncle was a villain--and therefore it followed that this man.  Sir
Richard, his henchman, who had been sent to fetch her, was not to be
trusted either.  She would go with him--she had no choice.  But she
would be on her guard--and she would have as little to do with him as
possible.

Chapter Two

JVleg was surprised and puzzled by the helpfulness of the Prioress over
preparations for her departure.  It might have been no more than relief
that she would have no further responsibility, even though in past
years the lady had shown only a minimum of interest in Meg's wellbeing.
The Prioress had done her duty and no more-and now it became evident
that she wished to impress Earl Thurton.  She even provided a neat
little bay mare for Meg to ride.

Did she know more about the marriage plans than she wished to
divulge?

Why was it all so sudden and so secretive?  She fussed over Meg's
apparel, all of which had been handed down from her mother, or had been
woven, cut out and stitched by Sarah and the nuns.  She seemed to be
quite distressed that there was no, time for new garments to be made,
and presented Meg with an elaborate brooch with which to fasten her
cape.  She also hired a packhorse to transport Meg's few personal
possessions, and a bundle belonging to Sarah.

Sarah had at first refused to undertake the journey.  She had been
indignant when it was suggested that she should ride pillion behind
Alan Crompton, the third member of the party from Bixholm.

"Hosses!"  she protested.

"Great big hairy things.  I ain't used to 'em, and I don't like 'em.
I'd probably fall off!"  she had said vehemently.

Meg laughed, then was immediately contrite as she saw real fear on her
friend's plumply pretty face.

"You won't fall off, Sarah!  Honestly, you'll be perfectly safe.  I
promise we won't ride too fast."

"It's all very well for you, my lady.  You all us did like ridin'.  I
ain't never been on the back of a hoss, and I never want to!"  Sarah
clamped her mouth shut disapprovingly.

Meg was almost in despair.  The prospect of going away quite alone was
unbearable.

"Please, Sarah, do come with me.  I have to go, and I can't manage
without you."

"Yes, you can, my lady.  You're no fool."  Sarah could be really
stubborn at times.

Meg gave a wry smile, remembering past altercations between them.  This
time she was determined to win the other girl over.

"I'll be so lonely without you, and anyway, what will you do when they
close the priory?"

"Find work somewhere, I suppose."  Sarah's lips trembled slightly.

"Not that I want to work for anyone else.  Couldn't I walk beside you,
my lady?"

"Sarah, that's impossible--it's much too far.  I really do need you.  I
can't possibly leave you here.  We've always been such good friends.

Please don't desert me--for I have to go.  "

"We-ell."  The word was long drawn-out, showing her reluctance.

"All right.  I suppose what is to be will be.  I'll come with you--even
if it kills me--for I've no wish to be parted from you, my lady."

"Nor I from you, Sarah."  Meg threw her arms around the other girl and
hugged her tightly.

"I'll look after you--always."

Her feelings were mixed as they rode away from the priory.  She
realised that the natural course of life for a woman was to be married,
and that it was normal for a husband to be chosen by her guardian.  She
had assumed that some day such an event would happen to her, but had
expected that her wedding would be to a gentleman of her mother choice
and in the distant future.

Most particularly it alarmed her that from now on she would be entirely
beholden to this uncle of whom she had never heard one single word that
was good.  Did he already have some marriage of convenience in mind for
her?  Whoever the gentleman was, he had to be a stranger to her--and
she to him--for she knew no men who could be remotely considered as
eligible.  If he was abhorrent to her, would she be able to refuse?  A
priest would not perform a marriage ceremony without the bride's
consent, but she had heard tales of some who were not as honourable as
they should be.

The town was left behind.  The horses trotted gently along stony
tracks, through the fields and meadows of the open countryside.

Villagers were working in their own strips of land, digging, raking,
sowing seeds.  Spring was a busy time, and they were making the most of
the fine weather.

Sir Richard brought his big black charger up to ride alongside her.

She was aware that he was there, but she did not turn her head; his
nearness fired a tension that alerted previously unknown sensations
which were disturbing--though not entirely unpleasant.  For some
inexplicable reason she had no wish to enter into conversation with
him.  Her mind raced with questions, but she was reluctant to reveal
her anxiety.

"You ride very well, my lady," he remarked.

"Thank you, sir," she responded, coolly polite.

"Did you learn whilst you were at the priory?"

"Of course.  I was only three years old when my mother took me there.

She saw to it that I acquired those skills that would be necessary for
life outside its walls.  "

"I imagine it must have been restrictive at times.  Will you be glad to
be free from that life?"

"Neither glad nor sorry, sir," she replied truthfully.

"I have known no other way."

"You will find things very different at Bixholm."

"I do not doubt it."

"Every night there is feasting and dancing.  There are resident
musicians and jesters, and sometimes they are joined by travelling
players," he said.

"I am sure it is very entertaining," she said.

"But that will all be new to me."

They rode side by side for some minutes.  She glanced at him, studied
his well-chiselled profile and decided that he looked much more
friendly than when she had first encountered him.  Then he turned
towards her and his face was quite transformed by a smile--he seemed
contented, as if well pleased to be riding with her.  How ever was it
that she had decided he was not handsome?

Suddenly it seemed easy and right to ask the question that had been
continually in her mind since that interview with the Prioress.

"My lord, can you tell me-because I would very much like to know--does
my uncle have a gentleman in mind to whom he wishes me to become
betrothed?"

The smile faded from Sir Richard's face.  There was a pause before he
replied, and then his words were vague.

"That is something that he will tell you in due course."

"I suppose he must already have given some thought to the matter," she
persisted.

"Otherwise he would not have sent for me."

"Perhaps.  I am not privy to the Earl's plans."

Despite his answer she was sure that he knew more than he was
telling.

"Then I shall have to ask him when we arrive at Bixholm," she said.

"In my opinion.  Lady Margaret, it would be wise to leave the matter
until the Earl raises it with you."

His tone sounded ominous.  The smile had been replaced by a closed and
distant expression.  Her fears were reawakened.  Of course, he was no
friend to her.  Why should she expect it?  He was in the pay of her
uncle.  She had allowed herself to be deceived because his face and
bearing were attractive to her.  She had been a fool to think he might
be friendly.  She wished he would go away, leave her to travel alone
with her thoughts.

He was silent for a time, but continued to ride at her side.  Uneasily
she turned her head towards him, and was disconcerted to find his eyes
looking directly into hers--brown eyes flecked with gold.  They seemed
gentle, caring, almost as if he was sorry for her--but why should that
be?  A flush spread up her cheeks and over her face; it made her feel
vulnerable and foolish.  She looked down at the nodding head of her
mare, a pretty animal, and then straight ahead.

"What were you doing when I encountered you in the street?"  he
asked.

His voice was low, pleasantly warm, but she would not allow herself to
be cajoled by it.

"Visiting the sick and the poor."

"Do you enjoy doing that?"

She turned her head sharply, her eyebrows raised.  It struck her as a
strange question.

"It is necessary," she said, in a matter-of-fact tone.  Did he not know
the plight of the poor?

The look she cast upon him disturbed Sir Richard more than he cared to
admit.  He had felt little enthusiasm for this task when it had been
imposed upon him by Earl Thurton, but for reasons of his own he had not
cared to question the command.  He had no love for the master of
Bixholm, whom he knew, to his cost, to be a callous brute.  He had
simply been given the order to fetch a young woman from a nunnery in
Norwich.

"She's just seventeen," the Earl had said.

"A virgin, ripe for a man.

Bring her back here, Richard, and who knows what may happen?  "

"Don't tell me you've a mind to wed, after all these years," Richard
said.

"Not I!  Nancy would have something to say if I did!  Anyway this chit
is my niece.  There is someone more powerful than I am who is seeking a
new wife.  Someone who will bestow untold wealth and honours upon a
relative who delivers the right goods into his hands-or perhaps, I
should say, into his bed."  The Earl chuckled, well pleased with
himself.

Richard repressed a shudder.

"The King?"  he asked.

Edmund's cunning expression told all.  He nodded.

"Exactly.  And, as a good and loyal subject, do I not have a duty to
bring pleasure and happiness to his majesty?  He has suffered sadly
since the death of his puny little wife in childbirth."

It was two years since Queen Jane had died giving birth to the
long-awaited heir.  Prince Edward.  Richard felt a knot tighten in the
pit of his stomach as he remembered the fate of the King's previous
wife.  Lady

Anne Boleyn.  The King had tired of her, mainly because, after three
years of marriage, she had produced only one living child, and that a
daughter, Princess Elizabeth.

The King had then declared that Queen Anne had committed treason,
betrayed him by taking a lover.  It was well-known that he had already
transferred his affections to Jane Seymour, and had had no qualms about
signing the death warrant for Anne to be executed on Tower Green.  His
first wife.  Queen Catherine, had also given birth to only a daughter.
Princess Mary.  Her fate had been a little kinder, for she had been
divorced and exiled to the country.  It was sons the King wanted, as
much to bolster his pride in his masculinity as for the sake of the
country.

Richard's voice held a grim note as he answered the Earl.

"I have heard the King is seeking to remarry."

"Exactly!  And I'm told this niece of mine is a beauty!  I'd go myself
to fetch her, but this accursed gout is playing me up.  Bring her back
here, Richard, and mind you take good care of her.  No nonsense,
mind!

You so much as touch her and I'll run you through with my own sword.
"

"No fear of that, sir."  Richard understood the threat.  In fair combat
he would have taken the Earl on with the certainty of winning--but that
was never Sir Edmund's way of disposing of enemies.  A stab in the back
by a henchman was more likely.

"I shall guard her honour with my life," he said.

He had expected no difficulty in keeping that promise when he'd set out
on the journey.  Secretly he thought the Earl must be mad to believe
the lusty King Henry would be tempted by a holy woman, however young
and virginal.  He had also doubted the Earl's assertion that the woman
would be a beauty, especially when he'd heard she had lived all her
life in a nunnery.  He had expected her to be pale, an insipid
creature, not the sort of woman to appeal to him.  It had amused him to
imagine a relative of the coarse, ugly Earl being in any way attractive
to the King.

With regard to the lady's feelings, or to her fate, he had given them
no more thought than if he had been sent to fetch a horse or a dog for
his master.  In any event he had assumed that the woman was
amenable-possibly even eager to relinquish life in a nunnery to become
Queen of England.

The clash of wills he had witnessed between Meg and the Prioress had
changed his mind on that score!  She had pleaded strongly not to be
sent away--and not because she wished to take the veil!  She had
evidently rejected that idea some time previously.  He commended her
for that; it would have been a most regrettable loss to mankind for
such a delectable young woman to become a nun.  There was nothing
insipid about Lady Margaret Thurton!  She was of a fiery temperament,
though at the moment she appeared to be hiding it.  She was also the
most fascinating woman he had ever met.

He had noticed her face when he had first seen her, that morning in the
crowded street.  The brave way she had stood up to him during that
encounter had puzzled and interested him.  Her habit had been of coarse
material, splattered with mud--and worse!  There had been a streak of
dirt on her cheek.  But still something about her had caught and held
his attention.  His presence had not cowed her in the least; that had
been one indication of her breeding.  And when he heard her voice,
clear and melodious, it had confirmed his impression that she was no
ordinary peasant girl.

He would never have harmed the blind man.  It had annoyed him that
Gervase Gisbon had flicked his whip at the old fellow.  There had been
no need, but it was typical of the man, who had no time for those less
well placed than himself.  Richard had been about to order Gervase to
draw back when Meg had rushed forward.  She had taken him completely by
surprise, flung a challenge at him, and he had enjoyed pitting his wits
against hers and watching her reaction.  He had been disappointed when
she'd made off so quickly.  He had tried to follow her but had lost
sight of her when she'd darted down that alleyway, where it had been
impossible for horses to follow.

He had scarcely been able to believe it when she'd walked into the
solar where he and the Prioress had been waiting.  He had recognised
her immediately, despite the change of clothing.  Dressed in a gown
that was twenty years out of fashion, she was still beautiful, and had
a commanding presence.  Suddenly he had feared for her--so vulnerable,
so young and tender-not at all how he had envisaged the niece of Earl
Thur- ton!

His first feeling at that second meeting had been of delight at seeing
her again.  Now, with every mile they covered, wending their way
towards Bixholm Castle, he became less and less enthusiastic about the
fate her uncle was planning for her.  Indeed he began to feel quite
ridiculously protective towards her.  It was probably something to do
with the size of her wondrous blue eyes, or perhaps it was the
curvaceous ness of her lissom figure, her liveliness, for that was
evident even when she was silent--and her gentle voice.  He was quite
disturbed at the thought of any man touching her--other than himself.
And he was banned from doing so on pain of death.

That was a sobering thought.  No woman would be worth such a sacrifice,
he told himself.  He must have as little to do with Lady Margaret as he
possibly could.  His task was to deliver her to her uncle.  He must put
any other ideas out of his mind.  He reminded himself that the Prioress
had been more than willing to place her under the guardianship of her
uncle.  She knew the husband Earl Thurton hoped to bind her to, and
he'd had the impression she was delighted at the prospect of the match.
It was not for him to interfere.  He had his own problems, and any
entanglement would only add to those difficulties.  He allowed his
horse to slow its pace, to leave Meg's side.

Bringing up the rear of the little group was Gervase Gisbon, Earl
Thurton's man.  Gervase, who had no wish to ride with a serving wench
behind him, was leading the packhorse.  He regarded Richard with a
supercilious smile on his face.  There was no love lost between the
two.

"Your blandishments aren't cutting much ice with the young lady,
Richard?"

Richard bit back the angry answer that was almost on his tongue.

Gervase was one of Thurton's most trusted men.  He could make trouble
if he chose, and he had evidently been keeping a close watch upon
Richard as he had ridden alongside Lady Margaret.

"Just making sure the lady is all right," Richard said.

"She's riding better than I expected," Gervase admitted.

"Surprising, after being in a nunnery all her life."

"She is indeed an accomplished horsewoman."  Richard was glad it was a
point on which they could agree,

but he took it as a warning that he was under surveillance on this
journey.

Aware that he had dropped behind, Meg set her mount moving a little
faster, until she came up alongside Sarah, who was riding pillion
behind Alan.  The pair did not immediately notice she was there, so she
watched for a few moments and was delighted to see them both looking
relaxed and happy.  They were chatting and chaffing with each other,
even chuckling in a friendly manner.  Evidently Sarah had conquered her
fear, although she was clinging very tightly to the young man--which he
did not seem to mind in the least.

Although of noble birth, Alan had fallen on hard times.  As a third
son, there had been no inheritance for him.  He and Richard had fought
together in defence of England and he had suffered that terrible wound.
He would have died had Richard not taken care of him.  They had been
friends ever since.

"Are you all right, Sarah?"  Meg enquired.

"Oh, yes, thank you, my lady.  I never thought it would be so
comfortable, riding like this.  An' the countryside's all so b'utiful,
ain't it?"

"You've no need to worry about Sarah, my lady," said Alan.

"I'll see she comes to no harm."

Meg smiled wryly to herself.  She was glad that they, at least, were
happy as they continued along the road.  She was in no hurry to reach
Bixholm, especially when she thought about this plan of her uncle's to
provide her with a husband.  She hoped it would be a kindly and
considerate young gentleman--perhaps even someone who looked a little
like Sir Richard.  Not that she would easily come to like, let alone
love him!  His remote manner towards her made her dismiss such a
thought--it made her angry that it had even entered her head.

Deliberately she thrust aside those useless worries about what lay
ahead.  The weather was fine and, as Sarah had said, the countryside
was beautiful.  Sometimes the tracks took them through woodland,
coppiced hazel and huge ancient oaks, the fresh growth of young leaves
a delicate perfection of green.  Sunlight dappled on primroses and
dainty anemones, bejewelling the grass beneath.  Deer and rabbits
started away at their approach, and birds flew up into the canopy,
anxious for the safety of their nests.  At other times they rode over
heath land thickly covered with heather, brown now, with fresh fronds
of bracken unfolding at the wood's edges.

Even though she had never before spent so many hours in the saddle, and
had never been so far from Norwich, Meg found herself enjoying the
ride--and there was not one word of complaint from Sarah.

The journey south, towards Essex, took three days.  At night they
stayed in the guest accommodation of great monasteries that would soon
be dissolved on the orders of the King.  Introductory letters from the
Prioress assured that they were well catered for in every respect.  The
pace at which they travelled was unhurried, but every evening when they
stopped Meg was tired, stiff and sore.  In the women's quarters, she
slept soundly.

"That's Bixholm," Richard said.

She had grown accustomed to the sound of his voice.  There was
something in the timbre of it that caused a fluttering in her heart.

It wasn't exactly fear.  On the journey he had done nothing that could
arouse the slightest suspicion of such an emotion.  Yet she was always
on edge when he was near, would feel an aware t ness, a tension
heightened by the vibrancy with which he spoke.

It was late afternoon on the third day and he rode up alongside Meg as
the castle came into view--the house which had belonged to her father
and which, by right, should now be hers.  Her first sight of it was of
two tall towers.  They formed part of the gatehouse.  The spread of red
tiled roofs denoted a place of considerable size, and many tall twisted
chimneys suggested opulence, lots of fires to warm the rooms in
winter.

Meg caught her breath.

"I was born there," she said.  Emotion flooded over her.

"At Bixholm?"  Richard raised his expressive dark eyebrows.

"It belonged to my father.  He was killed in the fighting in France."

"So you know the castle?"

"I don't remember anything, really.  My uncle forced my mother to
leave.  He insisted it all belonged to him, declared that he had papers
to prove it."

"You sound doubtful."

"I cannot believe my father would have done such a thing.  My mother
tried to protest, but she did not have the strength to fight him--in
addition to which she was afraid for my safety.  We never came back."

"Your mother was a wise lady."  He lowered his voice.  Gervase Gisbon
was not far behind.

"I advise you to say nothing to anyone about your doubts.  Lady
Margaret.  Most especially do not challenge your uncle on the
matter."

"I am not a fool," she said.

"I know there is nothing I can do about it."

Richard's mouth was held in a tight line.  He knew little about her
story, yet what she said did not surprise him.  More than ever he
feared for her, and cursed that he was powerless to do anything other
than deliver her to that monster who waited within.

Meg gazed at the impressive structure in silence.  Her thoughts were
running riot.  This should have been her home.  Here she should have
grown up, in security and some affluence, but for the untimely death of
her father and her uncle's subsequent treatment of her mother.

Only the clip-clop of the horses' hooves and the jangle of harness
disturbed the silence as they rode toward the great house, for it was
more a fortified manor house than a castle.

A square moat surrounded the buildings, and they crossed by the
drawbridge, which was seldom lifted in these relatively peaceful
days.

The horses' hooves echoed as they passed through the guardhouse into a
courtyard.  Stablehands ran out to hold the horses, and, as he had done
at the end of each day's riding.  Sir Richard was there, his strong
arms ready to assist her to dismount.  Even in her tense state she
found comfort in the way he held her, although she tried to suppress
such thoughts.  When he released her, very quickly, as always,
loneliness swept over her.

"Tell the Earl that his niece.  Lady Margaret Thurton, has arrived,"
Richard instructed the porter who had stepped forward to greet them.

"The Earl is at dinner," the porter replied.

"My instructions are to show " you into the Great Hall, as soon as you
are ready.  "

Meg was nervous.  With Sarah's assistance she had quickly washed and
changed her clothes, which were still creased from being transported in
the pannier on the packhorse.  Sir Richard had also washed and changed
from his outdoor riding gear.  He waited outside the chamber that had
been alloted to Meg, ready to escort her to the Great Hall.

Again she wore her best gown of blue-green velvet, as she had when she
had been called into the solar at the nunnery.  Sir Richard now
presented an elegant figure in a doublet of damask, his silk shirt
gathered into a high band which emphasised the strength and shapeliness
of his neck.  His that was of matching crimson velvet and ornamented
with a magnificent ostrich feather.  Paler coloured hose encased his
athletically muscular legs and he wore shoes with the highly
fashionable square toes.  Although he had remained aloof for most of
the journey, he was no longer a complete stranger, and he had always
attended to her needs with gallant courtesy.

"If you are ready, my lady, I will escort you to the Great Hall."

"I am ready.  Sir Richard.  And Sarah has also washed and changed.  She
is as hungry and tired as I am; may she come with us to the Hall?"

Before Richard could answer Alan stepped out of the shadows.

"I am waiting to take Sarah to join the servants in the Hall," he
said.

"Oh, Alan--how smart you look!"  beamed Sarah.  Then anxiously, "You
won't leave me there on my own, will you?"

"Certainly not!"  Alan said emphatically.

Satisfied that Sarah would be well looked after, Meg turned to Richard.
She was grateful to place her hand upon his steadying arm as she walked
from her chamber to the Great Hall.  Alan and Sarah followed several
yards behind and took their places at a table lower down the room.  The
aroma of roasted meats tickled Meg's tastebuds as they entered,
reminding her that she was hungry About forty people must have been
gathered there, but Meg's gaze went immediately to the high table at
the end of the room, beneath banners and armorial artefacts.  In the
central position, with a carved wooden screen behind him and page boys
waiting on either side, sat a large man.  He was red-faced, wore a soft
flat hat of brown taffeta, and was clad in a padded velvet jerkin with
slashed sleeves over a silk shirt.

Though his clothes were of rich fabrics he wore them untidily, and wine
from his pewter goblet had been slopped down the front.

At his side was a woman, about thirty years of age, blowsy-looking,
whose plump bosom seemed likely to spill over the top of her low-cut
gown.  She stared at Meg, looking her over, nodding her head, not
really welcoming but with an expression of intense interest-even,
perhaps, with her eyes half-closed, of speculation.

Lord Edmund speared a large slice of beef on his knife.  He lifted it
to his mouth and chewed on it as Richard led Meg forward to the high
table.

"About time you got here!"  he said loudly.

"I was beginning to think you'd got lost on the way."

Richard ignored the jibe.  He executed a polite bow.

"My lord, I assumed that you would not wish me to tire the lady with
too much hard riding."

"No, indeed.  We can leave that for another time and another gentleman,
can we not!  Ho, ho!"

The company around him all laughed at his lewd joke.  Meg did not
understand the play on words, but sensed that it was in some way
derogatory to herself.

Sir Richard spoke again, quickly, to cover the uncouth comment.

"Sir, allow me to introduce your niece, Lady Margaret Thurton."  He
turned to Meg.

"My lady-this is your uncle, Edmund, Earl Thurton."

Chapter Three

JVleg found it difficult to repress a shudder at the impressions that
whirled through her mind as she curtsied low.  Everything was worse
than she had anticipated.  It was a ribald company that sat either
alongside the Earl and his lady at the high table, or at long trestles
down the Great Hall.  There were men and women, one with a baby at her
bare breast, older children too, and dogs quarrelling over morsels
dropped or thrown to them.

"Bring her round here, Richard.  Let me get a better look at her."

The tone of the Earl's voice and his appearance and manners confirmed
her worst suspicions.  With her hand still lightly placed on Richard's
arm, she allowed him to guide her round the end of the table.  The Earl
turned towards them as they approached his chair.  She was acutely
conscious that the eyes of everyone in the Hall were fixed upon her,
and there were few signs of friendliness--except from one or two of the
men, and there was undisguised lasciviousness in their expressions. She
was trembling, but determined to hide her fear.

Almost unconsciously her fingers gripped Richard's arm tighter.

Earl Thurton washed down the slice of beef with a draught of red wine
from his goblet.  He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, staring
at her all the while.

"Stop," he shouted suddenly.

They were close to where a circle of candles was suspended from a beam
in the ceiling, casting more than the usual flickering light.  They
both stood still.

"Step back, Richard," he commanded.

Gently Richard removed her hand from his arm.  His fingers lingered, as
if he was reluctant, but he obeyed his lord's order.  She missed the
reassurance that had emanated from him when at her side.  How
comforting his close presence had been!  She clasped her hands together
in front of her, held her head high and returned stare for stare, not
liking what she saw.

"Turn around," the Earl growled.

She did so woodenly, suppressing her anger and humiliation.

"Not bad, as far as looks go," he commented.

"Not bad at all.  Though she'd look better with a smile on her face.
She'd be too thin for me, but could be right for--' He broke off,
leaving Meg to wonder what he had been about to say.

"But those clothes!  Aren't they awful?"  commented the woman beside
him.

"That style went out of fashion twenty years ago--they look as if
they've come out of the ark!"

He grinned at the stupid joke.

"Wherever did you get that gown?"  he asked.

"It was my mother's.  I am proud to wear it."  Meg spoke defiantly.

He turned to the woman at his side.

"You'll have to take her in hand, eh.  Nancy?"

"She certainly needs bringing up to date--lower necklines, softer, more
feminine fabrics.  Give me the money, Edmund, and I'll get new gowns
made for her."

The Earl patted the woman's knee.

"Good.  You see to it.  Nan, and I'll make it worth your while.  A
woman's touch, that's what she needs."

"A woman's touch to make her ready for a man's."  Nancy chuckled,
digging Edmund in the ribs as she said it.

He guffawed loudly, and the laughter was echoed all down the Great
Hall.  Meg glowered at them, prepared to fight if anyone dared to touch
her.

"She looks as if she doesn't belong in this world," he said.

"I

reckon you can change that.  Nan.  No expense spared at this stage, eh?
"

"The nunnery has left its mark on her," the woman agreed, running her
eyes over Meg.

"But there's a good basis to work on.  Leave it to me.

You won't think it's the same girl when I've finished with her.  "

Meg fumed at the manner in which they were talking about her, summing
her up, as if she had no feelings, no mind of her own.  She clenched
her hands together till her nails bit into her palms, forcing herself
to stand still, trying to ignore their comments.  She would have liked
to lift the skirts they so despised and run out of the Great Hall--but
she had nowhere to go.

Suddenly she realised the Earl was actually addressing her.

"How about that, Meg?  Lots of nice new clothes--I'll wager" you'll
like that, eh?  " His thick- lipped face, flushed with over-indulgence,
wore a semblance of a smile.

"You don't need to worry about a thing.  We'll look after you now--get
you fitted out in something more elegant.

You'll look irresistible when Nan's finished with you.  "

Meg stared at him coldly.  Her scowl deepened.  Did he really expect
her to be pleased?  The Earl banged his fist down so hard on the table
that the trenchers and pots jumped noisily.

"Don't look at me like that, girl.  Give us a smile.  This will cost me
a deal of money and it's all for your own good.  Smile, I tell
you--smile!"

What had she to smile about?  She felt more like weeping.  But she
controlled herself.  She managed to lift the corners of her mouth,
though there was no amusement in her heart.

"My lord."  Richard's voice rang out.

"The lady is tired and hungry--will you not invite her to sit down?"

"Huh!  Is she another one of these mawkish wenches they breed
nowadays?"

"I can assure you that Lady Margaret is nothing of the sort."  Richard
spoke slowly and clearly.

"I am merely reminding you that she has ridden further in the past
three days than ever before in her life, and she has stood the trial
with great strength."

He was challenging the Earl and speaking on her behalf.  Meg could
scarcely believe it!  His words rang out clearly and immediately lifted
her spirits.

"I am glad to hear it," said Earl Thurton.

"For it doesn't show in her behaviour."

"I should also remind you that Lady Margaret is still in mourning for
her mother," Richard added.

Meg listened to him gratefully.  In this alien and hostile world, could
she really hope that he might be her friend and champion?

It seemed that the Earl took note of his words, for he nodded in
grudging acceptance.

"All right.  Well, there's plenty of time to train her.  Come, Meg. Sit
here beside me.  The page shall bring viands for you."

She hoped his use of the diminutive of her name meant that he was
softening his attitude towards her, but it was with dragging steps that
she moved to take the seat the Earl indicated.  On the table before her
a trencher bread was already in place, together with a knife, spoon,
bread rolls, and a goblet.  The company in the Hall had already started
eating and were well into the first course.

A page approached Meg, bowed low and asked, "Does my lady wish for a
slice of the boar's head?  There is also beef and roast swan--or may I
bring slices of each?"

She was hungry, and the roasts were succulent, well flavoured with
mixed herbs.  She elected to have the swan, a delicacy which had not
often been served in the refectory at the priory.  It was accompanied
by rich gravy and a good selection of vegetables: chopped turnips,
parsnips and fresh spring cabbage.  Her goblet was filled with wine.

Even before she had been served, the Earl and the lady he had addressed
as Nancy resumed eating and drinking, as did all the others in the
Great Hall.  Sir Richard had taken his place at the High Table, a
slight distance away on her left.  She glanced in his direction.  She
had expected him to be engrossed in the repast, for the food was
undoubtedly excellent, well cooked and accompanied by rich sauces and
gravy.  He caught her eye, smiled and nodded in her direction, as if he
knew that meeting his eye" gave her courage.  Instinctively she smiled
back--it was as if an invisible bond magically linked them, and in that
moment it tightened.

Where previously she had doubted his friendship, after his intervention
on her behalf her attitude towards him had softened--just a little.  It
strengthened her to know he was there, even though her head told her
that was ridiculous.  He, like all the other men and women gathered in
the Great Hall, were under the patronage of the Earl.  No one would
dare to cross him.  Her own dear mother had tried to assert her rights,
but had been driven out in fear for her own life and that of her baby
daughter.

Meg still seethed with anger at the rude manner of her reception, but
common sense warned her, just as Richard had, that it would be unwise
to defy the Earl openly.

She had been hungry when she had first been assailed by the delicious
smell of roasted meats; now each mouthful seemed tasteless.  She ate
because she wished to keep up her strength, and took a draught of the
full- bodied red wine because she was thirsty.  It was never wise to
drink water.  She kept her eyes downcast, concentrating on her
trencher, though with an occasional surreptitious glance around.  The
Earl was so absorbed in his food and wine that he ignored her.  He and
Nancy talked together and the rest of the household did the same, the
chatter of voices swirling up in increasing volume.

Meg could see Sarah, well down the room, but not so far below as the
roughly clad outdoor workers and their wives.  She willed her to look
up, but the message was slow to reach her.  Sarah had eyes only for her
trencher of meat or to engage those of Alan Crompton, who was close by
her side.  Then, suddenly, she looked up, a questioning expression on
her honest, open face.  To reassure her Meg winked, and with a cheeky
grin Sarah winked back.  That had been their way of communicating when
they had been children in the nunnery and dragooned into long dull
lectures.

There was nothing dull about that evening at the cas 5

tie.  The musicians in the gallery behind them played and sang and the
sound of the lutes and virginals was pleasant, soothing to her ears.

Meg almost began to enjoy herself.  It was all so different from the
nunnery-the food, the wonderfully bright hues and variety of the
clothes, with the men being especially flamboyant.  The wine had gone
to her head a little.  Perhaps she should be grateful for the money and
the time and trouble her uncle was prepared to spend on her.  It would
be nice to have new gowns, pretty things to wear, soft silks and
beautiful da masks

A group of strolling players came into the Hall, clad in colourful
costumes with bells jingling, and the atmosphere was changed again.

They gestured, strutted around and shouted obscenities which produced
loud roars of laughter from everybody--except for Meg.  She had never
heard or seen such vulgarity and was shocked.  She could see nothing
funny in the lewd jokes, and revealed this by staring poker-faced at
the players.  Her uncle and Nancy were wiping the tears from their eyes
at the antics.  When the Earl noticed that Meg was showing no sign of
amusement, he turned towards her.

"What's the matter with you, wench?  Let yourself go--have a good
laugh."

"I beg your pardon.  Uncle, but I do not find them funny."

"My God!  You're hard to please.  One of the best- known troupes in the
land, I pay them an exorbitant amount of money--and you say they're not
funny!"  he exploded.

"Not to me," she said.

"But perhaps it is because I do not understand what they are saying."

"Then we'll have to see to it that you get some lessons in humour," he
snarled.

"You'll never catch the eye of H--' He broke off as Nancy jogged his
arm.

"Whose attention?"  asked Meg.

"Nobody's if you don't buck up a bit," he snapped.  Then he raised his
voice and shouted, "Richard!"

"Sir?"

Richard was laughing as he turned towards them, though not so
uproariously as the Earl and Nancy.  He was evidently amused by the
performance, and that reminded Meg that he really was one of them.  How
foolish she had been to think that he might become a friend.

"Richard."  The Earl was not laughing now.

"Your duties with Lady Margaret are not yet finished.  You will take
her in hand and teach her how to enjoy herself.  Wake her up to some of
the fun in life."

Richard drew in a deep breath.  He could think of nothing he would like
better.  In the days he had been in her company he had learned a good
deal about the delightful Lady Margaret Thurton.  The cloistered life
she had led until he had taken her from the priory was strongly
imprinted upon her.  He knew that she had much to learn of the ways of
the world.  But in his assessment--and he was not unversed in such
matters-she was indeed ripe for a man.  What a pleasure it would be to
have the privilege of teaching her all those adult and worldly
pleasures and pastimes that were so much a part of courtly life and
from which she had been sheltered.

Then he remembered.  She was destined to become the wife--or more
likely the mistress--of the cruel and lecherous King Henry.  It was a
sobering thought.

"Tell me, Meg," requested the Earl, 'do you know the galliard or la
volta

"I believe they are dances," Meg replied.

"Of course they are dances!  Everyone knows that-but can you dance
them?"

"I have never learned," she confessed.

"What about archery?  Have you ever drawn a bow?"

She shook her head.

"Do you sing?"

At last, an attribute she could claim with honesty.

"Oh, yes, my lord.

I can sing.  I have been praised for the quality of my voice, and I
know most of the psalms in Latin.  "

To her surprise and embarrassment the Earl burst out laughing.  He
turned to Nancy.

"Want to hear one of the psalms?"  he chuckled.

"I think not, Edmund.  Not here and now."

"Exactly.  We'll hand her over to you, Richard.  See that my niece
becomes well versed in all those necessary pleasantries to take her
place properly in high society."

"I shall deem it an honour, sir," said Richard.  Then he turned to Meg
and smiled.

"We will start tomorrow, in the morning, if it pleases you.  Lady
Margaret."

"You will start tomorrow whether it pleases the lady or not," shouted
the Earl.

"We have no time to waste.  She has only a few weeks in which to
acquire those graces necessary to take her place in society."

Meg sat bolt upright, her face flushed with discomfort and anger.

Again they were talking about her as if she was a performing animal
that they owned.  They offered her no voice in plans that seemed to be
already made.  A short training in pleasantries--and then what?  Who
was this mysterious suitor whose identity was never actually spoken? If
it was a good match, to a pleasant and honourable gentleman, why was it
all so secretive?

The future loomed menacingly before her, but she was determined to face
whatever it held bravely.  She was alive and strong.  She was here at
Bixholm, back in the castle of which she had no real recollection.  She
had often dreamed of returning to the place where she had been born.
She had never imagined it being like this, but she told herself she
must be prepared to face life here in the real world.  Even though
there was much that disturbed her she was willing to learn these
additional graces--though it might be difficult to concentrate since
her teacher was to be Sir Richard.

"I shall be ready to start tomorrow," Meg said firmly.

"You may find it quite strenuous as you are unaccustomed to the dance
or to outdoor pursuits," Richard suggested.  His voice was polite and
gentle.

"I

would therefore suggest that you retire when you have finished your
repast.  "

"I am indeed very tired," she murmured.  It would be a relief to
exchange this rumbustious company for the privacy of her own
bed-chamber.  She flashed a grateful smile at Richard.

Earl Thurton noticed.  His eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"Hah!  You have a smile for Sir Richard.  Let me make it absolutely
clear to you, Meg, he is not the one for you.  You will regard him only
as your mentor in matters of social etiquette, and especially he is to
teach you to take that prim look off your face.  I am proposing to take
you to Court.  You will be mixing with the liveliest and most
fashionable people in England.  I want you to shine among them."

How would she ever manage to do that?  The very thought of meeting and
conversing with such people made her nervous.

"I understand what you require and I shall do my best--' She choked on
the words and stood up.

"Pray excuse me--'

Richard was at her side immediately, offering his arm.

"Allow me to escort you to your chamber, my lady."

"Thank you.  Sir Richard."  She had control of her voice again.

The Earl waved her away, with a dismissive gesture, then picked up a
bone and began to gnaw at it.  With unhurried steps Richard led her
away from the top table and down the length of the Great Hall.  The
entertainers were still at their nonsense, and the Lord of Misrule,
playing his part, bowed mockingly in front of them.  He capered and
tried to persuade Meg to dance with him.  Shyly she shook her head, and
he pretended to look crestfallen--but she was aware that when his head
was turned from her, he made another ribald comment.  It sparked a
great burst of laughter from the top table and made Meg feel foolish.

Richard tightened his arm against his side, a gesture of support that
trapped her hand protectively close.  There was something possessive in
his touch, as if he wanted her to belong to him.  If only it were so!

She was sure he would never have made these unreasonable demands of
her.  She would have gone with him gladly, but the Earl's warning rang
in her ears"--He is not the one for you."

"Do not trouble yourself over their antics, my lady," Richard said.

"It is not really personal.  They only act thus because it is what they
are paid to do."

Would she ever understand this extraordinary world she had been
precipitated into?  Who could it be who would make such demands upon a
wife?

Sarah and Alan stood up and followed, several steps behind, side by
side.  It seemed to take for ever to reach the door that led them into
a stone passageway.  Meg glanced at her companion and said, "I fear I
am a great disappointment."

"Far from it, my lady.  They find you too good to be true."

"Now you are laughing at me, too."

"Not at all.  I assure you they are delighted with you.  I know them. I
can read the signs.  They have never met anyone quite like you before
and they do not know how to behave."

"On that point I agree with you."

He smiled.

"You even charmed Nancy."

"How can you say that?  She did nothing but criticise me."

"Your clothing, not you.  She was eager to undertake the task of
introducing you to her dressmaker and ordering garments that will
enhance your beauty."

Meg blushed when he said that.  She did not believe he could possibly
mean it.  She knew perfectly well that she was not beautiful.  People
had said that about her mother, never about her.  It was a fact that
she had inherited some of her mother's features, but she was only too
aware that her mouth was rather too wide, her nose not aristocratically
aquiline and her hair of a pale colour.  Clothes, of course, would make
a difference.  She knew enough of the world to see that she had to look
as if she belonged to a wealthy family, as if she had a good dowry. Men
of the aristocracy did not marry for looks alone, and almost never for
love.  If that came later it was a bonus--as it had been for her
mother.

She ignored Richard's statement, dismissed it as meaningless
pleasantry, the language of the courtier.  She asked, "Is Nancy the
wife of the Earl?"

"In all respects other than having a ceremony to bless their union.

She holds considerable power over him,

even though her youthful beauty has left her.  They suit each other
well.  Two of a kind.  Be advised by me, my lady, take care not to
upset Nancy.  "

"I suppose I should be grateful that I am to have new gowns," she
said.

"Most young ladies would be," he agreed easily.

"I will admit to being a little excited at the prospect," "Good."  His
eyes twinkled--she could not help liking him.  If only she could trust
him!

"Are you really quite willing to teach me how to behave properly?"  she
asked.

"I think you know more about proper behaviour than the Earl and Nancy
will ever do," he said.

"My uncle wishes me to be different from the way I am.  Sir Richard.  I
have to learn to dance, and to sing songs other than the psalms, and to
shoot with a bow and arrow--and a whole plethora of things besides."

He nodded.

"I am convinced you will make a very apt pupil.  Lady Margaret."

"I'm willing to try," she sighed.

"But I am not at all sure I shall be able to change enough to please my
uncle.  It's all to do with finding me a husband, is it not, sir?"

She noticed the tightening of his mouth.

"Yes."  His response was brief.

"Truly I am not ill educated," she said, suddenly feeling a need to
defend herself.

"There are many things I can do, and do well--I can read and write, and
indeed I am better educated than most women.  I could easily undertake
to run a household, oversee the servants, and I have a considerable
knowledge of the merits of various herbs and lotions.  I nursed my
mother until her death.  What more should a husband need?"  She paused,
and then asked, "Who is this gentleman I am to marry?"

"That I cannot say."

"You mean you will not," she said scornfully.

"I mean exactly what I say."

The comradeship she thought had been spun between them was snapped in
an instant.  She wished she had not persisted--but it was too late.  At
least it told her exactly where she stood with him.  He was no friend
to her.  He would obey the Earl to the letter.  His next words
confirmed that.

"Your uncle will reveal his plans when he is ready."

She snatched her hand away from his arm.  They had reached her
chambers.  Sarah hurried up to open the door ahead of her mistress.

He bowed.

"At what hour shall I come for you in the morning.  Lady Margaret?"

"As early as you wish."  She tossed her head.

"I am not accustomed to sleeping late."

"There is no need to start too early.  At'halfpast nine, then?"

"Certainly," she agreed.

Half past nine!  He had no eagerness to commence the task which the
Earl had assigned him.  Tears pricked behind her eyes.  He had been
quick to offer to escort her to her chamber.  No doubt he would now
hurry back to the Great Hall and would stay up, drinking and dancing
and having fun into the small hours of the morning.

There was nothing more to say other than to bid each other goodnight.

She did so with a heavy heart.

Sarah shut the door firmly behind her.

"Cor, my lady--what a carry on!  I ain't never seen nor heard anything
like it in all my born days!"

"I know, Sarah.  Those players were quite disgraceful."  Meg heaved a
sigh.

"So rude, wasn't they?"  said Sarah.

She was smiling--though she held her hand over her face to hide it,
moved behind her mistress and began to unlace her gown.

Suddenly, unbelievably, Meg heard a sound that sounded like a
chuckle.

She listened.  It came again, louder, exploding from Sarah's mouth.

"Sarah?"  she questioned.

"Sorry, my lady.  I just couldn't help a-thinkin' when we was there in
the Great Hall--' She broke off as her laughter pealed out.

"What were you thinking?"  Meg asked.  She was finding it difficult to
keep a straight face herself, as Sarah's laughter was beginning to be
infectious, just as it always had been ever since they were little
girls together.

"Oh, my lady!  I just couldn't help a-wonderin'--what would the
Prioress have thought if she'd been here?  Couldn't you just imagine
her face?"

Meg could.  All too easily!  The stern face of the Prioress flashed
into her mind and it was so ridiculous that she, too, burst out
laughing! "

"She'd have had a fit!"  chortled Sarah.

"An' it'd have done her a power of good!"

"Oh, Sarah, you must not talk so."

Meg felt she should speak firmly, and she tried to do so, but it was
useless.  The disapproving figure of the Prioress, with narrow pursed
lips and spiteful tongue, came into her mind so vividly that she
doubled up with laughter.

"Thank goodness--you came--here with me," she spluttered, almost too
convulsed to speak.

But later, mirth having subsided, curled up in bed, Meg thought again
of her extraordinary situation, and felt afraid.

Chapter Four

Q^zr^s^Q

JVleg had not expected to be able to sleep at all, but she had been so
tired that she had dropped off quite quickly.  She awoke to a day that
was fine and sunny.  It lifted her spirits so greatly that she leapt
out of bed and rushed to the window to look out.  The little she could
see made her eager to explore the castle and its surroundings.

