For a man in his middle years, John was still a very handsome man, and charismatic, with an engaging smile that could put one quite at ease. It was hard to believe that half the country could be his enemies. But then, that half likely did not include women, for John was known to be at his most charming where women were concerned. What could be wondered was if he was still the womanizer he had been in his youth, now that he had a wife so exquisitely lovely.
Milisant was to find out for herself, unfortunately, when later that night one of John’s servants sought her out, to bring her to the royal presence. The pretext, not that one was needed since one did not refuse a summons by the king, was that the royal couple wished to congratulate her in private on her brilliant match. And since Milisant considered her match anything but brilliant, she was understandably not in a pleased state of mind as she followed the servant to the king’s chamber.
Jhone, aware of her feelings without being told, had cautioned her to at least be civil, and to keep in mind that John’s presence meant he must approve of her marriage. Not that his approval was needed, since Nigel had mentioned once that King Richard himself had given his blessings on the joining of the two families. But Milisant knew better than to pour out her grievances to someone of John’s reputation. He was a sovereign who could not be trusted to give aid unless he himself might benefit from it. This was such common knowledge that one didn’t have to attend court or be involved in royal intrigue to hear of it.
The queen, on the other hand … Milisant did in fact consider confiding in. Isabelle was young, had seemed very approachable. If anyone was likely to understand her aversion to marrying a man of violence, Isabelle would.
But Milisant was undecided whether to entreat the queen for help. She wanted to speak with her in private first, to determine if she would even be sympathetic. Some women, she knew, wouldn’t be.
She hoped she would have the opportunity during this meeting, but when she was led into the chamber, she saw that Isabelle was not there—at least not yet. She thought nothing of that, however, even when the door closed soundly behind her. The queen was merely tardy to arrive—or the servant had fetched Milisant prematurely.
John was there, though, and completely alone. Unusual to imagine a king without his servants and lords of state hovering over him, even in his bedchamber. He was dressed in a simple, long tunic, loosely belted about his hips. He had been bathed as well as cologned—at least there was a pleasant smell in the chamber.
Brazers in every corner made the room nigh too warm. But no expense would be spared for the king’s comfort, she was sure, even to wasting precious fuel.
He sat in a high-backed chair, nearly thronelike with carvings and inlaid silver, that was set out in the center of the room. It no doubt traveled with him. He sipped from a gem-encrusted chalice, staring at Milisant over the bejeweled rim, another item that no doubt came from his own treasure rooms. A king would not want to leave all his luxuries at home, after all, just because he must journey about his kingdom.
Milisant noticed all this in utter silence. The silence, and his staring, continued overlong, though, causing a slight unease. Mayhap it was his habit, but one she was not accustomed to—found rude, in fact.
She was close to breaking the strange quiet herself when he said, “Come here, child. We wouldst have a closer look at you in the light.”
The room was well lit. His eyesight must not be as keen as it used to be. She was not about to remark on it, though, since he might be overly sensitive about his age. She approached his chair instead.
As she stood in front of him, he stared at her some more, thoroughly looked her over, actually, from head to toe. This habit, he might find very useful in dealing with his barons, to cause them nervousness, thus putting them at a disadvantage. Milisant found it quite annoying. The only thing she feared was that she would say so. So it was an immense relief when he ended the silence again, though she could have wished for a different subject, never comfortable with compliments.
“He should have mentioned how pretty you are,” John said in a chiding tone.
“Who should have?” she asked.
Instead of answering that, he added cryptically, “But there are other ways to accomplish the same goal, are there not? Some ways even having the added benefit of being pleasant.”
“I am afraid I do not know of what you speak, Your Highness.”
“Come, sit here, and I will explain,” he replied, and patted his lap.
Milisant said merely, “I am beyond the age of knee sitting.”
He chuckled, his green eyes crinkling with the laughter. “A woman is never too old for that.”
Perhaps she wasn’t sophisticated enough to figure out what he found amusing. She just knew she did not want to sit on his lap.
He might be old enough to be her father, and want to act in a fatherly manner toward her, but he in no way reminded her of a father. Far from it. His smiles were too sensual. And he was looking at her, well … the way Wulfric did, which was highly disconcerting, considering who he was.