Sarah must have woken up even earlier, for she was not in the room.

Her truckle bed, still at the foot of Meg's was empty.  Later it would
be pushed beneath the large bed in which Meg had slept so
comfortably.

Without waiting for her maid, Meg attended to her toilette and dressed
herself.  A few minutes later Sarah appeared, bearing a tray with ale
and hot buttered oatcakes.

"It's a fine morning, my lady," she said cheerfully.

"I've been down to the kitchens an' got sum mat for your breakfast."

"Thank you, Sarah."

"The Hall's in a right ole mess, an' some of 'em are still asleep
there."

Was Richard among them?  Meg wondered, and wished that the thought was
not so distressing.  She was not hungry, but she ate and drank a
little.  It would be more than an hour before Richard would call for
her.  She was too restless to remain in her chamber.

"It's such a beautiful morning, Sarah.  I shall go outside for a
walk."

"Just hold you hard a moment, my lady, whilst I dress your hair."

"I've already run a comb through it, and it will be covered with my
hood," Meg protested.

"It's not good enough," Sarah insisted.

"It'd be more than my job's worth if I let you go outside without
having it done right.  They reckon that Mistress Nancy is a right sharp
one.  If I don't look after you properly, she'll bring in some other
woman, an' send me packing."

"I'd never let her do that," said Meg.

"You might not be able to stop her," Sarah countered.

"An' then you'd be spied upon every moment of the day."

Meg sat down meekly.  Sarah might well be right, and certainly her maid
was the only friend she had in Bix- holm.  There was no one else she
could trust--though she thought the girl was being somewhat fussy.  It
couldn't really matter what she looked like at this hour of the
morning.

Sarah dressed her-hair carefully, then placed her cap and gable hood on
her head.  She stood back and cast a critical eye over her mistress.

"There.  That's better."  She nodded with satisfaction.

"May I go now?"  Meg asked, with a smile.

"You may laugh at me, my lady.  But there's truth in what I say."

"I know, Sarah dear.  But I can't hear to stay indoors a moment
longer."

She avoided the Great Hall and moved through a sedes of passages until
she came out into the courtyard through which they had entered.

Guards were lounging about, presumably on duty, but standing at ease,
chatting together.  They glanced at Meg, but made no move to challenge
her as she walked out into the sunshine and over the drawbridge.

She looked back and saw the castle was an impressive building, well
constructed of brick and flint, rising from the top of a slight hill
and surrounded by a moat.  A river flowed gently on one side, and
beyond that were wide acres of water meadows, where cattle grazed.

Woods darkened the background.  Undoubtedly it was a site of
consequence.  How different her life would have been if she had grown
up here!  But it was useless to harbour such thoughts, and she pushed
them to the back of her mind.

She walked on and found the herb garden.  She noted with approval that
it was well stocked with a variety of pot-herbs: thyme, rosemary,
celery and lovage among others.  She ran her fingers over fragrant
leaves, delighting in their scents.  Automatically she pulled a few
weeds from a bed of parsley.  The gardeners arrived, and, not wanting
to intrude, she spoke to them briefly, wishing them a good day and
moved on.

It was impossible not to enjoy such a beautiful morning.  She lingered
for a little while by the stew ponds, watching the fish darting through
the translucent water.  As was customary for a gentleman's residence,
Bixholm Castle had a bowling alley and butts for archery practice. Soon
she discovered it also had a tiltyard.

The pounding of horses' hooves, shouts of command,

the thump of wood and rattle of harness told her that other people were
already up and about.  She walked towards the sounds which came from
behind a barn.  Four young men were practising for the joust.  Sir
Richard and Alan Crompton among them.

Fear leapt into her heart as she watched Richard galloping his steed
towards the quintain, a crossbar on a pivot.  On one end of the bar was
a flat piece of wood, which the rider had to strike with his lance.  At
the other hung a bag filled with sand; when struck, the crossbar
swivelled.  She saw it swing and closed her eyes, convinced that the
heavy sandbag would strike the back of his head, that he would be
unseated.

When she looked again he was well past, and riding with his lance
triumphantly high in the air.  She chided herself for being so
stupid.

Why should she have experienced even the slightest concern for his
safety?  He was one of the Earl's men, no friend to her.  He turned his
horse and, seeing her, slowed it to a trot and rode to where she
stood.

"I bid you good morning, my lady," he exclaimed, doffing the flat hat
of green velvet that topped his handsome head.

"I trust you slept well?"

"Very well, thank you, sir.  Pray do not interrupt your sport on my
account."

"I've almost finished my exercise for today.  We are practising for a
great tournament that is to be held at Hampton Court when we are in
London.  If you'll excuse me, I shall ride at the quintain a couple of
times more, then I will join you."

He turned his horse and was off again, riding full tilt.  He struck the
wooden bar dead centre and spurred his horse forward, well ahead of the
swinging sandbag.  This time Meg was able to watch with only a tiny
contraction of her nerves.  He was capable.  He knew what he was doing.
It was the same with Alan Crompton when he took his turn.  One of the
other men, less able, was struck, and only just managed to hold his
horse and keep his seat.  The expertise of Richard and Alan had made it
look easy.

Richard turned his snorting charger, galloped to where Meg stood, and
drew the huge animal to a halt immediately in front of her.  Leaping
down, he handed the reins to a groom, who had run up ready to lead the
horse away.

"I'm a bit out of practice," Richard said.

"This is my first morning at the tilt for almost two weeks."

"I thought you did very well," Meg felt obliged to say.

"Thank you, my lady.  But real jousting is another matter.  The
opposition will be very strong when we go to Hampton Court."

Despite his doubts she could see he was in high spirits after the
energetic session.  Meg made to move away.  She would have been quite
happy to continue her walk alone.

"Don't go," he said.

"I've been exploring the grounds," she told him.

"And do you approve of what you've seen?"

"It is impressive."

"It is, and it is well run.  You haven't forgotten that I am to give
you tuition in various sports and pastimes?"

She felt shy in his presence and shrugged her shoulders to indicate her
indifference.

"Then, my lady, I think we should start with archery."

He took her arm and guided her to the butts a short distance away.

Men, boys and a few women were already at practice, loosing volleys of
arrows towards tar 9

gets set on top of tall mounds at the end of the field.  The young
gentlemen were of the nobility or gentry, fledge ling officials,
destined to join the governing classes.  They and their ladies lowered
their bows and gathered around Richard and Meg.  Most had witnessed her
arrival, but she had not yet been properly introduced to them.

"May I present Lady Margaret Thurton, niece of the Earl, who is now his
lordship's ward?"  Richard said.

He named all those in the group, and they exchanged greetings with the
utmost civility, but Meg was overwhelmed by meeting so many all at
once, and afterwards could not remember the names of any of them.

She was grateful that they soon strolled away to resume their practice.
Skill with longbows was essential, not only as a military art, but also
for hunting.  The pursuit of game was one of the most popular sports,
and women hunted with bows as well as men.  Meg had never done so, and
it was not an activity she looked forward to, Hunting was only for the
privileged few, and severe laws and harsh punishments prohibited
commoners from taking game from the royal forests.  In Meg's eyes that
was quite wrong.  It was the poor who really needed the food.  But she
knew it would be useless to make such a suggestion.  She felt lost and
helpless.  Everything and everyone was strange to her.  She almost
wished she was back in the nunnery.  Then she looked at Richard and
knew that being with him was more exciting than any experience in the
whole of her past life.

"I'll show you what to do," he said.

"You'll soon learn."

Meg doubted that, but it delighted her to watch.  Richard stood tall,
his velvet cap set on his head at a jaunty angle, decorated with gold
and blue feathers.  He lifted the bow, and his muscles flexed beneath
his sleeveless jerkin as he drew back the string and took aim.  He
loosed arrow after arrow.  They shuddered with the force of their
impetus and ended their flight clustered in a tight circle around the
bull's-eye.  He made it look easy.

Meg would have been content to watch him all morning, but as one
servant retrieved the arrows, another handed him a smaller bow.

Richard passed it to her.

"Right, Meg.  Now it's your turn."

Although the bow was lighter than the one Richard had used she had
difficulty in pulling the string.  Every arrow fell short of the target
and dropped limply, sticking into the ground in a zigzag line.

"It's useless," she moaned.

"I'll never manage it."

"Of course you will.  Practice, that's all it takes."  Richard said
encouragingly.

"I'll help you."

He moved behind her, so close his body was touching hers.  His arms
reached around her, his hands, warm and strong, covered hers.  She was
unnervingly conscious of his nearness, and the warm, musky masculinity
of him caused her to tremble.

"Stand steady," he whispered in her ear.

"You can do it.  Just concentrate.  Place your legs firmly, a little
apart."

She obeyed, and could not avoid knowledge of his hard, strong thighs
pressing against her skirts.  She hoped he did not know why it was that
she was shaking!  She blushed with shame, especially as it seemed that,
for him, being so close had no such effect.

She wished she could shrug his hands off, but that would have been
foolish, for there was no doubt she needed assistance, especially as
she was aware that some of the other archers were watching them.  Pride
made her determined to succeed.  She gritted her teeth, forced herself
to clear her mind of his presence and concentrate only on the target.

"Lift the bow a little higher.  Hold it out at arm's length.  Now
gently pull the string back--further--further--till it touches your
nose.  Aim a little above the bull's-eye."

His hands guided hers as he gave each instruction, and when she
released the arrow it flew towards the butt.  It did not quite hit its
mark, but to her joy it stuck firmly in the target.

She turned her head triumphantly, so excited she forgot how close
Richard was.  He had not released his hold on her and seemed to be in
no hurry to do so.  She felt his breath warm on her cheek, saw his eyes
smiling down at her, and felt hot colour leap into her cheeks.

"You see," he said softly.

"You'll soon learn."

From the corner of her eye Meg noticed a gentleman among the archers
who was watching them keenly.  She recognised him as Gervase Gisbon.

She had disliked him at that initial meeting, when he had nicked the
whip at old blind Davy.  Since then he had shown her nothing but
courtesy, yet she could not bring herself to like him and felt uneasy
in his company.  Richard stepped back, as if he too was unnerved by
those staring eyes.  He took the bow from her and notched another
arrow, ready for her to try again.

"You must shoot this one without my assistance.  Remember what I told
you.  Stand firm and keep your eye on the target.  I know you can do
it."

She wished she had that same faith in herself.  She knew she would
never find archery easy, and would never become as adept as some of the
other women.

But she persevered, and as the morning progressed there was no doubt
her aim was beginning to improve.

"That's better," Richard told her.

"Practice, that's all you need.  But you've had enough for your first
morning."  He took the bow from her, adding, "I believe Mistress Nancy
is seeking you."

Meg turned and watched Nancy walking towards them with a determined
air.  She had lifted her skirts off the ground, revealing sturdy shoes
and knitted stockings.  Irreverently Meg thought she looked more like a
milkmaid than the Earl's lady.

Richard greeted Nancy in his customary friendly manner.

"You see Lady Margaret is already starting to acquire social skills, as
his lordship wishes," he said.

"And pleased I am to see it, Richard."  Nancy smiled, but there was an
edge to her voice as she added, "Just be sure you confine your
instruction only to those achievements and nothing else!"

"I assure you, mistress, no other thought has ever entered my mind,"
Richard answered easily.  He deliberately changed the tone of the
conversation by turning to Meg.

"Nancy is one of the most accomplished women with the bow," he said.

"She is also more skilled in the hunt than many a man."

Meg bobbed a curtsey.

"I fear I have much to learn, Mistress Nancy," she said.

"For I have never taken part in either sport."

"It's not necessary for you to become expert; for that you have to be
born to it, and even then it takes years of practice," Nancy said.

"Anyway 'tis not of the greatest importance.  Come with me now, Meg. My
dressmaker and her sewing maids are awaiting you in my chamber."

"I was about to take Lady Margaret riding in the woods.  It's such a
fine morning," said Richard.

"Indeed it is, and I'm sure you'd enjoy that wholeheartedly, Richard,"
Nancy said.

"However, I fear you'll have to take the exercise alone.

There is a great deal of work to be done, and only a short time in
which to have a whole new wardrobe cut and stitched and ready to wear.
"

"A formidable task," Richard agreed.

"For how long will you require Lady Margaret?"

"A couple of hours, perhaps."

"And after that she will be free to join me again?"

"Certainly."

"I've arranged for the musicians to play for us," he told Meg.

"Then it will be my pleasure to instruct you in the dance.  I am sure
Mistress Nancy will agree that to dance well and gracefully is one of
the most important accomplishments for a young lady of quality?"

"I cannot argue with that," Nancy agreed.

"She shall be returned to you when the dressmakers have finished."

"Then for the moment, adieu."  Richard bowed.

Allowing Meg time for only a brief word of thanks to Richard for his
tuition.  Nancy hurried her into the castle.

"I've arranged for your maid to attend," she said, hustling Meg up the
winding stone stairs and into her private chamber.

The dressmaker, a middle-aged woman, was introduced as Mrs.  Goodley.

She and her two assistants curtsied as Nancy and Meg entered.

The large room was sumptuous, dominated by a huge four-poster bed, made
up with down-filled pillows and a damask quilt.  The sides were hung
with tapestries, now looped back, worked in shades of brown, gold and
green threads.  Similar rich tapestries decorated the high walls of the
chamber.  Sweet-smelling herbs and rushes were strewn on the floor.

There were chests, chairs and a court-cupboard.  The whole effect was
of wealth and comfort.  Bolts of taffeta, velvet, silk, satin and
damask were lying on the bed.

Sarah assisted Meg to strip down to her kirtle while Nancy poured out a
list of instructions regarding the garments that would be required.

The women looked her over.  They turned her this way and that, and
discussed how she should be clothed as if she was deaf, blind and
entirely without feeling.

"Good complexion," said one.

"Neat figure," commented another.

"Pale colours will complement that innocent look she has."

"Good teeth--she should smile more."

"Just what his lordship said last night!"  commented Nancy.

They unrolled a purple silk and held it against her.

"Too harsh," said Nancy.

Meg glanced at Sarah and raised her eyebrows.  Sarah smiled and
nodded.

She seemed to understand exactly how her mistress was feeling, and
indeed Meg was fuming.  But, since there was nothing she could do or
say to improve her position, she accepted their pushing and prodding in
silence.  They measured, and spoke of darts and pleats, trimming,
frilling and cut-work, slashing and embroidery till Meg's head was
spinning.  Their expertise was impressive, and she could not help but
admire their skill, for they worked with the deftness of experts.

"It's a beautiful shade of purple, my lady," said Mistress Goodley.

"Not for Lady Margaret," said Nancy.

"It takes away some of her youth and innocence.  Try the
apple-green."

"You were right!  That is quite delightful!"  Mistress Goodley clapped
her hands together approvingly.

"It's not everyone who can wear green, but that colour is perfect for
the young lady.  It should be cut with a close- fitted bodice, worn
over tight stays to lift the bosom.  And a wide, square neckline--quite
low."

"A narrow frilling, decorated with tiny pearls," suggested one of the
sewing maids timidly.

"The skirt full, open at the front, revealing a decorative petticoat
and a glimpse of ankle," insisted Nancy.

"Certainly, mistress.  Perhaps it should be gored from the waist,
fitting neatly over the young lady's hips rather than gathered.  It's
the newest look--more alluring, I think."

Meg was delighted with the beautiful materials that were held up to
her.  There were to be other garments too, and silken underwear such as
she had never imagined even in her wildest dreams.

"Surely that is wasteful, for nobody will see it," she said.

Her protest was greeted with a scream of delighted laughter from the
dressmakers.

"You never know what may happen when we go to Court," said Nancy, a
statement that provoked more chuckles and brought hot colour to Meg's
face.

"To court?"  Meg questioned.  She was becoming more and more uneasy as
the session continued.

"Is it at Court that I shall meet the gentleman I am to marry?"

"Indeed that is so."

"But will he want me, when I have no dowry?"

"It will be your duty to charm him.  That is why you are being robed so
elegantly and Sir Richard is teaching you so many accomplishments."

"Mistress Nancy, I cannot understand why I am not to be told the name,
or indeed anything of this gentleman," "You'll find that out soon
enough.  Just do as you are told and don't make a fuss."

"But it would be so much easier for me if I knew--' " Easier?  What
could be easier than having beautiful garments made for you?  You
should be grateful that his lordship is willing to spend so much money
to make you look presentable.  "

"But why is he doing all this for me?  He has never done anything for
me before, and he drove my poor mama--' " I don't know anything about
that, nor do I wish to hear," snapped Nancy.

"Not another word."

Meg sighed.  She was becoming more and more alarmed at this secrecy.

Despite Nancy's assertion that she did not know about the terrible way
Lord Thurton had treated her mama, Meg didn't believe her.  She could
read in the other woman's face that she knew, but was not prepared to
admit it.  Nancy was too young to have played any part in the cruel and
evil event when the Earl drove Lady Elizabeth from Bixholm.  She knew
about it, but made it clear that she had closed her mind to it.

Nancy clapped her hands commandingly.

"Come on, Mistress Goodley.

Don't stand there gawping.  Get back to work on these gowns.  And I
don't want any more interruptions from you, Meg.  "

Again Meg was turned this way and that.  The dressmakers took
measurements.  They discussed other garments that would be necessary.

Riding clothes, capes with and without collars, stockings with garters
tied just above the knee, and shoes of velvet, silk and leather.

Meg was dazzled by the speed at which the dressmakers made decisions,
and amazed at the points of fashion which were discussed at length.

She could scarcely believe the ease with which Nancy ordered gowns,
even in the very expensive cloth of gold.  What a different world this
was from the nunnery, with its emphasis on poverty and chastity, and
from the streets of Norwich, thronging with the poor and disadvantaged.
The women talked of hooks and pins and cut-work, of girdles and sashes,
ribbons for her hair, purses and pomanders which would be ordered from
the goldsmith.  Despite her reservations she could not help a mounting
excitement at the prospect of so many beautiful clothes being made just
for her.

She began to wonder how she would look when all was finished.  The
image of Richard leapt into her mind.  What would he think?  Would he
find her attractive in all this expensive finery?

It was a far cry from the way she had looked when he had first
encountered her in the street.  In that bespattered state, dressed in
old rough clothes, she had seen a spark of interest in his dark,
unfathomable eyes.  She recalled that she had, quite shamefully, found
the way he had looked at her then both exciting and threatening.

However, his attitude since their formal introduction in the parlour of
the Prioress had been different, distant.  At times he seemed to be
almost aloof, and yet surely he had not needed to touch her quite so
intimately as he had that morning, when he'd guided her at archery!

Always at the back of her mind were her uncle's words, "He is not the
one for you," and loneliness squeezed her heart.

"Enough for today."  Nancy brought the session to an abrupt end.

"Get on with making up as quickly as you can," she instructed the
dressmaker.

"Take on as many sewing maidens as you require.  We must have a really
good wardrobe ready to wear within three weeks."  With that she swept
out of the room.

Sarah assisted Meg to dress again, in the plain garments that were such
a contrast to the magnificent materials that had been draped over and
around her.

"Bossy woman, that!"  commented Sarah when Nancy and the dressmakers
had left.

"Wouldn't do to get on the wrong side of her.  You'd best be careful,
my lady."

"I know, Sarah.  I just wish I knew why they're doing it."

"I reckon they're hopin' you'll marry some bigwig who's got even more
money than they have, an' no doubt they expect to get their hands on
some of it."

"I expect you're right," Meg said, with a sigh.

"And all I can do is wait and hope that my intended husband will be
honourable and kindly."

Even as she said it the thought jumped into her mind that, whoever it
was, it was unlikely she'd find him as attractive as Sir Richard.

"Whoever he is, he won't be good enough for you," Sarah said.

Meg gave her a hug.

"Thank goodness I've got you!"

"I'm rather glad of that myself," Sarah said.  To Meg's astonishment
she blushed and hung her head.

"Now turn around, do, and let me finish fastening this gown."

"My next lesson is to be dancing," Meg said.

"You'll enjoy that, my lady," said Sarah.

Meg was not so sure.  Impulsively she said, "You must come with me,
Sarah."

She felt a need for the familiar loyalty of her maid.  With so much
happening, and for reasons she could not fully understand, she felt a
desperate sense of unease.

Chapter Five

I he musicians had assembled in a room of moderate size, situated close
to the Great Hall.  The sweet sounds of their lutes, virginals, flutes
and tabors met Meg's ears as she and Sarah approached.

A broad smile lit Sarah's face.

"Remember that tune?"  she said.

"The travelling musicians used to play it in the streets of Norwich at
fair time."

Meg smiled.

"What fun we had!"

"Didn't we just!  Remember when we managed to escape from the
nunnery?"

Dear Sarah, who so loved life and fun, yet had such a practical streak
to her nature.

There was no time for further comment for they had reached the Music
Room.  Richard had been lolling on a settle, but leapt to his feet
immediately they entered.  He greeted Meg witH a smile, warm and
welcoming.  If he was surprised to see her maid accompanying her, he
gave no sign of it.  Again she felt a sensation of pleasure which
lifted her spirits.  Even though their behaviour towards each other was
strictly formal, just to be in his company brought happiness--although
she assured herself it was simply relief at seeing a friendly face.

Sarah slipped away, quiet and self-effacing, to sit on a bench by the
wall.  Richard bowed and took Meg's hand as the musicians continued to
play.  He led her towards them, his steps keeping time with the
music.

Side by side they moved forward, at a walking pace.  Instinctively she
fell into step with him and picked up the rhythm of the movement.  With
her hand cupped lightly in his, she followed his lead, forward and
back.  He turned her to face him, then released her hand.

"Set and turn single," he said.

She watched him and mirrored the movement.

"Again," he commanded.  Then, "Up a double, and back."

Next it was 'siding'.

Even though she had not heard the call before, as he walked towards her
she knew what to do, and passed by him, turned and swept back again.
His head was held proudly high, his eyes fixed on hers, half shielded,
and with that same expression that she had found so disturbing when she
had first encountered him in the street.  His body, too, had been part
of the sensuality of the movement, almost touching hers before turning
away.

"Arming."

That too was simple to understand, for he swaggered towards her with
his right elbow crooked and she slipped her arm into it.  They turned,
then repeated the movement with the left arm.  Stepping back from her,
he swept an elegant bow, then looked up, smiling, obviously
delighted.

"After that you can't pretend you haven't danced before."

"Only as a child, out in the street," she told him shyly.

"Just simple country dancing."

That admission did not disturb him in the least.

"You can dance, Meg!"

His voice was enthusiastic.

"I've always enjoyed it," she said.

"The lovely melodies and crowds dancing in the streets and open places.
Sarah couldn't hear to stay within the walls of the priory when the
fair was on."  She glanced over to where her maid was sitting, in the
shadows at the back of the room.

Their eyes met and Meg smiled.

"And you went out with her?"  Richard prompted.

"I shouldn't have done so, but it was such fun," Meg admitted
merrily.

"Sarah knew most of the dances, and she taught me.  We joined in,
dancing up and down the street."

"I wish I could have seen you."

"I'm sure you'd have been horrified!  We just galloped around
together.

We didn't even try to be graceful, but we were so happy in those
days!

Sometimes we danced together in the garden, while the nuns were at
prayer.  "

"What about music?"

"Sarah knew the tunes, so we sang and hummed them together."

"And the Prioress permitted this?"

Meg chuckled at the idea.

"She didn't know.  She would have been shocked!  But the younger nuns
saw us and they just smiled; I believe they wished they could join
in."

"I'm sure they did.  Correctly performed, the dance is both a pleasure
and' an art.  You will see what I mean when I show you the steps of the
galliard and, better still, the la volta It's fast and energetic; I
believe you'll enjoy it."

He led her towards the musicians and introduced her to their leader.

As they talked he kept hold of her hand and gently stroked the back of
it with his thumb.  It was done without looking at her, in an
absent-minded manner.  The touch meant nothing, but it was pleasant and
friendly.  He consulted with the musicians and together they decided on
the -next tune.

"Listen to the music, Meg."  His enthusiasm was infectious.

"The galliard is a running dance in triple time;

it has phrases of five steps--like this.  "

She watched as he demonstrated, leaping high, capering, deliberately
showing off his agility and strength.  She began to dance opposite
him.

"You're a natural dancer, Meg," he encouraged her.

"You've picked up the steps and movements, but there are one or two
points that can be improved."

The musicians launched into another melody.  He took her hand, led her
to the middle of the empty floor and they danced again.

"Don't look down at your feet.  Keep your eyes on me."

Obediently she looked up, and found herself spellbound by the
nimbleness with which he was performing, leaping so high and kicking
with great vigour.  She was caught also by the sensuality that emanated
from him, the same tension as had taken her unaware at their first
meeting.  She faltered and looked down.  Instantly he admonished her.

"Look up, Meg.  Head and body erect.  Step it boldly.  You must always
appear self-possessed.  Leave the complicated steps for your partner.

The man's part is to flaunt his agility.  He will be inspired to even
greater feats on the dance floor if his partner shows approval.  "

Was he really serious?  she wondered.  He was teaching her the dance
steps but he was flirting with her quite outrageously.

"Sir Richard," she said, "I do not think you should be looking at me in
that manner."

"Ah, my lady, you must understand that flirting is all part of the
dance.  Look into my eyes.  Relax, Meg, and smile.  It is but part of
the game of courtly love."

"What do you mean by that?  Surely love is not a game."

"At Windsor it is, sweet lady.  All the gentlemen play it.  One does
not need to mean anything by it, but it will be expected of you.  Be
warned, for the gentlemen will take dalliance as far as you are willing
to allow them to go."

He was a master at the game, using tender touches, kissing her fingers,
and the palm of her hand.  She remembered that her uncle had
particularly instructed him to teach such things to her.  It seemed
strange that such behaviour was only a pastime, but, if that was so,
perhaps there was no harm in it.

She stifled her doubts.  It wasn't that she found it difficult to
smile, for she had a naturally happy disposition, and as she mastered
one new step after another, gaining Richard's approval, smiles came as
naturally to her as breathing.  She was surprised at how easily she
talked with him, and he encouraged her, as if they were friends.

"The dance that is sweeping the Court at the moment is the la volta If
you are not weary, would you like to learn that also?"

"I'm not the least bit tired."  She was enjoying herself too much for
that.

"This dance originated in Provence," he explained.

"It's in triple time, with turning movements."

Those 'turning movements' brought her shoulder to shoulder with
Richard, and another flirtatious meeting of the eyes, but this time she
was on her guard.  Coolly she wondered how many dancing partners he had
seduced with those movements.

"Regard me as the centre of a circle around which we are dancing,"
Richard instructed.

Amused, she obeyed with genuine pleasure.

"Now we come to the movement that makes this dance different from all
the others.  You must place your right hand on my shoulder, and hold on
to your petticoats with your left--' She did as he asked, though she
was amazed at such an instruction.  She was even more amazed when
suddenly he grasped her around the waist, his hand holding her firmly
just above her hip.  He followed this by placing his right hand just
below her bosom.  She was about to protest, but in that instant he
impelled her up off her feet, by applying strong pressure with his
thigh.

She was shocked to find she was virtually sitting on his lap!  She
screamed.  Ignoring that, he swung her up into the air and spun around
and around.  She hung on with both hands, helpless as her skirts and
petticoats swirled up, revealing a disgraceful length of bare leg.  Her
brain was reeling.  She felt quite dizzy when he set her down on her
feet again.

"Bravo!  Bravo!"  the Earl's loud voice rang out.  He had come into the
room whilst she had been swung around like a doll.

"Sir Richard!"  she exclaimed breathlessly.

"Are you sure that is how it is danced at Court?"

"Exactly," he said.

"You did very well."

"It was a question of survival," she snapped.

The musicians finished the melody and clapped their hands in
approval.

Everyone had found their dance highly entertaining, except Meg, who was
convinced she had been made a fool of.

"Magnificent," Richard exclaimed.

"But you should keep your hand on your skirts to keep them from flying
around you."

"Don't tell her that," cried the Earl.

"That was the part I enjoyed most of all.  A mightily pleasing
spectacle."

"I do not wish to be made a spectacle of!"  exclaimed Meg.  She glared
at the Earl, but he was no longer looking at her.  Nancy and Gervase
had sauntered into the room.

"You missed a treat!"  he told them.

"Richard and Meg have just danced the la volta--the most revealing I've
ever seen.  Let's have an encore, Richard."

Meg stepped back.

"I'm sure Mistress Nancy would like to dance with Richard now," she
said.

"I do not wish to do more today."

Richard cast a sharp look at her.  For a moment she thought he was
about to insist, but evidently he took note of her furious expression,
for he bowed and said, "We will practise again tomorrow, my lady."

Then he advanced to Nancy, holding out his hand in invitation.

"May I have the pleasure?"

Perversely Meg now wished she had agreed to dance again.  It gave her
no pleasure to watch them circling around each other, eyes locked,
playing the game of love.  She turned away.  That proved she meant
nothing to him.  Dancing alone with Richard was dangerous.

For comfort she looked to where Sarah was sitting, and noticed with
surprise that Alan Crompton had joined her.  They were chatting
together just as they had done on the journey, absorbed in each
other.

Meg was pleased for them, of course, but their togetherness made her
feel terribly alone.

She turned again to watch Richard and Nancy, saw Nancy smile at her
partner, place her hand on his shoulder.  He grasped her, swung her up
and around.  Her weight prevented him turning as fast as when she'd
been in his arms, and he seemed relieved to set Nancy back on her feet,
which gave Meg some satisfaction.

Gervase stepped forward to dance with Nancy, and Meg walked over to
Sarah and Alan.  She had never before thought of Sarah as beautiful,
but the light shining in her eyes transformed her.  She must warn her
not to show her feelings so transparently.

But was her maid the only one in need of such a warning?  Wasn't she in
danger of doing just the same?

The following days passed in a flurry of activity such as Meg had never
known before.  Life in the nunnery had not prepared her for any of the
things she was supposed to take part in at Bixholm.

Richard insisted that she should try everything--all the activities
that to him were a normal part of life but which were so strange to
her.  In vain did she plead that she needed more time to master each
new sport or dance, but he would not allow it.

"We have so little time," he said.

"It's better for you to know something of everything rather than
perfect your skill at only one or two."

"Why is there such a hurry?"  That question was always on Meg's mind.

"I have not yet been introduced to any particular gentleman.  So how
does anyone know that he will wish to marry me?"

"Oh, he will.  I am sure of that, and they are sure of it too.  You
must not question me on the matter, my lady, for truly I am able to
tell you nothing."

Richard gave a wry smile.  Something in his expression, as well as his
words, made her heart sink.  She felt that he was sorry for her, but,
under orders from the Earl, was determined to maintain silence on the
matter.  Since she did not wish to incur his displeasure she could only
bow to his wish.  Yet that did not still the rebelliousness that was
building up within her.

She knew that Richard held high office in Lord Thur- ton's household,
yet he was not a free man.  She sensed that the Earl had some hold over
him, but could not imagine what it could be.  His instructions were to
educate her in a variety of social accomplishments and it was clear
that he would carry out that task and nothing more.  Yet were the times
when he showed warmth towards her only figments of her imagination?

Was it always a pretence?  An affectation?  Part of the duplicity that
surrounded her now?

She toyed with the idea of acting stupidly, pretending she was unable
to learn anything.  But when Richard demonstrated something new, her
natural eagerness and desire to please made her do her best.  She loved
dancing, and would practise for hours on end without tiring.  And she
enjoyed archery--more so as every day her skill with the bow
improved.

She became accustomed to watching the tilt.  She still feared that
Richard might be hurt, whilst at the same time she could now appreciate
his skill and enthusiasm.

It was a pleasure to watch the falconers out in the field as they
exercised and trained the birds.  She was fascinated by their beauty:

the peregrines, dark-eyed, long-tailed, graceful in flight with tapered
wings, and the goshawks and sparrow hawks too.  Though she drew back
when Richard suggested she should take part.  It was her first act of
rebellion.

"Please do not ask me."

"It's a merlin," Richard explained.

"A lady's hawk.  Is she not a lovely creature?"  He held the bird
towards her.

"The bird is indeed beautiful," Meg agreed, running a tentative finger
over its slate-blue back.

"But I confess I am a little frightened by it."

"I promise it will not hurt you."

"No, sir.  I cannot hold it.  It has such a sharp hooked beak, and
those talons!"  She shuddered.

"I would give you covering for your wrist and hand."

"I know it is natural for hawks to hunt and kill, but I do not wish to
take part in such a sport."

"Will you not even try?"

"I cannot.  I will not."  Nothing he said would persuade her to change
her mind.  Her attitude hardened.  In a small way she felt she was
making a point.  She would enter into those activities which pleased
her, but refuse to take part in any that did not.  She scanned his face
with some anxiety, waiting for his reaction.  She was prepared for a
clash of wills and determined to stand her ground.

"Very well."  He shrugged and smiled disarmingly.

"It's of no consequence.  I realise hawking is not to everybody's
taste.  Shall we return to the castle?"

He offered his arm and chatted pleasantly as they strolled over the
field.  His relaxed attitude showed that he bore no resentment at her
rebellion.  Perversely she was not sure if she should be pleased or
resentful that her act of defiance had made so little impact.

As they entered the castle her spirits were uplifted by the sound of
the musicians at practice.

"Shall we join them?"  Richard said.

"You have not yet had the opportunity of learning the latest songs.
Would you like to do that?"

She wondered if there was a tinge of sarcasm in his voice, for he was
asking her most politely.  However, he was smiling, and his suggestion
was one that pleased her.

"I should find that enjoyable," she agreed.  Then, after a pause,
added, "I recall that I was ridiculed because I thought only of the
singing of psalms, as we did in the choir at the nunnery, but I shall
be happy to learn other songs."

"They should not have behaved towards you as they did on your arrival,"
Richard said.  His voice was no more than a whisper in her ear.

"I thought you bore their churlish remarks with great dignity on that
occasion."

"Thank you."  The compliment pleased her.

The musicians were rehearsing the tune that was one of the most popular
at Court, not least because it was said to have been composed by the
King himself.  One of the musicians began to sing.

Greensleeves was all my joy, Greensleeves was my delight, Greensleeves
was my heart of gold, And who but my lady Greensleeves?

Meg found it pleasant and easy to join in.  Her voice had been trained
for singing in the choir, and that made it easy for her to pick up the
rhythm.

From that they moved on to some of John Tavener's songs: "My Harte, my
Mynde?"  and "Love will I Never Love thee More'.

They were accompanied by expert lute players, one of whom taught her
the words.

"You have a lovely voice, my lady," he said.

"It has obviously been trained."

"I've always enjoyed singing," Meg told him.  He was a charming young
man, to whom music was more than just a job.  He was immersed in its
intricacies and always sought perfection.

"Where did you learn?"  he asked.

"In the nunnery."  She smiled at his expression of surprise.

"My mother sought sanctuary there when I was but a baby."

"They taught you well."

"The nuns had an excellent choir and I was encouraged to join.  It was
all church music."

"Religious music is some of the most wonderful ever written.  But it is
not to the taste of everyone."  He paused, his face expressive.  She
knew he was thinking of the Earl and Nancy.

"Fortunately I also enjoy the popular songs for entertainment."

Time slipped away quickly and pleasantly that afternoon.  She was
surprised when Richard said they should change in readiness for the
evening meal.

"Tomorrow there is to be a great gathering for a hunt," Richard told
her.

"So I have heard," Meg said.

For several days the castle had been a-buzz with talk of the hunt to
come.  All the young men and women had been looking forward to it with
great excitement, and others had come to join in--noblemen and their
ladies from neighbouring estates.

Meg did not say so, but she had no intention of joining them.

That evening, when all had eaten and drunk their fill--and more
besides--the Earl turned towards her.

"I hear you've learned some songs, Meg, is that so?"

"Yes, Uncle."

He leaned back in his huge chair, replete and well- pleased.

"Just what we need.  You can sing for us now."

"Now?"  She hesitated.  She had not thought to perform so publicly or
so soon.

"Now!"  thundered the Earl.

"Let's hear what you can do."

Richard offered her his arm.

"Allow me to escort you to the musicians."

"I--I can't.  I've forgotten all the words."

"If you la-la-la, most of them won't know the difference."

She chuckled.  She did not believe him, but it helped her to relax.

The musicians stood up as she approached; they bowed.  They had been
kind to her that afternoon.  She must not let them down.  For if she
failed the Earl's wrath might spill over to them also.

They began to play "Greensleeves'.  On the first note the words came
back to her.  The melody lifted her.  She had never sung before with
such a gifted accompaniment, and all the chattering voices in the Great
Hall fell silent.

They applauded loudly.  The Earl was among those expressing delight.

"More!"  he shouted.

"More!"

She sang one more song, then begged to be excused.

"I have not yet learned any other songs," she said.

"Very well," Thurton said.  He looked delighted as he turned to
Nancy.

Sarah just made out his words as she was being escorted by Richard back
to her seat.

"She'll be a sensation at Court," he said.

"The King's own-song.  I've never heard it sung so well.  He'll love
it!"

Meg was horrified at the thought--did they really expect her to sing
before the King?  She hoped she had not heard correctly.  Then peals of
laughter reeled around the Great Hall.  The usual entertainers were
already at their antics.  The Earl was soon convulsed with laughter.
The more vulgar the jokes, the louder he and Nancy laughed.

Now that she knew what to expect Meg had prepared herself.  She
conjured up the thought that Sarah had put into her mind.  She ignored
the words and antics and imagined the face of the Prioress, had she
been there.  That invariably brought a smile to her lips, and the Earl
was deceived into believing she was changing her ideas.  He nodded
towards her with approval and leaned over to pat her hand.  With
considerable self-control she managed not to cringe.

The party broke up sooner than usual that evening.

"Up and about early tomorrow, ready for the hunt," the Earl
announced.

Meg intended to indulge in a pleasantly long lie in bed.

Sarah brought the breakfast tray very early.  Then, surprisingly,
dashed back to the kitchen, as if she hadn't a moment to lose.  Meg
began her breakfast in a leisurely manner.  Long before she had
finished Sarah bustled back into the chamber, bringing a ewer of hot
water.

"You better hurry, my lady," she said.

"They'll soon be a-mustering, ready for the hunt."

"I know.  I've heard the commotion outside."  Meg yawned and
stretched.

"But, since I'm not taking part in it, I've no need to hurry."

"Oh, but you must, my lady!"  Sarah was aghast.

"Sir Richard particularly made me promise to have you ready in good
time."

Meg sat up, buttered an oatcake and nibbled the edge of it
delicately.

Sarah watched her with an expression of horrified disbelief.

"Sir Richard said if you wasn't up and out in good time, he'd come in
and fetch you himself."  Sarah paused, then added, "Probably dress you
himself, too, the way he was carrying on."

Meg almost choked on the oatcake!  Would he dare to do that?  Would he
come into her chamber and forcibly make her get ready for the hunt?

She decided he probably would.

"Well, if I must!"

"I should think so, my lady," Sarah said cheekily, as she poured water
into a basin.  Her mistress would not be late if she could help it. She
hustled Meg through the routine of dressing and hair brushing and
braiding without relaxing one iota her normal standard.  Meg felt less
urgency than usual.

Determined to take no part in the hunt, she sauntered out into the
courtyard and stood lazily surveying the busy, colourful scene around
her.  Horses and riders, men, women and children were milling about.

The verderers were on foot, keeping control of the greyhounds and
mastiffs.

Richard came up to her, leading his own mount and also her mare,
saddled and ready.

"Good morning, Meg.  Excellent weather for the chase," he observed.

"It is, indeed, a delightful morning."

She seemed to have no option but to allow him to help her up into the
"saddle.  Especially as at that moment Nancy rode up alongside.  She
was accompanied by another younger companion, who was, Meg decided, one
of the most beautiful ladies she had ever seen.  Her costume was
magnificent and she handled a large, very restive grey horse with
consummate ease.

"Isabelle, may I introduce Thurton's niece, Lady Mart gar et Meg, this
charming lady is the Marchioness of Belaugh."

They bowed their heads to each other with cool civility.

"Ah!  The young lady on whom Edmund's hopes are riding," commented the
Marchioness.

"Very pretty.  Very pretty, indeed."

Nancy smiled, as if the compliment was directed at her.

"We are in the process of creating a magnificent new wardrobe for her,"
she said.

Talking about her again as if she was not there!  Evidently the
Marchioness had heard about her in advance.  Their attitude caused
Meg's anger to flare, but she held her tongue.  She was about to wheel
Molly and move away when Sarah appeared.  She carried a silver tray
with beakers of wine and held it up to Nancy and the Marchioness, then
to Meg.

"Sarah, you shouldn't have been asked to perform that task," Meg
objected.

"Nobody asked me, my lady.  I volunteered," Sarah said merrily.

"Didn't see why I should be left out."

"But you're afraid of horses!"

"I know better now.  Mr.  Crompton's been taking me out riding every
day.

Not just pillion to him, either, but on a horse of my own!  "

"Goodness!"  exclaimed Meg.

"He says I got a good seat--an' he tells me that's a compliment!"

With a merry laugh, Sarah curtsied and moved on to offer her tray to
other riders.

Nancy finished her wine and turned back to Meg.

"The Marchioness is a great friend of mine," she remarked.

"And also of Richard's."

Richard doffed his cap and bowed low.

"Now that you are here, dear lady, the gathering is complete," he
said.

The Marchioness chuckled.

"Such words fall easily off your tongue," she said.

"But they are not borne out by facts.  You have not ridden over to
visit me these past two months."

"Alas, no.  But I have heard that you have not been short of visitors,
dear lady."

"It is true.  I have not.  But you know you have always--' The sounding
of the hunting-horn drowned out her words.  The meet was preparing to
move off.  The Earl shouted to Richard to ride up at the front, for he
was to lead the great gathering.  The Marchioness moved forward and
cantered alongside him.  She obviously assumed it was her right to
share the leadership of the hunt.  She was sure also of Richard's
welcome, Meg thought, noticing how he turned his head, smiled at the
lady and made some seemingly intimate comment.

She watched until they passed out of sight, hidden by the concourse of
riders.  She wished she had not observed the looks that had passed
between them, for undoubtedly the arrival of the beautiful Marchioness
had driven all thought of her from Richard's mind.  Then she frowned at
her own stupidity, reminding herself to be glad he had gone.  She would
never have been able to carry out her plan if he had remained close to
her, but she could not entirely suppress a twinge of jealousy.

When all was ready the horn sounded again and the whole company moved
forward at a gentle walking pace.  As soon as they were beyond the
confines of the castle and had reached the open countryside the horses
were spurred on to a canter and then a gallop.  Meg held

Molly back and watched them go.  She had no wish to keep up.

She allowed Molly to carry her at a gentle trot towards the forest,
following the well-worn track.  Before long the Earl and Nancy, and all
the great company of huntsmen and women, their servants, the verderers
and the dogs were so far ahead that she could not even hear them
crashing through the undergrowth.  She had no idea what they were
chasing, and she most certainly had no wish to know.  She allowed her
mare to amble along at her own pace, walking now.  Her quiet rebellion
was progressing.