Not that it meant anything, of course. He was wed to an incredibly beautiful woman, after all, who was all that any man could ask for in a wife. He must simply look at all women in that way, as if they were all created for his personal plucking. Before Isabelle, he might have thought so—his reputation said that he had—but surely that was in the past.
So she ignored his last suggestion and recalled him to the matter of her summons. “The hour is late, Your Highness. If you have aught to say to me, do you please say it now, so I may find my bed.”
He glanced toward his own bed, then back at her. She stared at him blankly. He frowned. “Are you as innocent as you seem, girl?” She frowned as well. “Innocent in what way?”
“Do you love de Thorpe?”
This question was unexpected and opened an entire new line of thought. She had not considered bringing her grievances to him, but if he wanted to hear them, for whatever reason, she would not keep them to herself.
So she said, “Nay, I must confess I do not.”
“Excellent.” He confounded her by saying that with a smile most charming, and further baffled her when he added, “Then you will not mind overmuch if he repudiates you.”
“I wish that he would, but he has resigned himself to our joining,” she said with a sigh.
“He just has not been given a reason yet to do so. But we can see to that most easily. I am pleased we shall both benefit by this solution.” “What solution?”
He stood up abruptly. “Come now, the answer is obvious,” he replied as he put an arm around her shoulder to lead her to his bed.
The answer was indeed obvious by then, but Milisant was not willing to go that far to give Wulfric a valid reason to repudiate her. And she was a bit in shock. She had been summoned here so that he could bed her. That was why the queen was not present. And who but a king would think he could do so without any nay-saying?
But he had underestimated his quarry. Milisant was not a timid creature to be cowed by his great power. That he was a king, and her king at that, might make all the difference to him, but it made none to her.
But keeping in mind Jhone’s warning, she refrained from reacting as she would to any other who might have offended her as the king just had. She did dig in her feet to move no farther, causing him to stop as well. And although he didn’t release her shoulder, he did turn a questioning look on her.
With a concerted effort, her tone was calm and quite reasonable, under the circumstances. “I thank you for the offer, Your Highness, but I must decline.”
He seemed surprised. Then it seemed as if he might laugh. In the end, albeit with an amused tone, he asked simply, “Why must you?”
“Not to insult you, for you are a very attractive man, but I feel no attraction to you. ’Twould be like whoring to me, and I do not hold myself that cheaply.”
“Nonsense,” he scoffed. “You must trust my judgment in this. I do you a greater fa
vor than you can realize. And your embarrassment will be minimal. I take the chance of losing a good friend in Shefford, but you will merely be found a different husband, mayhap one more to your liking. Is that not what you just implied you would prefer?”
“Aye,” she answered. “But I will find another way to accomplish it.”
“When I offer the means here and now? Bah, time is wasted in explanation. The decision is mine, not yours. That should ease your conscience.” So saying, he pulled her more forcefully toward the bed.
Realizing that he meant to bed her anyway, despite her wishes, Milisant balked, yet did not try to pull away again. She had watched enough knights in training to know that tactics could make or break any skirmish, and she was fully prepared to test that theory.
He also expected resistance now, would merely tighten his hold on her if she began it, which was why she didn’t pull back again. He was not nearly as tall as Wulfric, yet was he stocky of build like his father before him, and strong enough to keep her there if he used that strength on her.
So she did nothing for the moment, let him lead her right up to the bed, waiting until he turned more toward her to get her into it. He did so as she had guessed he would, and that was when she kicked him hard in the shin.
It was a loud sound even to her ears, for she hit the bone directly with the toe of her boot. His yelp was even louder, but was cut off in his surprise when she added a push that sent him onto the bed himself.
She had her boon, was not held for the moment, and took advantage of that right quickly, racing out of the room, down the stairs, across the hall to the tower that led to her own chamber, not stopping once until she had closed the door behind her and dropped the heavy locking bar across it. She didn’t stop there, though, pushed several of her traveling chests up against the door as well. Still, her heart wouldn’t stop pounding, nor her breath stop coming in great heaves.