It was peaceful in the forest.  Meg decided to keep to the edge of the
woodland, ambling along a narrow path that seemed to be very little
used.  In a small clearing Molly stopped, lowered her head and began to
graze on a patch of grass.  Meg dismounted, keeping a loose hold on the
reins.  She sat down on the dry, leaf-strewn ground and leaned back
against a tree.

The peace of the woodland calmed her.  In its immense depth she was but
a minute part of the world, her life a brief span compared to the
majesty of the ancient trees.  She'd had little chance to think her own
thoughts, or be her own person since she had arrived at Bixholm.  All
day long she'd had to struggle to master some new skill, and the
evenings had been endured at the high table beside the Earl, constantly
watched by Nancy and dominated by the rough, boisterous company.

It was a pleasure to be on her own, half dozing, absorbing the earth
scents, enjoying the dappled sunlight on her face.  Time passed without
her being aware of it.

Then the jingle of a horse's harness came to her ears.  Someone was
riding nearby.  She stayed still and silent,

hoping whoever it was would pass without seeing her.  She experienced a
fris son of fear.

Molly neighed.

The rider halted.  She held her breath.

Chapter Six

JXichard crashed into the clearing.

The wild, angry expression on his face was frightening.  He leapt from
his horse and dashed towards her.

"Meg!"  he cried.

"What are you doing here?"

Her mind reacted furiously.  Why had he returned?  Could she not be
away from him for a few hours, or not so much away from him as his
efforts to 'improve' her?  She wished he had not disturbed her
solitude--and yet the sight of him set her heart racing.

"Meg?"  His voice was more gentle, questioning.  He strode towards her,
reaching out his arms.

"Are you hurt?"

"No."

He halted.  He dropped his arms just as she was about to lift hers
towards him.  She froze when he suddenly stood still.  He was regarding
her with a puzzled expression.

"Are you sure all is well with you?"

"Most certainly, thank you.  Sir Richard."

He turned his gaze upon the little mare, who continued to pull at the
short grass with strong teeth.

"I am perfectly sound in mind and limb," she assured him.

"And so is Molly."

He looked relieved, though still puzzled.

"So?  What are you doing here?"

"That is what I wonder every day," she answered.

"Why am I here, Richard?  Why are you trying so hard to change me? What
was wrong with me before you brought me to this place?"

"Nothing, Meg."

A grin spread over his face.  He threw himself down on the ground
beside her.  The sudden movement startled her.  She looked down, for he
was below her now, lying on his side.  Only a few blades of grass
separated them.  She met the challenge of his gaze and felt mesmerised
and strangely happy.  Every nerve in her body was on edge, alive,
throbbing.

"I have no wish to change you," he said.  A husky note deepened his
voice.  The tone in which he spoke, cares singly soft, affected her. 
It weakened her, as if she had been struck by a blow in the ribs, but
there was no pain, only an overwhelming joy.

It disconcerted her.  They were quite alone in the beauty of the
woodland glade.  The air was sweet and still.  Neither of them moved,
yet emotion, intangible, but as real as life itself, was drawing them
closer.

In desperation she tried to keep the conversation light, wanting to
deny there was any deeper sensibility between them.

"No wish to change me?"  she mocked.

"Even though I refuse to go hunting?"

"Not even that."  He did not laugh.  He replied seriously, picked up
one of her hands, turned it over and fondled it.

She withdrew it hastily.

"Have they finished?"  she asked, determinedly prosaic.

"No.  They'll go on for hours yet."

Then she had to ask.

"Why did you come back?"

"To look for you, my lady."

That was pleasing, but she was not quite ready to accept it.

"Did the Earl send you?"

"No."

Then, with a hint of mischief, and because she needed to hear his
reaction, "The Marchioness will miss you."

"I doubt it.  She's in her element in the chase, especially of males,
wild or human."

He recaptured her hand and kissed it.  The tingling sensation that had
unnerved her when he settled on the ground at her side intensified.  He
raised his head, sat up and leaned towards her.  Slowly, gently, he
brought his face closer to hers.  She shut her eyes, and he kissed
her.

His soft, sweet lips touched hers lightly, experimentally.  She had
never before been kissed by a man, not even within the family--no
father, uncle or brother-and not on any part of her face.  Yet
instinctively she responded, allowing her lips to brush his with only
the briefest of butterfly touches.  She drew away, savouring the
delight of that kiss, running her tongue over her lips.  After a few
moments she opened her eyes and regarded him wonderingly.

Richard guessed it was a new experience for her and he was anxious not
to awaken fear in her.  His blood pounded hotly through his veins.  He
longed to clasp her tightly, to plunder her mouth with his, to stroke
and caress every inch of her beautiful body.  But he checked himself;

he had to be careful.  He must not lose the trust she had in him.  He
smiled at her and simply ran his forefinger over her cheek.

"Richard," she breathed.

"Kiss me again."

He could not resist--it was a deeper kiss this time.

He had wanted this from the very first time he saw her, dressed in that
awful soiled gown, bravely protecting old blind Davy.  She lifted her
arms and wound them around his neck.  He drew her close against him. At
that mo menthe seemed unable to save himself from drowning in the rich
sensuality of arousal.

Yet he remained alert.  His eyes were wide open, his ears tuned to the
sounds of the wind in the trees, the birds, the Woodland creatures.  He
could not, would not allow desire to lower his de fences There was
always danger in the forest, and more for him than for most men.  He
reminded himself how much was at stake.  He could so easily have
allowed passion to overwhelm him, but fought against it.  To be caught
off guard could bring death.  He must take no risks.  Meg had no
protector other than he.  It was a bitter irony that she could never be
his.  His lips parted from hers reluctantly.

"We shouldn't be doing this," he said.

She tried to draw him back into her embrace, but he sprang to his
feet.

"You must forget this ever happened," he said.

"Why?  We have done no wrong, have we?"

"In the eyes of the world we have."

"You told me it was essential to flirt," she objected.

"At Court--yes," he agreed.

"Not here.  And not when we both know there can never be anything
between us."

To emphasise the point he stepped away from her.  He listened intently,
put a finger to his lips.

"Someone is approaching," She held her breath.  She heard a jingling
harness, a horse's hooves, moving at a slow walking pace.  Richard's
hand was on his sword.  Meg crouched back.  His stance suggested
danger.  The sounds came nearer.

There was no doubt they would be discovered.

A moment later Gervase Gisbon rode into the clearing.  His eyes darted
from her to Richard.  Meg felt sure he guessed that Richard had kissed
her.  His sly expression deepened the dislike and distrust she felt for
him.  Undeniably he was handsome, his skin clean shaven and smooth, his
manners polished--why was it the very sight of him made her flesh
creep?

"What a delightful bower you have found," he said.  There was a sneer
in his voice.

"It is charming," Richard agreed easily, but Meg detected the tension
in his voice.

"The Earl has been asking for you, Richard," Gervase announced.

"And more particularly for Lady Margaret."

"How very considerate of him," said Richard.

"In fact," Gervase continued, 'he is so disturbed by your absence--or
more especially that of your fair companion--that he has turned the
entire company back to search for you.  "

"There was no need for alarm," Richard assured him.

"Lady Margaret's pony was unable to keep up with the hunt, that is
all."

"Strange.  I do not recollect that Lady Margaret's mount had any
difficulty in carrying her from Norwich to Bixholm."

"That was on well-worn tracks.  The mare is unused to the woodland
paths.

That was not the full truth, and Meg's conscience made her feel obliged
to explain properly.

"That is true," she said, for she did not wish to suggest that what
Richard had said was wrong.

"But I did not try to keep up, for I did not wish to take part in the
hunt."

Gervase raised his eyebrows.

"How extraordinary!"

"It may seem so to you, but it is the truth," she assured him.

Gervase looked from Meg to Richard with a disbelieving grin.  Then he
shrugged his broad shoulders.

"You'll have difficulty explaining that to his lordship.  He'll be here
shortly, and I warn you, he is not in the best of tempers."

"I'm sorry if I have spoiled the day.  But I have no wish to hunt."

Gervase shrugged.

"I believe you--the question is, will the Earl?"  He backed his horse
out of the clearing.

"He will, I think be particularly interested to know that Richard is
here with you."

"Richard turned back only because he realised I was missing and he was
afraid some ill chance might have befallen me.  Just as you did, did
you not.  Master Gis- bon?"

Gervase did not answer.

Richard was becoming impatient.

"I suggest we ride back to the castle," he said.

"There is no point in wasting time here."

"Do you think he'll send me back to the nunnery?"  Meg asked
apprehensively.  Insecure though she was at Bixholm, she had no wish to
return and face the disapproval of the Prioress.

"Not unless his plans come to naught," said Richard.

Meg shivered.  A few minutes previously, lying in his arms, life had
seemed vibrant and joyous.  Now all was changed.  Richard had changed,
too.  There was no loving tolerance about him now.

"Back on to your mare," he ordered.

He tossed her up into the saddle as if she was no more than a bundle of
straw.  She felt humiliated and angry.  She did not wait for him.  She
set Molly moving forward immediately.  She feared that Gervase Gisbon
would try to prevent her from leaving, but he moved aside to allow her
to pass.

Out of the clearing, she was about to turn into the path along which
she had ambled contentedly such a short time before.  Loud shouts,
crashing sounds, the tooting of the hunting-horn, baying dogs, told her
the hunting party was close.  A moment later they burst out of the
woods and surrounded her.

"Ah-ha, Meg.  There you are!  What's afoot?"  demanded the Earl.

"Why are you back here?"

"My lord, I meant no harm, but I know nothing of hunting.  I was just
enjoying the ride in my own way--' He wheeled his mighty horse, which
seemed double the height of Molly.

He scowled.  His face was a livid colour.

"Ha!  In your own way?  What the devil does that mean?"

"I did not wish to join the hunt, my lord."

"Didn't want to hunt!  Never heard of such a thing!  Was that your only
reason?"  He stared at her in disbelief.

"You're sure you were not up to some mischief?"

She regarded him unflinchingly.  She did not believe that allowing
Richard to kiss her could be categorised as mischief.

"Certainly not, sir!"

"Richard!"  the Earl yelled.

"Yes, sir."

"What is your part in this nonsense?"

"When I realised that Lady Margaret had not managed to keep up with the
hunt I turned back.  I thought her mare might have found the going
difficult.  I arrived here only a short time before you, sir.  As did
Master Gisbon."

"Hmmph!  Well, I suppose there's been no harm done.  See that Lady
Margaret is better mounted before we commence the ride to London."

"I will, sir."

The Earl turned back to Meg.

"Next time we hunt, you shall ride alongside me."

Meg sighed.  As usual he had not listened to a word she had said.  She
did not argue, but she had no intention of hunting with him, or with
anyone else!  If this prospective husband expected it of her, he would
have to be dissuaded.

"You don't know what you've missed, Meg."  The Earl beamed.

"We've killed a magnificent boar.  Biggest beast I've seen for many a
month.  I intend to make a present of it to the King.  We'll move on to
London at the end of this week."

Despite the hunt having been turned back early, all the members were in
high spirits.  The Earl's excitement and pleasure in such a successful
day was reflected in the general boisterous behaviour.  Meg turned
Molly and rode towards the castle.  Richard was nearby, but there was
no opportunity for private conversation as the whole concourse was
moving together.

She did not encourage Molly to hurry; she moved aside and allowed other
riders to canter past.  Although she no longer had the pleasure of
being alone in the peace of the forest, she still enjoyed its beauty.
It was some time before she emerged from the shadows of the huge old
trees into the bright sunshine.  From the greensward that then
stretched before her the castle rose, majestic and strong.  It was
impressive, of gleaming cream stone, with towers and turrets and
mullioned windows that caught the suns rays.  She had developed a great
liking for the place, and daydreamed as she trotted towards it,
imagining improvements she would make if it only belonged to her, as in
law it should.

Two riders came into view--not members of the hunting party.  They were
some distance away, yet she thought she recognised the young woman.  It
was a moment before she could be sure--then she gazed in amazement, for
it was Sarah!  Her maid, who had always expressed such an overwhelming
fear of horses, was out riding with a gentleman!  And not on pillion
either, but in the saddle, and cantering!  They passed over the brow of
a small hill and were soon out of sight.  Meg decided to make no
mention of it, but to leave it to Sarah to tell her, if she wished. She
held the view that what her maid did in her free time was entirely her
affair.

That evening Sarah was in an effervescent mood as she helped Meg to
prepare for the feast that was to finish the day's hunt.

"I bin out riding today too, miss," she said.

"I know, Sarah.  I saw you."

"Never thought as I'd do that, did yer?"

"I must admit, I was surprised."

Sarah was thoughtful for a moment.  Then she spoke again, hesitantly,
"My lady, may I ask you a question?"

"Of course, Sarah.  When have you ever felt that you needed to ask my
permission to speak to me of anything?"

"Never."  Sarah grinned.

"But it's so different here, with you being with Sir Richard almost all
the time, and sitting at the top table with the Earl at meals.
Nothing's like it used to be, is it?"

"That's true.  But I haven't changed, Sarah.  You mustn't think I don't
wish to speak with you, or spend more time with you.  It is simply
because his lordship and Nancy and Richard all demand so much of my
time.  You must never--ever--think that I don't care for you."  She
threw her arms around the girl and hugged her tightly.

Sarah hugged her back and kissed Meg's cheek.

"I know you do, my lady.

It's hard for you here, more so than for me, not knowing what's to
happen an' all.  Truly sometimes I fear for the future.  "

"I do, too, Sarah," Meg said seriously.

"They say I am to be married to someone, but they won't tell me who, no
matter how often I ask."

"It's not fair that they should treat you like that!"

"But there's nothing I can do about it," Meg replied.

"Now, tell me, what is it you wish to speak to me about?"

"Well, my lady."  Sarah blushed and hung her head, and seemed unusually
tongue-tied for one who was normally so loquacious.

"It--it's just that--well, I was wondering--do you like Alan
Crompton?"

"Why, yes, Sarah.  I do.  And I have the impression that you also like
him."

Sarah looked up with bright eyes, wide open.

"He says he likes me too, my lady.  But I'm afeared that it's wrong,
because he's of noble birth and my father was nothing but a labourer in
the fields.  He didn't even have his own land, or at least only a
little bit."

"But you have been educated, Sarah.  You learned your lessons alongside
me.  I think that must make a difference.  You could hold up your head
in any society.  Has Alan spoken to you about this?"

"I spoke to him, my lady.  I didn't want him thinking me better than I
am."

"What did he say to that?"

"He said as I didn't seem like a peasant girl and he'd never met anyone
like me before and it's what I am now that matters."

"Quite right."  Meg nodded emphatically.

"Then he said that although he was of noble birth, he was really quite
poor.  His older brother inherited everything and he's had to live on
his wits and get by as best he can, and that's why he's here in the
service of the Earl.  Then he looked at me, silly idiot that he is, and
he asked if I found him very ugly, an' of course I said, " No, not at
all.  " I told him it was how he behaved to me that mattered, not what
he looked like.  An' anyway, he couldn't help it if he had a scar on
his face, an' it didn't make no difference to me.  In fact I don't see
it no more, now."

"I know, Sarah," Meg said.

"When you get to know people well you don't think so much about
appearance.  It's other things that count then."

Sarah was silent for a moment.  Her eyes were shining.  Her cheeks were
shining too.  Meg knew her well enough to realise she was about to say
something that she thought was unbelievable!  Like the time when she'd
taken Meg into the stable at the nunnery to watch a litter of kittens
being born.

"What is it?"  she asked gently.

Sarah took a deep breath.

"Alan Crompton--' she rolled the name round on her tongue '--said as
how he'd ask me to marry him, only he'd nothing to give me.

"Course I said as how that didn't matter to me.  I ain't got nothing
either."

"Oh, Sarah.  I'm so happy for you."

"Thank you, my lady.  I was quite overcome.  An' I told him how proud I
was to be asked.  An' I would have liked to say yes, but I had to say
no, because I couldn't leave you, my lady."

"Dear Sarah."  Meg had tears in her eyes.

"I won't stop you.  If you wish to go away with Alan--' " No, my lady.
That I'll never do.  At least not until I know as you're properly
settled an' safe.  "

"I don't want to stand in the way of your happiness," Meg insisted,
though her heart was heavy.  She knew how greatly she would miss Sarah,
her constant friendship, her sensibility, humour and high spirits.

"I mean it, my lady.  Alan Crompton'll have to wait.  It won't do him
no harm.  If he won't do that for me, then he's not worth having.
That's what I say."

"But, Sarah, it's your happiness--' There'd be no happiness for me
unless you were happy as well!"  Sarah was adamant.

Every day Meg had to spend several hours with Nancy and the
dressmakers.  They discussed the latest fashions, held up beautiful
material to see its effect.  Sometimes they asked if she liked this or
that, then completely ignored her response.  So mostly she took the
easiest course and simply left it to them.

She always took Sarah with her to these fittings, not only to assist
with the interminable dressing and undressing, but because she needed
her maid's companionship, even though she had to remain quietly in the
background.  If she uttered a word she was threatened with being
summarily expelled from the chamber.

Once.  Meg had remonstrated when she'd considered a gown to be too
revealing.  Her objections had been brushed aside.

"Nonsense," Nancy had said.

"You must leave those convent pruderies behind you now."

"It's the fashion, my dear," Mrs.  Goodley had cooed.

"The Court would be more surprised if you hid the upper part of your
bosom," Nancy had said.

"They would be sure you had some hideous blemish that you wished to
cover, and such a rumour would totally ruin your chances."

"You have such a lovely complexion!"  one of the sewing maids had
said.

"Not a mark from the smallpox.  You don't know how lucky you are."

Meg was disturbed when one afternoon Earl Thurton joined them in
Nancy's chamber.  Mrs.  Goodley and her assistants immediately drew
back and curtsied.

"Carry on, ladies."  He waved his hand magnanimously and seated himself
upon the bed.

"I've come to see how the robing is progressing."

"You are most welcome, my lord."  Nancy was all smiles.

"I am sure you will find we are assembling a very becoming wardrobe for
your niece--' " Excuse me," interrupted Meg.

"Surely it is not seemly for a gentleman to see me in my underwear?"

"Don't be so prissy," Nancy snapped.

"The Earl is paying the bills; he has a right to see what he'll get for
his money.  Besides, he's well used to seeing ladies in their
underwear."

"Quite right," the Earl chuckled.

"You've no need to be bothered by my presence.  As I've said before,
you're too skinny for my taste."

Nancy laughed loudly, taking the comment as a compliment to her own
buxom form.  Meg hung her head.  Perhaps she was being foolish.  The
Earl was old enough to be her father.

"Very well," she said.  That was foolish too, for she'd been told, not
asked.

A moment later she heard the ring of quick footsteps on the
stone-flagged passage.  The door was flung open and Richard stood on
the threshold.

Meg gasped.  She was about to protest, until she saw the welcoming
smile Nancy was bestowing on him.

"I invited Richard to give us his opinion.  Please enter."

He bowed to them all, then strolled forward, relaxed and at ease,
pleasantly smiling.  Meg froze.  Was he also accustomed to seeing
ladies in a state of semi-undress?

Cold fury seized her.  Like a statue she stood as they continued with
the fitting.  Tight-lipped, showing her disapproval with silent
rebellion.  Mrs.  Goodley and her sewing maidens busied themselves
around her, tacking and tucking.  They lifted her arms and put them
down again, turned her this way and that.

"What's the matter with the girl?"  exploded the Earl.

"Does nothing make her happy?  That's a magnificent gown, enough to
turn any man's head.  What do you say, Richard?"

"Lady Margaret does indeed look very beautiful in it."  Richard spoke
softly, sincerely.

"There, Meg," said Nancy.

"What more can you wish for?  Aren't you one of the most fortunate
girls in the land?"

Meg made no answer.  She stared straight ahead, looking at no one.  She
felt humiliated, a spectacle.  When Mrs.  Goodley began to remove the
gown, which in any event only partly covered her, Meg instinctively
stepped back.

"We are merely educating you into the ways of the Court, of the very
highest people in the land.  Who are you to object?  You are
infuriating!"  Nancy moved to slap her face.

"No."  The one word from Richard stopped her with her hand raised.

"You told me Lady Margaret wished for my opinion," he said quietly.

"I see now that was not the truth."

"I was sure Meg would wish to be guided by what you think, Richard."

There was malice in Nancy's face.

"What nonsense!"  he snapped.

"I shall leave."

Meg did not move an inch.  She held her head high, dissociating herself
entirely from the conversation.  She felt angry and humiliated.  In the
silence, she heard his footsteps crossing the floor as he left the
room.  Part of her wanted to turn and look at him, but she could
not-would not--do so.  She maintained her silence for the rest of the
session.

It put Nancy into an ill-temper.  She ranted at the dressmakers,
insisted that the bodice of a gown be lowered yet further, although she
knew well that Meg had previously objected to its cut.  The dressmakers
complied with Nancy's wishes, then stood back, looking at the new line
critically.

"Do you not think it was more fetching as it was, Mistress Nancy?"

said one of the dressmakers.  She regarded Meg with a look of
sympathy.

"A little modesty can have great appeal, especially in one so young--'
" Modesty be damned!  " Nancy turned to the Earl.

"What is your opinion, my dear one?  Am I not right?  A man wants to
see what he is being offered."  Nancy gave a harsh laugh.

"You have a point there," agreed Thurton.

"I would say it reveals just enough, not too much.  Quite luscious.
You've made a good choice.  Nan."

Nancy smiled broadly, pleased to have her opinion vindicated.

"There is just one point, your ladyship," said Mrs.  Goodley.

"If it is lowered, as you suggest, there is a possibility that the gown
will fall off the shoulder."

"Let it," snapped Nancy.

"That's my girl!"  The Earl chuckled.

Meg thought there was a distinct possibility that her bosom would spill
out over the top, even if the gown did not fall off altogether, but she
said nothing.  She would refuse to wear that gown, even though it was
intended to be the most beautiful, and was the most expensive in the
whole magnificent collection.

Nancy's lip curled as she spoke to the woman.

"If you cannot make the alteration, I shall take it to a better
dressmaker when we get to London."

The sewing maids exchanged anxious glances.

"I'm not saying we can't do it, my lady.  Indeed it's quite a simple
job.  I was merely making a suggestion."  She could not afford to lose
the custom of her wealthiest client.

Nancy would have none of it.

"I've made up my mind.  I shall have this gown finished in London, and
we'll have more made when we get there.

There will be a better choice of materials than you can provide.  If we
had more time I'd suggest to his lordship that I should take her to
Paris--there they really understand how to make clothes!  " She turned
from the mortified women and spoke directly to Meg.

"You can go and join Richard, who will no doubt be expecting you for
further instruction on behaviour."

Nancy held out her hand to the Earl and together, looking well pleased
with themselves, they sauntered from the chamber.

Chapter Seven

Ivichard paced up and down in the passageway that led to the Music
Room.  It had been almost unbearable to walk away from Nancy's chamber,
to leave Meg's delightful form partially exposed, then covered in
alluringly rich garments.  He had seen the expression in the Earl's
eyes as he had watched, and no matter what he said, Richard could not
believe that any man could look at Meg without lusting for her.

His pulse-rate had quickened when Nancy had said, "Meg would like you
to attend her next fitting, and I should value your opinion of the
styles I have chosen for her."  He had been unbelievably excited, as
feverish as a schoolboy rushing to his first assignation with a
woman.

It had taken all his will-power to wrench himself away from the
delectable sight of her in the shimmering silken underwear which had
clung so revealingly to the curves of her lovely body.  He'd yearned
then to cover her, to comfort her and carry her off to his own private
chamber.  He broke off the thoughts.  How could they treat her like
that?  It had been evident the mo menthe saw her frozen face that all
had not been well with her.

He had seen Meg in many different moods during their daily contact, and
he could readily recall her anger at their first encounter in the
crowded street in Norwich.  But that had been different from this. Then
she had been proud and unafraid.  He knew her face when she was
concentrating, so willingly trying her best at archery.  He had seen
fear in her eyes at the tilt, and delight when under his patient
tuition she had mastered a new step in the dance.  He was entranced by
the sound of her laugh, which would ring out with uninhibited gaiety
when she was amused.

Hers was the most expressive face he had ever seen, and never had she
looked so thunderous as in the dressmakers' hands.  Rage was
tight-bottled within her, fanned by her helplessness.  Like a prisoner
in chains she had stood stock-still, but her eyes had darted about,
seeking escape and seeing no way out.  He sensed that they were trying
to break her spirit, forcing her to bend to their will.

He felt anger for her, and fury that his helplessness was as great as
her own.  He longed to gather her into his arms and carry her away--but
he had no place to take her.  No home, no fortune, no means to support
her as a lady of her rank had a right to expect.

Nancy's invitation had suggested that she suspected there was an
attachment between them.  Had it been a trap, set up to test him?  The
Earl's expression had been watchful and mistrustful.

He was no fool.  He was ambitious and he was playing for high stakes in
this enterprise of arranging a marriage between Meg and the King.

Richard feared that his outburst might have fanned suspicions already
harboured by the Earl and Nancy, but he'd been unable to prevent
himself.  Had he wit t nessed any further indignities inflicted upon
Meg his anger would have exploded even more forcefully.  She did not
deserve such treatment.  She was beautiful, intelligent, a truly
delightful character.  Of course he liked her, but he had taken care
that it should be no more than that.

He ought not to have kissed her as he had done that day in the woods,
but what did a few delicious kisses mean?  He'd kissed many women, and
lain in the arms of several, but this was different--because Meg was
different.

It had been a pleasure to spend so much time with her, but that was
all.  Most definitely there was not the least suspicion that he had
fallen in love.  He assured himself that he would have felt the same
concern for any woman who was destined to be married to Henry VIII.  It
was his pride in chivalry, his training in knight- errantry that
demanded he should make the tuition he was giving to Meg as pleasant as
possible.

He had last seen the King during the Christmas festivities, and had
been horrified to see how gross His Majesty had grown, especially for a
man who was only in his mid-forties.  Some said Henry had never fully
recovered from that fall he'd had when jousting, when he'd lain
unconscious for two hours or more.  Could that have had an effect upon
the regal brain?  Heaven forbid--and heaven forbid also that anyone
could read such thoughts, for surely they were treasonable.

Henry had been handsome, vigorous and popular in his youth.  Then he
might have made a fair match with Meg.  Now it sickened Richard to
think of it.  If only he could devise some means to protect her!  He
must redouble his guard.  If any mischance befell him there would be no
one to watch over her, and she was so vulnerable.  There was little he
could do except remain vigilant for her welfare, and that meant taking
care of himself also.

A knife in the back was not a fate to which he intended to expose
himself.

His unease increased as he entered the Music Room and saw Gervase
Gisbon sprawled on a bench.  They exchanged perfunctory greetings as
Richard walked over to the musicians.  One of them handed him a lute.

He settled himself in their midst and began to play.  The music was
soothing, but could not entirely dowse the anxiety he felt as he
waited.

Would Meg come to him for tuition as trustingly as before?  She had
made her feelings abundantly clear when he'd seen her with the
dressmakers.  Had he lost her good opinion for ever?  He was surprised
at how deeply that thought distressed him.  His fingers slipped on the
strings of the lute, making such an ugly twang that he laid the
instrument aside.  He was too disturbed to make music.  The other
musicians continued to play.  Richard sat with his head bowed.

Perhaps it was time for him to step aside from Meg?  Time for someone
else to take on the task of preparing for her launch into high society?
It would be sensible to say he had done all he could, but even the
thought of that was unbearable.

"Richard."

The Earl's voice boomed into the room, thunderous above the gentle
music of the lutes.

He looked up uneasily.  It was the last sound he wished to hear.  Nancy
was with the Earl, the two of them standing in the open doorway.

Thurton with thick legs placed sturdily apart, his heavy frame
accentuated by his fashionable padded doublet, slashed sleeves puffed
to the elbow.  Nancy plumply filling her gown, expensive necklaces
decorating the bare flesh above the fitted bodice.  Her sleeves had
exaggerated cuffs hanging loose, revealing elaborate under sleeves of
richly patterned silk.  Despite the richness of their clothing, their
appearance was coarse.

"Yes, my lord?"

They watched as Richard walked towards them.  He bowed.

"We expected to see Lady Margaret here with you," said Nancy.

"She has not yet arrived," Richard replied stiffly.

"Perhaps she is changing her gown.  She has several now from which to
choose."

"And the minx is hard to please," growled the Earl.  Then sharply he
asked, "What was that scene about?"

"In Mistress Nancy's chamber?"  Richard enquired.

"You know perfectly well what I am talking about.  No prevarication.  I
want the truth."

"There was no more to it than you saw for yourself," Richard said.

"You must remember that Lady Margaret was brought up in a nunnery.  She
is not accustomed to the ways of the world."

"I'm not blind, Richard.  She would have dismissed me if she had been
able, but it was when you came into the room that she became really
upset.  Why should that be, I wonder?  Is there something between
you?

Some-attachment, perhaps?  "

"No, sir.  I think her shyness springs entirely from her convent
upbringing.  She thinks of me as a friend."

"Only that?  A friend?"

"Just that.  I am no relation to her, and in truth I had no right to be
there."

The Earl brushed that aside.

"You were there at the invitation of Mistress Nancy.  Perhaps it was a
mistake.  It is the extent of this " friendship" that I am querying."

"It was but part of the task you entrusted me with, sir.  It was
necessary to gain the young lady's confidence as I educated her in
those sports and pastimes necessary for her to enter the sophisticated
circle at Court."

The Earl's small eyes narrowed till they were but slits in his big
florid face.

"I also gave instructions that you were not to ingratiate yourself into
her affections."

"I assure you I have done only that which was necessary to fulfill the
task you entrusted to me."  Richard stood straight and returned the
Earl's searching gaze unwaveringly.

"I have to believe you," he said grudgingly.

"I admit you have greatly improved the wench.  She begins to act almost
as if she belongs in the real world.  If we play our cards right she
should catch the amorous eye of our lusty King."

"I have no doubt about that," Richard agreed.  He believed it, but had
difficulty in saying it without a note of despondency in his voice.  It
pained him to think of the future mapped out for Meg, who was still so
lovely, fresh and innocent.

"It is crucial that nothing should go amiss at this stage."

Richard nodded acceptance.  He could not trust himself to speak.

"Mistress Nancy and I have talked it over," the Earl continued.

"It is clear that my niece has blossomed from the shy child that she
was into ripe womanhood."

Richard's feelings were of deepening gloom, but he spoke coolly.

"She is now an enchanting young woman."

"Exactly!"  said the Earl.

"An enchanting young woman!  Tempting to any man, eh?"  Richard did not
answer.  He was wondering what was the purpose of this interview.

"Tempting, eh?"  pressed Thurton.

"And you spend all day, every day, often alone with her."

It seemed to Richard that he had seldom been alone with Meg--except for
that delightful, all too brief occasion in the woods, which had no
doubt been reported to Thurton by Gervase.

"You wish to appoint someone else?"  he asked cautiously.

"No.  You are to keep on with the good work--' " We think it essential
for you to continue schooling Meg," Nancy interrupted the Earl.

"For despite your efforts, Richard, she is as yet by no means perfect."
There was a carping note in her voice.

"Quite," agreed the Earl.

"Now we wish you to accompany us to the chapel."

"Certainly."  Richard shrugged.

Gallantly he offered his arm to Nancy, but all his senses were alerted,
his eyes darting left and right.  Was it a trap?  Had Gervase Gisbon
poured poison into the Earl's ears?  Was a hired assassin poised ready
to strike?

The castle chapel was large and cold, the lime- washed walls
extensively decorated with paintings of saints and sinners in ochres,
vermilions, and copper-salt green.  The Earl strode down the centre of
the nave towards the colourful stained glass window above the altar.

He stopped beside the lectern, on which a Bible was chained.

The Earl turned sharply and faced Richard.  Nancy stepped aside.

"A

safeguard, Richard," he said.

"This enterprise is too important for it to be ruined by some
unexpected slip.  We fear that being in close company with my niece,
whom you yourself describe as enchanting, may present too great a
temptation--'

"My lord, I gave you my word."  Richard interrupted sharply.

"My honour--' " Honour has been forgotten before this, when passion has
taken over," the Earl said.

"I know men--and their weaknesses.  I know how a woman's beauty can
make stronger men than you are forget their duty.  If you wish to
remain as mentor to Lady Margaret, you must take an oath on the
Bible."

"I assure you it is unnecessary," Richard insisted.

"Then it can do you no harm to take it.  Come here.  Swear before
almighty God that Lady Margaret is still a maid."

"To the best of my knowledge and belief that is so," said Richard.

"Secondly you must swear that she will remain inviolate."

"I cannot take responsibility for the lady for ever," Richard
demurred.

"But I will willingly swear that I shall protect Lady Margaret's
chastity, with my life, if need be, until she shall marry."

"Then put your hand on the book and repeat those words."

Solemnly Richard obeyed.

"Good."

The Earl and Nancy walked away.  Just before they left, Thurton
turned.

"Have you seen to providing Lady Margaret with a faster mount?"

"I will do so immediately, sir."

"We shall depart for Westminster any day now and I intend to make our
arrival as notable as possible."

"I will see to it, my lord."

Richard stayed in the quiet of the church for a few minutes more.  He
had no regret over the solemn oath he had taken.  He had worded it with
care.  In that mo t menthe had been forced to face the reality of his
feelings.  When he had said 'until she shall marry' his mind had
suddenly focused.  He had almost added the word The'.  What a foolish
thought that was!  Meg was far beyond him.  He shook his head, then
walked briskly to the stables.

Meg knew Richard would be expecting her to join him for another dancing
session but her mood remained rebellious.  Let him wait!

Smouldering with rage, she picked up the skirts of the newly finished
gown she was wearing and walked quickly along the castle corridors.

Sarah hurried behind her, keeping silent.  She knew the time was not
right even to try and talk her mistress out of this mood.  In her own
chamber, Meg began to tug at the fastenings of the elegant gown.

"Sarah--help me out of this--this thing!"  she commanded.

"Yes, my lady," Sarah murmured.

"But truly this gown is very becoming to you, and it is by no means
immodest--' " It's one they've had made for me.  I want to be my own
self again.

Bring out the clothes I wore at the nunnery.  "

Sarah was shocked.

"You cannot wish to wear those things again!"

"I do.  And I will.  I take it they are clean?"

"Of course!  I washed them myself."

"Thank you, Sarah.  Now please fetch them."

It took very little time to put them on.

"Ah!  How comfortable they feel!"

"Ugly, though," said Sarah.

"I don't care.  You and the nuns made them for me,

and they were stitched with care and love, not for showing me off to
potential suitors.  "

With a feeling of freedom such as she had not experienced since her
arrival at Bixholm Meg walked out of the castle.  She wandered around,
just as she had done on her first morning.  The gardeners were busy
tending the herb garden and the vegetable plot.  She leaned on a wall
and watched them.  The soft cooing of doves was in the air, the dainty
birds fluttering in and out of the dove house The scene was peaceful
but it did not calm her.

She had felt humiliated by Richard's intrusion into the fitting
session.  How dared he assume that she would accept his presence?  She
chewed over the hurt, telling herself he was no different from the Earl
or Nancy.  It was yet another instance of treating her as a nonentity.
He had never done that before.  His actions had always been courteous,
kind, considerate.  It seemed quite out of character.  The only thing
in his favour was that when he had realised his presence was unwelcome
he had departed.

They had spent so much time together that it was strange not to be with
him.  She had enjoyed most of the activities to which he had introduced
her.  Best of all had been dancing, for she had a natural sense of
rhythm.  She could not help wishing she could be with him now, stepping
out a gay galliard, a stately pavane or even the risque la volta

"Look at me.  Smile.  Make eyes at me--just pretend," he had
instructed.

Then added with a light laugh, "You don't know how to flirt, do you?"

"Why should I?  It is insincere."

"Not at Court, because everyone knows it is meaningless pleasantry."

She had been shocked.  Then, as time went by, she had begun to find it
rather pleasant to return those flirtatious gestures.  Was that all it
had been when he had kissed her so sweetly in the woods?  She was too
honest not to know that her response had been meaningful.  His kisses
had effectively lifted her away from all that was mundane.  She had
felt she could renounce everything else in the world, as if she had
been born just for that day.  She had wanted no other heaven than to
lie there with him, had yearned for him to continue loving her for
ever.  It had been like an eclipse of the sun when they had been
disturbed.

They had so seldom been on their own together.  When he tutored her in
various pastimes and recreations, almost always there were other people
around, watching, laughing, shouting encouragement or the reverse.  Her
days had been so full.  He had led her from one activity to the next.
She had danced late into the night, until she was so tired that she had
almost fallen asleep on her feet.  But she had been learning fast, and
mostly she enjoyed what she was doing.

She had scarcely realised it, but those long hours with Richard had
awakened in her a yearning for something more.  She had felt the
quickening of her blood, the racing of her heart.  When she had lived
in the nunnery love had been only a concept, something that might
happen in the distant future.  Now, as she wandered moodily over the
turf that surrounded the castle, the truth came to her.  She had fallen
in love with Richard.

It was shameful, because Richard had never spoken of love; he was only
interested in playing the game of courtly love.  Moreover, the Earl had
made it abundantly clear--he is not the one for you.  And he had full
control over her future.

The sound of cantering hooves interrupted her reverie.  She turned and
saw Richard approaching, riding one horse and leading another.  He
reined in beside her.  She expected to be reprimanded for not attending
the dance session.  He even smiled and, noticing her simple clothes,
raised his eyebrows.  She tossed her head with a haughty gesture,
expecting him to make some disparaging remark.  She would make no
apology.  Her mood was still defiant.

To her amazement, he chuckled.  Although it seemed to be a friendly
sort of chuckle it made her angry.  Did she look so funny?  If he had
not been so high up on that great horse she would probably have slapped
his face.

"My lady."  He spoke with deference, and as ever his voice sent a
shiver of delight coursing through her.

"The Earl was disturbed that you were unable to keep up with the hunt
and has ordered me to provide a more powerful mount for you."

"That was not the reason I lagged behind."

"Nevertheless he is right.  We ride to London in a few days' time."  He
swung himself out of the saddle.

"I've chosen this mare.  What do you think of her?"

Meg stroked the hard forehead, patted the strong neck.  Brown and
white.  She and Meg took to each other immediately.

"She is beautiful.  What is her name?"

"Bella," he answered.

"I rode her yesterday and found her lively but with a commendably good
temperament."

Meg looked Bella over and loved her almost as much as she did Molly.

"Will you ride with me, to see how you get on with her?"

He made no mention of the previous incident.  She wished he would
apologise, but, being realistic, knew he would not do so.  Whatever her
feelings, she decided that a good hard ride was just what she needed.

"If indeed I am to ride her to London in the near future, it would seem
sensible for me to try her out."

He helped her up into the saddle and, without even waiting for him to
remount, she wheeled the mare and set off at full speed.  In her mind
she was trying to get away from him--even though her heart told her
that was impossible.

The mare was fast and strong, eager to gallop.  The fresh air blew into
Meg's face and through her hair.  The power of the animal excited her
as they raced away over the pastureland that surrounded the castle.

She glanced over her shoulder.  Richard was chasing after her.  She
urged Bella to go faster, wanting to get away, to leave him behind.

She hoped it would humiliate him, as he had done her.  Easily and
rapidly he closed the gap between them.

"Slow down, Meg," he shouted above the pounding of the horses'
hooves.

She would have ignored his call, still rebellious, but they were
approaching the forest.  To have continued at such a pace beneath the
overhanging trees would have been madness.  Reluctantly she reined in,
but did not stop.  She wondered, with ridiculous inconsistency, if he
would suggest they might meander through the trees.  Part of her
yearned to find again that secluded spot where she had discovered such
happiness.  Would it-could it--be repeated if she was again alone with
Richard?  The mare moved on at a walking pace towards the opening in
the trees, where a track invited them into its depths.

Richard called again, more sharply.

"Stop, my lady."

So it was my lady again now!  It had been Meg when he had kissed her.

The defiance dropped away.  She waited for him.

"We have to return.  The farrier is waiting to look over the horses'
shoes."

She turned Bella and gently, side by side, they trotted back.

"You ride very well," he said.

"Thank you."  She was studiously polite.

"I thought you might have difficulty in managing such a spirited
animal."

"The Prioress at the nunnery kept a fine stable."

"And she permitted you to ride?"

Meg gave a wry smile.

"My mama persuaded her to allow me to have riding lessons on a very
gentle old horse."

"Bella does not fit that description," he remarked dryly.

"No, well, I've always enjoyed riding.  I love horses too.  I spent
hours and hours at the stables, and I persuaded the grooms to take me
with them when they went out exercising the horses.  Some of them were
really fast."

"That explains it.  What do you think of Bella?"

"She's wonderful."  She leaned over and patted the mare's neck.  As
they talked the atmosphere between them became normal again.

"When do we go to London?"  she asked.

"In a day or two, I believe."

"It's strange, but I have no wish to leave here."

"It has not been too unpleasant, then?"

"You know it has not.  But I confess I am more than a little afraid of
going to Court."

He wanted to reassure her, but found himself tongue- tied.  It would be
a lie to say she had nothing to fear.

"Do you think I shall find a husband there?"  she asked.

"I have no doubt of it."

That deepened her anguish.

Chapter Eight

1 he journey to London was uneventful, but to Meg no less interesting
and enjoyable for that.  Every village they passed through was new to
her, and the country folk bowed or curtsied and ragged children capered
merrily alongside the horses.  She wished she had money to throw for
them, but when she suggested this.  Nancy told her not to be so
silly.

The riding party consisted of Meg, Nancy, the Earl, Richard and
Gervase, together with their servants.  As before, Sarah was riding
pillion behind Alan.  There were also outriders, for defence should
they be attacked by highwaymen.  Grooms and stable hands led packhorses
with personal possessions, including the elaborate clothing which had
caused Meg so much anguish.  Carts had been sent on in advance, packed
with additional items.

Fortunately the weather was warm and dry, so that the state of the
roads was less treacherous than might have been.  Even so there were
deep holes and ruts, which could have caused a rider to be thrown or a
horse lamed if care was not taken.  Bella was sweetly behaved,

strong and willing, and Meg began to think of the mare as a friend.

Quite often, and for long periods, Richard rode at her side.  They
talked companionably, but always there were other members of the party
within earshot.

Sometimes Nancy joined them.

"Everyone that's anyone is in London."

She exuded an air of excitement.

"There'll be so much to do--balls and pageants, and a Great Tournament
is planned!  How I wish we were there already!  This journey is so
tedious!"

Meg did not agree, but she did not wish to enter into an argument and
remained silent.  It was easier just to nod amiably.

Sometimes the Earl brought his great horse up alongside her.  He had a
look of delighted anticipation which had the effect of making Meg
nervous.  Those things that were enjoyed by Thurton and Nancy were
usually very different from her own inclinations.

"How do you like the new mare?"  he asked.

"You handle her well."

"Thank you.  Uncle Edmund.  She's a lovely creature."  Meg smiled at
him, because that was something upon which she was fully in agreement
with him.

"Ha!  You've learned to smile!  You've blossomed since you've been with
us.  No longer the frightened waif from the nunnery, eh?  Richard has
worked wonders with you."

That was an unpleasant reminder that those days and evenings she had
spent so happily with Richard had been at his lordship's bidding.  She
had no comment, but Thurton was so pleased with himself, and with her,
that he did not notice.

"It's all for your advancement.  I have great plans for you.  You know
that, don't you?"

Meg's belief was that it had been more for her uncle's advancement than
hers.

"All I know is that your intention is to find a husband for me," she
said.

"Exactly!  The best match in the land, no less."  The Earl was
beaming;

she had never seen him in a better mood.

"Oh, Meg!  My own dear little niece!  What a sensation you'll make when
I take you to Court.  Bless my soul if you won't!"

He was in an exceptionally genial mood.  She had never seen him so
mellow, and was emboldened to ask, "Is it at Court that I shall be
introduced to the gentleman you hope will offer for my hand?"

"You will.  You will, my dear."

"Then should I not know the gentleman's name and something about him?

I would then take special care to be on my best behaviour when we meet?
"

"Anxious to meet with the gentleman, are you?"  He chuckled happily.

"Patience, wench.  Just do as you are told.  Keep that smile on your
pretty face and the whole world will be at your feet.  I promise you
will meet him very soon."

The world at her feet!  What nonsense was that?  Had he perhaps been
imbibing too freely at the alehouse where they had rested?  She was
about to question him further, but he spurred his great charger
forward.

"Soon," he called back to her.

"Very soon.  Be patient, my beauty."

Be patient, indeed!  Did he really think she was so anxious to be
wed?

If it had been to Richard she would have welcomed the announcement, but
how could she feel anything for a stranger?  She uttered a silent
prayer that this fine gentleman whom she was expected to marry would
not be like the Earl in any respect.  Sometimes she wondered if he was
ill in the head.  Why should anyone wish to marry her?  She had not
even the smallest of dowries.  If Bixholm had belonged to her, as in
truth it should, then her prospects would have been quite different.
That would have been an estate to bargain with--but her uncle had
forcibly possessed it all those years ago, and most definitely he did
not intend to part with it now.

She was of good blood.  Her mother had been proud to tell her that she
was descended from one of the earlier kings of England.  But who would
care a jot about that?  Meg certainly didn't.

They passed through the hamlet of Islington, and rode into the inner
city through the great gate at Bishopsgate.  The wall on one side was
crumbling, and on the other it had recently been patched up, probably
paid for by a rich merchant who lived nearby.  The streets were narrow
and unpaved, and her nose was unpleasantly assailed by the smell of
rotting refuse at which ravens and kites scavenged.  Patches of green,
trees and gardens, showed between some of the fine houses of the rich
merchants.  Lesser dwellings crowded shoulder to shoulder.

The Earl's town house was on the south side of the Strand, one of the
most sought-after areas in London.  It was three storeys high, built of
stone, with mullioned windows and the Thurton arms carved above the
heavy doorway.  An oriel window in the parlour overlooked the street.

Meg was pleased to be allocated a small chamber on the first floor, but
dismayed to discover it was next door to that occupied by the Earl and
Nancy.

"Reckon they intend to keep a close eye on you whilst you're here in
the big city," said Sarah.

Meg had thought exactly the same.

"Nice, though, ain't it?"  Sarah said approvingly.

The chamber was well furnished.  The estate at Bix- holm must be rich
to be able to support such an affluent town house.  A stab of anger
shot through Meg as she remembered how simply and frugally her mother
had been forced to live in the nunnery.

Thurton had been callous and ruthless in his treatment of his gentle
sister-in-law, widowed, alone with a small child.  Meg shuddered as she
wondered why he was now bringing her to London.  Of one thing she was
certain: whatever plan he had it was for his benefit rather than
hers.

His secrecy added to her fears.

The gardens sloped to the river, and the palaces occupied by the King
were close by.  For health reasons the royal household moved along the
banks of the Thames, from Richmond to Windsor, Greenwich, El- tham and
Westminster.  As one site became polluted everyone moved to the next.

The huge Palace of Whitehall, an intricate mass of apartments and
galleries, also had gardens, covered tennis courts, a tiltyard and
bowling green.

Within days of their arrival in London the Earl had arranged a banquet,
to which he invited all the most powerful men and women he knew, or
could get introductions to.  Invitations to pageants, balls and
banquets flowed back.  He and Nancy were smugly delighted, but Meg
became increasingly puzzled and despondent.  She was decked out in "the
elegant gowns newly made for her.  Jewels which, she suspected, should
have belonged to her mother were hung around her neck, decorated her
hair, or were pinned to her garments.  Meg squired to think that more
recently they had been worn by Nancy.

The Court lay at the centre of everything.  The palaces and great
houses were thronging with ambitious men and women, all vying with each
other for the King's favour.  Those who were not high-born enough to be
within his orbit bowed and scraped to those who were now, or might one
day be there.  She began to understand that those courtesies Richard
had been teaching her were, as he said, 'the only way of getting
promotion or of gaining wealth'.

He might have added that the rich and aristocratic never expected to
have to earn a living.  Wealth was available more abundantly than ever
before.  With the dissolution of the monasteries the King had acquired
land, fine buildings, gold, silver and jewels.  They were his to sell,
or bestow upon those he favoured.

Meg was uncomfortable at being thrust into the company of so many
strangers.  Everyone was lavishly attired, the men just as flamboyant
as the women.  You would think it was a sin not to spend freely and
dress brilliantly, she thought.  Meg had never felt so alone as she did
in that throng, and more so because Nancy was never far away.  Meg
curtsied and smiled.  She answered politely when she was spoken to and
regarded the glittering scene with such open amazement that it brought
smiles to those who watched her.  She had never known that such wealth
and splendour existed, and she could not help being excited by it.

In every gathering she looked around, seeking Richard, but he was
seldom present, and when he was there it was impossible to speak with
him privately.  She had become accustomed to his attentiveness and
realised how much she had relied upon his companionship.  She missed
him terribly.  At banquets she was always seated with the Earl on one
side of her and a stranger on the other.  That should have been
pleasant, for normally she enjoyed talking to people, but the main
topic was al 5

ways concerned with events at Court, of which she knew little.

There was endless speculation as to who was in favour with the King.

Even greater relish was shown when the talk concentrated upon those who
were said to have fallen foul of His Majesty and had been dismissed.
More than anything there were always a multitude of suggestions as to
whom the King might choose as his new wife.  The Court chuckled at the
joke that one foreign princess had refused, saying she would not marry
him even if she had two necks!

One wife divorced, another beheaded, and it had been said that when
Queen Jane had had such a terrible time in childbirth Henry had been
more concerned with saving the child than with care for his wife!

After her death he had shown great remorse, but he was still sending
envoys to all the European countries, seeking princesses whose fathers
or brothers were seeking an alliance with England.  Two of his previous
wives had been chosen from among the ladies-in-waiting at Court, and
there was always the possibility that might happen again.  Various
names were mentioned and their family connections discussed in minute
detail.  Meg understood only half of all that was said, for she had
little knowledge of modern politics.

Nancy glowed, gossiped and giggled at scandals regarding people of whom
Meg knew nothing.  She preened and was coiriplimented by other ladies
and gentlemen with words that Meg was sure were falsely uttered.  She
was surprised to observe that the Earl was treated as a high-ranking
gentleman of considerable consequence.  Even more amazingly, she
noticed that those to whom she was introduced were fawningly
nattering.

"It is as if they think I am a person of importance," she whispered one
day to Richard.

It was late in the afternoon and they were attending a pageant which
had been performed in the streets by one of the guilds.  She had
managed to draw him a little aside from the throng, so as not to be
overheard by Gervase, though they remained within sight of his ever
watchful eyes.

"You will become accustomed to that, if the Earl has his way."

Richard's voice had a grim undertone which was reflected in the set of
his face.

"What do you mean, Richard?  Why should it be?  I don't understand."

"No, of course you don't, my sweet innocent.  But soon you will be
introduced to the King--' " That's arranged for tomorrow," she told
him, with a light little laugh.

"I'm so nervous!  Just imagine it!  I had never met any aristocratic
people at all until I encountered you, Richard.  To tell the truth I
find the prospect rather alarming.  I've been practising my curtsey,
and I've been told to smile at him and to listen to him and agree with
everything he says to me."

"Good advice," Richard said curtly.

"Naturally I shall be civil.  I hope that I always am to strangers.

Anyway, I don't suppose I shall be in the company of the King for more
than a few minutes.  "

"Meg--take care--' " Ah, Richard--and Lady Margaret.  " The unwelcome
voice of Gervase Gisbon came insidiously between them.

"My apologies to be the cause of breaking up this delightful
tete-a-tete."  The sneer was unmistakable.

"His lordship sends compliments and requests that you join him and
Mistress Nancy.  They are about to move on to another gathering."

Meg tried to read from Richard's face what he had been about to say.

Take care.  Why now especially?  A sense of insecurity had been with
her ever since she had left the nunnery.

"Will you accompany us, Richard?"  she asked.

"Alas, I cannot," he said.

"I have to practise for the Great Tournament in a few days' time.  But
I shall be with you tomorrow when you are formally introduced to the
King.  You know that you have already been noticed by His Majesty?"

Meg gasped.

"No!  I had no idea!  I have been at events where the King has been
present--but you are teasing me, are you not, Richard?"

"It is true, my lady."

She shook her head, genuinely puzzled.

"But why should His Majesty have noticed me?"

Gervase.  gave Richard no chance to answer.  He stepped between them,
lifted Meg's hand and tucked it within his arm, drawing her away from
Richard.

"I understand we are all to accompany you tomorrow," he said.

"The occasion may include some dancing, and it is proposed that Sir
Richard shall partner you."

"We are to dance before His Majesty?"  Meg gasped.  She turned to
Richard accusingly.

"You did not tell me."

"I didn't know, until this moment," said Richard.

"But of course I shall be happy to do so."  Despite his words, he
looked far from happy.

His expression puzzled her.  He'd always appeared to enjoy the dance
almost as much as he enjoyed jousting.  She thought he would have been
pleased and proud to perform before the royal party.

"The Earl had intended to partner you personally, my lady," Gervase
said.

"But Nancy convinced him that your sweetness would be shown to better
advantage with a younger man.  Your lively stepping will also bring you
to his notice."

Meg stared at Gervase.

"Why would the King care how well I dance?"  she asked.

"Surely he has professional entertainers?"

"He does, naturally.  The best in the land.  But he particularly enjoys
watching delicate young maidens disporting themselves."

Meg was relieved to hear that taking it to mean that there would be
several couples dancing for the King's pleasure.

"You will find it a truly memorable occasion," Gervase said.  He
bowed.

"Now, my lady, we must move on.  The Earl and Mistress Nancy are
waiting for us."

The following day, when the Earl escorted Meg into the Great Hall, he
strutted like a peacock and was as brightly gowned as the bird
itself.

Nancy, Richard and Gervase followed a short distance behind.  Meg's
nervousness increased with every step.  The grandeur of the huge room
far outshone all the other wondrous palaces she had seen since her
arrival in London.  She gazed up at the elaborate ceiling, at the
magnificent tapestries on the walls and the rich carpets on the
floor.

Brilliant colours and intricate designs clamoured to be noticed, but
gold and scarlet predominated.

Her wonder and amazement grew as her attention turned to the people
gathered there.  Magnificence and artistic splendour were on blatant
display.  All were hoping for an audience with the King.  A hundred or
more ladies and gentlemen lined the sides of the great reception
hall.

The soft chatter suggested an underlying but unmistakable excitement,
yet was kept within bounds.  The men's caps, of the richest materials,
made a sea of colour, were decorated with flashing jewels and nodding
plumes.  The ladies' hoods framed fashionably pale faces.

Meg understood then why so much trouble had been taken over her
appearance that day.  She was clad in one of the most elegant of her
new gowns, though not the one which had offended her.

Never--never--would she be seen in public wearing that!  The gown Nancy
had chosen on this occasion was of a rich russet colour.  It had a
tight-fitting bodice, heavily embroidered in gold around the delicately
curved neckline, and elaborately slashed sleeves.  The full skirt
trailed on the ground and was open in front to reveal a jewel-encrusted
petticoat.

Sarah had, of course, accompanied Meg to her robing, but Nancy's maid
had been called to dress Meg's hair.  Meg would have protested, but
Sarah had whispered to her that she did not mind in the least.  This
was to be a great occasion, and it was possible that the other girl
knew more about current trends than she did.

The maid had worked on Meg's hair for almost an hour.  She'd smoothed
it till every hair was lying straight from the central parting, in
exactly the right shape.  Her long tresses had been combed to ripple
thickly down her back--a style that denoted her maidenhood--and the
under cap set slightly back on her head.  Lastly the gable hood had
been placed in position, framing Meg's youthful face in the most
becoming way.  A rope of pearls finished the picture, opulent, fresh
and charming.

Meg had been shown a portrait of the King, and it seemed to her that
several of the gentlemen present looked much like him.  Perhaps they
all believed that imitation was the sincerest form of flattery, for
each one of them looked big, in broad-shouldered doublets, flat hats,
and shoes with square toes.  Many adopted a pose with their legs
slightly apart too.

She was led forward, with her hand lightly resting on the Earl's arm.

"Which is the King?"  she asked.

"His Majesty has not yet arrived," Thurton said.

"We will move close to that dais on which he will be seated, for he
knows of our coming."

"My lord, is it to one of the gentlemen here that I am to be wedded?"

The Earl did not answer immediately.  He negotiated a place near the
front, to the obvious annoyance of some who had been standing there for
a considerable time.  Thurton brushed them aside, aided by a few sharp
comments from Nancy and a shoulder applied by Gervase.

"He is not yet here," the Earl said.

Meg was not sure if he was referring to her question or to the King.

She did not bother to pursue the matter;

she had just noticed that Richard was standing almost beside her.  As
always his presence was reassuring, giving her a feeling of warmth and
well-being.  She wished she dared reach out and take hold of his
hand.

His eyes met hers, and she thought she read a longing in them that
matched her own feelings.  Why--oh, why could he not be the one for
her?  She smiled, but the expression on Richard's face was solemn.

The air of expectation among those in the Great Hall intensified as
time passed and the hour at which it was thought King Henry might
arrive drew nearer.  When at last that moment came, the musicians
trumpeted loud and clear.  The King entered, and with one accord those
multi-coloured caps were swept from the men's heads as they bowed
low.

The women lowered themselves in deep curtsies.  The Earl and Meg paid
homage in the same manner, but she could not resist lifting her head
slightly to get a glimpse of the King.

Her disappointment was intense.  He was a large man, tall, but also
overweight, even allowing for the widening effect of his clothing.  As
he processed close to her she noticed that if he had taken off his cap,
which he wore dashingly aslant, he would have shown himself quite bald.
He walked with a slow, waddling movement, and she recalled that Sarah
had told her that His Majesty suffered from ulcers.  His legs were
painful.

"Just like that old priest who took confessions," Sarah had said.

"That's just gossip," Meg had reprimanded her, and had refused to
listen when Sarah had protested.

"You shouldn't repeat such things."

Meg pretended to look down humbly as he passed by in front of her, but
her eyes were fixed on his legs.  Beneath the silken stockings they
were obviously wrapped around with thick bandages.  She had never
expected that the most important man in the whole land would suffer
such a disability.  She felt sorry for him, as she would have for any
person with such an affliction.  Then she looked around in dismay,
fearing that someone might be able to read her thoughts--for surely
that could be treason!  No one would be permitted to think of the
greatest man in the land as a 'poor gentleman'.

He passed by, and the company raised themselves to normal height again.
The King was seated in a thronelike chair on a dais.  It was beneath a
huge canopy of cloth of gold.  Servants offered refreshments but he
waved them away.  The musicians who had followed him, playing a march
of triumph as he processed along the length of the Great Hall, now
grouped themselves to one side.  They began to play some of the popular
tunes including several which had been composed by the King himself. 
The conversation, which had been flowing freely before the entry of His
Majesty, started again, in whispers and hushed tones.

Nancy began to fiddle with the skirts of Meg's gown, as if she thought
it had been ruffled.  Of course it had not!  She had taken the greatest
possible care to ensure that it had not been crushed or creased.

For the first time an anxious expression came over the Earl's face.

"We shall soon be in the royal presence, Meg," he said.

"Don't forget what I've told you."

"Smile and wait for His Majesty to speak to you before you make any
comments," said Nancy.

The King was graciously offering audience to courtiers and their wives
and daughters, who moved gradually towards him.  A queue had formed and
the Earl, with Meg on his arm, slowly led her towards the presence.

Most people were with His Majesty for only a short time, then, with a
leisurely gesture of his fat be ringed hand, the King would wave them
aside.  Meg watched with a sense of relief.  At this rate her ordeal
would soon be over.  She might as well enjoy the occasion; it would be
something to tell her grandchildren about when she was an old lady.  He
said so little to any of them that she was confident she would remember
every word.  Thurton removed his cap.  There were only a few people
before them now.

The King lifted his head, which had slumped slightly.  In that moment
he looked directly at her, and to her amazement an eager twinkle sprang
into his eyes.  Abruptly he dismissed the family who were in front of
her.

Bowing low, Thurton swept the floor with his elegant cap.  Meg lowered
herself into the graceful curtsey she had spent so long practising, and
was pleased that she managed it without the slightest tremor.  She
stood up and smiled, warmly and honestly, for she did indeed feel she
was greatly honoured to be in this position.

"Ah, Thurton," said the King.

"And the pretty young lady I've been hearing so much about."

"Your Majesty.  I have the honour to introduce my very dear niece. Lady
Margaret Thurton."

The King's eyes roved over Meg, from her demurely hooded head down over
the bare flesh above the tight bodice.  They rested for a moment on her
tiny waist, then flashed back up to her face, and he nodded as if in
approval.  Her cheeks flushed with pleasure and embarrassment.

"Charming," he said.  He smiled at her, then turned to the Earl.

"Just as well your niece does not take after you in looks, eh?"

The Earl turned a good deal redder than usual and forced out a loud
laugh.  He would not have accepted such a comment from any other man.

"I am told that I take after my mother.  Your Majesty," Meg interposed,
quite forgetting that she should not speak until she was spoken to.

The King seemed not to mind at all.

"Your mother was Lady Elizabeth Thurton, was she not?"

"She was indeed, " Your Majesty," Meg said, warmly.

"A kind and gentle lady.  I loved her dearly."

"La9y Elizabeth was a great beauty," said the Earl.

"Not surprising, sire, for she was descended from the same regal
ancestors as yourself, but on the female side."

"So you have royal blood, my lovely."  Henry seemed pleased with the
information.

"Then you should come and sit here alongside me, how would you like
that?"

Meg felt some alarm, but overcame it and answered honestly, "I should
be most honoured, sire."

"A chair.  Bring a chair for Lady Margaret," he ordered.

It was produced with remarkable speed.  Thurton took hold of Meg's hand
and assisted her to mount the shallow steps on to the dais.

"All is going well, Meg," he whispered.

"The King likes you.  Don't forget to smile, and agree with everything
he says."  When Meg was seated he bowed to the King and backed away.

His face was so brightly red that Meg feared he might take a fit of
apoplexy.  She watched as he moved to the side of the great room,
taking his place beside Nancy, Richard and Gervase.  All except Richard
were smiling broadly, as if her being seated beside the King was
something they had planned.

The King reached over and took hold of her hand.

"Are you comfortable, my dear?"  he asked.

"Perfectly, thank you.  Your Majesty."  She smiled at him quite
naturally as she answered.  It was not in the least bit difficult, for
there was something very pleasant in his face, despite it being heavy
and with obvious signs of ageing.  He did not seem at all like the
terrible creature who had been so cruel to his wives.  There was
admiration in.  his eyes as he looked at her, and she would not have
been feminine if she had not responded to it.  To her he seemed like
the father she would have dearly liked, or perhaps a kindly uncle.  Not
at all like her real one.

"So, you are Lady Margaret!"  he said.

"What do they call you?  Maggie, perhaps?"

"Usually Meg, sire."

"I like that.  You are more lovely than I was told, Meg.  That makes a
change.  You wouldn't believe the portraits they have been trying to
palm me off with.  Foreign princesses with faces like horses."

"I am sorry to hear that Your Majesty," Meg said.

"But do you not think that goodness can be more important than
beauty?"

"Not in a bed mate," the King said.

Meg was so shocked that the smile on her face became fixed there.

The King looked pleased.  He smiled back at her and patted her hand
again.

"I've been a lonely man since my dear Queen Jane died," he said.

Suddenly the awful truth dawned on Meg.  Had she been brought here as a
possible wife?  Or, worse, to become Henry's mistress!  One glance at
the expressions of joy on the faces of the Earl and Nancy made terror
clutch at Meg's heart.

Chapter Nine

Jving Henry resumed receiving the courtiers with their wives and
families.  Meg sat beside him, struggling with the thoughts that raged
through her head.  Most of the people who came to him had some
request;

others merely wished to give their greetings.  Obsequiously they told
him of their undying loyalty, probably with an eye to some future need.
She paid little attention to them for her mind was in turmoil.

Then reason began to exert itself.  How could such a foolish thought
have entered her head?  Some of the young ladies who were introduced to
the King were truly beautiful, much more lovely than she.  They were
also more experienced in the ways of Court.  They talked with
confidence and knowledge and they smiled with beguiling warmth.  He
could take his pick of any of them--it was unbelievable that he should
choose her.  How foolish she had been even to think it!

By nature Meg was a practical young woman.  Her mind challenged her
imagination and insisted there was nothing extraordinary in the King's
behaviour.  He was quite polite to almost everyone.  She scoffed at
herself.  Of course it wasn't true.  He had merely asked her to sit by
him because she was of royal blood, distant though it was.  He had said
he was lonely, and no doubt that was true, but it was absurd to think
that he might contemplate marriage with her!  She was so relieved that
she almost chuckled aloud at the thought.  She was getting ideas beyond
her station, she told herself.  As for becoming his mistress, the
Church did not allow that, did it?  And the King was Head of the
Church, so he couldn't possibly take a mistress--could he?

She relaxed.  He was still holding her hand, and gave it a little
squeeze.  The queue had disappeared.

He turned to her.

"I'm told you sing, Meg, is that true?"

"I can sing a little.  Your Majesty, but I am not sure my voice is good
enough to perform in public."

"I shall be the judge of that," declared Henry.

"You shall sing for the company here and I shall accompany you on the
harp.  Let us see how we fit together in a musical way."

He beckoned to the musicians and they gathered at the side of the dais.
One of them handed a small harp to the King.

"Now, my dear, what song will you choose?"

"I do not know many songs, sire.  I was brought up in a nunnery and in
the choir we always sang psalms."

He brushed that aside.

"This is not the time for psalms.  I was told you had recently learned
some songs of a lighter nature."

'"Greensleeves" " she suggested, since obviously his request could not
be refused.

"Splendid.  Did they tell you I composed that?"

"They did, and I find it quite delightful."

Henry smiled, pleased by her remark.  He ran his fingers over the
strings of the harp, and large though they were his touch was light.
Meg stood up and began to sing.

Greensleeves was all my joy Greensleeves was my delight The King was an
accomplished harpist and the other musicians joined in softly, adding
depth.  She sang, putting her whole heart into the words, controlling
her voice as she had been taught.  Unable to prevent herself, she
looked over to where Richard was standing.  He had taught her this
song, she was singing it for him, and it pleased her to see that he was
listening raptly.

Then her eyes slipped from Richard's face to those around him.  Most of
the assembled company listened with signs of pleasure, but Gervase
stood with folded arms and a supercilious air, as if bored with
everyone and everything.  By contrast the Earl and Nancy were looking
at each other, their faces glowing with delight.  Did they think, as
she had done momentarily, that the King's interest in her had some
deeper meaning?  She would have to disillusion them on that score as
quickly as possible.

Doubts flowed back into her mind and she almost forgot the words of the
final line.  She faltered, but quickly pulled herself together and
finished on a strong note.  Great applause followed.  She was well
aware that it was mostly because the King himself had played the
accompaniment.  Meg curtsied to him and he reached out for her hand,
took it and kissed it.

"That was delightful, sweet Meg," he said.

"We shall make more music together in the future.  I shall teach you
more of my favourite airs."

"That is most gracious of you."  She smiled to cover the apprehension
that threatened to envelop her.

"It will be my pleasure.  Something I shall look forward to.  For truly
I have been starved of congenial company of late.  But now it is time
for the dancing to begin."

"Will you dance, sire?"  she asked.

"I would be charmed to partner you, but my leg is troubling me.  You
shall perform and I shall watch.  Name the partner of your choice."

"Sir Richard de Heigham has been my dancing master," she responded
immediately.

The King beckoned him over.  Richard's face was inscrutable as he led
her on to the floor.  The musicians took up their instruments and music
flowed into the Great Hall.

With her lips close to Richard's ear, she whispered, "I did not expect
this.  What shall I do?"

"There is no need to distress yourself," he said.

"I shall lead you into the steps."

He seemed to be thinking only of the dance.  Her eyes pleaded with him,
but with all those people watching it was impossible to say more.  She
was not even sure that he understood her concern.  His demeanour showed
he was as much at ease as if they had been at practice at Bixholm.

He swept her a bow.

"You sang delightfully, and now together we shall perform a spectacular
gay galliard."

They began to dance.  Each in turn leaping high into the air.  It was a
dance in which the man in particular was showing off his spritely
stepping, making much play of the shapeliness of his leg.  The movement
separated them.  She waited until they were close again.

"I must speak with you, Richard," she whispered urgently.

Again his elegant stepping opened a gap between them, then brought them
together.

"Later," he said.

"After the Tournament."

"This evening," she insisted.

"I will walk in the garden after dinner."

He did not answer immediately.  His brow was furrowed.  Was he trying
to find an excuse?  Then it was too late.  The dance ended.  Richard
took her hand.

"After dinner," she repeated.

"It may not be possible," he replied.

She did not look at him as he led her back to the King, who greeted
them with warm applause.  They had danced vigorously, and were
breathing hard as they stood together before the dais.  Richard was
still holding her hand.

"Splendid!  Splendid!  What a wonderful dance the galliard is.  I used
to be an expert myself," Henry boasted.

"I could do it yet, you know, but for these accursed legs."

"I am sorry that you suffer so."  Meg spoke with honest sympathy.

"The physician has hopes that he can cure me.  When I am recovered I
shall lead you on to the floor myself, Meg.  You will see.  You will
see."

"That will be a great pleasure to me.  Your Majesty."

Gervase approached and bowed to the King.

"Ah, Gisbon.  Was that not a fine performance?"

"Fine indeed, sire," Gervase responded.

"As it was also when Lady Margaret and yourself entertained us royally
with that delightful rendering of " Green- sleeves"."

"Lady Margaret is a very talented young lady," the

King agreed.  To Meg he added, "You are a credit to your royal
blood."

For once she was grateful that Gervase gave her no opportunity to
respond.

"Your Majesty," he said.

"May I ask for Sir Richard to be released?  He is required to assist
with preparations for the Tournament."

"Ah, yes, the Tournament.  I have great expectations of both you and
Richard."  Henry waved them away.

Bowing and stepping backwards, they retreated, until protocol permitted
them to turn.  Their departure was too abrupt for further speech with
Richard.  She watched his back, disappointed that he had not been more
forthcoming about her suggested assignation.

The King's voice interrupted her thoughts.

"Have you seen a Great Tournament?"  he asked.

"Never, sire.  Neither great nor small."

"Then this will be a treat for you.  A year or so ago I took great
pleasure in jousting myself.  Now I can only watch whilst other men
ride.  At the Tournament you shall sit with me in the royal stand.

We'll cheer them on together, eh?  "

Meg curtsied in acknowledgement of the honour that was being bestowed
upon her.  She lowered her head and hoped it veiled the dismay she was
certain must show on her face.

"That is exceedingly kind.  Your Majesty."

"Until then, sweet Meg, it must be adieu.  Unfortunately I have matters
of state which require my attention, so I must take my leave of you."

His attendants sprang forward.  They assisted him to his feet, adjusted
his robes, then stood to attention.  The trumpeters sounded a fanfare
and followed the King as he progressed down the Hall.  Everyone made
elaborate obeisance and remained with heads lowered until he had slowly
and painfully walked the length of the room.  He left as he had
entered, through the golden double doors.

The silence that had persisted whilst the King was present was
dissipated instantly.  Voices were raised, as if all the assembled
company were speaking at once.  Several times Meg heard her own name as
people questioned.  Who was she?  Where had she come from?  What did
the King mean about royal blood?  The Earl was surrounded by a dozen or
more fashionable gentlemen and Nancy rushed over, holding her arms
open, and, giving Meg no chance to escape, caught her in a great hug.

"What a fortunate young lady you are, Meg!  This morning's audience has
been beyond my wildest dreams!  The King is fascinated--and you
conducted yourself well, my dear.  Everything you did was just right!

You have pleased your uncle enormously.  "

Meg felt intense dislike at being pressed so tightly to that fleshy
bosom, and struggled until she managed to detach herself from the
cloying embrace.

Nancy was too excited to notice the rebuff.  She drew back, but kept
one possessive arm around Meg's waist.  Other women crowded around,
eager to know exactly what the King had said.

At first Meg was reluctant to say anything, except that His Majesty had
been very kind.  But they pestered to know more, and, as nothing of a
private nature had passed between them, she recounted all that she
could recall.  Finally she said, quite simply, "I am to sit beside the
King at the Great Tournament."

"Oh, Meg, my darling girl!  That's wonderful!"  exclaimed Nancy.

"We must tell Edmund.  Come."

With her arm still tightly around Meg's waist, as if she feared she
might lose her in the crowd.  Nancy propelled her in the direction of
the Earl.  The news had just as dramatic an effect upon Thurton as it
had had on Nancy.  He threw his arms around Meg and hugged her, and it
was only by turning her head sharply that she evaded having a kiss
smacked full on her mouth.

That movement attracted Nancy's attention, but far from chiding her, as
she would certainly have done in the past, she showed sympathy.

"Edmund, I think it has all been rather too much for Meg.  Let us go
home so that we may discuss this in greater privacy and make
preparations for the day of the Tournament."

For once Meg was grateful for a suggestion from Nancy.  Her uncle
tucked her hand in the crook of his arm and positively strutted through
the crowd.  More than once he was stopped by courtiers and their wives.
It seemed as if they already believed that through Meg he had been
invested with special power.  She was aware, too, of how closely she
was scrutinised, and on many faces she read disturbing expressions of
envy.

Nancy followed them, with an unmistakable swagger of pride, bestowing
smiles on those who pleased her with nattering comments.  Meg was
uncomfortably aware that she had become an object of curiosity.  It was
a relief when they reached the privacy of the Earl's house.

"It's working out just as I hoped!"  Thurton exclaimed as soon as they
were inside.

"Like a dream come true.  I had a presentiment the moment I heard about
you, Meg.  I knew it!"  He flung himself down in his big chair and
shouted for the servants to bring wine.

Meg remained standing.

"What did you know.  Uncle?"  she asked coldly.

"I knew you could charm the King!  And you have.  You have!  He chose
you to sit beside him, didn't he?

All others were waved aside.  What a wonderful occasion!  Today has
made everything worthwhile, hasn't it?  "

"Exactly what do you mean?"  Meg asked.

"What has been worthwhile?"

"The money I've spent on clothes.  And the training.  The lessons in
dancing and singing.  Henry was enchanted.  I know.  I've seen it
before, when he met young Anne Bpleyn, and then again little Jane
Seymour.  He was ready to fall in love again, and you've woken him up.
You are what he needs, Meg.  Keep on exactly as you did today and
you'll have him eating out of your hand--if he isn't there already!"

He quaffed a goblet of wine.  Nancy drank too.  It was offered to Meg,
but she refused.  She felt befuddled enough already, without risking
the effects of alcohol.

"The King married Anne Boleyn and Jane Seymour," Meg said.

"Now they are both dead."

"Exactly!  So the King is in need of another wife."

"And you hope that will be me?"  Meg whispered.

"The highest in the land!  Didn't I tell you that, when you asked
me?"

He chuckled.  Triumph was written all over his big florid face.

"Couldn't have been better," Nancy agreed.

"Did you see the faces of some of those people when he showed his
preference for our Meg!  It was wonderful."  Nancy was slumped on a
settle, and her buxom body began to shake with laughter at the
recollection.

They had schemed and planned and their dreams now showed signs of
reaching fruition.  What a great achievement for them both!

At that moment Meg knew for certain it was for this, and this alone,
that she had been brought to Bixholm.  She was expected to become the
wife--or perhaps the mistress--of the gross and ageing King.  Fear and
helplessness ate into her soul.

Bleakly she said, "He had Queen Anne beheaded."

"No need for that to happen again," Nancy said.

"Anne was no better than she should be.  An unfaithful hussy.  I'm sure
that won't happen with you, Meg."

"It was murder."

"Hush!  It would be treason if the King heard you."  The Earl glanced
around as he spoke, as if he feared the walls had ears.

"Don't speak of that, ever."

"Queen Jane died a natural death," Nancy pointed out.

"It was in childbirth.  She was never strong, nothing like as healthy
as you, Meg.

Anyway, that's a risk women have to take, isn't it?  "

"I suppose so," Meg murmured.

"But he divorced Queen Catherine and treated her ill, so 'tis said."

"That was never a proper marriage," the Earl snapped.

"She had been his brother's wife.  All past and done with.  Forget it.
Think of the bright future that lies before you.  The King is always
generous.

You'll have jewels and rich clothes and servants of your own.

Everything and anything your heart could desire.  "

"Those people were green with envy."  Nancy chuckled again, immensely
pleased.

"That'll teach them!  I reckon they'll be looking up to me from now
on."

"They will indeed!  It was written in their faces!"  bellowed the
Earl.

"If looks could have killed, you would have had a knife through your
heart, Meg.  You were the only one he had eyes for."

They laughed and took more wine, and repeated things that had been
said, the envy that had been evoked.  Their imaginations raced ahead,
over wonderful times to come.  With every new idea their merriment
increased.  The Earl listed some of the gifts that had been showered on
Jane Seymour's family.  Great estates and riches would be theirs for
the asking when their Meg became Queen Margaret.

For Meg such a terrible fate was a nightmare.  She was far too upset to
say anything more.  Besides, what would be the use?  Her feelings were
of no consequence to them.  She walked out of the room and the Earl and
Nancy were so pleased with themselves they did not even notice.

She wandered around the house and out into the garden.  Would Richard
meet her there tonight?  Would he help her?  There was no one else to
whom she could turn.  If she showed any reluctance her uncle and Nancy
would put pressure on her.  Probably they would beat her and lock her
in the cellar, try to starve her into submission.  Their anger would
know no bounds.  She must be strong.  She would not give in.  Yet she
feared that if the King knew she rejected his advances she would incur
his wrath.  He had a reputation for killing those that disagreed with
him--she did not want to die, not yet: Nor would she willingly submit
to this proposed marriage.

The only escape she could think of was to ask Richard to marry her.

They could be wedded quickly, then when the King learned she was a
married lady, he would lose all interest in her.  She and Richard would
both be banished from Court and turned out of Bixholm, but she could
think of no other way out.  Restlessly she walked to the river's
edge.

The great Thames, carrying trade in and out of London, its water
relentlessly flowing under the bridge, reminded her how fragile was
life.  She thought of flinging herself in and allowing the water to
carry her away, to end it all, to be free!

But when she peered down the sight of the filth swirling past her made
her draw back.  The sewer smell from the river reached her nose and she
knew she could never fling herself into that.

It was too disgusting!  Anyway, suicide was not on her mind.  Not
yet.

Not until she had spoken to Richard.  He was her only hope--but would
he be willing?  She turned and made her way back to the house.

She decided to say nothing of the day's events to Sarah, and forced
herself to chatter normally as she changed for dinner.

"What do you think of London?"  she asked Sarah.

"Phew, big, isn't it?  Smelly, too!  Alan and me walked over London
Bridge.  I'd heard of it, of course--never thought I'd walk over it!

All those houses!  I was afraid it'd fall down, like in the song, but
Alan held my hand all the way, so I was all right.  "

Dear Sarah.  She chatted on happily, not seeming to notice how quiet
her mistress was.  Meg smiled and listened and envied her maid.  Her
simple walk had been with a man who loved her.  How much more pleasant
than her own encounter with the King!

The meal seemed unending, and there was no sign of Richard.  The Earl
and Nancy were still in a celebratory mood.  The entire company,
knowing something of the day's events, ate and drank right merrily.

Meg picked at her food, turned it over on her trencher and slipped
several choice cuts to the dogs that wandered, ever hopeful, under the
tables.  Where was Richard?  She wondered and worried, praying he had
not been injured in practising at the tilt.

Gervase Gisbon was enjoying himself.  He was flirting quite
outrageously with one of the ladies, a woman several years older than
himself, who seemed to find his advances pleasing.  Alan and Sarah were
together, further down the line of tables.  An elderly nobleman, a
guest of the Earl, was seated on Meg's left.  She tried to make polite
conversation with him, but as he was extremely deaf it was almost
impossible.  The entertainment was ribald, as always.  She was not so
shocked as she had been previously, and once or twice she laughed quite
spontaneously.  She was invited to dance, but declined, declaring that
she was feeling a little unwell.

"It's the excitement, I expect," said Nancy.

"Probably," Meg agreed.

"Not surprising," said the Earl.

"Been a momentous day for all of us."

He nodded benignly.

"If you'll excuse me, I shall retire."  As soon as she moved, Sarah
leapt to her feet and followed her mistress out of the Hall.

"Is something the matter, my lady?"  she asked anxiously.

"No, Sarah.  I am a little overtired, that is all."

"I thought you was a bit quiet earlier on," persisted Sarah.

"Is it true, my lady?  You know what I mean, don't you?  They're
a-sayin' you've met the King an' he's taken a fancy to you?"

Meg nodded.  She couldn't bring herself to speak.

"But you don't fancy him?  That's the trouble, isn't it?"

"Yes, Sarah.  That's the trouble.  But nobody cares what I feel."

"I care.  You know that," Sarah said stoutly.

"Oh, I'd like to screw their necks, the lot of them!  They've no
business to treat you so!  Is there anything I can do?"

"No, thank you, Sarah.  It was rather warm in there-- I shall take a
turn in the garden before I go to bed."

"I don't like--'

"Don't fuss, Sarah.  I wish to be on my own.  Go back to the Hall."

"You're quite sure?"  Sarah said doubtfully.

"Positive."  She spoke so sharply that Sarah obeyed, though it was with
evident reluctance that she walked away.

Meg fetched a dark-coloured shawl from her chamber, then hurried out of
the house.  The garden covered about an acre of ground.  Darkness was
falling.  She looked all around, wandered here and there, but there was
no sign of Richard.  She sat on a stone seat among a cluster of hazel
trees, her mind filled with doubt.  Had he understood?  Had some injury
befallen him?  Was he deliberately avoiding this meeting?  Did he know
how repugnant this proposed union with the King was to her?  She
brooded over the awfulness of her predicament.

Half an hour later Richard came to her.  She heard his footsteps before
she saw him, and jumped to her feet.  She stepped forward to meet
him.

"My apologies, sweet lady, for being late.  There was a problem with
the construction of the stand for the royal party."

She smiled forgiveness and held out her hands to him.  He clasped them,
raised them to his lips and kissed first one then the other.

"Richard," she breathed.

"What can I do?  I'm terrified."

"Hush," he said.

"Let us walk through the trees, to the wall.  We can be more private
there."  He slipped an arm around her waist.

She allowed him to guide her into the shadows of the trees.  The garden
was protected by a high brick wall, and beneath the trees it seemed as
secluded as when they had lain together in the woods at Bixholm.  He
turned her to face him and gently kissed her.

Only a light touch, but passion stirred immediately.  He kissed her
again, long and lingering.  The magic of his lips on hers added to her
sense of security.  She was so deeply in love with him that she
believed he must be able to rescue her.  He was strong, capable,
resourceful; she trusted him totally.  Care fell from her shoulders
like the wrap she discarded as she lifted her arms and with loving
hands took hold of his head to keep him there, kissing and kissing her.
Surely for him, as well as for her, there must be a depth of meaning in
this embrace?  Her response was instinctively warm.  She opened her
mouth slightly as his lips, moist and soft, pressed against hers with
an almost greedy movement.

It was a kiss that awakened desire in her, that reached some
intrinsically primitive part of her being.  She wanted it to go on for
ever, feeling she belonged to him, that her life on this earth needed
no other reason.  She had been born solely so that she could be made
love to by this man.  By Richard.  She wanted no one else.  Riches were
nothing to her compared to the sensations that coursed through her.

Her body was awakened, tingling with desire, her flesh delighting in
this wondrous contact with him.

He drew her closer into his embrace.  His arms so tight around her that
she seemed no longer to be a separate being, but part of him.  When
love was as powerful as this, surely nothing could separate them?

He lowered his head and nibbled with his lips along the line of her
throat.  She lifted her head to receive his kisses and arched her back
as she did so.  She felt his loins through her flimsy skirts, and,
although she scarcely knew why it should be so, the hardness there
pressing against her intensified the sensations that enveloped her.

Her body melted and softened to the power of his.

Again his lips found hers.  With one arm he clasped her pliant waist;

the other moved lower, caressing her back.  Her fingers played in the
hair at the nape of his neck.  That dark, springy hair she had thought
so attractive when she'd first met him.  The way he had looked at her
then had presaged this embrace--but how little she had known then of
the ways of men.  How little did she know now, even!  But she trusted
him.  She loved him.  Her mind and body both told her so.  She had no
defence against him.  She yearned to belong to him entirely.

Then a tiny flip of fear broke into her mind.  Not about Richard--but
the continual fear that perhaps they could be seen.  They were in the
gardens, close to her uncle's town house.  Others might have wandered
out.  She tensed.  She had to speak about her future--to seek his
assistance.

She released her lips from Richard's.  She recalled how he had spoken
about the 'game of love'.  But surely this was different?  A suspicion
of doubt crept in.  She was in no position to play games.  She had come
to Richard with only one thought in mind, to make serious promises,
each to the other, that they would join their lives in marriage.  She
had rehearsed the words and they had been at the forefront of her
mind--until he had swept her into his arms and kissed her.  She should
never have allowed herself to succumb to the joy of the moment.

She pulled herself together.  She must speak to him.  But she had
forgotten the words she'd intended to say.  Distraught, she simply
blurted out the question.

"Will you marry me?"

There was a moment's taut silence.

"Please, Richard?"  she added.

"Marry you?"  he questioned.

Obviously no such thought had been in his mind.

Chapter Ten

JMeg shivered, suddenly cold.  She tore her arms away from where they
had been resting, lovingly and trustingly, on Richard's shoulders.  She
stepped back, stooped to snatch up her shawl from the dank, leaf strewn
ground.

"Dearest Meg--there is nothing I would like better than to marry you.

I'd do it, here and now.  But I cannot.  It would be the height of
folly--' "How else can I save myself from being forced into this
liaison with the King?  Can you imagine what it is like?  I have to
pretend a liking I do not and cannot feel--' " I know it is hard for
you, Meg.  But you must be patient--' "Patient!  For the rest of my
life?  Or until he tires of me and sends me to the block?"

"Hush!  Do not speak so!  For God's sake, guard your tongue."

"If you will not marry me, how otherwise can I escape?"  Her voice was
dulled.  She had been so full of hope, and he had failed her.

"It would do no good, Meg, and it would be most unwise just now.  Just
wait awhile--' " Wait!  " She interrupted.  She was seething with
anger, finding it difficult not to scream at him.  How dared he
continue to pretend?

"You always say you cannot when you mean that you will not!  You
pretended you could not tell me what fate was in store for me when you
brought me away, when all along you knew.  Had you given me warning
then I could have sought sanctuary in one of the religious houses, or
hired myself out as a servant--' " Hush, my dearest.  " His fingers
covered her lips to quieten her.

"You must believe me.  It will be all right.  I have a plan--' He would
have taken her into his arms again, but she would not.  She
sidestepped.

"Tell me," she whispered angrily.

"The time is not yet right.  I promise--' " Let me be the judge of
that.  Tell me.  "

"Trust me--' She did not waste her breath by answering.  She rushed
past him, hurrying through the trees.  She was past caring how much
noise she made, crashing into branches, scuffling leaves with her feet
and skirts.

She stopped abruptly when she heard someone call out, "Who's there?"

It came from ahead, not far away.  She halted, listening intently.  Now
all was silent, but she had recognised that voice.  Gervase Gisbon. She
had no wish to be discovered in such a compromising situation,
especially by him.

A woman's voice spoke softly, dreamily, "What is it, my sweetheart?"

"I thought I heard footsteps among the trees," Gervase answered.

"I

was afraid it might be your husband.  "

"No need to worry about him, dear one.  He's returned to the country.

He has to quell a revolt and hang one or two of the peasants.  "

"He is a good man.  It has to be done for there is no other way to keep
order.  I am grateful that he takes his duties so seriously, and leaves
you here..."  Gervase's voice trailed away.

The woman chuckled.  There was a brief silence.  Then she spoke
again.

"There's no one here."  Her voice was a seductive purr.

"And here is a soft bed of leaves--' There were scuffling sounds,
murmurs and giggles.  Meg moved on carefully, slowly, silently, fearful
of being seen.  She wondered if Richard was aware that Gervase and his
lady were there, but she felt no real concern for him.  Richard could
look after himself--he was good at doing that!

She'd been a fool to think that he cared for her.  Fine words and
kisses meant nothing!  She had almost allowed herself to be duped by
him.  Thank goodness she had now recovered her senses.  It was obvious
his comfortable position in the Thurton household meant more to him
than she did.  He would not take the slightest risk for her sake.

She moved quietly towards the house, keeping in the shadow, and with
each wary step her mind became more firmly made up.  She would leave
London and return to Norwich, throw herself on the mercy of the
Prioress, ask for sanctuary within the nunnery.  She would fall on her
knees and plead if need be.  She could not believe that the Prioress
would wish her to marry that monster.  Her talents had been useful in
the past and could be again.  She could sew, write, even produce art
tistically illuminated manuscripts if she tried hard enough.

Richard's rejection had destroyed her last hope.  It seared her soul
that he was unwilling to assist her.  What a fool she had been to think
that he loved her!  He had been horrified at her suggestion that they
should marry.

Trust him!  That was all he'd been able to say.  Why should she trust
him?  It was obvious that those kisses and caresses meant nothing to
him.  It was only the 'game of courtly love'.  A meaningless
flirtation.

No more than the carry-on between Gervase and the married lady.  She
remembered how Richard had told her that all the gentlemen at Court
played the game--it was a sport for them, and they would take it as far
as the woman was willing.

What a terrible world she had come into!  Her life was shattered.  It
came into her mind that she had nothing to live for.  She did not wish
to die, would not deliberately attempt to take her own life, but if
death came it would be preferable to the fate being planned for her by
her guardian.  She knew there were dangers on the road for lone
travellers.  Robbers and murderers lay in wait for victims.  But her
fear of marriage to Henry was greater than that--and if she took care
she ought to be able to make her way back to Norwich.  She would seek
shelter overnight at the monasteries where they had rested on the
journey to London.

It was late when she entered the house.  With confident, swinging
strides she walked along the passageway and entered her chamber.  Sarah
was waiting for her.  A smile of relief spread over her face.

"My lady!

Thank goodness you're back.  I've been so worried.  I looked out into
the garden, but I couldn't see you nowhere.  "

"I stayed in the shadows," Meg said briefly.

"Did you see that Gervase Gisbon?"  Sarah asked.

"He was out there, gallivanting wi' some woman twice his age.  Reckon
she must be rich, or he wouldn't bother."

"I didn't see them," Meg said.

She felt no need to add that she had heard them.  She was too engrossed
in her own plans, for her mind was quite made up.  She would run away
from her uncle, from London, from Richard.  She wanted nothing more to
do with any of them.  Not even Richard.  She must put him right out of
her mind, forget him, even though it tore her heart in two.  There was
no other way.  She blessed the fact that Sarah was there, for she
needed help.

"You remember what I told you earlier, Sarah?"  she said.

"Coss I do, my lady.  I bin thinkin' about it all evening If I could
get my hands on those scheming devils, I'd make them scream for
mercy!

That I would!  " Her anger was all the greater because she was
powerless.

"I'm going to run away."

Sarah was aghast!

"You'll be caught," was her immediate comment.

"I shall disguise myself.  I know it's a risk, but I believe I can do
it."

"Where would you go?"

"To Norwich."

"Not back to the nunnery?"  Sarah asked, wrinkling her nose in
distaste.  "

"I know nowhere else.  I don't suppose the Prioress will welcome me,
but I shall plead with her to take me in, for the sake of my dear
mother."

"I wouldn't be sure about that!  She's a rum 'un!  But you know that.

I'm sore a-feared you'll get caught before you get that far.  "

"I must try."

"Tis right foolhardy, if you ask me, my lady.  Alt you'll get for your
pains is a beating.  An' you could be sent to the Tower if the King got
to hear of it."

Meg shuddered.

"I might get sent to the Tower if I married him.  He had Queen Anne
beheaded when he grew tired of her."

Sarah turned quite pale.

"It's terrible--terrible!"  She was wringing her hands in agitation.

"I won't ask you to come with me, Sarah, but I do need your help."

Sarah regarded her cautiously.

"You know I don't approve, my lady--but what is it you wish me to
do?"

"Get me some men's clothing."

"Men's clothing?"

"Anything will do--I don't want to be a grand gentleman--the sort of
garments that servants wear.  I'll pretend to be one of the stable
lads, exercising his master's horses.  Can you do that for me?  Please,
Sarah."

"Well, that's possible, I suppose."

Meg's heart lifted.

"Bless you, Sarah.  Nothing special.  I shan't be fussy."

"I'd have a word with Alan, but then he'd ask why I wanted it," Sarah
said, thinking aloud.

"No one must know," Meg said sharply.

"You mustn't mention this to anyone."

"I won't.  Don't you worry about that."

"But can you?"

"Yeh, I think so.  I've got to know most of the lads in the stable.

Trouble is, they won't have much in the way of clothing to spare.  I'd
have to pay for them.  "

"That's another thing I need.  Money.  I've some pieces of my mother's
jewellery.  I hate to part with them, but needs must."

"There's no end of dealers in gold and gems in the City," Sarah said.

"Shall I look about for you, my lady?"

"I'd be grateful if you'd sell it for me, Sarah.  I'll fetch it--' " If
you please, my lady, could you make it enough for two sets of clothing?
" Meg shot a sharp glance at her maid's cheeky face and saw she was
grinning.

"You don't think I'd let you go off on your own, do you?"

"Even though you know it could be dangerous?  You realise I can't be
sure of a welcome back at the nunnery--or even if the place still
exists?"

"Aye.  And even though I think you're stupid!"  Sarah sighed with an
air of resignation.

"I've taken many a risk with you in the past, so I may as well go along
with you now."

"But what about leaving Alan?  And your wedding?"

"I'll be sorry about that--but if he really loves me, I reckon he'll
wait."

"No, Sarah.  I'll go alone.  I can't let you risk your happiness for
me--' " If he won't wait, then he won't be worth havin'.  First things
first, my lady.  That's what I all us say.  You've been good to me.
I'll see you through this muddle, if it's the last thing I do.  And in
my opinion it may well be that!  "

Meg flung her arms around Sarah and hugged her and kissed her cheeks
that were wet with tears.

"Dear Sarah.  What a blessing you" are to me.  "

"That's as may be," grumbled Sarah.

"I reckon I must be as soft in the head as you are!  When do you want
to leave?"

"As soon as possible.  But you'll need time to get the money and
clothes."

"I should think a couple of days will be enough.  The quicker the
better, before that Nancy woman starts ferreting around an' getting'
suspicious."

"I can't thank you enough--' " Then don't bother to try.  " Sarah
grinned, softening her words.

"I'll be right glad to be away from her and the Earl."

"We'll try and make it the day after the Tournament," Meg suggested.

"There's to be a great banquet that evening.  With luck everyone will
be barrel-fevered and they'll all lie late.  We'll slip away first
thing next morning."

Sarah nodded.

"I'll start makin' enquiries tomorrow."

By chance, on that same day Richard was also in the City.  Since coming
to London he had made several visits to his lawyer, an elderly
gentleman whose name was Browhouses.  Today's had not been a
satisfactory interview and he was deeply disturbed that no progress
seemed to have been made.

When Meg had told him how her mother had been forced out of Bixholm
Manor by Thurton, he had easily understood.  He knew of many other
misdeeds perpetrated by the Earl, not least how the cunning old devil
had swindled him of his own birthright.

It had happened when he'd been too young to understand.  Not until he'd
reached the age of twenty-one had he discovered that he should have
been heir to a small estate east of London.  Thurton had taken it over,
claiming authority to manage it on Richard's behalf.  Not surprisingly,
though very suspiciously, in the intervening years the deeds had
disappeared!  It had been in an attempt to discover some proof of his
claim that Richard had attached himself to Thurton's household.

Surreptitiously and methodically, whenever possible, he had searched
among the manorial documents for evidence that might substantiate his
claim--so far with little success.

In the course of this he had recently discovered charters and deeds
regarding Bixholm, and he had no doubt that all Meg had told him was
true.  He had passed this information to Mr.  Browhouses, who had
suggested it might be possible to bring a case against Thurton on both
counts.  Richard hesitated to tell Meg, however, feeling it would be
cruel to raise her hopes if nothing came of it.  He also had a
deep-seated fear of Thurton's reaction, should his plan to marry her to
the King be unsuccessful.

He knew from bitter experience how vicious the Earl could be.  He'd had
men, and women too, put to death for defying him, using trumped-up
charges against them.  Thurton was banking everything on this marriage
of his niece.  He would have no use for her otherwise.  Marriage to any
other nobleman would require a dowry, and, as Meg herself knew, his
lordship wouldn't part with a penny to provide that.  Richard felt
angry and frustrated as he strolled' back through the City.

He had delivered letters which in his opinion established his rights
beyond doubt.  Mr.  Browhouses had agreed that it might be so--but then
again, he'd added, humming and hawing, it might not.  It all depended
on the interpretation of one word, or maybe of one sentence.  He would
have to take advice from a colleague, but could not do so immediately
as the colleague was at that precise moment defending a client in
court.  A client with more means at his disposal than he had, Richard
had thought grimly, and with some justification.  Mr.  Browhouses was a
master at stalling him, instead of getting on with his case.

Disgruntled and dismayed, Richard wandered into that area of London
where the goldsmiths plied their trade.  By coincidence at that same
time Sarah was seeking a buyer for her mistress's jewellery.

Richard recognised the girl immediately, though he could not remember
her name--just thought of her as Meg's maid.  Or, more to the point,
the wench who was playing havoc with Alan Crompton's emotions.  Never
in all the years of his friendship with Alan had Richard known the
fellow so forgetful.  He'd teased him about being in love and in
response had received a moony- eyed smile.

Richard was about to speak to Sarah, then hesitated, for it struck him
that her movements were suspicious.  He drew back into an alleyway so
that he could watch her unobserved.  What was the woman up to?  She
looked about her, peered into doorways and windows, then, after yet
another glance around, moved on to another shop.  This time, after a
brief hesitation and another anxious look over her shoulder, she darted
inside.

Richard left his hiding place and sauntered along with a pretence of
nonchalance.  The shop door stood open and he was able to see inside.

Sarah was talking to a wizened little man who was holding a necklace up
to the light.  Those were no ordinary cheap beads; they sparkled like
diamonds and were delicately set in gold.

Money changed hands.  Sarah dropped some coins into a drawstring bag
that hung from her leather belt.  Richard's suspicions deepened, but he
decided not to challenge her there and then.  He drew back so as to be
out of sight when Sarah emerged from the shop.  She turned and, walking
with the swinging strides of a healthy young countrywoman, set off
along the street.

He followed at a discreet distance.  Sarah didn't look back even once.
Her mission accomplished, she seemed intent on getting back to
Thurton's house as soon as possible.  Richard harboured grave
suspicions.  He must ask Meg if any of her jewellery was missing, tell
her what he had witnessed.  He was glad to have a positive reason for
approaching her, for Meg had been avoiding him ever since that evening,
when she had asked the impossible.  How could he marry her now?  Where
could he take her if he did?  It would probably be one of the shortest
marriages on record anyway!  He had no doubt that Meg would be a widow
almost as soon as she became a wife.  And--apart from his own
reluctance to contribute to that state--how could he then be any help
to her?

Only when Sarah reached the back entrance of the house did Richard make
his presence known.  She was about to step inside when he caught hold
of her arm.  The girl jumped as if she was a mass of nerves.  Then she
recognised him.

"Oh, Sir Richard!  You gave me such a fright!  I thought you was a
robber."

"Now why should a robber be after you, I wonder?  Are you carrying
valuables?"

Colour spread all over the girl's face.  He had never seen anyone look
more guilty!

"Where have you been?"  he asked.

"Just out.  Seem' to something for my lady."

"Something for your mistress?"  he queried.

"That's right.  An' nothin' a gent needs to know about."  Sarah quickly
recovered from her surprise, and tossed her head with something of the
cheeky confidence she normally had.

"I gptta go in now, sir.  My mistress will be a-wonderin' where I've
got to."  She lifted her skirts and ran.

"Tell Lady Margaret I wish to call on her."

Sarah looked back at him over her shoulder.

"I'm not sure if she's at home, sir."

He was quite sure that was a lie, but the girl was gone, almost
immediately out of sight in the maze of passages at the back of the
house.

Richard turned away.  He wanted desperately to see Meg, to speak to
her, to plead with her yet again to trust him.  He could understand why
she doubted him.  He had been part of the deception played upon her by
the Earl.  When he had ridden to Norwich to bring her to Bix- holm, he
had never expected to fall in love with her.  If only she'd been
someone different, a woman who would be happy to be Queen of England!

But then she wouldn't be Meg.

How could he expect her to forgive him--ever?  All he could do was
continue with the plan he had instigated.  Then, he hoped,
somehow--if--when--it was successfully concluded, he would be able to
win back her trust--and her love.

At least she was safe for the moment.  Thurton and Nancy would see.

that no harm befell her.  She was far too valuable for them to take any
risks.  She would be cosseted and cherished, kept fresh and beautiful
ready for those times when she might meet the King.  Strangely, she was
safe enough in his company also.  There was no doubting the lust she
awakened in the bawdy old monarch, but, with all his faults, he had
never been a rapist.  Indeed, many would suggest that it would be
impossible for him, for he was, it was rumoured, almost impotent.

Richard gained little comfort from the thought.  He could not bear to
think of Henry even holding her hand!

He had seen his fat fingers clutch at her knee, and the revulsion Meg
had tried to cover had been visible.

He tried to push the picture from his mind and turned away from the
house.  He strode off at a cracking pace, because movement might help
him to keep his sanity and he had one more task to undertake before he
set out for the field where, on the next day, he would ride in the
Tournament.

He headed for the docks and walked along the wharf, reading the names
of the vessels moored alongside.  The ship he sought was not to be
seen--probably it had not yet arrived from France.  He chafed at the
delay and prayed that the vessel was safe.

On the day of the Tournament people began to gather soon after dawn,
anxious to get the best viewpoints.  The atmosphere was excited, noisy
and carefree.  Gaily striped fair-booths appeared around the field,
cheap jacks and fraudsters shouted for punters to try the three-card
trick.  Vendors arrived with food, hot and cold, ales and beers,
fairings, penny ornaments and toys.  Strolling musicians and players
began to entertain the' crowd long before the jousting was due to
begin.

Only noblemen and gentlemen of high birth were permitted to ride in the
Tournament, but for them it was an essential exercise.  Its original
purpose had been for the development of skills in horsemanship and
fitness for leadership in times of war.  Over the centuries it had
developed into a sophisticated but still dangerous sport.  The King
watched from his place of honour in the centre stand, surrounded by
courtiers, older knights and their ladies.  Meg was seated at his
side.

Henry was in the best of moods, living up to his nickname of bluff King
Hal.  He laughed and chatted with those around him and from time to
time turned to address some remark to Meg.  This second meeting
emphasised even more than the first that he found her fascinating, for
he made no attempt to hide his feelings.  He grasped her hand and held
it, looked deep into her eyes and smiled.

As the Earl and Nancy had escorted Meg to the Tournament they had
instructed her how to play her part.  Merely smiling was not enough;

she was to laugh and flirt openly.

"Try and get him to take you to bed," her uncle had urged.

"Shouldn't be difficult!"  Nancy had chuckled.

"He's as eager as a lad at his first affair."

"I couldn't do that unless he'd asked me to marry him," Meg had
objected, genuinely shocked.

"Don't you worry about that, my dear.  It's not only a wife he's
after--the King yearns for sons."

"He has an heir in Prince Edward," Meg had pointed out.

"The boy's said to be sickly.  He's not growing up into a strapping big
lad," Nancy had told her.

"Henry feels cheated that he's got two daughters and only one son,
whereas the Kings of France and Spain have a quiverful."

"You get with child and your cares will be over," the Earl had said.

"He'll rush you into marriage quick as lightning."

"And if I don't produce a son, he'll send me to the block," Meg had
muttered bitterly.

"Don't keep harping on that, you silly girl," Nancy had said.

"It's not likely to happen again.  Not if you behave yourself."

The conversation had ended there as the Earl had triumphantly presented
Meg to the stewards in charge of the Royal Pavilion.

"His Majesty has expressed a wish for my niece to sit at his side."

Thurton's voice had been loud and commanding.

So here she was, playing a part.  She had to pretend, but it was not so
difficult as she'd feared.  Just as on the previous occasion, when
she'd first met the King, she found him pleasant, even charming.  She
would have been perfectly happy to sit with him and converse with him
if only she had not been expected to marry him.

Richard and Gervase were both riding in the Thurton colours of primrose
and blue.  All the knights were encased in armour, which made it
difficult to tell one from the other, except that Gervase wore a
favour, a lady's silk scarf knotted on his helmet.

"De Heigham--have you no lady to ride for?"  asked the King as Richard
presented himself before the royal stand.

"I fear not, Your Majesty.  Perhaps on another occasion I shall be in a
happier position."  His eyes nickered for the briefest of moments in
Meg's direction.

She regarded him woodenly, unsmiling, hiding her feelings, for the love
that had grown in her could not be discarded as if it was no more than
an old shoe.  She told herself that it was dead, that it had never
meant anything, all affection had gone.  He had refused to help her and
now she felt only a deep void inside her.  After that one quick glance
Richard kept his eyes fixed upon the King.

"You shall have something from my new sweetheart," Henry said
magnanimously, turning to Meg.

"You danced so delightfully with this knight, surely you will not let
him ride without a favour?"

"Perhaps he does not wish for anything from me," said Meg.

"Nonsense.  Every knight needs someone to fight for, even if it is only
for one day.  Surely you can spare a scarf or a handkerchief."

"Very well, if you desire it.  Your Majesty."  Meg agreed
reluctantly.

She had vowed she would have nothing more to do with Richard and felt
humiliated yet again by being made to hand him her lace-edged
kerchief.

"You are most gracious.  Lady Margaret."  He smiled, and there was such
warmth in his face that her traitorous heart nipped.  He bowed and
continued, "As I am wearing Thurton colours, I shall be riding for you
as well as for the Earl."

She regarded him coldly.

"Sir Richard, your loyalty is to the Earl.

There is no difference between you and Gervase Gisbon.  "

Her words stung.  Richard flinched, then quickly regained his
composure.

"But only I have your favour.  I shall cherish this token, and trust it
to bring me good fortune."

The King appeared not to notice the undercurrents of emotion that
throbbed between Meg and Richard.

"Good fellow!  Gallantly spoken!"  he said.

"I know of old how skilled you are at the joust.  We shall eagerly
watch your performance."

Heralds announced the events and the contestants rode forward.  Horses
were gaily caparisoned, and knights clad from head to toe in specially
adapted armour, the helm reinforced and a grand guard covering the left
side of the visor.  A lance-rest was fixed to the breast-plate.

They should be invincible in such gear, yet somehow the sight of it
increased rather than lessened the impression that they were about to
participate in a dangerous 'sport'.  Even the tiltyard had not prepared
Meg for the fear that gripped her when she watched Richard riding in
the Tournament.

The long lances were lowered, held under the right arm and directed
across the neck of the horse.  The combatants charged towards each
other at full gallop, each with the central barrier on his left.  They
rode a straight course with levelled lances, attempting to unseat
opponents.  It was a trial of skill, necessitating great steadiness of
aim.  The air was alive with the pounding of horses' feet, the shouts
of the crowd, the clash of lance on metal.  Richard's daring won the
applause of the onlookers, but so frightened Meg that she could
scarcely bear to watch.

She closed her eyes when Gervase rode against him.  It was quite
unreasonable of her to pray that Richard would emerge the victor, but
she could not help it.  In spite of everything he held her heart.  It
was excruciating to watch him riding so bravely, with her kerchief
fluttering from his helm, and remember so vividly how he had rejected
her.  She must never again trust him.  Never!  She had to act on her
own to save herself from this hideous farce of a marriage.

"Well done!"  The King, at her side, bellowed encouragement.  They were
all his knights.  He had no side to take.  But he understood the
niceties of the sport in a way that Meg did not.

"This man's worth watching," Henry said to her.

"He's one of the best.

An acknowledged expert--though I unseated him easily a few years
back.

That was a day, that was!  You should have seen me then!  "

She tried to understand what was happening, but could not.  She was
grateful when Richard did well and as far as she could see had escaped
injury.  She was even more grateful when the jousting was over.  Prizes
and accolades were bestowed upon the winners, among whom were both
Richard and Gervase.  There was much trumpeting and playing of fanfares
as the ceremony ended in its time-honoured way.

"An excellent performance by almost all the knights," the King
commented.

"Did you find that enjoyable, little Meg?"

"Most certainly it was exciting," she replied.

"I am not sure if I enjoyed it--I was so afraid someone would be
seriously hurt."

"You are a kind and gentle young lady."  Henry smiled.

"And you are right.  Sometimes there are serious injuries, but that is
no longer the object.  The knights have perfected skills which allow
them to avoid such happenings."

"I know little about jousting," she admitted.

"But the courage of everyone was clear, even to me."

"We shall watch more jousts together in the future," said Henry.

"It has been a pleasure to have your company, sweet Meg."

With that he prepared to depart, again accompanied by the trumpeters
and surrounded by officials and soldiers.  Meg rose to her feet and
curtsied low.

"It is merely adieu, my sweetheart.  We shall meet again ere long."

The Earl and Nancy escorted Meg back to the house.  Their excitement
was, if possible, even greater than on the previous occasion.  Meg said
little.  She was preoccupied with her plans to escape the following
day.  She saw Richard distantly, but turned her head away and clenched
her fists, determined to forget.

As she had predicted, that evening the feast was even more sumptuous
than usual.  She took care to avoid moving in Richard's direction,
though her wanton body desired it.  She formed the impression that he
wished to speak to her, but she would have none of it.  When he came
near to her, she moved away, and would not exchange even a smile with
him.

Her heart was breaking to think she would never see him again.  She
despised herself that it should be so, for she ought to be glad to be
leaving him.  He had deceived her most shamefully.  She would never
understand how he could have been so loving to her, yet leave her to
this fate, which to her seemed a living death.

Chapter Eleven

Q^yys^Q

-Long before daybreak Meg and Sarah were up and dressing in the
unfamiliar male garments.  They handled them fastidiously, for none of
them were new and some not very clean.

"I'm sorry about that, my lady," Sarah said.

"I'd have washed 'em, but those thick things'd never get dried in
time."

"Just as the stable boys wear them commented Meg.

"That's right.  It'll make us look more the part."  Sarah wrinkled her
nose as she shook straw and dust from a jerkin.

Nervousness made their fingers clumsy.  Meg was grateful that the
fashion was for padded shoulders, which gave her a false appearance of
manliness, and she Moused the tunic out over the wide leather belt.

Fortunately it was long enough to cover her rounded hips, though her
legs still looked decidedly feminine encased in thick knitted
stockings.  She looked Sarah over critically.  They had cut each
other's hair the night before.  Meg's short curls gave her a cheeky
look, whilst Sarah's, dark, straight and plain, reached to just below
her ears.  With a good stretch of imagination it was possible that she
could pass as a boy.

"How do I look?"  asked Meg.

Sarah grinned.

"You know what, my lady?  I reckon we both look too clean."

"Even in these clothes?"

"Hands in particular," Sarah said.

"Takes years to get that ingrained look, but we'd better have a try."
She knelt on the floor and scuffed her hands about in the rushes.

"Good thing they haven't been changed for a few weeks."

Meg followed Sarah's example.  Even after rubbing them in dust and
broken reeds her hands looked small and distinctly feminine.  She'd
keep them out of sight as much as possible.

"Now rub your face, my lady," Sarah instructed, and Meg obeyed.  With
dirty faces they stood and regarded each other seriously, for this was
no laughing matter.  Giving a wrong impression could mean capture and a
fate that did not bear thinking about.

"You'll pass now, my lady."

"You must stop calling me that," Meg said.

"We're a couple of stable lads.  Equals, too.  We need boys' names."

"I thought of mine last night," Sarah said.

"I'm going to be Septimus."

"So you shall be, dear Septimus," Meg said.

"I'm going to be Matt."

"Yes, my--' Sarah began, then stopped herself.

"Yes, Matt."

Meg stood for a moment, looking around the room, checking items in her
mind.  Money was hidden in the belts they wore.  She had kept back a
few jewels, and these had been sewn into the linings of her ragged
garments  She had bundled up the everyday clothes she had brought with
her from the nunnery, taking not even one thing which had been paid for
by her uncle.

Sarah packed her favourite skirt and some shoes.

"That'll do for me," she said.

"Food's more important."  She had secretly taken some victuals from the
kitchens and carried these in a rush bag.

Together they pushed things under the bedclothes, so that if anyone
peeped into the chamber it would appear that the bed was occupied.

Sarah put a chamber-pot on the pillow and pulled the bedspread up over
it.

"That'll surprise 'em, if they start pokin' about," she grinned.

Meg was not sorry to be leaving either the room or the house, but her
heart was heavy at the thought that she would never again see
Richard.

If only he had agreed to come with her!  If they could have run away
together, she would not have minded if they'd had to live in a hovel.

She'd never been afraid of hard work.  She had often assisted the nuns
with household tasks at the nunnery, the baking and cleaning, even the
growing of vegetables and herbs.

Angry tears started into her eyes.  She found it impossible to
understand how Richard could have acted so lovingly towards her, kissed
and caressed her so tenderly, whispered that she meant more to him than
anyone in the world--and then refused to marry her.

She could have faced anything if they had been setting out to seek a
new life together.  As a married woman, she would have been protected
from the King's advances.  They would have risked the wrath of Thurton
and Nancy, but surely they could have found somewhere to live, made a
home together far, far away?  Yet even as that dream entered her mind
she knew her uncle rage would have been quite terrible.  He might have
been so enraged at having his plans thwarted that he would have hunted
them down.  That could be the case even now.  She trembled as she
recalled Sarah's words"--You'll be caught.  All you'll get for your
pains is a beating."  With an effort she pushed all those fears to the
back of her head.

"Are you ready, Septimus?"  she whispered.

"Aye, Matt.  God go with us," Sarah prayed softly.

"Amen to that," agreed Meg.

The sound of snoring came from the Earl's room as they crept along the
passageway.  A glance into the Great Hall revealed bodies sprawled over
and under the tables, a general mess of overturned flagons and leaking
barrel bungs, the rancid smell of stale food and ale.  One dog lifted
its head, but it only yawned, as replete as its master, having fed well
on scraps and spill ages

The stables were at the back of the mansion.  Not only had Sarah
managed to get clothes from one of the stable hands she had bribed him
to have horses ready.

"Dugald," she called softly.

They waited anxiously.

"He promised to be here, waiting for us," she muttered.  A horse
scraped its foot.

"Dugald," she called again.

"It's me, Sarah."

Then a lad stepped forward, leading two horses saddled and ready.  He
grinned at the sight of them.

"Didn't recognise you, Sarah."

Meg was heartened to hear him say that.  It meant that their disguise
was passable--at least in the half- light of dawn.

They wasted no more time, mounted quickly, and with a brief word of
thanks rode out of the stableyard.  To Meg's ears the clatter of hooves
sounded loud enough to waken the entire household as they rode through
the wide gateway and out into the street.

Even at that early hour there were people about:

workmen carting away rubbish, beggars sleeping in corners, scavengers
looking for scraps.  The stench was worse than during the day.

Meg recalled the direction from which they had arrived, and knew they
needed to head north eastwards They walked the horses at first, then
trotted on a little faster.  She breathed a sigh of relief when they
passed through Bishopgate without being challenged.  Some time later,
when they reached wider tracks and the city had been left behind, they
spurred the horses into a canter.

"Are you sure we're on the right road, my lady?"  asked Sarah.

"Matt, if you please, Septimus," Meg corrected her.

"Sorry, Matt.  It just don't sound right," Sarah protested.

"It doesn't matter how it sounds; it's a matter of safety," Meg
reminded her sternly.

"You'll get used to it, Septimus.  As to whether we are going in the
right direction, I confess I cannot be absolutely sure, but I think
this is the way we came."

Right or wrong, there could be no turning back.  By mid-morning they
were well away from the city of London, following rough and rutted
tracks through open countryside.  They dismounted by a small stream to
rest and water the horses.  Sarah delved into the rush basket and
produced bread and cheese and a leather flask of ale.  They sat beside
the gurgling water to share their meal, whilst the horses cropped the
grass.

The short break had been welcome, but they dared not tarry.  Then they
were in the saddle again, riding as fast as their mounts could take
them, mindful that they must try and reach the shelter of a hostelry or
monastery before nightfall.  Robbers lurked in the woods and would be
more likely to strike after dark, though one had to take care at all
times.  Two lads would be easy targets for attack.

Peasants were at work in the open fields, oxen pulling ploughs and
carts.  They passed through hamlets that were no more than a cluster of
seven or eight clay-lump thatched hovels.  On and on, until the sun was
dipping low in the west and casting a golden red light over the
landscape.

"Matt--it's time we found somewhere for the night," Sarah said.

"I agree, Septimus."  Meg had been thinking that for some time.  It was
more than an hour since they had passed any place where they could have
stayed, and that had been a particularly disreputable-looking alehouse.
She would rather sleep under a hedge than there!

Again they stopped, this time at a crossroads, beside which was a pond
where the horses could drink.  They had ridden hard and were all in
need of a rest.  Sarah opened her rush bag and brought out the bread
and cheese and ale.

"Better keep some for later," she said.

"In case we don't find nowhere to stay."

Meg agreed.  She looked around.  There was no habitation within sight.
A milestone had the word "WARE' engraved on it, and below it " XX
miles'.

Meg sighed.

"We're on the right road, anyways," commented Sarah.

"But it's twenty mil esto Ware," Meg said despondently.

"We'll never get there before dark."

"Someone a-comin'," said Sarah.

Two monks were walking towards them.  Meg stood up, pulled her that
lower on her forehead to hide her face and hoped their disguise would
not be broken.  The monks' cowled heads were bent.  They wore black
habits--Dominicans, she assumed.  As was customary, they had Bibles
tucked inside the folds of their dark woollen clothes.  This left their
hands free to carry staffs.

"God be with you, young men," said one of the monks.

"And with you, Brother," said Meg.  She spoke gruffly, but something in
the timbre of her voice must have struck him for he peered closer into
her face.  She drew back, and as he did so she recognised him.  He was
one of the brothers who had in the past sometimes visited the
nunnery.

"Will you spare a crust for a Religious?"  he asked.

The whining voice confirmed her suspicions; she had heard it before.

She glanced at Sarah and saw horror on her maid's face, fear in her
eyes.  She too had recognised the man.  Father Bernard had been cast
out of the order in Norwich because of his lewd ways and because he had
fathered a child, taking advantage of a girl who had been ill-treated
at home and had sought sanctuary in the nunnery.

"Give bread to the holy man, Septimus," said Meg.

She hoped that would satisfy the mendicant, but he ignored Sarah's
offering, continuing to stare at her.  Meanwhile the second man had his
eyes fixed on the horses.  Meg moved in that direction, but he moved
faster.  Before she could reach them, he took the reins into his own
hands.  He fielded her off.  He was strong--he pushed her away.  She
managed to dodge the worst of the blows he threw at her.

"Nice animals, Bernard," he said.

"We've walked far enough for one day."

"Too good for these louts," the other monk agreed.

"The good Lord must've sent these specially for us."

"Don't touch those horses," Meg snapped.  She tried to grab the
reins.

The man laughed at her and caught her hand in his.  His grip was
powerful; it felt strong enough to crush her bones.  Then suddenly he
opened his fingers.  She tried to draw her hand away, but he caught her
by the wrist.

"Hey, Bernard--look at this."

He held out Meg's hand and at the same time tore open her jerkin.  The
shape of her breasts was clearly visible beneath the fine linen
shirt.

She kicked and fought.  She tried to bring her knee up into the
assassin's groin.  But he held her at arm's length.  Suddenly Meg was
grasped from behind.

"Well, well!"  Bernard's voice was gloating.

"A couple of wenches!  And would you believe it, Marcus?  I think I
know who they are."

"Good for a night's fun, anyway."  Marcus grinned.  His expression made
his evil intent revoltingly clear.  He released his hold on Meg's wrist
and stepped back.  No remnants of the holiness they had once professed
remained with them.

Whilst they were both occupied with Meg, Sarah seized the opportunity
and leapt up into the saddle of her horse.  She wheeled it sharply and
with a hard kick rode straight at Marcus.  He turned to run away, but
fell over and was struck by the horse's hoof.  There was a loud
crack.

He cried out in pain.  Sarah ignored him.  She turned her horse,
preparing to ride back.

"Let her go," she yelled to Bernard.

"Or I'll ride you down as well."

"Try it.  Just you try it."  Bernard grabbed Meg round the waist and
pulled her in front of him, making her into a human shield.

Meg struggled, kicked and tried to turn her head to bite her attacker,
but he held her in a vice-like grip.  She was furious, but powerless.

Sarah reined in her horse;

she turned it to face towards Marcus.  He was lying on the ground where
he had fallen, moaning but undoubtedly alive.

"Let her go, or I'll ride over him again," she shouted.

"No.  No, stop her!"  screamed Marcus.

"My leg's broken."

"You can trample him to death for all I care," Bernard challenged
her.

"Help me--Bernard, you've got to help me."  Marcus yelled and
screamed.

"Stop snivelling, man," commanded Bernard.  Then to Sarah he shouted,
"I remember you, Sarah Wilgress.  You told tales on me when I stayed at
the nunnery."

"Only the truth," Sarah said coldly.

"I'll inform on you again, if you--' " What can you do?  " he jeered.

"I know who this is too!  This tasty morsel I'm holding in my arms is
Lady Margaret Thurton."  He sneered as he spoke her name.

Sarah's horse danced about.  She was having difficulty in holding it.

"Let my lady go," she yelled.

"Never," he said scornfully.

"She's far too valuable a property.  Her uncle will be exceedingly
grateful to have her returned to him.  I'll make a fortune out of
this!"

He was so pleased with himself that he relaxed his hold--only slightly,
but it was enough for Meg.  She threw back her head, her teeth closed
on his ear and she bit with all her might.  His yell rang through the
still summer air.  He jerked his head aside and raised one hand to the
bleeding lobe.  Meg struggled harder; she twisted and pulled, but it
was useless.  He did not let go of her for a moment--his grip
tightened.

His determination to hold her increased.  With his blood-stained hand
he pulled her that forward, covering her eyes, and entwined his other
hand in her hair.  He forced her down to her knees and held her there,
kneeling and helpless, under his control.  Any movement was
excruciatingly painful.  Sarah could do nothing, for he made sure Meg
was always between him and that snorting animal she was mounted upon.

"Get up," he growled, jerking at her hair.  The pain brought tears
streaming from her eyes.  She reached up and tried to move his hands,
but it was a useless gesture.  She had no option but to do as he
said.

He pulled her over to where her horse was contentedly cropping the
grass.  He grabbed its reins.

"Mount," he commanded.

Hope flared momentarily in Meg's heart.  She obeyed with a false show
of humility, but as she settled in the saddle she kicked out.  She
aimed her foot at Bernard's head, but.  he had anticipated trouble and
easily dodged away.

"You'll pay for that," he threatened.

The horse, aware that all was not well, whinnied and wheeled and threw
up its head.

"Whoa, you devil."  He pulled it down roughly, and hit it hard.  The
horse bared its teeth, but submitted.

Bernard brought a length of rope from the folds of his habit.  He flung
it round Meg, and before she realised what was happening her arms were
pinioned to her sides.  Bernard heaved himself up into the saddle,

pushed her forward and settled in behind her.  A kick sent the restive
animal charging away.

"Bernard--don't leave me."  Marcus's voice screamed after them.  He
tried to struggle to his feet, but fell back.  He lifted his hands in
supplication.  Bernard ignored him.  He screamed louder as he saw
Sarah, determined to keep up with Bernard, riding straight at him.  He
crouched and covered his head with his arms, clutching his rosary
beads.  Sarah jumped over him as he fainted.  She did not even look
behind.

Meg was terrified and helpless.  Every movement of the horse jolted
her.  She was held awkwardly upright, and the rope cut into her
flesh.

She was being taken back to London with all possible speed.  Back to
her uncle.  Back to the King.

Sarah followed, riding faster than she had ever done in her life,
taking risks she would never have contemplated in normal circumstances.
Having only one rider, her horse could cover the ground faster than
Bernard's.  But what could she do when she caught up with him?  She
cursed her lack of strength, her limited expertise in riding.

She had some vague idea of trying to grab the reins from Bernard and
pull the galloping animal to a standstill.  Even as she thought of it
she dismissed the idea as impractical, and concentrated on following
him.  It took all her courage and concentration to stay on the
galloping beast and keep up.

The rough road turned sharply around the wall of a barn and momentarily
they were out of sight.  Sarah followed as fast as she was able. Shouts
rang out somewhere ahead.  Men's voices, angry voices, and one of them
sounded wondrously familiar.  She couldn't believe it!  Her ears must
be deceiving her!  She prepared herself for disappointment as she rode
round the corner--but it was true!

She almost fainted with relief.  Alan Crompton and Sir Richard were
there, miraculously face to face with Bernard and Meg.  His horse had
risen on its hind legs and Bernard was striving to control it, yelling
at the oncoming riders.

"Out of my way.  The boy's had a fit.  I have to get him to a physician
immediately."

Meg was making muffled sounds.  Bernard was almost smothering her,
holding her close to his chest, his wide-sleeved, rough woollen habit
hiding the rope with which she was bound.

"Hush, lad.  I'll take good care of you."  Bernard's voice was smooth
and caring as he tried to bluff his way past the oncoming riders.

"What ails the lad?"  asked Alan.

"He's been cursed by a witch.  She's made him ill and he's turned
against all his friends.  He needs help--' " Poor young man.  "

Richard and Alan drew their horses aside.

"God help you on your way," said Richard.

"Alan," Sarah shouted.

"Stop him."

They stared at her without recognition.  Wild-faced, in boy's clothes,
hair cut short, her that blown off long since.

"It's me.  Sarah," she screamed.

"That's her.  That's the witch."  Bernard dug his heels into his
horse's flanks.  It sprang forward, passing the bewildered Richard and
Alan.

"He's kidnapped my lady," Sarah shouted.

Richard reacted immediately.  He set off at full gallop, chasing after
the monk.

"Sarah!"  Alan was horrified.

"What's happened?  Are you all right?"

"I'm all right," she shouted.

"Don't let that bastard get away--' The swear word slipped out.  Alan
took one long hard look at Sarah, then, obeying her wish, spurred his
horse.  It leapt forward at full gallop.  Sarah followed.

Bernard glanced over his shoulder.  His pursuers were coming up fast.

The gap between them narrowed with every minute.  He knew he'd never
get away and decided to save his own skin.  He loosened his hold on
Meg, gave her a shove and flung her off the horse.

It had the desired effect.  All three riders halted where Meg had
fallen.  She lay frighteningly still.  Trussed by the rope, she had
been unable to do anything to save herself.  She'd fallen hard, but
fortunately on to soft muddy ground.

"Meg.  Oh, my darling--speak to me," Richard implored her.

Her eyes were closed.  Sarah knelt beside her.

"She's alive," she said.

"She's breathing."

Richard used his dagger to cut the ropes that bound her.  Sarah took
her mistress's hand and chafed it between her own, seeking to assist
the blood flow.  Meg remained unconscious.  Richard took off his cape
and wrapped it around her.

"Please God, don't let her die," Richard prayed.

"My lady needs rest, and a physician to look to her injuries," said
Sarah.

"I'll take her to Leet Castle," said Richard.

"It's not far from here."

"Will she be safe there?"  asked Sarah.

"I shall guard her with my life and she will be at 5

tended by one of the best physicians in the land.  I know nowhere else
she can get the attention she requires.  "

Tenderly he lifted Meg, wrapped in the cloak.

"Hold her for me, Alan, whilst I mount."

Both men were strong; they had no difficulty in holding the inert body.
Alan lifted Meg, very, very carefully, and handed her up to Richard. He
placed her in front of him, tucked close to his own body, held by one
strong arm as he rode at a steady walking pace.

Alan swept Sarah into his arms and kissed her long and hard.

"I've been so worried about you, my love," he said.

"Why on earth did you dash off like that, without a word to anyone?"

"My lady was in danger; you know that, Alan."  Sarah regarded him
witheringly.

"You should have told me."

"We were afraid to let anyone know.  You'd probably have forbidden us
even to try and get away."

"You're right!"  Alan helped Sarah up into the saddle, then leapt up on
to his own horse.  As they followed a short distance behind Richard he
added, "Now you see what a foolish escapade it was."

"What else could we do?"  Sarah challenged.

"My lady said she'd rather face death than marry the King.  She'd have
gone on her own, but there was no way I'd have let her do that, so
don't you suggest it."

A little later, with a "touch of her old mischievous smile returning,
she asked, " Was there a great to-do in the house when it was
discovered we was missing?  "

"There probably is now.  We didn't even know you'd gone until mid-mo
ming when Richard went to look for Lady Margaret.  He knocked on the
door of her chamber and there was no answer, so he looked inside.

You were not there, and a dummy with a chamber-pot for its head was
lying in the bed.  "

Sarah chuckled.

"It wasn't funny," Alan said.

"Richard was frantic.  He expected me to know what you were up to and
accused me of helping you.  We were both nearly out of our minds when
we went out to the stables and realised you two had ridden off
alone."

"I wanted to tell you, Alan.  Honest I did.  I'm sorry you was so
upset.

We didn't dare tell anyone.  So how did you know which way we'd gone?
"

"I remembered the stable boy you'd befriended.  I made him tell me what
he knew."

"You didn't beat him?"  Sarah asked anxiously.

"I felt like taking a whip to him," Alan said grimly.

"But we bribed him instead, just as you did.  He didn't know where you
were going, but Richard felt you might have been heading back to
Norwich."

"Thank goodness you did," breathed Sarah.

Leet Castle stood on the bank of a slow-flowing river.  Some clay-lump
thatched hovels were clustered around the outer walls of the
tall-towered castle.  The last rays of the setting sun twinkled on its
windows as they approached.

Sarah was suddenly very tired.  She had never before ridden so far or
so fast, and she was desperately worried about the state of her
mistress.  Richard had moved steadily on and Sarah and Alan had
followed, talking in low voices.

At walking pace they approached the entrance to the castle, where they
were confronted by the joists of the underside of the drawbridge,
uplifted and unwelcoming.

"Open up," Richard called.

"Tell your officer of the watch that Sir Richard de Heigham is here and
requires immediate assistance."

Within minutes a tall, grey-haired man came forward.  He looked up and
a smile spread over his face.

"Sir Richard!  How good to see you."  He turned to the guards.

"Lower the drawbridge--and quick about it."

As soon as they were inside the courtyard, Alan and Sarah dismounted.

They hurried over to Sir Richard.  Meg was carefully lowered into the
waiting arms of Alan Crompton whilst Sarah gazed anxiously at the waxen
face of her mistress.  There was still no sign of life.

Chapter Twelve

Q^n^s^Q

JVleg had no recollection of what had happened after Bernard had flung
her from the horse.  When she came to she tried to move and found that
her whole body ached.  Clad only in her shift, she was lying on a large
four-poster bed, the heavy curtains closed, making it into a rich
tapestry box.  Suddenly she remembered that Bernard had been carrying
her back to London.  Was that where she was now?  She shivered with
fear at the thought.

She stretched out one arm, moving with care, for even reaching to draw
back one of the curtains was painful.  The room was strange to her.

There was a window through which the morning sun streamed cheerfully.

Rushes were spread on the floor.  She heard a door open and a moment
later gasped with relief.

Sarah was there, beaming at her.

"Oh, praise God, my lady!  You're awake' She hurried across the room
and dropped to her knees at the bedside.

She would have clasped Meg in her arms, but quickly realised that would
hurt her mistress.

"We're not back in London, are we?"  Meg asked.

"Gracious, no!  Away in the back of beyond, this is."

"Did Bernard bring us here?"  Meg whispered.

"Don't you remember, my lady?  He threw you off the horse and rushed
away as if the devil himself was after him, as well he might be.

Wicked old man.  It was Sir Richard who brought you here.  "

"I remember Richard was there, but--' " Thank God he was!  " said
Sarah.

"He brought us to this old castle.  He's known here.  The Captain of
the Guard let us in straight away an' he sent for the physician."

"The physician?"  asked Meg.

"I don't remember--' " You was unconscious, my lady.  He looked at you
last night, an' said as how no bones had been broken an' it was just
bruises and shock--an' that with rest you'd get over it--an' Sir
Richard and me have sat with you for most of the night--' "Richard?
Here?"

"Yes, an' that reminds me.  I must go and tell him that you've woke
up.

He didn't want to leave you, but I said as how he'd got to keep up his
strength and he'd better go an' get something to eat.  He's with Alan
now.  "

"Alan's here, too?  Your Alan?"

"That's right, my lady."

"How did they find us?"

"Never mind about that now.  The important thing is they did, an' I
can't bear to think what would've happened if they hadn't.  That wicked
old Bernard, posing as a holy man!  An' that Marcus, too.  I'm glad I
broke his leg for him.  It's no more than he deserved.  I'd have killed
him if I'd got the chance."

"Dear Sarah."  Meg gave a wry smile, recalling that in fact Sarah had
jumped her horse over the fallen man.

"There!  I've made you smile!  An' here's me rambling on and I've never
asked you how you're feelin'."

"A bit sore," Meg said with a grimace.

"But I'm sure I'll survive--at least I would if I could get washed and
then have something to eat."

"Hungry, are you?"  Sarah clapped her hands together with joy.

"That's good to hear.  As for washing, I brought up a jug of hot water.
I left it over by the door.  I'll fetch it--' " Help me out of bed
first, please, Sarah.  "

Shakily, holding on to Sarah for support, Meg managed to stand on her
feet.  The physician had been correct.  She had no broken bones, but
every movement was painful.  It took ages to complete her toilette and
to get dressed.  Sarah had washed Meg's everyday gown when they had
arrived at Bixholm.

"It got a bit creased on the journey," Sarah fretted, shaking it
vigorously.

"I'm not worried about that."  Meg smiled.

Sarah laced her bodice, with tender careful fingers, quite loosely,
mindful of the bruises that coloured her mistress's body.  Her arms
were yellowish, black and green where the cord had been lashed around
her.  Her shoulder was swollen and bruised where it had hit the ground,
likewise her hip and ankle.  Sarah tut-tutted over the state Meg was
in.

"If I could get my hands on that brute!"  she exclaimed more than
once.

"But I'm alive.  And you're here to help me," Meg said.

"I can't thank you enough, Sarah, for coming with me."

"Yeah.  We've been through a lot together, ain't we?  But never
anything as bad as yesterday, an' I hope to goodness we never ever have
to do anything like that again."

"Amen," agreed Meg.

Sarah brushed her hair, which didn't take long, for it was just a
golden glow of curls around her face.

"There, my lady!  You look more like your old self-- a bit pale, but
lovely all the same.  Now, you sit in that chair by the window and I'll
fetch something for you to eat."

She hurried away to the kitchen and very soon returned bearing a laden
tray, which she placed on a small table in front of Meg.  She stood
with arms akimbo, watching, until she was satisfied there was nothing
more she could do at that moment.  Then quietly she left the chamber.

Meg willingly tackled the appetising food and sipped the tankard of
small beer.  The window by which she sat looked down upon a relic of a
formal garden.  It must once have been lovely, but had been sadly
neglected, the little boxwood borders overgrown, and more weeds than
useful herbs in the beds.  Nevertheless it was a pleasant outlook.

Suddenly Sarah came into view, walking hand in.  hand with Alan
Crompton.  Their pleasure at being together was obvious, open for all
to see.  Even as Meg watched, Alan took Sarah into his arms and kissed
her, whilst she twined her arms around his neck, holding his head down
to hers as if she never wished to let him go.  She ran a finger over
the scar on his face, a gesture that expressed her wholehearted love,
despite the blemish which gashed his fine, honest face;

It stirred the ever-present ache in Meg's heart.  Her own love was
every bit as strong as was Sarah's, but Richard's response was never as
clear and unfettered.  A few moments later, Alan took hold of Sarah's
shoulders and stepped away from her.  He held her for a moment at arm's
length, then turned and strode away.

Sarah attempted to run towards him, but he waved her back.  A groom
brought forward a horse and held it for Alan to mount.  With one last
wave of farewell, he rode swiftly away.  Sarah stood watching until he
was out of sight, then with drooping shoulders she turned and walked
into the castle.

Her sorrow seeped into Meg's soul.  Puzzled and unhappy, she pushed the
tray away.  She wanted nothing more to eat or drink.  She had a
premonition that all was not well at Leet Castle.  She sat still, with
her gaze fixed on the scene outside, and shivered involuntarily.

Richard stood at the open door of the chamber.  Meg was unaware of his
presence and for several minutes he stayed there, quite still, gazing
at her.

He found it pleasing that she was dressed again in those simple
garments she had worn when he had first encountered her in Norwich.

They were so plain as to be almost puritanical, but how sweet and
innocent she looked.  He cursed the wickedness of Thurton, hellbent on
driving her into Henry's lustful arms.

He had discovered quite early yesterday morning that she had left
Thurton's London house.  Then Alan had told him that Sarah was also
missing.  Richard had recalled Meg's anger and despair when he had been
with her in the garden, and he had plunged into an abyss of fear and
worry.  He'd searched the whole house, opening doors, peering inside,
regardless of who was there or what embarrassing situation he came
upon.  He had been too maddened to care.  She had gone!  Vanished.

He had cursed himself for not agreeing to her suggestion that he should
marry her, but that would have placed her in greater danger.  He didn't
trust Thurton or Nancy.  Meg was so honest and outspoken that they
might have tricked her into revealing the plan.  He'd remained
convinced that he was right in his reasoning, and he'd also believed
that because she was being courted by Henry she had not been in
immediate danger.  Now he could see that he should have told her that
he was trying to make arrangements to take her to France.  He'd cursed
himself again, but it had been too late for recriminations.  The only
thing that had mattered was to find her.

Alan had questioned the lads at the stable.  He'd sought out Dugald,
knowing Sarah had made a special friend of the lad.  At first Dugald
had angrily denied any knowledge of missing horses or anything else.

Not until Alan had persuaded him that his concern was entirely for the
safety of Sarah and Meg, and had given his solemn word that he would
tell no other person of his part in their escape, had Dugald spoken.

"Are they in danger?"  he'd asked.

"Sir Richard and I both think so.  For the love of God, Dugald, tell
me--did they ride away together?"

Dugald had nodded.  "Which direction did they take?"

"The lady spoke of Bishopgate," he'd muttered.

"An' that's all I know."

"They'll be heading back to Norwich," Richard had said.

"Let's go that way and look for them."

They had ridden hard all day.  Once or twice they had questioned
travellers coming in the opposite direction, but no one had seen
them.

Two young ladies riding alone would have been so unusual that they
would surely have been noticed.  Richard had begun to think they must
have taken a different direction, but where else would they go?

He had begun to despair of catching up with them when he had
encountered the monk.  Richard groaned at the memory.  He couldn't
believe that he hadn't recognised Meg, even dressed as a boy and
clutched inside Bernard's rough woollen habit.

But for Sarah's warning shouts Bernard would have succeeded in carrying
her off.

He uttered a silent prayer of thanksgiving that he had been able to
rescue her.  It wrenched at his heart to see Meg, sitting by the
window, for she was looking out with a lonely, forlorn expression on
her face.  How pale she was, too!  He moved a step towards her,
intentionally making a sound so that she would hear.  Slowly she turned
towards him, then rose to her feet rather shakily.  She did not smile,
and as her eyes met his he saw tears in them.

"Meg."  He breathed her name reverently.

With long, urgent strides he crossed the room and would have taken her
into his arms, but she held her hands out to prevent him.

"Please don't touch me."

He stood stock-still.  Gently, with understanding, he asked, "How are
you, my dear one?"

"Bruised and sore."

Even as Meg warned him away, delight at the sight of him engulfed
her.

She had tried to resign herself to the sadness of never seeing him
again, but had missed him every minute.  Their relationship was so
tenuous, so fragile, yet to her more powerful than any emotion she had
ever experienced.  No other man would ever awaken such strong feelings
in her, of that she was convinced.  It was madness when there was so
much she doubted aboul Richard.  Yet in that moment of meeting, after
she had expected to die, or to be taken inexorably back to London and
her evil relative, she moved towards him.

It was her body, not her mind, that was in control.  I She lifted her
face for his kiss.  His lips closed over hers, I

gently but possessively, awakening excited pulses which quivered from
her head to her feet.  Love enveloped her.  Richard's arms encircled
her, but gently, so gently.  He touched her with care, his hands
exploring, always watching her reaction.

"I'm so afraid of hurting you, my dearest," he whispered.

"The pain seems less when you kiss me," she murmured.

"Then I shall keep kissing you until you are fully restored," he
volunteered.

With the utmost tenderness he kissed her forehead and the tip of her
nose, then turned his attention to her lips.  He drew her closer into
his arms--and pain shot through her ribs.  He loosened his hold at
once.

"I'm hurting you."

She didn't want him to stop.

"It's all right.  It will go away.  Kiss me again."

He did so willingly, a long, lingering kiss that, despite her bruises,
throbbed deliciously through her.  It brought a rush of desire,
transporting her from the everyday world.  A few moments previously she
had looked out of the window and, seeing Sarah with Alan, had felt
envious.  Now the sun was shining in through the glass at her side,
Richard kissed her again and again, and her world was alight with
joy.

But she was still far from well and the aches and pains returned.

Richard noticed.

"You should be resting," he said solicitously.

"Shall I carry you?"

"No," she gasped.

"Just let me take your arm--' As if she had been waiting for just this
moment Sarah knocked on the door.

"The physician said you'd to rest, my lady," she said sternly.

He Stayed with Meg until she fell asleep.  His eyes never left her face
and he cursed the day he had been forced by Thurton to swear that oath
on the Bible.  He would keep it.  His honour demanded no less.  But he
knew that vow would try him harder than any other thing in his life.

The physician's prognosis proved to be correct.  Meg's recovery took
its natural course; she was young and healthy and within a few days was
able to walk unaided.  Despite her disability they were happy days,
spent mostly in Richard's company--and indeed, for many hours, in his
arms.

Ever solicitous, considerate, clearly he was happy to be with her.  The
feeling that throbbed between them was real and strong; it had nothing
to do with courtly love.  To her it seemed that they were made for each
other.  Every day she expected him to speak of marriage, but though
they talked a great deal that was never mentioned.

He kissed her, caressed her and enfolded her in loving embraces until
she almost swooned in his arms.  She yearned to be his entirely, and
she could tell that his arousal matched hers, but he never actually
made love to her.  Always, just when she wanted more than anything in
the world to be seduced by him, to give herself to him entirely, he
drew back.  He would pull away from their embrace, tear himself from
her arms, murmuring of some important engagement which he had to
attend.

Why was it not as frustrating for him as it was for her?  She had no
doubt that their desire was mutual, even if for him it was not true
love.  In the past when he had spoken of courtly love he had warned her
that a gentleman would carry the affair as far as the lady was willing.
Sometimes she wondered if there was some other lady to whom he was
attached or even betrothed.  She had seen him talking teasingly to some
who had been ladies-in-waiting to Queen Jane.  Perhaps, although he
dallied with her, it meant nothing to him, and there was another he
wished to marry.

She sighed.  She could not speak of it.  That would have been far too
bold for a lady brought up as she had been.  Sometimes she regretted
her early years in the nunnery, which had imprinted such deeply held
moral restrictions upon her.  It made her ashamed of the intensity of
her feelings.  Her only recourse was to hide those emotions that could
so easily consume her.  She fought against the wild wantonness that
Richard caused, which flared up in her and threatened to engulf her
whole being.  If he truly loved her, surely he would behave more warmly
towards her.

Doubts festered just below the surface of her mind, as they had done
ever since their first encounter.  She would have avoided all contact
with him, but that was .  not within her power.  Her love for him was
too great, the pleasure of being with him so sweet.  Yet, as she
recovered from her injuries, questions that had been at the back of her
mind thrust themselves forward.

"Sarah, where is Alan?  I saw you with him the first morning we were
here.  But that's several days ago and I haven't yet had an opportunity
to thank him for his part in our rescue."

"He's gone to London, my lady."

"To London?  Why should he wish to go there?"

"Sir Richard sent him on a mission."

"What sort of mission?"  Meg asked suspiciously.

"That's all I know, my lady.  He wouldn't tell me anything more."

"I see," Meg said, though in truth she was no wiser than before and, in
fact, was more troubled.

For the first few days she had taken all meals in her chamber; now she
declared herself sufficiently fit to join the others in the Great Hall.
It was a good-sized room, though not so lofty or spacious as that at
Bixholm.  Fewer people sat at the trestles and it was altogether a much
more subdued affair than that over which Thurton presided.  A small
group of musicians in the gallery livened the evening with a selection
of popular melodies.

She was a little surprised to find Richard in the seat of honour at the
top table, but, because of that, it seemed natural for her to be placed
upon his right.  A priest intoned grace, after which the first courses
were served.  Roast mutton with a sharp mint sauce, pigeon pie, wheat
and rye bread and cheese.  It was all well cooked and tasty.

"Eat well, my dear."  Richard smiled at her.

"For it will help you to regain your strength."

She nodded, accepting another slice of the pie.

"It is delicious," she said.

"The kitchen is obviously very well ordered.  But I still do not know
to whom this castle belongs."

"Ownership is a moot point," he replied.

"It is my belief that it is mine.  But there are others who dispute
that."

"Then where are they, these " others"?"

"In London, to the best of my knowledge."

"Suppose they come here---will they not object to our presence?"

"I don't expect them," he said with a confident shrug.

"Leet is seldom occupied; you've seen how neglected it is.  The Captain
of the Guard believes, as I do, that I am the rightful owner.  He is
loyal to me.

I've instructed him what action to take in the event of any hostile
approach.  "

"You think there will be trouble?"

"It's just a precaution.  Nothing for you to worry about."  Then,
changing the subject, he said, "It is delightful to see you here at
table.  Are you really feeling better?"

"Much better, thank you, and it is pleasant to be here."  She ate in
silence for a short time, trying to quell her curiosity, but found it
impossible.

"How was it that Leet was taken from you?"  she asked.

"It's a not uncommon story.  Both my parents died of the sweating
sickness when I was but eight years old.  My little sister died too.  I
was fortunate to be spared."

"Oh, how sad!"  Meg's heart was touched, her sympathy sincere and
immediate.  She could visualise all too vividly the grief of that great
loss at such an early age.

"It was.  I don't like to think back on it.  But it's a long time ago.
I was sent to live in the house of another nobleman, a friend of my
father's.  It had already been planned that I should be brought up
there, as is customary."

"What happened to Leet?"

"It fell to a roaming band of brigands who were rampaging around the
country.  They were lawless times.  I was too young to defend my rights
and the gentleman in whose house I lived had no spare men to send here.
Had he done so, he might have lost his own estates.  Those brigands
were well armed.  Mercenaries, under the command of some of the
greatest landowners.  Leet was easy prey to them."

"As my mama was driven out of Bixholm," she said.

"Aye.  A similar dastardly act," he agreed.

"I've lodged my claim with lawyers in London, but you know what they
say:

possession is nine-tenths of the law.  I have papers to prove my
ownership, but without financial backing it isn't easy.  "

"I know," she said, mindful that her mother had had to accept the loss
of Bixholm and that it would never be hers.

"Life has not treated you well."

He shrugged.

"There are others who have fared worse.  I've had to fend for myself
from boyhood, but I've managed.  My foster-parents were good to me."

"Do they live near here?"

"Unfortunately they have both died, and their estates are in the North
of England.  They have sons who have taken over.  As soon as I grew up
I felt I must make my own living.  I rode south and hired out my
services to gentlemen and ladies who were in need of protection."

"Was that how you came to be with my uncle?"

"That was one of the reasons," he said.

"But enough about me.  Let us just be grateful that we were close to
Leet when you were so badly injured."

Meg wished he did not always change the conversation, but felt she had
quizzed him long enough that evening.

Dessert was served.  Pastries, figs and wild strawberries and cream.

She declined Richard's suggestion that they should dance.  She did not
feel quite fit enough for that, especially if he had the la volta in
mind.

As it was a warm evening they walked in the gardens for a short time.

Richard placed an arm around her waist and she leaned her head upon his
shoulder, as affectionately as any couple could wish--except that they
were not officially so.  The night was still; the birds had finished
their frantic feeding and settled for the night.  Only an owl hooted in
the distance.  Meg stood still,

listening.  Was it an owl?  She heard it again and was satisfied.  Then
something else caught her attention.  A man was standing beneath some
trees.  Something about him was familiar.

"Richard--someone is watching us," she said.

"I do not care if the whole world is watching," he said, and kissed
her.

His attitude was so untroubled she felt foolish for being concerned
about it, but, disturbed by the thought that they were being spied
upon, she turned her head away from him.

"It will only be one of the servants," he said.

"Where is he?"

"Over there--' She pointed.  She could see nothing.  Richard walked to
where she pointed.

"Nobody here," he said.

She shivered, suddenly feeling cold.  Richard noticed.

"I'd better take you in," he said.  He escorted her to her chamber,
solicitous of her well-being.  Sarah was waiting to assist her to
prepare for bed.  " She was almost drifting off to sleep when that
figure sprang into her mind again.

It had been Gervase Gisbon!  She shook her head in disbelief.  It must
have been a trick of the light, a memory of that previous night in the
garden in London.  How foolish of her even to think of it!  It was
impossible-and yet she was unable to shake her mind free of the
thought.

Fear, premonitions of disaster and her bruises, painful if she turned
the wrong way in bed, had developed in Meg the habit of waking early.

So it was that two days later, shortly after dawn, with sunlight
streaming through the window, she slipped quietly out of bed.  She had
left the casement open and padded softly across the room, careful not
to disturb Sarah, who was sleeping on the truckle bed at the foot of
her big four-poster.

In the days she had been at Leet Castle she had come to love the
view.

Below was the formal garden which, though neglected, was a haven of
wildlife.  Birds were seeking tasty morsels for their young, flitting
with filled beaks to nests in bushes and trees all around.  Among the
weeds she had been pleased to discover some of the herbs with which she
was familiar, and she planned to find a lad to assist her to clear the
ground around them.

Peace dominated the land.  Meg stretched, yawned-then stood,
transfixed, her attention caught by movements just beyond the perimeter
of the castle.  A group of horsemen were approaching fast.

She was surprised to see that, even at this early hour, the drawbridge
had been lowered.  Standing close by was Gervase Gisbon.

A guard stepped forward as if he intended to challenge the visitors.

She gasped as Gisbon swung a heavy cudgel and felled the man with a
single mighty blow.  He dropped to the ground, where he lay silent and
stunned.  There was no other opposition as the horsemen cantered into
the castle forecourt.

With horror Meg recognised the leader of the company.  It was
Thurton!

He reined in his horse and raised one triumphantly aggressive arm.  She
heard his words clearly.

"I am the rightful owner of Leet.  Any man who challenges my right to
be here will be severely dealt with."

Gisbon called a man to hold Thurton's horse as he dismounted.

"Where is that usurper Richard de Heigham?"  he shouted.

His presence and his words, aggressive and commanding struck terror in
Meg's soul.  Dreams of safety and peace were shattered.  Panic seized
her.

"Sarah," she hissed.

"Wake up."

"What is it?"  Sarah was alert almost immediately.  In two seconds she
was out of bed.  She ran to Meg's side.

"God help us!"  she prayed.

"He's come to take possession of the castle," Meg said grimly.

"He'll go mad when he finds us here.  What can we do?"

"For a start we'd best get dressed," Sarah said, with her usual
practicality.

"Quick as we can.  Don't waste time changing your shift, my lady.  I'll
help you to put your kirtle on over it."

It was sound advice.  She had never dressed quicker.

Then Richard's voice rang out loud and clear.

"I am no usurper."

Meg hurried to the window again, though she stood back from it, not
wishing to be seen by those below.  Boldly Richard was striding out of
the castle.  He had hurriedly pulled on his nether garments over his
wide- sleeved nightshirt and had belted on his sword.

"Leet Castle is mine by right of birth.  And so I shall prove one
day."

"If you live that long," snarled Thurton.

"Do you want to make an issue of it?"  demanded Richard.  His hand was
on his sword.

"You wouldn't stand a chance.  Reinforcements are following me,"
Thurton told him.

"But I have no desire to fight.  In fact, if you co-operate, I may
consider handing the place over to you.  I want as little trouble as
possible so that we may prepare for the impending visit of the King."

Meg's fear deepened.  Sarah gasped.  They clung to each other for
comfort and strained their ears to the voices from below.

"I must, of course, feel honoured to expect a visit from His Majesty,"
said Richard.

"But why should he deign to come here?"

"Not to see you, de Heigham," sneered Thurton.

"The King wishes to renew his acquaintance with the lovely Lady
Margaret.  You know he has taken a great fancy to her."

"Lady Margaret is not here," declared Richard.

"Really?  The good monk Father Bernard told us otherwise.  He says that
you kidnapped the lady and carried her off against her will from my
house in London."

"That is a lie," Richard declared.

"You will not find the lady here."

What foolishness was that?  thought Meg.  They would search and she
would soon be discovered.

"Oh, my lady--what shall we do?"

At that moment the door of Meg's chamber was flung open.  The Captain
of the Guard stood on the threshold.  He was clearly in a great hurry,
and his eyes had a wild look, but he bowed politely.

Meg drew back in alarm.  This was the man of whom Richard had spoken so
trustingly.

"My apologies, my lady.  You have seen what is happening below.  Sir
Richard is holding Thurton and his men at bay, but he cannot do so for
long.  You are to come with me, and I will lead you to safety through
an underground passage.  They must not find you here."

Chapter Thirteen

C/aptain Bennington delivered the order so positively that Meg
instinctively prepared to obey.  She was eager to go and there was
little time to think.  The very idea of being caught again in the
clutches of her uncle and Nancy made her flesh creep.  Certainly it
seemed sensible, and safer, both for her and for Richard, that she
should get away from Leet.  And yet--was it the right action to take?

She hesitated.

The voice of Gervase Gisbon, shouting accusingly, floated up clearly
through the open window.

"De Heigham is lying.  It is as the holy friar said.  He abducted the
lady for his own evil desires.  I have seen them often together.  They
are lovers!"

"You lie," Richard yelled.

The Captain seized Meg's arm.

"For the love of God, my lady, come with me as quick as you can."

"No."

"You must get away.  Did you not hear that the King is coming?"

"I did.  And he will be told that I was abducted by Sir Richard.  He is
being falsely accused of conduct that could be deemed treason," she
said.

"Only I can refute that charge."

"Sir Richard is well able to look after himself," said the Captain.

"He will get out of this scrape, as he has escaped from many others.

When I have led you to safety, I will return and assist him--' Gervase
was shouting again.

"That's Lady Margaret's chamber, my lord.

The one with the open window.  "

"Do let's get out of here," pleaded Sarah.

"What good can it do to be caught by that brute?"  She took hold of
Meg's other arm and used her considerable strength to make Meg move.

"Believe me, my lady, it will be best for everyone.  Which way.
Captain?"

"Through the Great Hall.  There's a secret door in the panelling beside
the fireplace.  It opens into a passage--' Despite her objections, Meg
found herself being hustled in that direction.  She could no longer
hear what was happening in the courtyard, but her imagination was
running riot.  Her uncle would be furious if she could not be found.
Richard was already in his power.

She could not leave him.  She had to speak in his favour.

"You're hurting me," she complained to her captors.

That was the last thing they wanted to do, so the Captain loosened his
hold slightly, but not sufficiently for her to escape.  They hustled
her along passageways and into the Great Hall.  The smell of last
night's ale and food lingered.  Two of the dogs barked, then, realising
that they were not strangers, flopped back and closed their eyes.  Meg
was impelled over to the huge fireplace at the far end of the room.  It
was warm, with half a tree trunk smouldering among dusty grey ashes.

With one hand tightly encircling Meg's wrist.  Captain Bennington felt
along the side of a carved oak panel.

He pressed one particular ridge and the panel began to move.

"Cor, I never knew that was there," exclaimed Sarah.

Slowly the door swung open to reveal steps leading down into the
darkness below.  Both the Captain and Sarah relaxed slightly, their
eyes fixed upon the opening, and in that moment, with fevered
determination, Meg pulled herself away.  She had the advantage of
taking her friendly captors by surprise.

She leapt beyond their reach with a sudden return of strength.  Picking
up her skirts, she ran as if the devil himself was after her.  She
forced herself to ignore the pain that shot through her limbs.  She
dodged trestles and upturned benches, the uncleared residue of the
previous evening's meal, driven by the need to assist Richard.  Never
had the Great Hall seemed so long.

Captain Bennington and Sarah were in pursuit of her.  They were her
friends, but she had to escape from them.  She rushed out of a door and
blessed the fact that it was half open.  One of the dogs decided it was
a game, and raced and leapt beside her as she ran across the wide foyer
and through the outer door.

She emerged at the top of the wide steps that led to the courtyard.

Faces looked up at her, startled, silent, so many of them!  Richard,
clean-shaven, bare-headed, that arrestingly rugged face which she knew
and loved.  Thurton, bearded, florid, with small eyes and an oversized
bulbous nose.  She hated him with a malevolence that almost frightened
her.  Gervase Gisbon, duplicitous, whose blond and handsome features,
always icy-cold, struck fear into her heart.  Other members of the
Earl's company were gathered around him, awaiting orders.  She
recognised a few of those closest to him.  The servants stood back as
far as possible from the central group.  Those who lived at the castle
were plainly bewildered, unsure to whom they owed allegiance.

Richard was the first to move.  He sprang forward, dashed headlong
toward her, up the steps two at a time.

"What are you doing here?  Go.

Go!  Get away while you can.  " He glanced over Meg's shoulder and saw
Captain Bennington.

"I gave you orders to take her--' " It is not the Captain's fault,
Richard," Meg said.

"I heard those false accusations--I had to come and prove them
untrue."

"Never mind that!  I can look after myself," Richard hissed at her.

"Go--' " I will not--' She stepped past Richard.  He tried to grasp her
arm, but she moved aside.

"I will not be silenced^ she said.

"I want everyone to know that Sir Richard had no part in my leaving the
Earl's house in London.

I went of my own free will, accompanied only by my maid.  It was Sir
Richard who saved us both from those evil monks, Bernard and Marcus.

As for the other charges--' she began but was interrupted.

"There is no need to discuss that at this moment," said Thurton.

"We will sort that out later.  For the moment my only wish is to be
reunited with my dear niece."

He moved heavily and clumsily up the steps.  His mouth smiled, but his
eyes were hard.  She stepped back, her distrust of him as trenchant as
ever.

"Give your uncle a kiss, wench, to show there are no ill feelings."

His hands reached out and clasped hers, pulling her closer.  With
reluctance she deposited a peck on his bristly cheek.

"Now, let us go inside and take refreshment."  He clapped his hands,
summoning the servants.

"Fetch the best food and wine you have in the house and send the butler
and the cooks to me."

Thurton used his authority positively.  He dismissed Richard and
Captain Bennington.

"No need for you to follow.  I- will deal with you both later.  I wish
to speak to my niece privately."

She saw the flash of anger in Richard's eyes.  He opened his mouth to
protest.  She shook her head in warning, for he could neither do nor
say anything that would help.

"See to the quartering of my men," the Earl thundered on.

"Have the best chambers thoroughly cleaned and prepared for the King,
and for myself and Nancy."

He was taking control of everything, including Meg.  He held her arm in
a grip that pinched as side by side they entered Leet.

"Richard de Heigham has designs on this estate.  Scant hope he has of
taking it from me.

"What is mine I hold."  That is my motto.  " Inside the castle he stood
still, looking around, half smiling.

"I haven't been here for years.  It's a pretty property, is it not,
Meg?"

She controlled her dislike of the man.  For the moment she was
powerless and she knew it.  Her commonsense told her that a pretence of
quiet acceptance was the least likely to inflame the situation.  For
the moment the Earl, undoubtedly for his own reasons, was holding out
an olive branch to her.  It was in her interest and, she hoped,
Richard's also that she took it.

"I like it very well," she said.

"I could happily live here."

"Ah, but we have better things in store for you, my dear.  You know
that, don't you?"

She made no reply.  They entered a side-chamber.  The Earl flung
himself down in a chair and indicated that Meg should be seated
nearby.

Undeterred by her silence, he carried on, using a creepily gentle
voice.

"You have completely captured the King's heart, my dear.  When he sent
for you and we searched everywhere and you were not to be found.  Nancy
and I found it very difficult to find a reason for your absence."

"I am sure you know why I left London."

"I neither know nor understand, but that is beside the point.  On this
occasion I forgive you, but I shall not be so lenient if you cross me
again.  Do you understand?"

She nodded.

"Good.  Then I will say no more about it.  We are reunited; that is all
I care about--at the moment!"  His expression of repressed fury
emphasised exactly what he meant by that.

"I shall not berate you for all the trouble you caused.  I had to
explain to His Majesty that you had expressed a wish to go into
retreat, and therefore I had allowed you to come here to my Castle of
Leet.  You will remember that when the King arrives, won't you, dear
niece?"  His tone held an unmistakable threat.

Servants came in with laden trays, flagons of ale, wine, dishes of
porage, fruit and steaming, freshly baked rolls.  They hovered, ready
to serve the Earl, but he waved them away.

"I'll see to myself."  Go.  All of you.  "

Meg could feel the webs of deception gathering around.  She was trapped
again.  She clenched her fists, but this was not the time for open
defiance.

"You know what you must say to the King, don't you?  You must explain
that you were troubled in your mind.  That you doubted you were worthy
of the attention he was so graciously bestowing upon you and you felt
you needed time for quiet reflection, for the regeneration of your
soul."

She listened with astonishment, but what could she do?  Meekly she
nodded.

"You will assure the King that you were not seeking to be separated
from him, and welcome him wholeheartedly when he arrives.  Have I made
myself clear?"

"Perfectly."  It was only a whisper.

"That's a good wench."  Thurton smirked with satisfaction.

"You see.

Nancy whispered to Henry that you were such a shy young lady you simply
could not believe that such a great man as he could really fall in love
with a girl such as you.  It was an excellent ploy.  It couldn't have
worked out better, for His Majesty was most touched.  Of course.

Nancy was quick to point out that you are indisputably of royal descent
and, even though you were brought up in a nunnery, it was in a very
genteel manner.  "

The Earl paused and chuckled.

"I have to say that Nancy spoke your case most eloquently, and, far
from cooling the royal ardour, her words seemed only to increase the
affection and esteem in which His Majesty holds you."

"I am sure I do not deserve it," murmured Meg.

"On that I agree with you," Thurton said tartly.  He took a long
draught of ale, bit into a roll, and stuffed a slice of ham into his
mouth with his fingers.  A broad grin spread over his fat red face.

"But thankfully we do not always get what we deserve."  He spoke with
his mouth full.

"You will have to reconcile yourself to that fact.  You wouldn't
believe the joy you brought to His Majesty when we told him that you
were here, safe and sound, at Leet.  He demanded to be brought to you
im t mediately, so that he might personally declare his attachment to
you."

Meg hung her head, miserable and dispirited.  She could think of no way
out.  She was sorry if she had indeed awakened in the King this
devotion that was pleasing her uncle so mightily.  She had no wish to
hurt or harm him.

"That was a clever move of yours, my Meg.  Your absence has certainly
made the King's heart grow fonder," the Earl crowed.

"That was not the reason I--' " Do not say another word on the subject,
my dear niece.  "

"But, Uncle--' " Not another word," he thundered.

"Have something to eat."

"I am not hungry, thank you."

He shrugged.

"May I have permission to leave the room.  Uncle?"

He ignored her and stuffed more food into his mouth.  She stood up and
moved quietly away.  As soon as she was outside the room she hurried
through the castle and out into the courtyard, seeking Richard.

She found him in the stables with the head groom.  Together they were
examining one of the Earl's horses, which appeared to have been
lamed.

"Richard--' He swung round at the sound of her voice.

"Meg!"  His eyes studied her face.

"Are you all right?  He didn't?"

"My uncle spoke kindly to me," she said.

"But you?"

He smiled.  His face relaxed.  He turned to the groom and instructed
him to carry on with the treatment.  Then,

taking Meg's arm, he led her away from the busy stable block.

"Shall we walk in the herb garden?"  he suggested.

She turned her steps in that direction.  They walked side by side, but
without physical contact.  She told him all that the Earl had said to
her and how she was expected to act when Henry arrived.

"You were wise to pretend obedience," Richard said.

"And you are safe because it is not in Thurton's interest for you to be
harmed in any way."

"But what can I do?  Can we not escape together through that secret
passage?"

"Perhaps.  But the time is not yet right--' " Ah, the young lovers!  "
a nasal voice purred.

Meg started.  Gervase Gisbon had crept up behind them.  How long had he
been there?  How much had he heard?

"A message from his lordship, de Heigham.  He wishes you to attend on
him immediately.  I believe he fancies a day's hunting tomorrow."

"Then I must bid you farewell for now," said Richard, bowing to Meg.

"Ah, so sad," breathed Gervase.

"Soon it will be farewell for ever, I trow."

Meg did not wait to hear more.  She walked smartly away from both of
them.  For the present it appeared that both she and Richard were safe,
and would be so long as they were useful to the Earl.  She quailed at
the prospect of the King's arrival "and the deceit she was expected to
enter into.  Again there seemed to be no way out--and even now Richard
had shown no enthusiasm when she'd spoken about escaping together.

Nancy arrived the following day.  With her came several packhorses and
a cart loaded with a variety of do t mestic items: special bedding for
the King and tapestries to beautify the rooms he would occupy, vast
quantities of preserves and pickles, hams, jams, other meats and all
manner of things beside.

"Is there anything left in the London house?"  the Earl | enquired.

"You seem to have brought just about everything with you."

Meg, with Sarah at her side, watched and listened to this altercation
with considerable amusement from her chamber overlooking the entrance
to the castle.

Nancy stood with arms akimbo, plump hands on her non-existent waist.

"Have you any idea what it takes to run a household of this size?  Let
alone make the place fit for a king?  You said this so-called castle
hasn't been lived in, not properly, not by the gentry, probably not
since Domesday!  And I can see that's not a word of a lie," Nancy
snapped.

She was tired from the journey and felt she deserved a better welcome
after all the trouble she had taken.

"All right.  All right.  Nancy, my love.  I didn't mean anything by
that remark."

Nancy was a little mollified, but continued to regard him scathingly.

"You'd be the first to complain if I couldn't arrange to have the King
decently housed and well fed!  Now get out of my way and let me look
about and see what needs to be done."

"Is the King on his way?"  the Earl asked.

"He is.  But he's making a progress of it.  Travelling with all the
usual panoply of courtiers and hangers-on.  He should be here in about
two days' time."

"There's time for me to go a-hunting, then."

"Hunting!"  Nancy's voice rose to a scream.

"That's right, Edmund!  You go off and enjoy yourself!  Never mind all
the work and preparations that have to be seen to here."

"Well, what can I do?"  Thurton asked, with surprising humility.

"Oh, nothing at all," Nancy said sarcastically.

"Except oversee the outside clearing and look to the stables.  Make
sure they're fit to receive the King's horses and his carriage.  And
wouldn't it be a good idea to send men out to meet him on the road and
return with news, so that you can be sure to be here to greet His
Majesty, and not out hunting when he arrives?"

"Proper fishwife, isn't she?"  remarked Sarah.

"Strange, though, isn't it?  I mean, have you noticed how women always
have so many things that really have to be attended to, no matter who
they are?"

"It's because women have to provide the food and men are always
hungry," Meg said philosophically.

"She's certainly intending to put on some good feasts," Sarah remarked,
licking her lips at the prospect.

"Nancy is a clever woman," Meg said.

"And very.  wise to bring wholesome food from London.  The kitchens
here are not well stocked, and there are few potherbs in the gardens to
flavour the dishes."

Nancy wasted no time as she set to, stirring things up in the
household, sending servants hither and thither to fetch sheep, pigs and
geese for slaughter.  Doves were culled from the dove house fish caught
in the stew ponds, sacks of fresh milled' flour were carted in.

She had others hurrying in and out, clearing away the rushes that had
lain on the floors too long and replacing them with sweeter-smelling
ones.  Scrubbing and cleaning went on apace.

"Good thing it ain't our business to get involved," said Sarah.

Meg smiled at her in complete agreement.  She found it entertaining and
droll to watch the unloading of the carts and the unpacking and
carrying away of panniers from the packhorses--until the door of her
chamber was thrown open.

Nancy stood on the threshold.  Her eyes swept around the chamber.  She
glared at Meg, but kept her lips tightly compressed, making it clear
that this was not a friendly visit.  She was followed by half a dozen
servants who were all silent, cringingly obedient.  Among them they
carried the entire collection of clothes which had been made for Meg.

"Put them down carefully," Nancy instructed.

"Then get out."

Her servants did as they were bidden.  Sarah stayed.

"That goes for you too," snapped Nancy.

Sarah shot a startled glance at Meg, who nodded.

"Do as Mistress Nancy says, Sarah."

When the door was closed and they were alone, Nancy faced Meg.  The
fury in her eyes had intensified.

"The trouble you've caused!  I'll never forgive you for this.  Your
behaviour is quite beyond belief.  You have the world at your feet,
riches far above any woman's wildest dreams, the opportunity to become
Queen of England.  All that on offer to you.  You didn't have to lift a
finger to help yourself!  And you run away!  I'd beat you black and
blue if I had my way!"

Meg stood with her head held high and her hands neatly at her sides.

"I'm sure you would," she said quietly.

"Have no doubt about it," snapped Nancy.  Meg's quiet attitude was
fanning her anger.

"And I will.  I'll do it myself, personally, if you ever try anything
like that again.  Edmund's too soft.  I believe he's even told you he's
forgiven you, fool that he is."

"I didn't believe him," Meg said coolly.

"Good.  Then you understand.  And I'll be watching you like a hawk from
now on."

Nancy moved closer to her.  She was tall as well as broad, a powerful
woman.  Against her size and fury Meg felt frail and insignificant. 
She clenched her fists and faced up to her without wavering an inch.

"One more thing," said Nancy.

"What's this about you and Richard becoming lovers?"

She grasped Meg by the shoulders, as if she would shake the truth out
of her.

"That is also a lie," Meg said.

Nancy narrowed her eyes until they were accusing slits in her puckered
face.

"Are you a virgin?"

"Why should I answer that?"

"Because we must know.  The King will demand no less.  I can have the
physician examine you if you will not answer me."

Rather than face such humiliation, Meg said, "There is no need for
that.  You have my word on it."

Nancy stared at her a few moments longer, as if she was debating with
herself whether to believe it or not.  Then she said, "You will
accompany me to the chapel and swear on the Bible to the truth of
that."

Meg had no difficalty in complying, though she detested the bullying
manner in which she was being treated.

When it was done.  Nancy issued another order.

"Now you will return to your chamber and change out of that dreadful
dress.  It makes you look like a kitchen-maid.  For this evening you
may wear any of the gowns we have had made for you.  When the King
arrives I shall oversee your toilette."

Having dismissed Meg, Nancy went in search of Thurton.  He had returned
to the room in which he had spoken to Meg and was sitting at ease, with
a pot of ale on a small table at his elbow.

He started up guiltily when Nancy burst in upon him.

"Nancy, sweetheart, I've been on my feet all day and I've only just sat
down.

I've instructed the servants to air the bed for Henry, just as you
suggested, and--' He broke off when he noticed the expression on her
face.

"What have you been up to, my love?  You look exceedingly pleased with
yourself."

Nancy smiled, sat down on the bench beside him and helped herself to a
swig from his pot of ale.

"I've spent some time with our stupid little rebel and I believe all
will be well."  She smirked, and drank more ale.

"Have you spoken to Richard?"

"I have, and he assures me he has kept his vow.  I've also questioned
Gisbon more closely.  He observed them together, but admits that he
never actually witnessed anything more than a few kisses between
them."

"Good," purred Nancy.

"I'm sure that's true.  And I've come to realise something else, my
lord."

"Something else?  Don't play games with me.  Nan.  What is it?"

"Your sweet, innocent young niece.  Lady Margaret, is in love."

"In love?  With whom?  I'll soon put a stop to her nonsense--' " Hush,
my dear.  We can use this to our advantage.  You see--it is Richard
upon whom she dotes.  "

"Richard!  How dare he?"

"I don't think it is a matter of daring, Edmund.  It has happened, as
these things have a way of doing.  But I believe it will serve us
well."

Thurton eyed her suspiciously.

"Don't talk in riddles, woman.  Meg's supposed to fall in love with the
King."

"Don't be a complete fool, my sweet.  How could any woman fall in love
with Henry as he is now!  Ten years ago it would have been quite
different--not now!  Don't make me laugh."

"So?"

"I believe she is so smitten that she will do anything for Richard's
sake."  Nancy paused meaningly.

"Even accept the King as her lover?"  The Earl spoke thoughtfully.

Nancy nodded.

"If we play our cards carefully."

"Is Richard in love with her?  Seriously in love, I mean?  He's very
protective towards her, I know, and he's kept his vow because he
believes that's the right and honourable thing to do."

"Just as Meg has now sworn on the Bible that she remains a maid," said
"I don't see where this is getting us," grumbled Thurton.

"Well, my sweet.  Let us suppose that something happens that puts
Richard in danger."  She paused.

"Perhaps under threat of some sort?

For dallying with the King's sweetheart, shall we say?  "

An evil grin widened the Earl's mouth.  His small eyes almost vanished
beneath his beetling brows.

"Treason.  That's what that would be.  He should be sent to the
Tower--' " Eventually, I agree.  But first he must be imprisoned here,
Edmund.

Kept under lock and key in the dungeon," Nancy said.

"In chains," Thurton added maliciously.

"Exactly.  You'll see to it immediately?"

"Well..."  The Earl hesitated.

"There's no need for it to be done today, is there?"

"Why not today?"

"I need the man.  He's so good at everything.  I was planning to
reconnoitre another route on which to take the King hunting."

"Hunting!  That's all you think about."

"You know that's not true, Nan.  I've got plenty of other things pn my
mind.  At the moment I have to make sure Henry has plenty of sport when
he's here.  And it's not just the hunting.  Richard's better than any
man I know at organising the entertainment, the musicians, and putting
on a bit of pageantry."

Nancy was obliged to agree.  Richard had his uses.

"Very well, Edmund.

You shall have one more day's hunting before you have him locked away.
"

"I'll advise Gisbon that I shall have work for him when we return."

"An assign menthe will not be averse to carrying out," Nancy remarked
with satisfaction.

Two evenings later it was Gervase Gisbon who called at Meg's chamber to
escort her to the Great Hall for the evening meal.

Thurton was at the head of the tables, in the place that had previously
been reserved for Richard.  Meg was seated on the Earl's left.  The
musicians had accompanied Nancy from London, together with some of the
entertainers.  They ate and drank, the music was pleasing and the
merriment produced howls of laughter.  Nancy seemed to recover some of
her sharp humour, and the Earl was at ease.

Meg wondered why Richard was not there.  She hesitated to ask.  His
absence did not matter to her, she told herself, but she missed his
comforting presence.

Chapter Fourteen

1 he King is on his way.  "

Meg heard the shout of the messenger but chose to ignore him.  He came
galloping into the castle courtyard and his foaming charger slithered
to a halt.  She slipped away, unnoticed amid the hustle and bustle that
stirred all within the castle--except her.

She felt only dread at the prospect of this royal visit.  Her attempt
to escape had been thwarted--what hope was now left?  She felt sick at
the thought of the lies Nancy and her uncle had fed to the King.

Saying she was so overcome at the great honour!  And that her absence
had made his heart grow fonder!

She felt more alone than ever before.  Evidently Richard had totally
abandoned her now.  She had forced herself to accept the fact that he
did not love her, and never would, but how she missed his reassuring
company.  There was no one else to whom she could talk so
freely--except for Sarah, of course.  But, wise and practical though
her maid was, she knew nothing about the ways of the Court.

Meg wandered away, following a towpath beside the slow-flowing river.

Richard had taught her so much.

They'd been together for some part of every day since she'd left the
nunnery.  She'd thought of a question to ask him, as an excuse for her
search, and had wandered all over the castle.  She'd looked in every
place she could think of where there was even the remotest hope of
finding him but it was as if he'd just disappeared.  She was hurt and
puzzled and increasingly anxious.  Even though there was a rift between
them, she couldn't believe he would have left without telling her,
without a word of farewell.

She walked on until she was beyond earshot of the hustle and bustle
from the castle.  She hoped the peaceful prettiness of the river,
flowing gently, stroking the weeds in its depths, would calm her.  But
she was far too disturbed.  Again she would be expected to face up to
the King's eager courtship.  Deeply disturbed, she sat on a log and
wrestled with the problem.

She would never agree to marry him--nor to become his mistress.  Either
situation would be anathema to her.  She would have to speak privately
to His Majesty, tell him gently and as soon as possible that although
she admired and honoured him, she did not love him.  And that she never
could.  She tried to imagine a situation where this might be possible
but her mind simply went blank.  How could she?  What would his
reaction be?  He could take a terrible revenge--even have her
imprisoned.  Would she be strong enough to go bravely to the block, as
it was said Anne Boleyn had?

"My lady--' Sarah's breathless voice broke the silence.  With skirts
lifted to her knees she was running along the rough path, jumping over
obstacles, an expression of concern on her face.

"My lady, you must come back.  They say the King will be here in less
than an hour."

Meg gave a wan smile.

"I saw the messenger arrive.  I've no wish to go back."

"I know how you feel," Sarah said.

"But I thought I'd better warn you."

Meg nodded gratefully.

"I'm glad you did.  Are they looking for me?"

"Not yet."  Sarah dropped down on the ground, her legs sprawled out,
panting from her exertion.

"With all the fuss that's been goin' on since that Nancy got here,
you'd have thought there'd be nothin' more to do.  But they're all
a-rushing about like hens in a barnyard when there's a fox about."

Idly Meg watched the water gurgling past, swirling twigs and leaves
away to the distant sea.

"Have you seen Sir Richard today?"  she asked.

"No.  I haven't.  Would you like me to ask in the stables, to see if
he's ridden off somewhere?"

"I've looked," Meg said.

"His horse is there."

"He might have taken another."

"I don't think so."

"Just gone.  Like my Alan did," said Sarah dolefully.

"You must miss him."  It wasn't a question.  She knew how Sarah felt
about Alan, and, despite everything, she felt the same about Richard.

"I haven't seen Captain Bennington either," Meg said thoughtfully.

"No.  Nor any of the men that favoured Sir Richard," said Sarah.

"In fact it's been whispered to me that Sir Richard ordered them all to
leave Leet the day after Thurton arrived, for their own safety.  He
feared fighting might break out among them."

"Do you know where they went?"

"I don't.  It's been kept secret."

"Perhaps Richard went with them."  Even as she voiced the supposition,
Meg doubted it.  They sat for a few minutes, alone with their troubled
thoughts.

It was Sarah who broke the silence.

"You ought to go back, my lady.

It'll only make them madder if they can't find you.  "

She was right, as always.  Reluctantly Meg stood up and together they
wandered back to the castle.

Nancy pounced upon her the moment she set foot inside the courtyard.

"Where on earth have you been?  I've been searching the whole place for
you.  Get up to your room straight away.  I've laid out the gown you're
to wear to receive the King--' " I will do as you say.  Nancy, but I
have to tell you I've made up my mind.  I do not wish to marry the
King.  "

"I don't want to hear about your wishes.  You will do as you're
told."

"I will not--' " Not another word.  Come with me.  I'll make you change
your mind.  "

Meg hesitated.  Nancy's mood was frightening.  She grabbed hold of
Meg's wrist and pulled her along.  She was leading her towards a grille
set in a wall of the gatehouse.  She shouted for the guard.

"Open up."

The guards were all Thurton's men.  The Earl had arrived with a large
advance party, and a great many more had followed him.  They unlocked
the heavy iron door and swung it open.  Old, irregular stone steps led
down.  Nancy gave Meg a shove.

Meg braced herself.

"I'm not going in there," she protested.

Nancy shrugged.

"You will," she said.  There was cold certainty in her voice.

"Lock me up, if that's what you want, but I'm not a criminal and I
won't go in there--not willingly.  Nor will I entertain the King," she
continued to protest.

"I'm not going to lock you up," Nancy said.

"I'm inviting you to pay a visit to a friend of yours."

Her guttural voice held a triumphant note.  Meg turned sharply.  The
evil smile on the other woman's face awakened a dreadful
presentiment.

"What--friend?"

"You don't need me to tell you, do you?"  She paused meaningly.

"I've seen you looking around for him.  You've been wondering where he
is, haven't you?  If you'd asked your uncle or me, we could have told
you."

"Richard!"

Nancy chuckled.

A gasp of fear made her turn around.  Sarah had followed her mistress
at a distance.  She had heard and was echoing Meg's distress.

"Go."  Nancy pointed towards the castle.

"Your mistress will need your assistance to robe her; look to her
gowns."

Sarah bobbed the briefest of curtsies and cast a sympathetic look at
Meg before obeying.

Meg's dread deepened.  She stared in horror down the uneven,
moss-covered steps.  She knew they led to the dungeon, though she had
never before looked inside.  Her knees began to shake.  It took all her
self-control to force herself to move forward.  One of the guards put a
hand on her elbow; without his assistance she would have fallen.  Step
by step she went down.

At the bottom was the guardroom.  It would have been in pitch-darkness
but for a couple of blazing brands.

Two other guards were lounging on wooden benches; a dog lay at their
feet.  They stood up as the ladies entered.

"Bring out the prisoner," Nancy ordered.

A mighty lock was turned with a huge iron key.  The two men went out,
carrying one of the torches.  It revealed a low, narrow passageway,
deep underground, built of stone.  At the end was a heavy wooden
door.

The guards passed through and the light of the torch disappeared.

"Prisoner's chained to the wall," said the remaining guard
cheerfully.

"It'll take them a few minutes to unlock him.  Will you take a seat?"

Neither of them answered.  Meg remained standing in the centre of the
room.  Her eyes were fixed, her face drawn, waiting for the first sight
of the man she loved so much.  She shivered.  It was cool, even though
a fire blazed in a grate set in one of the walls.  She could guess how
cold it must be below.  Nancy moved across the room, held her hands out
to the blaze and even so pulled her shawl closer around herself.  There
was little warmth in the fine linen of Meg's summer morning gown.  She
was chilled inside and out, empty and cold.  What did it matter that
her flesh was goose-pimpled?  She waited and agonised, He stumbled as
he walked, dragging his feet.  The guards, one on either side of him,
held tightly to his arms.  He blinked as they pushed him into the room.
A smell of dankness and mildew emanated from his clothing.

"Richard."  Meg started forward, reaching out her hands to him.

He stared at her.  For an unbelievable moment she thought he didn't
recognise her, then she realised his eyes were having to accustom
themselves to the light.

"It's me--Meg."  She was pleading for a sign, a word, some reassurance,
for he had a wild, almost savage look.  His mouth moved as if his
tongue was dry.

There was an impatient note in his voice when at last he answered, "I
know who you are.  Lady Margaret."

She thrilled to hear his voice, a little husky, but with that vibrant
note that had first attracted her to him.  She reached towards him,
wanting to grasp his hands, to fling herself into his arms.  Chains
rattled as he held up his hands, for they were still manacled.  So too
were his ankles.  He was warning her to keep away.  No wonder he had
walked with such difficulty.  He was bareheaded, his dark hair matted,
two days' growth of beard stub bled his face and his clothes were
dirty.

Meg was shocked and emotionally disturbed.  She could see no reason why
Richard should be treated like this.  Since he could not hold her, she
opened her arms in invitation, regardless of the watching eyes of Nancy
and the guards.  For one magical moment she saw a flash of spirit in
his dark gold-flecked eyes.  Richard was still there, somewhere within
the ill-treated body.  She yearned to hold him close but he stepped
back.  He lifted his handsome head and stood looking at some point
behind and above her.

She refused to accept his rejection, ignored the awfulness of the smell
that had seeped into his grubby garments.  She was overwhelmed by an
immense tenderness towards him.  What had they done to him that he
should be in this state?  He could only have been imprisoned for a
couple of days.  She reached up, wanting to pull his head down to
hers.

He resisted.

"Dear Richard--I am so sorry--I can't bear to see you like this--' "
Keep your pity--I don't need it.  "

"So brave.  Quite touching," sneered Nancy.

"Ah, Mistress Nancy," he said.

"I take it you've come here to gloat."

"The situation is quite pleasing to me."  Nancy smiled.

Meg ignored that interplay of words.

"What can I do?"  she whispered.

- "Nothing.  Leave me alone and look to yourself."  Richard had never
spoken to her so harshly before.

She dropped her hands and took a step back from him.  She was hurt by
the tone of his voice, by the glowering anger in his eyes.  She felt it
was directed against her as much as against Nancy and the Earl.  But
for her he would not be in this predicament.  It was her fault because
she had rebelled against her uncle's will.  She had refused to accept
the King's attentions and had run away from her home and guardian.

According to custom, and even to the law, she was at fault.

She faced Nancy.

"I am the one who has angered the Earl.  Sir Richard had no part in my
rebellious behaviour.  So why is he imprisoned?"

Nancy looked so pleased with herself that Meg longed to strike her.

"I could say it's because he's a fraudster."  The woman sounded
amused.

"Usurped his lordship's place.  Set himself up as owner of Leet Castle
when he knows full well it is not and never has been his."

"Leet is mine," Richard growled.

"I shall prove it one day."

"If you live so long," snapped Nancy.

His lips clamped together.  He said nothing.

"I suppose you've heard the King is about to arrive?"  Nancy continued
to taunt him.

"You will appreciate that I've received very little news in the past
day or two.  You may present my compliments to His Majesty."  He spoke
coldly, unemotionally, and his haughty, remote attitude was beginning
to needle Nancy.

"There are, of course, other reasons why this prisoner is being held,
as I am sure he knows," Nancy said.

"Take him below.  We've seen enough."

"No.  No!"  Meg cried in anguish.  She tried to hold on to him, but
Richard pushed her away.

"Now I know it must be true love!"  Nancy said.

"How can you bear to touch him, let alone cling to him, stinking as he
is?"

"It's the rats," he said.

"The dungeons have not been used for years.

I never incarcerated anyone down there, no matter what their crime. "

"It is inhuman to hold anyone in such dreadful conditions!"  Meg
pleaded.

Nancy shrugged.

"Why should I care?  His fate is in your hands."

"Pay no heed to her," he said.

"Forget me, Meg.  Look to yourself."

The guards took up their positions, on either side of the prisoner.

They wrenched him away from Meg's clinging hands.

Richard attempted to bow but was restricted by the guards and the
chains.  Nevertheless he moved with dignity, and without another word
or look he was taken back to the dungeon.  Meg stared after him, into
the empty passageway, standing, too horrified to move until Nancy
jerked at her arm.

"Let's get out of this place.  We've wasted too much time already," she
said brusquely.

Meg obeyed, turned and stumbled up the steps.  She was in a state of
shock.  The good fresh air outside helped to revive her.  The sweetness
of it and the warmth of the sun on her face and hands increased the
agony she felt for Richard, forced back to the dark stench of the
dungeon.  The iron grille clanged to behind them;

the guard locked it.

"What did you mean when you said his fate is in my hands?"

"Don't pretend you don't understand!  You're no fool.  You know why
you've been brought from the nunnery and treated like royalty."

"Because you wish me to marry the King."

"Exactly.  It would be so easy for you, wouldn't it?"  she said.

"So easy, Meg.  So wonderful for you if you were to become Queen of
England.  Wouldn't you like that?"

Meg gazed at her mesmerised.  Nancy was enjoying her power, watching
the effect of her softly spoken words.  The trap had been carefully
laid.

"If you were Henry's much loved Queen, you'd be in a position to bestow
other, much grander palaces upon your loving uncle.  He would sign Leet
over.  to Richard immediately.  It's entirely in your hands, Meg.
Behave properly, do as your uncle requests, encourage the attentions of
the King and immediately conditions in the dungeons will be
improved."

"And Richard will be freed?"

"Of course.  Come.  The Earl is waiting.  He will want to hear your
promise of obedience for himself."

Nancy grabbed Meg by the wrist, hurried her into the castle and along
the passages to the room in which the Earl awaited them.  He lounged at
ease as they entered and did not trouble to rise.

"Ah!  I take it you've taken her to visit the prisoner?  She looks
quite pale."

"It was not a pretty sight."

"Good.  It wasn't intended to be."

"You'll find your niece is in a much more receptive mood, Edmund."

"Well, Meg.  What do you say now?  Are you prepared to give Henry a
warm welcome, as befits the King of England?"

"I have always greeted the King with respect and will continue to do
so," said Meg.

"Don't prevaricate with me, wench!  You know what he wants from you.

You've awakened memories of his lusty youth, Meg, rejuvenated him--you
should be pleased and proud.  All I want is your promise that you will
agree to anything and everything he wishes.  "

Meg hesitated, but only briefly.  Marriage to Henry was a terrible
price to pay--but not for the release of Richard.  She could not bear
to think of him being held in those terrible conditions for a moment
longer--perhaps kept there until he died.

The Earl watched her with shrewd eyes.  He knew that at last he had her
completely in his power.

"I take it Nancy has explained to you the ills that could befall de
Heigham?"

"I will do as you say."  Meg spoke softly.

"But on one condition.  You must immediately improve the conditions
under which Richard is being held."

"You're in no position to impose conditions, wench."

"I think I am, for he looks so ill already that I fear if he is not
better housed and fed he will die before any marriage settlements can
be arranged."

"What think you.  Nancy?  Is there any truth in this?"

"Not immediately.  He's young and strong."

"There are rats in the dungeon," snapped Meg.

"It is known that they carry disease."  She paused significantly.

"If he died, I would kill myself."

The Earl and Nancy exchanged glances.

"I'll order the dungeon to be cleaned," said Thin-ton.

"I shall need to visit the prisoner every day," Meg continued.

"No," thundered the Earl.

"You go too far."

"How otherwise will I know if he is still alive?"  said Meg.

"I will allow no contact between you and the prisoner.  Your time must
be completely at the command of the King, at any hour of the day or
night."

"Let her maid visit the dungeon," suggested Nancy.

"Very well."

"I will accept that," Meg agreed.

"Now, up to your chamber, get changed and stay there until I send for
you," said Nancy.

"I shall be watching you, Meg," said the Earl.

"And you will smile.  Do you hear me?  Dance and sing and smile.  If
you fail to please His Majesty I will have nothing to lose by having de
Heigham put to death.

And I shall not care if you choose to follow him.  "

Meg nodded her acceptance.

It was early afternoon when the King arrived with his entourage.  He
was riding high on a huge white charger.  The brilliance of his riding
cloak glittered in the sun, and his black be feathered that slanted
jauntily.  It was a scene of splendour.  He waved to his subjects, a
brilliant figure in the midst of fifty courtiers, a hundred armed
guards.  A wealth of servants and a multitude of followers stretched
back as far as the eye could see.  Carriages followed close behind.

The King was outstanding in scarlet and gold, the colours of royalty,
majestic and gay.  Men, horses, dogs, clothing, harness, banners,
hangings, all decorated, op t ulent--riches and dignity on view to the
masses.  On those occasions when, for whatever reason, he ventured out
of the capital into the shires and provinces, it was essential that he
should put on a show.

The populace crowded to see him pass by.  He was their monarch, he had
fought battles for the country, he was the highest and the greatest in
the land.  To be seen at his most splendid confirmed his superiority
and increased the adulation and the esteem which kept him safe on the
throne.

Meg was dressed in a very becoming gown of rich blue velvet.  It suited
her admirably and was one in which she was comfortable, with a fitting
bodice and a modestly cut square neckline.  Long, loose sleeves were
edged with silver lace, and the underskirt, made to be revealed in the
front, was of similar costly material.  Her short curls were concealed
under the gable hood, with long wide ribbons falling down the back in
place of her golden hair.  A knotted sash emphasised the slenderness of
her waist.

Sarah helped her to dress and Meg bitterly explained how Richard was
being held in such awful conditions, and that it was no fault of his,
but only of hers, because she didn't want to marry the King.  Her tears
flowed as she talked and Sarah kept a large towel at hand to mop them
up, to prevent them staining the delicate velvet of her gown.

"Oh, what ruthless, cruel heathens they are!"  Sarah exclaimed.

"How can they treat him so?  I can't bear to think about it!"

"They won't allow me even to visit him, and I don't trust them an
inch."

"Wouldn't put anything past them two," said Sarah.

"Kill their own grandmothers, they would, if they thought there was
money in it."

"I've been forced to act as they say, and it is in their interest to
keep Sir Richard alive and in good health," Meg said.  She made no
mention of her threat to take her own life should Richard die.  That
would cause Sarah -too much distress and she hoped most sincerely that
it would not be necessary.  She simply added, "They have refused to
allow me even to see him, but they've agreed that you should go to him
every day on my behalf."

"You know I'll gladly do that, my lady.  But what wicked, evil people
they are.  I'd like to wring their necks, both of 'em."

"They've promised to keep him in better conditions, Sarah, for the
dungeon is in a filthy state, and he says there are rats there too."

"Ugh!  Well, those guards'll have to clean the place up, or they'll
hear about it from me.  I'll put the fear of death in 'em.  For if
there's disease around, they'."  go down with it too.  "

"I do so fear some real disaster will befall him."

"I'll see they don't do him no harm, my lady.  And I can carry messages
between you, as well as making sure he has some good food and suchlike.
He's a fine, strong young man.  I don't want to have to tell him that
you're weepin' buckets for him--' " Oh, no, Sarah.  You mustn't do
that," protested Meg.

"And be careful what you say to him.  I don't want him to know how much
I care."

Sarah gave her a wry smile.

"Then blow your nose, my lady, and I'll give your face another wash.  I
reckon they'll want you out of here before long, and you don't want
them to know you've been crying either, do you?"

As usual her maid's sensible approach helped Meg to pull herself
together.  Pride would not permit her to reveal her weakness to anyone
else--especially not to Nancy and the Earl.

Ten minutes later Nancy bustled into the chamber.  With a great effort
of will Meg had composed her mind and controlled her emotions and was
able to receive the other woman with a semblance of cool serenity.  She
obeyed as she was told to turn this way and that whilst her appearance
was inspected in detail.

Unable to find any fault.  Nancy escorted her out into the courtyard.

There Meg was lined up, with the Earl on one side of her and Nancy on
the other, to watch the arrival of the King.  When he reined in his
magnificent white horse the Earl hurried forward to greet his
illustrious guest.  Henry had to be assisted to dismount, and moved
stiffly.  The ulcer on his leg was paining him.

"Let us walk forward to meet him," said Nancy.

She placed Meg's hand in the crook of her arm and together they
strolled in the direction of the King.  His eyes turned upon her, eyes
that were bright and somehow hopeful, and a mass of emotions surged
through her.  Nancy noticed his attention was caught and held by Meg.

"I wouldn't hesitate for a moment if he cast his eyes upon me as he
does upon you," she said, with more than a hint of jealousy.

"My uncle might not be so pleased about that," said Meg.

"What a naive young woman you are," Nancy replied.

"He'd hand me over without another thought."

She was probably correct too.  It also flashed into Meg's mind that it
would be more pleasant to be mis

tress to Henry than to the Earl.  The pity was that undoubtedly the
King was advancing upon Meg and no one else.

"Smile," hissed Nancy.

"Remember--the fate of Sir Richard depends entirely upon you."

As if she could, or would, ever forget!  Meg lifted the corners of' her
mouth.  The smile did not quite reach her eyes, for there was an empty
feeling within her, but it was difficult really to dislike someone who
beamed upon her with such open affection.  The King moved slowly, his
gait cumbersome.

"My little Meg!"  he exclaimed.

He opened his arms to her, and, knowing what she had to do, aware it
was a matter of life or death for Richard and for herself, Meg ran
forward.  She slowed before she reached him and, mindful of etiquette,
lowered herself in a deep curtsey.  She stayed in that position until
she realised that he had moved closer to her and was reaching out a
plump hand, fingers glittering with rings.

She placed hers lightly upon it and rose easily, stood tall and looked
up into Henry's face.  Already it was familia rto her: a big head,
squarish in shape, the features slightly flattened.  People said he had
been extremely handsome as a young man, and signs of that remained,
despite his heaviness.  She stayed very still, fearful of hurting him
in some way, for despite his huge bulk she believed him to be in
considerable pain.  He drew her towards him and gently she placed
herself within the grasp of those wide-stretched arms.

She looked up into his bearded face and he bent down and kissed her on
the lips.  It was not a long kiss, not a lingering kiss, but there was
tenderness in it; it had been almost fatherly.  She drew back a little
and was able to smile at him with genuine warmth.

"How pleasant it is to renew our acquaintance, sweetheart," he said.

"It is my pleasure entirely.  Your Majesty," Meg replied.

"They said that you were a little overcome by my presence.  If that is
so, I assure you there is no need for it."

"I was--indeed I am still--conscious of my own un- worth mess

"I will be judge of that," Henry declared.

"To me you are one of the most worthy and beautiful of women."

"You are too kind, sire."

"I look forward to renewing our acquaintance, sweet lady.  But now I
have affairs of state to see to.  Even when I leave London behind me,
they follow with papers for me to sign."

He continued his progress towards the castle, surrounded by ministers
and courtiers.  Thurton was among them, showing the way.  I Meg stayed
behind and watched and shook with fear.  | She could see no escape from
the fate that had been so carefully and hideously planned for her.

Chapter Fifteen

q^vs^q

Which gown will you wear this evening, my lady?  " asked Sarah.

Meg sighed.  In truth she neither knew nor cared, but of course she had
to make a decision.

"You looked lovely in this orange-tawny, with them b'utiful creamy
sleeves all slashed-like."  Sarah held up the gown and swayed it about,
showing it off.

"Whatever you think," Meg agreed easily.  It was a modestly cut garment
and she'd liked it and felt comfortable when they'd fitted it on her.

She'd attended to her toilette, and was about to step into the
delicately embroidered underskirt when Nancy rushed into the chamber.

She took one look at the gown and snapped an order to Sarah.

"Put that away.  Tonight we wish to impress his Majesty.  Your mistress
is to wear the cloth of gold."

"No!"  exclaimed Meg.

"Yes," contradicted Nancy.

"The most exciting and the most expensive item in the collection."

Meg loathed it.  The gown which had caused her such embarrassment on
that dreadful day when the Earl and Richard had come to watch.  Even
Mrs.  Goodley had felt it was immodestly low-cut and had feared it
might fall off her shoulders.

Sarah hesitated; she knew how her mistress felt about it.

"Don't stand there gawping, wench.  Bring it out and be quick about
it."  Nancy's voice rose impatiently.

Obediently, but with her lips pursed in disapproval, Sarah spread the
brilliant golden gown on the bed for Nancy's inspection.  Nothing had
been spared in the making of it.  Its ex pensiveness was evident in the
yards of brilliant cloth.  Intricate embroidery and tiny pearls
decorated and drew attention to the bodice, cut so very immodestly wide
and low.

"That's it!"  Nancy rhapsodised.

"Your uncle thought you looked absolutely luscious in it.  I imagine
the King will be of the same opinion, for men do not vary so very much
when they look at a woman."

She placed a jewellery box on the chest.

"Here are the necklace and rings you are to wear also.  There must be
no doubt of the financial standing of your uncle."

She turned, about to leave, then paused in the doorway to look back and
add maliciously, "I recollect Richard also showed appreciation.

What a pity he will not be there to see you tonight.  " With that, she
flounced out of the chamber.

"What will you do, my lady?"  asked Sarah.

"Wear it.  I have no option."

It had become customary, since Richard's imprisonment, for Gervase
Gisbon to escort Meg to the Great Hall.  She tried to remain calm
whilst she waited for him and she was determined to hide her
discomfort.

She and Sarah had tried to lift the neckline so that her tightly
encased bosom showed less rounded flesh,

but it had been in vain.  Nor could they alter the line of the
shoulders for, as Mistress Goodley had warned, the heavy material of
the wide sleeves threatened to drag the garment down much too low.  Meg
practised standing exceedingly straight and with her arms held slightly
outwards to prevent this catastrophe.

The back was cut considerably lower than the front, in a deep vee.

This revealed more bare flesh, though Sarah had provided partial cover
with additional ribbons to flow from Meg's headdress.  The dress was
stitched and boned so firmly that it was impossible for them to make
any alteration.  She felt that the magnificent necklace of diamonds and
other precious jewels focused even more deliberately on bare flesh
revealed by the gown.

Meg felt constricted and ill at ease.

"Heaven help me," she moaned.

"I

look like a courtesan of the very lowest kind.  "

"No, that you do not, my lady," Sarah replied staunchly.

"What is more, you never could, no matter what they did to you.  Your
face is too gentle and honest."

Meg was grateful for the loving response, though she doubted it was
true.

A sharp rap on the door announced that Gervase was waiting for her.

His eyes, usually narrow and calculating, opened wide at the sight of
her.  A mocking grin spread over his repugnantly handsome face as he
bowed ridiculously low.

"You leave precious little to the imagination this evening, my lady.

It is just as well that our revered King is a much married man.  "

She could not repress a shudder.  His words had been deliberately
chosen to evoke all that was base about the

King, reawakening fears that she had no wish to dwell upon.

"It was not my choice," she said defensively.

"I'm sure it wasn't," Gervase agreed amiably.

"Its lack of subtlety has the stamp of Nancy and Thurton all over it.
What a pity Richard will not be here this evening.  But I shall have
pleasure in relating this evening's entertainment to him tomorrow."

"He has already seen this gown," she said.  Then immediately wished she
had not spoken.

"All the better.  His imagination will run riot.  Come, Lady Margaret,
let us parade."

The place of honour where Richard had sat when she first arrived, and
which all too soon had been taken over by Thurton, was now prepared to
receive the King.  A great canopy dominated the end of the hall,
erected to add to the exaltation of His Majesty.  Additional tables had
been set up and draped with white damask cloths to accommodate the most
important members of his entourage: the courtiers and their ladies, his
ministers and the nobility from far and wide.  Lesser beings, Thurton's
servants and guards, were relegated to the back rooms, out of sight of
the main guests.  There, doubtless, Sarah would eat her meal.  No
conspiratorial winks could be exchanged between maid and mistress on
this occasion.

Thurton and Nancy were waiting inside the Hall.  Her uncle looked her
over with a delighted expression on his florid face.  With pride and
triumph he puffed out his chest and squared his shoulders; he seemed to
grow in stature as Gervase handed her over.  She placed her hand on the
crook of Thurton's arm and he patted it with a proprietary air.

"My, but you're a beauty, Meg!"  he said.

"No one in this room comes near you for looks and class.  That gown
does wonders for you, adds that touch of worldliness you were lacking
before."

More with self-importance than affection he strutted with her to their
places at the top table.  Gervase followed with Nancy on his arm.  Meg
had been aware of the leering expressions with which the gentlemen had
surveyed her on her arrival at Bixholm.  Now their thoughts were even
more open, so that she was actually thankful for the protection
afforded by her uncle.  The effect of that gown was frightening.

Soon after they were seated the trumpeters sounded a fanfare.  Everyone
rose as the King entered and bowed or curtsied.  He progressed slowly
to the top table, accompanied by the nobles who were his personal
attendants.  He sat down heavily as soon as he reached his chair. Meg's
natural sympathy was awakened, for undoubtedly his legs were causing
him pain.

"Greetings, good friends," he said.

"Pray, be seated."

Meg was on His Majesty's left.  He turned to her immediately.  She was
grateful that his eyes did not rove over the gown.  Indeed he did not
at first seem to notice what she was wearing.  He was gazing into her
eyes and smiling.

"It is such a pleasure to see your sweet face again, Meg.  Did you
think of me, my dear, when we were parted?"

"I have thought of you every day," Meg replied.  That was true, though
she did not elaborate on the line her thoughts had taken.

"Kindly, I hope?"  he enquired.

"How could it be otherwise, sire?"  she replied.  Again it was not
untrue, for he had not been in any way unkind in his dealings with her.
It was not in her nature to speak ill of anyone unless she knew for
certain that they deserved censure.

"I missed you when you left so suddenly."  Henry leaned towards her and
whispered the words.

Her instinct was to draw back, for his beard almost tickled her
cheek.

Only self-control and instilled good manners prevented her making the
movement.

"I must apologise.  Your Majesty.  I had no intention of causing you
any distress.  Indeed I did not expect my departure to be of any
importance to you."

"Ah, there you are wrong.  I have hopes that we may come to know each
other a great deal better, little Meg."

Involuntarily a shudder ran over her.  The King noticed.  He reached
out one hand and lightly touched her arm, and for the first time his
eyes moved from her face, roving lower.

"It is a wonderful gown," he said solemnly.

"You look even more beautiful than before."

"Thank you, sire."  Her voice was low.  His reaction was exactly as
Thurton and Nancy had anticipated.  She trembled.  He moved his hand
from her arm and caressed her cheek.

"You are cold, sweetheart," he said.

It was true, though it was not the only reason she shivered.  Two huge
fireplaces blazed with log fires, but they were placed at each end of
the room, far from where she sat.  No other lady in that assembly was
exposing so much nakedness.

"I am s-sorry.  Your Majesty."

Henry clapped his hands.  One of the pages who stood behind the royal
chair answered immediately.

"Yes, sire?"

"Send for Lady Margaret's maid.  Tell her to bring a wrap for her
mistress.  Immediately!"

"Thank you.  Your Majesty."  Meg breathed her gratitude.

"I can't have you catching a chill.  I hope to enjoy your company
whilst we are together."

Within minutes Sarah appeared.  She was not permitted to approach the
royal presence, but the wrap was passed from hand to hand, coming
finally to Henry himself.  He placed it around Meg's shivering
shoulders and gave them a little friendly squeeze.  She was overcome
with gratitude and could think no ill of him after that.

The feast was elaborate, necessitating a constant procession of men and
boys who carried in steaming dishes from the kitchens.  The King's own
food-tasters tested each item against the fear of poison.  Four courses
were served, each offering to the diners ten or more choices.

In pride of place was the head of a boar, with tusks in place,
decorated and served with a batter pudding and gravy.  In addition
there were cygnets, capons and pheasants, sturgeon, baked custard with
dried fruits in a pastry case and other dishes too.

The King was served first, then Meg chose sturgeon with vegetables and
sauces.  Whilst she waited to be served Henry speared a bite-size
portion of roast boar on the point of his knife and offered it to
her.

"This meat is sweet and tender, Meg.  You need more than fish to keep
fit and healthy.  Try it, my sweet, and see if it isn't as good as any
you've ever tasted."

She could not refuse.  She took a deep breath and allowed him to place
the meat into her mouth.  He watched, smiling his approval as she
chewed and swallowed.

"It is indeed excellent, sire, and you are very kind.  But please look
after yourself.  I believe my dish is being brought to me now."

ill of anyone unless she knew for certain that they deserved censure.

"I missed you when you left so suddenly."  Henry leaned towards her and
whispered the words.

Her instinct was to draw back, for his beard almost tickled her
cheek.

Only self-control and instilled good manners prevented her making the
movement.

"I must apologise.  Your Majesty.  I had no intention of causing you
any distress.  Indeed I did not expect my departure to be of any
importance to you."

"Ah, there you are wrong.  I have hopes that we may come to know each
other a great deal better, little Meg."

Involuntarily a shudder ran over her.  The King noticed.  He reached
out one hand and lightly touched her arm, and for the first time his
eyes moved from her face, roving lower.

"It is a wonderful gown," he said solemnly.

"You look even more beautiful than before."

"Thank you, sire."  Her voice was low.  His reaction was exactly as
Thurton and Nancy had anticipated.  She trembled.  He moved his hand
from her arm and caressed her cheek.

"You are cold, sweetheart," he said.

It was true, though it was not the only reason she shivered.  Two huge
fireplaces blazed with log fires, but they were placed at each end of
the room, far from where she sat.  No other lady in that assembly was
exposing so much nakedness.

"I am s-sorry.  Your Majesty."

Henry clapped his hands.  One of the pages who stood behind the royal
chair answered immediately.

"Yes, sire?"

"Send for Lady Margaret's maid.  Tell her to bring a wrap for her
mistress.  Immediately!"

"Thank you.  Your Majesty."  Meg breathed her gratitude.

"I can't have you catching a chill.  I hope to enjoy your company
whilst we are together."

Within minutes Sarah appeared.  She was not permitted to approach the
royal presence, but the wrap was passed from hand to hand, coming
finally to Henry himself.  He placed it around Meg's shivering
shoulders and gave them a little friendly squeeze.  She was overcome
with gratitude and could think no ill of him after that.

The feast was elaborate, necessitating a constant procession of men and
boys who carried in steaming dishes from the kitchens.  The King's own
food-tasters tested each item against the fear of poison.  Four courses
were served, each offering to the diners ten or more choices.

In pride of place was the head of a boar, with tusks in place,
decorated and served with a batter pudding and gravy.  In addition
there were cygnets, capons and pheasants, sturgeon, baked custard with
dried fruits in a pastry case and other dishes too.

The King was served first, then Meg chose sturgeon with vegetables and
sauces.  Whilst she waited to be served Henry speared a bite-size
portion of roast boar on the point of his knife and offered it to
her.

"This meat is sweet and tender, Meg.  You need more than fish to keep
fit and healthy.  Try it, my sweet, and see if it isn't as good as any
you've ever tasted."

She could not refuse.  She took a deep breath and allowed him to place
the meat into her mouth.  He watched, smiling his approval as she
chewed and swallowed.

"It is indeed excellent, sire, and you are very kind.  But please look
after yourself.  I believe my dish is being brought to me now."

Throughout the meal he continued to supervise her food, as if he feared
she might not be properly served.  More than once he insisted on
sharing small portions from his own platter with her.  Sometimes he
passed them to her with his fat greasy fingers.  Meg wished with all
her heart that it wasn't so, especially as his actions revealed so
openly that he had developed a strong affection for her.

All the time at the back of her mind was the harrowing recollection of
Richard, held in that abominable dungeon.  For his sake she had to
pretend an affection for the King, and she was excruciatingly conscious
that it did not spring from her heart.  It was entirely against her
nature to deceive.

When the company had eaten all they wished for from those dishes the
residue was cleared away completely and the second course was borne in.
Venison cooked in a stew of corn, stuffed suckling pig, peacocks, the
white meat of rabbits, bitterns and chickens cooked with saffron and
egg yolks.  Among items in the third course were curlews, perch and
pigeons; quails, snipes, larks and other small birds.  Plovers' eggs in
aspic.  There were more sweetmeats, marzipan and fancy cakes, quince
pie, white curd with almonds.

Finally came the soltette.  This was the most amazing concoction Meg
had ever seen; she found it hard to believe it was edible, made of
pastry and sugar.  It was shaped like a castle, with turrets and
battlements, and brightly coloured flags flew on and around it.  To
flatter the King his coat of arms had been delicately contrived on the
castle roof.  Four men from the kitchen staff held it aloft and carried
it around the Great Hall, receiving loud applause and exclamations of
admiration.  On a side-table it was cut into pieces and served by pages
on individual dishes.  Henry was served first, and at once he picked
the most luscious wild strawberry from his portion and insisted upon
popping it into Meg's mouth.

Wine had flowed freely throughout the feast, and continued to be served
after the tables had been cleared.  The musicians had played
throughout, and voices rose as at last everyone had eaten their fill,
and more.  The entertainment began.  The King's mood became more and
more mellow.  He had eaten and drunk well, and he laughed heartily at
the antics of the jester and the travelling players.  A space was
cleared for dancing and some of the company began to step it lightly:

pa vanes galliards and the more adventurously performed la volta

"Will you not dance, Meg?  Where is that young fellow you danced with
when we first met?  What's his name?"

"Sir Richard de Heigham."  To mention his name was both a pleasure and
a sadness.  If only he were here!  Would she ever dance with him
again?

The King turned to Thurton.

"Where's de Heigham?  Lady Margaret would like to dance."

"My apologies, sire, I've had to send him back to my main house at
Bixholm.  Urgent duties, you'll understand.  If you wish my niece to
dance for you.  Your Majesty, I'm sure another of the gentlemen will be
only too happy to oblige."

Henry turned to Meg.

"Do you wish to dance, my dear?"  he asked.

"You may take your pick of the gentlemen to partner you."

It was not a prospect that held even the slightest appeal to Meg.  She
made her excuses hastily.

"Thank you, sire, but I have never practised with any other partner and
I would not wish to displease you by making a wrong step."

"Nothing you did could possibly displease me," the King said.

"But I defer to your wish.  If you are content, then let us watch
together."

He lounged back in his big comfortable chair, took hold of her hand and
held it lightly.  He closed his eyes and Meg sat very, very still.

She glanced at him quite often, and was not sure whether he was awake
or asleep.

After some minutes he opened his eyes and yawned.

"I am a trifle tired.  If you will excuse me, sweet maid, I shall seek
my bed."

The departure of the King awoke a flurry of movement, not always
steady.  Some of the company had celebrated so well they had difficulty
in standing, and wobbled in performing the requisite bow or curtsey as
the trumpeters accompanied the royal progression.  When the doors
closed behind him most of the company resumed their seats and the
music, dancing, fun, laughter and ribaldry continued as before.  More
wine was brought in, and it seemed as if the revelry would go on
unabated into the small hours of the morning.

Meg had no wish to stay on, but was uncertain what her uncle's reaction
would be if she asked permission to leave.  She was pleased, therefore,
when her uncle and Nancy approached her.

"You did well, Meg," Thurton said.

"The King could scarcely take his eyes off you."

"You shouldn't have put that terrible wrap over your gown," Nancy
complained.

"Spoiled the whole effect."

"It was His Majesty's suggestion," Meg defended herself.

"He noticed I was cold."

"It was a loving gesture," Thurton said smugly.

"He saw enough to whet his ardour.  You go along with Nancy, now;
she'll help you get ready for bed."

"Sarah will help me.  There's no need for you--' Meg began.

Nancy took hold of her arm.

"Don't stand there wasting time."

She hurried her out of the Great Hall and turned in the direction of
Meg's chamber.  Sarah, always watchful for her mistress, saw them leave
and quickly followed.

Inside the room Meg saw, with a sense of surprise and shock, that a
flimsy nightgown of a clinging silken material had been laid out on the
bed.  It was decorated with lace and delicate cut work very
beautiful--and very revealing.  Meg had never yet worn it.  She had
assumed it was intended as part of a trousseau, for her marriage night.
A fearful suspicion leapt into her mind.

"Quick, wench," Nancy snapped at Sarah.

"Help your mistress out of that gown--and take care, for it cost more
than I wish to think about."

"What--what am I to do?"  Meg breathed hoarsely.

"Get changed, of course.  And be quick about it.  I've told Thurton to
stay outside until you're in your nightgown, but he's not the most
patient of men.  If you keep him waiting too long he'll probably come
in anyway."

Sarah worked as quickly as she could, her fingers less nimble than.

usual.  She was unnerved by Nancy's unfriendly eyes upon her and the
horror of why she was having to assist her lady out of the immodest
golden gown and into this even more improper garment.

Meg's mind was in turmoil.  She was being prepared as if for a wedding
night, but no contract had been made, no ceremony performed.  Her mouth
was dry.  She shivered, and this time it was most definitely not
because of the temperature.

Even Nancy noticed.

"Put a light woollen shawl around your mistress," she ordered.

Sarah obeyed.  Nancy opened the door and called the Earl in.  Meg fell
to her knees at his feet.

"I beg you.  Uncle--do not make me--' He was unmoved by her
supplication.

"Get up, wench," he growled.

"It's time you grew up.  You know what you have to do."

"Please, Uncle.  I cannot.  Truly I cannot--' " You can and you will.
What could be more simple?  Just be pleasing to His Majesty; that is
all I ask.  "

"I beg you.  Uncle--not like this--' " You know what will happen if you
continue to cross me in this matter.  " He paused significantly.

"They tell me a traitor's death is ugly and painful."

Again, dramatically, he paused.  His words seared Meg's brain.  Either
the block or--worse--hung, drawn and quartered.  She could not allow
Richard to be tortured and mutilated!  Her own sacrifice would be small
by comparison.

"Get up," her uncle commanded.

She obeyed and stood before him with her head bent.  She was
defeated.

Further protest would be useless.

"That's better," Thurton commended her.

"You're not the shrinking violet you'd like me to believe.  You're a
Thurton, as I am, and we are made of tough material."

Perhaps he was right.  Perhaps they were two of a kind.  If she had to
do--this--this thing--then so be it.

Thurton continued, "The time is right.  Henry is entranced by you. He's
dined well, drunk his fill.  He'll fall into your arms, if you play
your cards right.  Now, no more of this squeamish nonsense.  You don't
need me to repeat what will happen if you disobey.  Come."

They made one concession.  Her feet were thrust into sheepskin
slippers, for they had to walk along the cold stone corridor to reach
the apartments which had been given over to the King.  Meg could
scarcely make her legs move, she was in such abject misery.  Yet she
did as she was told.  She knew it was no empty threat Thur- ton had
issued; he meant what he said.  Richard was already his prisoner.
Thurton would trump up some charge of treason, and Henry would order
him to be beheaded.  If that could not be managed Gervase Gisbon would
like nothing better than to thrust a knife deep into his back.  Thurton
did not give a jot what happened to her--and at that moment nor did
she.

One of the King's attendants opened the door when Thurton knocked.

There followed a murmured conversation which Meg could not hear.

"Very well.  You assure me she carries no knife or other weapon to
cause harm to His Majesty?"

"Nothing.  See for yourself."  Thurton whipped the shawl off Meg's
shoulders; Nancy pulled the woollen slippers from her feet.  She was so
barely covered the attendant was satisfied.  He held the door open.

Thurton gave Meg a shove between her shoulder blades, precipitating her
forward.  The door was closed behind her.  She was in a comfortably
furnished parlour.  There was no bed, no sign of the King.  For a
moment her heart lifted.

"This way, mistress," said the attendant.  He led her through to
another room, smaller, more personal.  There was still no sign of the
King.

"His Majesty is already in bed," said the attendant.

"I will see if he is awake.  Wait here.  What name is it?"

"Meg," she answered.

"Just Meg."

She prayed that the King would be asleep and that the attendant would
not wish to waken him.  That hope was short-lived.  He returned quite
quickly.

"You may enter."

She moved slowly, silent on her bare feet, through the communicating
door and into the bed-chamber.  The flame of a single candle made a
circle of light; all else was lost in shadow.  One of the King's
attendants was seated beside a big four-poster which dominated the
room.  She saw an immense hump under the pile of bedclothes.  It
moved.

Henry's face, topped by a scarlet nightcap with a golden tassel, rose
from a pile of pillows.

"Meg?"  he asked.

"Yes, Your Majesty."  Her voice was low, but he heard her.  She fell to
her knees.

Henry spoke to his attendant.

"Leave us."

The young man stood up.  He bowed and left the room with a soundless,
gliding movement, as if he was some sort of spectre, adding to her
impression that it was all a dream.

"Are you still there, Meg?"  the King asked.

There was no doubting the reality, then.  He was peering towards her,
as if he doubted her existence.

"I can't see you.  Give me your hand, my dear."

She moved towards the bed, still on her taiees, and reached up one
hand.  His soft, plump fingers closed over it.

"Sweetheart," he said.

"You're still cold.  Come into my bed.  Let me warm you."

Chapter Sixteen

Q^sTps^Q

1 here was no escape.  The King threw back the bedclothes, reached out
and fumbled about until he caught hold of both her hands.  Gently he
drew her up, towards him, into his bed and into his arms.

"How lovely you are!  My lovely, lovely Meg.  How sweet you smell, so
soft and beautiful.  But so cold--let me warm you."

He cuddled her shivering body against the heat of his massive bulk.

She felt a strange comfort in the homeliness of his flannelette
nightshirt.  Solicitously he tucked the down-filled quilt around her.

Then, to her surprise, he sank back into the deep softness of the
feather bed with a great sigh.  She was enclosed tightly within his
embrace, cocooned with him.  She listened to his heavy breathing, felt
the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest and forced herself to stay very
still, though her pulse-rate had quickened.  He seemed to be in no
hurry to make any further move.

"There, my dear," he murmured.

"My new little sweetheart--it makes me feel young again to hold you in
my arms."

"But, sire, you are not old.  You are in the prime of your life," she
murmured.

"Would that it were so," he sighed.

His hands moved up and down her back, stroking her through the silken
gown, from her buttocks to her neck.  He nuzzled his fingers into her
hair.  Her flesh cringed beneath the gossamer gown.  Perhaps if she
stayed very still he would fall asleep and she could slip away
unnoticed--but the thought was banished even as it came into her
mind.

"Lovely.  So lovely," he murmured.

His eyes opened, he gazed at her and his expression was kindly.  Could
this really be the man who had ordered the deaths of so many people,
including that of his own wife?  He seemed so ordinary, no different
from any other man, and yet he was the one wielding immense power.

Richard's face flew into her mind--how different it had been when she
had lain in his arms.  Powerfully in memory came a vision of him, his
touch, his whispered words, the warm muskiness of his body.  Tears
filled her eyes with longing for what had been and could never be
again.

Henry's voice interrupted her racing thoughts.

"Kiss me, sweetheart," he said, not as an order, but with gentleness.
He ran his fingers over her face as he repeated, "Kiss me."

She raised herself up, leaned over, took his head between her hands,
felt the bristle of his moustache and beard.  She sensed rather than
saw that there was a smile on his face as she lowered her head, found
his lips and brushed hers against them.  He responded instantly, his
mouth seeming to chew at hers.  No response stirred in her, nor indeed
did she notice any hot-blooded arousal from Henry.  He had an air of
lazy pleasure rather than passion.

"Do you love me, Meg?"  he asked.

She prevaricated in her answer.

"Am I not kissing you, sire?"

"You are, and it is delicious.  I have not been kissed so since my dear
Jane died."

"That was so sad," she said.

"The whole country wept for you, even though they celebrated the birth
of your son and heir.  Prince Edward."

"Aye.  A son.  I have a son at last!"

"It is no more than you deserve.  Your Majesty," Meg said, ever mindful
that she must speak sweetly to the King.  Richard's life depended upon
it.

"England is fortunate to have such a good King.  I believe the little
Prince is a fine strong boy and I pray that he may always be worthy of
his illustrious father."

"But it's not enough to secure the succession.  I should have more.

There have been times when I have thought myself accursed," said
Henry.

"I have put my wives with child so often, and yet I have only one
living son."

"You have two bonny daughters, the little princesses Mary and
Elizabeth," Meg pointed out.

"Girls!  A man should have sons to succeed him.  I must marry again."

"I understand your ambassadors have been seeking a bride for you from
the courts of Europe," Meg said softly.

"Aye, but they have found no one to my liking."  He kissed her again.

"I think I should take an Englishwoman to wife, Meg.  What say you to
that?"

"It is entirely your decision.  Your Majesty."

The conversation was disturbing, as was his gentle lovemaking.  Yet
words were staving off the moment she dreaded.  For though he showed no
urgency she assumed the time would come when he would require more than
kisses.  Her uncle's words flashed into her mind "If he gets you with
child--he " II marry you immediately.  "I understand that you have
royal ancestors.  Is that so?"  he asked.

"On my mother's side," Meg said.  Playing for time, she decided to
launch into an explanation.

"Before she married she was Lady Elizabeth Alpington.  She was
descended from King Edward, but to be truthful I'm never quite sure
whether it was from Edward IV or Edward III.

Whichever it was, she was his great-great- granddaughter.  " She paused
thoughtfully.

"Or maybe she was his great-great great-granddaughter."

"If your mother was descended from Edward IV, she must also have been
descended from Edward in," said Henry.  She detected a dry note in his
voice.  The candlelight was too dim to read anything from his face. 
Did he realise she was talking for the sake of it?

"Well, fancy that!"  she said.

"How foolish of me.  I really should have taken more notice when my
dear mother explained the connection.  Please accept my apologies. Your
Majesty.  I mean no disrespect, but you will understand that in those
days when I was in the nunnery in Norwich I never expected to come to
London, and certainly never dreamed that I would ever meet any members
of the royal family."

"It is of no great moment," said Henry.

"Kiss me again, sweetheart."

She complied with his request and permitted her mouth to be locked to
his for a minute or two.  Then, lifting her head as if suddenly struck
with a thought, she continued, "One thing I do remember was that the

King and his Queen were said to have had a great many sons and also
five daughters, one of whom was my ancestress.  "

Henry chuckled.

"Both Edward III and Edward IV had five daughters."

His laughter was infectious.

"Really?  Isn't that quite amazing, sire?"  She laughed with him, for
it seemed to her an amusing coincidence!

He spent more time kissing her.

When she could escape she said, as if casually, "So you see, the
connection is rather remote.  I could be descended from any one of
those ten ladies and I have absolutely no idea which."

"I shall instruct my archivist to look it up," Henry said solemnly.

"I believe John of Gaunt came into it somewhere," Meg said.

"I'm sure he did!"  exclaimed Henry, with another burst of laughter.

"The descent of my own family from his is complicated enough."

"Really?"  Meg said again with genuine surprise.

"Yes, really!"  the King mimicked her.

Then they both laughed quite merrily, until Henry pulled her head back
to his and kissed her.

"John of Gaunt was married three times, as I have been, but his wives
were more fruitful than mine; they gave him eight children."  He had
become more serious.  He lay back, looking up at her.  She wished she
could read his thoughts.

He caressed her and kissed her.  His hands pulled the flimsy silken
nightgown from her shoulders.  When he started to fondle her breasts
she drew in a sharp breath.  It took all her will-power to stay still
and endure the intimate touch of his large fat hands on those sensitive
and tender parts of her body.

She wanted to scream and run from the room, but steeled herself to bear
it.  She could not, must not allow modesty to rule her.  Richard's life
as well as her own depended on her acquiescing to the lusts of the
King.  She racked her brain to find words that might distract his
interest, but could think of nothing.

Suddenly he groaned, a long drawn-out, piercing sound.

"Your Majesty--are you all right?"  Meg asked anxiously.

"No.  It's these accursed legs of mine."

"Let me look at them," she said.

"They are not a pretty sight," he said with unexpected humility.

"I have a little experience of nursing.  With your permission, sire, I
believe I could make you more comfortable."

He groaned again.

"Anything.  Anything--the pain is tormenting me."

Without waiting for further consent she carefully lifted the
bedclothes.  His short, fat legs stuck out from beneath the long
nightshirt.  They were wrapped around in bandages, through which blood
was seeping.  If she had come to him from the nunnery she would have
brought clean dressings, herbal ointments to apply to the wounds and
physic to alleviate the pain.

He moaned again; his face was contorted.  She pulled the bell-rope for
the attendant.

"His Majesty needs fresh dressings on his legs," she told the young
nobleman who came into the room.

"Bring warm water, clean bandages, comfrey ointment, an infusion of
lovage--and more candles so that I can see to work, and sprigs of
lavender to freshen the air."

"Shall I call His Majesty's physician?"  asked the attendant He
scarcely glanced at the King; his eyes were fixed on Meg, whose
luscious figure was but half concealed by the silken nightgown.

"No," growled the King.

"I can't bear to have his rough hands on me.

Lady Meg will attend to me.  "

"Don't stand there!"  Meg snapped at the impudent young man.

"Get those things and bring them here immediately."

Even before the door had closed behind him Meg was unwrapping the
heavily soiled wrappings from the suppurating ulcers on the King's
legs.

"I fear this may hurt.  Your Majesty," she warned.  The dressings had
adhered to the wound.

"I know.  It always does."  He clenched his fists as she applied water
and eased the cloth away.

"You are being very brave, as befits a King of England," she said.

"I

shall be as gentle as I can.  "

"Being the King can get wearisome at times," he murmured.

"I'm a lonely man, sweetheart."

"But you are surrounded with the cream of society," she protested,
talking as she worked on his leg.

"My life has been so ordinary by comparison.  After my father was
killed my mother was forced to flee and take refuge in the nunnery, and
that is where I grew up.  I had lived nowhere else until a short time
ago, when my mother died and my uncle sent for me."

"Your mother was forced to flee?"  he questioned.

"What do you mean by that?"

"My poor mother went through a terrible time.  My father was killed in
battle in France.  I believe your army was advancing on Paris--' " Ah,
yes!  " said Henry.

"I had hopes of capturing the French crown.  We should have gone on.  I
believe to this day we could have won--I was misled by Wolsey."

The young nobleman returned, bearing a tray on which were all the
medicaments Meg had asked for, and more besides.  She checked them over
and was satisfied.

"Do you require any assistance.  Lady Meg?"  he asked.

"Nothing, thank you.  You may go."  She spoke sharply and waved him
away, embarrassed by his stare.  Then immediately turned her attention
back to the King.

"You were telling me about the march on Paris, sire," she said.

"It's as clear to me as if it was yesterday," he mused.

"Some of my men were caught in a trap, ambushed.  Your father was
there, you say?"

"I believe so.  It was months before my mother received news of him.

She was told that he died instantly, without suffering.  An arrow
pierced his heart.  I have thought about him often and wished that I
had known him.  "

"Your father's name?"

"Lionel, Earl Thurton."  She pronounced it with pride.

"Of Bixholm?"

"Most certainly Bixholm was his.  Edmund, my uncle, is his younger
brother.  The title passed to him on the death of my father, but Edmund
was not satisfied with that.  He claimed the whole of the estate as
well."

With deft fingers and the lightest of touches she spread a cooling
ointment on the wound.  The King lay back, more relaxed now--in
discomfort, perhaps, but no longer in pain.  Their conversation was
distracting him.

"My father was with Your Majesty on that magnificent gathering they
call the Field of the Cloth of Gold."

"Of course!  I remember him!"  exclaimed Henry.

"One of my most honourable and brave commanders in the field.  I looked
on him as a friend.  But how was it that your mother did not continue
to live at Bixholm?  Surely that was her right?"

"My uncle was determined to take possession of all," Meg said.

"He threatened her, and she knew him to be utterly ruthless.  Whenever
my father was absent.  Uncle Edmund took charge of the estate.  He
spent money carelessly and caused problems among the tenantry.  He is a
cruel man."

"Very different from his brother," Henry said.

"It is obvious that you and your mother have been severely wronged.  I
shall instruct my lawyers to look into the case."

"That is exceedingly kind.  Your Majesty," said Meg.  She paused
thoughtfully and looked up into Henry's big, square face as she added,
not entirely without guile, "And he has lied to you."

"Lied to me?  How is that?"  His voice was sharp and angry.

"You kindly enquired about Sir Richard de Heigham, the gentleman with
whom I danced."

"Yes?"

"It is not true that he has returned to Bixholm.  My uncle has him
here, locked in the dungeon in truly appalling conditions."  Her voice
shook a little, for Richard's desperate plight haunted her vividly.

"What charges have been made against him?"  His searching question
reminded her that the King was no fool.

"None.  Sir Richard has behaved entirely honourably and he is one of
Your Majesty's most loyal subjects."

She spoke guardedly, mindful that Henry would be angered if he
suspected that Richard had already captured her heart.  The word
'treason' was bandied about easily.  This was no ordinary man who was
lying back so trustingly as she practised her medical expertise on his
painful legs.  He had power over life and death and did not hesitate to
use it.  She had to attend to her task calmly, as if she had no other
thought in her mind.

"There, Your Majesty.  That's the worst of it seen to.  Does it feel
easier?"

Tt does, my dear.  Much better.  "

She began to wind on the clean bandage.  He startled her with another
probing question.

"What is this man to you, Meg?"

"Sir Richard?"  she asked, trying to sound as if she had forgotten what
they were talking about.

"Yes.  Richard de Heigham," he said dryly.

"Why, he means nothing to me.  Nothing at all.  I was only interested
because he has suffered in the same way I have.  By right this castle,
Leet Castle, is his.  He too was cheated out of his inheritance by
Edmund Thurton."

"Have you proof of this?"

"He has told me himself."  She went on to explain the circumstances as
Richard had told her.

"It is one of the reasons he has been incarcerated in the dungeon."

"You mean Thurton's had de Heigham falsely arrested?"  Henry's voice
was angry.

"That is so," Meg said.

"The devil he has!  I need de Heigham to lead the hunting party I've
planned for tomorrow.  How dare he imprison my loyal subjects and claim
ownership of estates he has no right to?  He shan't get away with
this."

Henry reached up to pull the bell-rope that hung from the head of the
big bed.  The young nobleman was back instantly.

"Yes, Your Majesty?"

"Send my Officer of the Guard in to me."

Within seconds the officer appeared.

"Arrest Edmund Thurton.  Take him to the dungeon.  And whilst you are
there, release Richard de Heigham."

"Yes, sire.  It shall be done."

"Go, then.  See to it."  Henry waved the officer away.

He sank back on to the pillow.  The dressings were finished.

"There, sweetheart," he said.

"Does that please you?"

She dared not express her joy openly.

"I have always been told you are a good and just King," she said.

"Now I know that to be true."

Her most cherished wish had been fulfilled: Richard would be freed.  It
was wonderful to think that she had been able to save him--but at what
cost to herself?  He had no love for her.  He had made that abundantly
clear.  She had given her heart to him wholly and irrevocably, but he
had no real and lasting affection for her.  She had provided a pleasant
diversion for him, but the magic that was love had not bitten deep into
him.  For her it was more than life itself.

A great weariness came over her.  She cleared away the bowls and soiled
dressings, burned sprigs of lavender in the candle flame to sweeten the
air.  Blood had spilled on to her nightgown.  The stain would never
wash out, but she would throw the garment away.  She mixed a sedative
for Henry.  He took it as obediently as a child, gave a long drawn-out
sigh and lay back on the pillows.

"Sweet Meg, you have been very good to me," he murmured.

"It was my pleasure to be of assistance.  Your Majesty."

"These accursed legs!  They spoil my life," he grumbled.  He reached
out for her hand.

"I must apologise to you, sweetheart."

"But there is nothing for you to apologise for, sire."

"There is!  There is!"  He sounded angry and exasperated.

"I should have made love to you properly and I didn't!  I
couldn't--though I wanted to."

"Hush," she said soothingly.

"Tis no matter."  She patted his hand in a friendly fashion.  He must
never know that she was grateful it was so.

"Now I fear it is too late," he murmured.

"That sedative is making me sleepy."

"You must rest, sire."

"Will you not call me Henry, sweetheart?"  he said.

"Most willingly, if it is your wish.  Henry."

"Stay with me," he murmured.

"Come back into my bed.  Give me one more of your sweet kisses."

She obeyed and kissed him lightly, with gratitude in her heart.  It was
warm in the bed beside him.  She felt safe.  Briefly he cuddled her in
his arms.

"Goodnight, Henry," she whispered.

He snored gently and did not reply.

She did not expect to sleep, but it was morning when she awoke.

Taking care not to disturb the King, she slid off the bed, picked up
her shawl and wrapped it around her.  She wished it was larger as she
tried to hide within it.  In particular she tried to hold it over the
stain of dried blood on her nightgown.  She told herself she had done
nothing about which she should feel ashamed, yet that feeling was
uppermost in her mind as she hurried out of his bedchamber.

Several gentlemen were gathered in the anteroom.  They were grouped
along each side of the room, leaving empty a corridor down the
centre.

She ignored their lascivious and curious stares; pride came to her aid.
She would not allow them to demean her, for she knew herself to be as
good as any.

Lifting her head, she stepped out with determination, her eyes fixed
straight ahead, making for the door at the opposite end.

Before she reached it a familiar figure stepped forward in front of
her.  Tall, broad-shouldered, carrying himself with a swagger, richly
clad in a fustian doublet.  Dark eyes flecked with gold were focused on
her--she knew them so well-"Richard!"  she exclaimed, raising her arms
slightly, accidentally moving the shawl.

His lip curled with scorn.

"They told me the King's new mistress was with him."  His gaze dropped
to the stain visible on her nightgown.

"I

didn't for one moment think it would be you!  "

Tears filled her eyes.  How could she explain?  She had spent the night
in bed with the King--she could not deny it.  If Richard had been
alone, she might have tried to make him understand, but there were too
many interested onlookers.  Humiliated, defeated, she would not even
make the attempt.

"I am pleased you've been released, Richard."

She longed to tell him she had interceded on his behalf, but could not.
His mood suggested that any explanation she made would be
misunderstood, even if he believed her.  The coldness of his face cut
her to the quick.

"It was on the King's orders," he said.

"I'm waiting here to convey my thanks and reaffirm my loyalty to His
Majesty."

"As indeed you should," she said.

"I'm told he fancies another day's hunting."

"I wish you joy of it.  Please be so good as to allow me to pass.  It
is cold and I have no slippers."

Without another word he stepped aside.  She did not look into his
face.

She could not bear to read the condemnation she was sure must be
expressed there.  She assumed an appearance of calm as she proceeded
through the second ante-room, then ran along the passages until she
reached the door of her own bedchamber.

Sarah was huddled in a chair, wide awake, misery pulling down the
corners of her mouth.  She had been crying; her eyes were puffy and
reddened.  At the sight of Meg she sprang to her feet and regardless of
decorum flung herself into her mistress's arms.

"Oh, my lady.  My dear, dear lady!"

"Hush, Sarah.  It is all right.  I have suffered no harm."

She broke off.  Sarah had noticed the bloodstain on her nightgown.

Shock registered on her expressive, open face.

"It's not what you think, Sarah," Meg said hastily.

"It's the King's blood--' " The King's blood!  Oh, my God!  What have
you done?  If you took a knife to the brute it'd be no more than he
deserved.  I'll say I did it, to protect you--' "Hush, Sarah.  I
haven't harmed His Majesty.  He's not a well man.  He has the most
awful ulcers on his legs.  They were painful so I cleaned them and
renewed the dressings, and that is the only reason I have blood on my
nightgown."

"He did not use you ill, my lady?"  Sarah persisted anxiously.

"Truly, Sarah dear, it was only a matter of a few kisses, and as I was
attending to his poor legs I talked about my family and about Richard,
and then His Majesty did something wonderful.  He sent the Officer of
his Guard to arrest my uncle and he has ordered the release of Sir
Richard."

"Well!  I never did!"  exclaimed Sarah.

"Isn't--isn't it--wonderful?"  Meg said, and her voice broke and tears
began to run down her face.  It wasn't entirely wonderful.  Her uncle
would no longer be able to threaten her and force her to marry the
King.  An enormous burden had been lifted and Bix- holm.  would be hers
again--but she had lost Richard.

"Oh, my lady!  You poor sweet thing!  Whatever am I thinking about? You
must be tired out--won't you lie down?"

"I'm not tired, Sarah.  Just a little overwrought, perhaps.  I have
slept, but it has been such an extraordinary night."

"Of course it has," Sarah said soothingly.

"And I know you've conducted yourself bravely, as you always do."  She
paused, and a look of joyous wonderment lit her face.

"Is it really true that the King's had the Earl thrown into the
dungeon?"

"It is."

"Whoopee!"  The yell of celebration that burst from Sarah's mouth was
matched by the beaming grin that spread over her round, red face.

"Oh, I haven't been so happy for years!  I hope that Nancy woman's been
thrown in along with him!"

"I don't know--' Meg began.

"I'll go and find out," Sarah volunteered.

"I haven't been out of this room since they took you away, so I've no
idea what's been afoot.  You sit down there, my lady.  I'll have a word
with them that work in the kitchen.  They'll know!  They all us do! An'
while I'm there I'll fetch refreshment for you, and maybe hot
water--'

"Yes, please, Sarah.  I feel much in need of a really good wash."

Sarah hovered uncertainly, suddenly serious.

"You're sure you'll be all right?"

Meg reassured her with a smile and a nod.

"I'll be quick as I can."  Sarah chuckled.

"I can't stop a-laughin'.

Won't it make a change if that old bully's getting' a bit of his own
medicine?  " She hurried away in great glee.

Meg sat by the window, but for once she had no interest in looking out.
Richard's disapproving face remained etched on her inner eye.  His
expression had told her so clearly that he had lost all respect for
her.  He had not loved her when he had believed her to be a good
woman;

from now on she could expect nothing from him.  It would be a waste of
breath even to try-and she was far too proud to plead for his
understanding.  He had no idea of the pressure she had been under to go
to Henry's bed-chamber, and she would never tell him.

It was over.  Finished, She would start a new life at Bixholm.  When
she'd left Norwich she had been eager to get away from the religious
life.  Now she had experienced the hazards, the greed, the
superficiality that dominated high society, she felt drawn towards a
quieter, more contemplative existence.  Not to return to the nunnery;

she didn't want that even if it were possible.  But perhaps she could
use Bixholm for some charitable purpose.  Surround herself with other
women who had been wronged in some way.

Since the closure of the great ecclesiastical buildings there were
hundreds of impoverished people without homes or hope.  She would
assist ladies like her own dear mother, allow them to live good and
useful lives,

but without self-denial and with pleasures and companionship.

The idea was only vaguely taking shape in her mind.  She had to find
something to fill the void where once Richard had been.  She would
never marry, never have children; she was certain of that.  Instead she
would fill her days with good works.

Chapter Seventeen

-Meg wondered what was being said about her in the J kitchens, but
thought it best not to ask.  What could any| one think?  She had no
illusions.  The whole household | must know she had spent the night in
the King's bed| chamber, and no one would believe in her innocence |
after that.

When Sarah returned she was accompanied by other serving wenches
carrying buckets of water.

"It's true, my lady."  She grinned.

"The Earl's been locked up, just as you said."

"Best news I've heard all year," said one of the wenches.

Whatever they thought about Meg, the talk was only of how the Earl had
been arrested and frog-marched across the courtyard and thrown into the
dungeon.  Everyone rejoiced over that, and also over Sir Richard's
release.

Sarah supervised the girls as they poured water into a large bowl, then
shooed them out of the room.

She assisted Meg to bathe, chatting as she did so.

"There's happiness all over the castle," she said.

"Even some of the men who came with Thuiton say they prefer to serve
under Sir Richard."

Sarah talked on as Meg began her breakfast.  It was rumoured that
Captain Bennington would be returning soon, with a party of loyal
men.

They had left Leet on Richard's instructions the day that Thurton
arrived and had-lived rough in the woods, ready to attack when the time
was right.  The presence of the King had prevented that.

Nancy was staying in her room, refusing to see anyone except Gervase
Gisbon.  That didn't cause much surprise, and absolutely no concern.

They were powerless--and likely to drink themselves into an early
grave, judging by the quantity of wine they had ordered.

"Is there any word about Alan?"  Meg asked hopefully.

"Nothing at all."  Sarah shook her head sadly.

"I've no idea what's happened to him.  There was a rumour that he'd
been seen a few days ago.  But he's not sent any word to me."

"He would have if it was possible," Meg said.

"Aye.  There was a time when I believed that," Sarah said.

"Now I don't know what to think.  I don't even know if he's alive or
dead."

"You mustn't give up hope, Sarah," Meg said.

Tears welled in Sarah's eyes.  She turned to the window and wiped them
away on her sleeve.  Meg's heart was heavy for her, suffering and
bravely hiding the pain.  At least she knew Richard was alive and
well.

"Looks as if they're getting' ready for a hunt," Sarah remarked.

"They're bringing out horses an' dogs, an' the verderers are there."

"The King ordered it," Meg said.

She remained seated at the table.  She pushed the tray aside and
brought out a sheet of writing paper and a quill pen.  This was not
going to be an easy letter to write, but she must attempt to make peace
with the King.  She could not bear to go through another night like the
last one.  Was it possible to make him understand without offending
him?  She was scared of awakening his wrath, and that would be
difficult to contain.

Sarah was still gazing out of the window.

"Your Sir Richard is down there," she said.

"Looking fine and handsome.  Do come and see him, my lady."

"He means nothing to me."  Meg's voice was hard.

Sarah swung round.  Her face expressed concern and disbelief.

"He doesn't love me," Meg said.

"I've known that for a long time, and this morning he made his feelings
absolutely clear."

"Oh!  My lady!"

"I am no longer troubled about it," Meg lied.

"I've decided to take up residence at Bixholm.  There may be a few
legalities to be settled, but I won't wait for that.  I shall leave
here today."

"Remember what happened last time we rode off," Sarah said.

"I remember very well," Meg admitted.

"This time I shall take retainers, armed men to counter any attacks.
You say Captain Bennington has returned to the castle?"

"So I was told," Sarah said.  She turned back to the window.

"There's the King comin' out now.  They said he woke up this morning in
the best mood anyone's seen him in for weeks--laughin' an' jokin' with
everybody."

Meg said nothing.

Sarah turned back to the window.

"What a size of a man he is!  Can't hardly walk.  It's takin' three men
to get him up on his horse.  You ought to see this."

Meg had seen enough of the King.  She began her letter.

/ commend myself to the kind heart of Your Most Gracious Majesty.  I
beg forgiveness that I shall be unable to speak my farewells to you in
person.

"He's up!"  Sarah exclaimed.

"Makes you feel sorry for the horse, don't it?  Sir Richard's comin' up
alongside the King.  They'll be off in a minute."

"Good," said Meg, without moving.  Her refusal to take one final look
at Richard was not caused by indifference.  It would be like tearing
her heart out of her body to watch him ride away and know that would be
the last time she would ever see him.

The horns rang out.  The sound of hooves and harness, baying hounds,
men's voices reached her through the open window.

"They're away," Sarah said.

Meg turned back to her task.

/ am humbly honoured by the interest you have taken in me, and the
kindness you have shown.  I am also greatly indebted for your
intercession on my behalf with regard to the estate at Bixholm.

"Shall I clear away, my lady?"  asked Sarah.

"Please do.  Oh, and Sarah, if you can find Captain Bennington, will
you ask him to come and see me, please?"

"Aye."  Sarah lifted the tray and moved away.  She paused in the
doorway.

"Do we have to go today, my lady?"  she asked.

"I have to go today, Sarah.  I'm sorry it has to be so, but I have my
own special reasons.  You need not accompany me."

"Don't never learn, do you, my lady?  Where you go, I go too."  She
flounced out of the room, closing the door behind her with a kick.

Meg gave a wry smile.  Dear Sarah!  What would she do without her?  She
dipped her pen into the ink and carried on with her letter.

Now that ownership of this has been restored to me, I feel I have a
duty to return there immediately so that I may attend to those duties
incumbent upon landowners.  Furthermore I have recently felt a strong
desire to return to a life more in keeping with that of my early years.
Indeed I have a calling to immerse myself in charitable works.

I implore Your Majesty to accept my most loyal and affectionate
wishes.

I remain, with the profoundest veneration.  Your Majesty's most
faithful subject and devoted servant.  Meg.

She read the letter through and worried over it-could she have put it
better?  Would the King understand?  Was she being too bold in writing
at all?  But what else could she do?  She blessed the fact that she had
received a good education at the nunnery, conscious that most women
were incapable even of writing their own names.  It would have to do.
She folded it and tied it with a ribbon.

Sarah returned, escorting Captain Bennington.  She stood back, with
arms akimbo and a defiant air.

Meg greeted the Captain warmly.

"I trust you are well?"

"In the best of health, thank you, my lady.  Greatly heartened by the
news of Sir Richard's release and Thurton's arrest."

"Pleasing events indeed."  Meg smiled.

"Perhaps you also know that ownership of Bixholm has reverted to me?"

"Another welcome piece of news," he said.

"Since that is so, I wish to return there immediately."

"Immediately?"  he questioned.  "Yes.  I wish to set out today, and I
shall require protection on the journey.  I hope that you will agree to
accompany me.  Captain, together with such other men as are
required."

"It will be my pleasure, my lady.  But would it not be preferable to
postpone your departure until tomorrow, when we could set out early in
the morning?"

"No.  I have special reasons for leaving today."

"Does Sir Richard know of your intention, my lady?"

"He does not, and I have no need to inform him.  He is not my
guardian," she said.

"I shall leave before the hunting party returns, travel as far as
possible, then find accommodation for the night.  Are you willing to
accompany me?"

"Your wish is my command.  How soon can you be ready?"

"There is little I need to take with me.  Shall we say in half an
hour?"

"Certainly."

"Sarah will accompany me.  Please have two good horses saddled for
us."

Meg paused.

"One more thing.  I have written a letter to His Majesty--can you
arrange to have it safely delivered?"

"It shall be done."  The Captain bowed and withdrew.

The journey to Bixholm was uneventful, In the late afternoon of the
second day the two towers of the gatehouse came in sight.  Meg heaved a
sigh, recalling how Richard had brought her here, and her feelings
then, her hopes and her fears.  So much had happened.  She reined in
her horse and sat for a moment, looking over the spread of red-tiled
roofs and the tall twisted chimneys.  The summer had all but passed;
soon it would be time to have fires constantly lit in the rooms--but
how lonely it would be!

Would it have been better if she had never left Norwich?  If she had
never met Richard?  She heaved a sigh.  The wounds of her loss were
fresh and raw.  Perhaps, when she was an old, old lady, she would find
some pleasure in looking back on this interlude.  Now, only empty days
lay before her.  Her grand talk of opening the house in some charitable
manner gave her no glow.  She would do it, because she had to do
something with her life, but she would never regain her joy in
living.

"My lady--are you all right?"

Sarah brought her horse up alongside Meg.  Captain Bennington and his
men waited, some ahead, others a little behind.

"Yes, I'm all right.  Just thinking."

"I know.  I am too," said Sarah.

They looked at each other.  Meg reached out her hand and Sarah put hers
into it.  There was no need for words.  They shared each other's
anguish.

"Let's ride on," said Meg.

A wild yell reached them from behind.  Everyone was alerted.  Captain
Bennington wheeled his horse.  Two horsemen were coming at breakneck
speed.  Surely no one would attack them so close to the castle!  The
Captain and half a dozen of his men spurred their horses forward, ready
to meet whatever trouble was approaching.

Meg strained her eyes, unable to believe what she saw.

 Til

"Alan," cried Sarah.  She spurred her horse forward and galloped wildly
to meet the riders.

"Richard," Meg whispered.

Why had he come?  She saw Sarah and Alan stop alongside each other.  In
moments they were off their mounts and clasping each other.  Richard
rode on.  She studied his face as he came nearer, handsome as ever, set
in serious lines.  He reined in and walked his horse the last few
yards.

"Forgive me," he said.

A shaft of hope lifted her heart, but she said nothing.  He dismounted,
tossed the reins to one of the men and approached her on foot.  Then he
reached up both arms to her.

"Please, Meg.  I didn't know."

Those golden flecks seemed to dance in his deep brown eyes.  How could
she refuse the invitation that was in them, in his outstretched arms?

Still she hesitated.

"Meg--I love you," he pleaded.

She slipped from the saddle and he caught her and held her close, very
tenderly.  Emotion made tears well up and pour down her cheeks.

"Don't cry, Meg.  Please don't cry--I didn't mean to upset you.  I'm so
sorry for those dreadful things I said;

I should have been more understanding.  "

"I didn't--didn't--with the King," she spluttered.

"I know.  He told me.  He's'very fond of you."

"Did he send you to fetch me?"  As the horrific thought came she began
to struggle.

"I won't go back to him.  Let me go--' She tried to get out of his
arms, but he held her tighter.

"Hush, Meg.  That's over.  The King has been called back to London.
They have a portrait of a Dutch lady,

called Anne of Cleves.  A marriage is being arranged.  His Majesty rode
off this morning.  "

"He didn't ask for me?"  She was still fearful.

"He said you wrote him a letter.  He asked me to give you this as a
token of his esteem."  Richard released his hold on her and took a ring
from his pocket.  She stepped back as he placed it in her palm.  A
narrow gold band in which was set one large emerald surrounded by
several smaller stones.

"It's beautiful," she murmured, doubtful whether it was right to accept
it.

"He wished to give you something to remember him by.  He thinks highly
of you."  He paused, then continued, with the familiar authoritative
note ringing in his voice.

"Enough of him, Meg.  I rode after you, travelling day and night, on my
behalf, not the King's."

Could it really be true--when he said he loved her?

Sarah's voice interrupted.

"Oh, my lady, isn't this a wonderful day?"

Alan brought his horse up alongside them.  He was leading Sarah's mare
and she was seated gracefully, side-saddle, in front of him.  Happiness
glowed on both faces.

"I'm very happy to see you safe and well, Alan.  Sarah has been so
worried--' " No need to tell him that," her maid protested.

"Make him big headed

They did not linger long.  She envied them; they had never had cause to
doubt each other.

Richard said, quite humbly, "There are things I need to say, Meg.  Will
you walk with me?"

She regarded him steadily, more in control of herself now.

"If you wish it."

She remained cautious, uncertain of his motives.  The more so as she
found his presence irresistible.  It was impossible to deny the love
she felt for him; it throbbed in the air between them.  The sight of
him filled her with joy.  She could no more resist him than she could
stop breathing.  But did he really care?

He called to the men to take their horses, to see them rubbed down, fed
and stabled.  As they trotted away she would have followed, but Richard
caught hold of her hand, stopping her.  He pulled her round to face
him, clasped her again in his arms and kissed her.

"I love you, Meg.  I can say it at last.  I love you.  You must have
guessed but I dared not speak aloud.  I had a plan to steal you out of
their clutches and carry you away."

Surprised, she drew back.

"You didn't say."

"I couldn't.  If Thurton or Nancy had known what was in my mind, they
would have disposed of me within minutes."  He lifted her hand and
kissed it, then continued, "I would have given my life for you, my
dearest, but that would have served no purpose.  Without me, you would
have been even more vulnerable.  No one else could have given you any
protection.  I hired a ship to take you to France.  I have friends
there who would have taken care of you.  The ship was in London,
waiting for the right tide, but before I could complete the
arrangements you ran away."

"I thought you didn't care," Meg whispered.

"Didn't care!  Meg, I think I've loved you since that day I first saw
you, only then I didn't recognise the strength of my feelings.  When I
discovered you and Sarah had ridden off I nearly went out of my mind.

Alan was no better.  "

"Thank goodness you came and rescued us," Meg said.

"But you gave me no hint--no hope."

"I knew Thurton wouldn't give up," Richard said.

"I instructed the skipper of the ship to sail to Harwich and wait there
for word from me.  I sent Alan ahead."

"So that's why he disappeared!"

"The ship was held up by bad weather.  He only returned yesterday, and
by then everything was changed because you'd managed to get me released
and Thurton thrown into the dungeon."

"Now there's no need to run away any more," Meg said.

"I shall live at Bixholm, and make it into a women's refuge--' " So you
told the King," said Richard.

"But are you quite sure that's what you want to do?"

"Well--' He placed one finger lightly on her lips.

"We can talk about that idea later, my darling.  First I must ask--did
you mean it, that evening in London, when you asked me to marry you?"

"Whatever did you think of me?"  she prevaricated.

"I thought then, as I do now, that you are a wonderful woman.  May I
answer you as I wanted to then?  Dearest Meg, I want to marry you more
than anything in the world--if you will still have me."

She gazed into his eyes, and saw anxiety there.  She nodded.

"I will, Richard."

She raised her arms and twined them around his neck, and his mouth
swooped down and covered hers in a long, loving kiss.  Sarah was
right.

This was a wonderful day.

Some time later, with their arms around each other, they strolled on
and into the castle.

Two days later a double wedding took place in the little Saxon church
within the grounds of Bixholm.  Sir Richard de Heigham was married to
Lady Margaret Thurton, and Alan Crompton to Sarah Wilgress.  The
feasting, dancing and singing in the Great Hall went on into the early
hours of the next morning, long after the newly wedded couples had
slipped away.

Meg delighted in taking charge of the household at Bixholm, and Richard
immersed himself in the running of the estate.  He appointed Alan as
his steward to manage Leet.

"What shall I do about Thurton?"  Alan asked, as he and Sarah were
about to depart.

Richard consulted Meg.

"I am mindful that but for him, wicked though he is, I should never
have met you, my darling.  Shall we be generous and set him free?"

"An amnesty to celebrate our nuptials."  She smiled.

"Yes, so long as he never again sets foot on Bixholm or Leet land."

Sarah and Meg were saddened at being separated, but took comfort that
they were only two days' ride apart, and promised to send letters and
messages back and forth whenever possible.

Before many months had passed Meg wrote to Sarah that she was with
child, and Sarah replied that she also was expecting.

Meg continued to devote some of her time to helping the poor and needy,
and became revered over the countryside for her skill with herbs and
potions and her generous assistance to the sick.  The people spoke of
her with reverence as 'the lovely Lady Margaret'.  A title with which
Richard agreed wholeheartedly.