Jhone was fast asleep, but had left a candle burning for Milisant. She used the meager light to fetch her bow and arrows, and sat there trembling on her bed with an arrow at the ready and a dozen more easy to hand. The first man to break through the barrier she had created at the door would not live to tell of it.
She sat there most of the night waiting, while Jhone slept blissfully on, unaware of Milisant’s latest dilemma. And dilemma it was. John might not have sent his guards after her to slay her immediately for her treasonous attack upon his person, but one did not attack a king without paying dearly for it.
It was a long time before her breathing quieted. Her anxiety didn’t lessen at all.
Thirty-one
“Who were you trying to keep out of here last eventide? Or were you just making sure I did not leave ere talking to you this morn?”
Jhone said it in a teasing manner as she shook Milisant awake. She hadn’t noticed the bow yet, since the blanket had draped over it, hiding it from view. She had noticed only the chests piled against the door.
Milisant was surprised she had fallen asleep at all, but vaguely recalled getting beneath the covers because she had been chilled. She recalled also resting her head on the pillow for what she had thought would only be a few minutes, but remembered nothing after that.
She was wide-awake now, though, with everything recalled instantly, including her terror. She had actually kicked the king of England in the shin, and pushed him. She wondered which he would find the more insulting, and which the more deserving of his revenge?
She groaned inwardly before telling her sister, “I have to leave.”
“Leave where?” “Shefford.”
Understandably, that brought a frown to Jhone’s brow. “Did something happen with the king last eventide that I should know about?”
“Only that he means to kill me. Whether publicly or in secret is the only question.”
“What did you do?” Jhone wailed.
Milisant threw back the covers, showing Jhone that she had not undressed for bed, had not even taken off her boots. Jhone also saw the bow now, and her eyes widened even further in trepidation.
“’Tis not so much what I did, but what he did, that forced me to do what I did.”
“What did you do?” Jhone repeated, even louder, all color drained from her face now.
“I did what I had to do to get away from him, Jhone,” Milisant explained. “He might be the king, but that does not mean I wouldst allow him to bed me, which is what I had been summoned for.”
Jhone stared, wide-eyed. “King John tried to bed you? Our King John?”
“Your skepticism is not misplaced. I still find it incredulous myself, especially when he is reputed to adore his own wife and she is here with him.”
“Was he—taken by passion?” Jhone offered. “Unable to help himself?”
“Faugh, make no excuses for him. I do not delude myself to think that I am so irresistible as to cause him to be ‘unable to help himself.’ This was fully planned by him. ’Tis why he sent for me.”
“Then—why?”
Milisant was still confused over that question herself. John had said they would both benefit. She had been sure at the time that he had meant that she would benefit by not having to marry Wulfric, and that he would benefit by the pleasure he would have in the bedding, yet … what if he had meant other than that? How else would he benefit from preventing the joining of the two families?
She could not see another reason herself, yet if there was one, could that mean that John had instigated disposing of her? Was behind the attacks on her? She could hardly see herself of such import that a king would want to be rid of her, yet in the greater scheme of things, a king would not hesitate to remove any obstacle in the path to a goal, however minor or great was that obstacle.
But whatever his motives had been previously, he now had new ones. And it was too much for her to grasp all at once, and too far-fetched, really, for her to want to repeat her thoughts to anyone, even Jhone.
So she said merely, “He spoke of it being a solution for us both, of giving Wulfric a reason to repudiate me, which it surely would have done. John is not approving of this wedding, Jhone, not by any means. Though why could he not have just said so, instead of resorting to despicable means to see the betrothal set aside?”
Jhone gave that a moment’s thought. “Mayhap because his blessing was never needed for the match, when his brother had already given his.”
“Or mayhap he is just too used to doing things in an underhanded way,” Milisant added in disgust.
“Well, that, too. But I suppose he could have felt slighted, that he was never asked for permission, and so came here to put an end to it, without owning to the insult he felt, petty as it is.”
Milisant nodded. That was another possibility. But did it really matter now that the damage was done? He could still order her death, could have already done so. She could meet up with one of his servants, just waiting to find her alone. Today. On the morrow. When she least expected it. She had to leave, to put herself out of his immediate reach. There was no other option now.
“Did you hurt him badly?” Jhone thought to ask.
“More his pride than his body, but that is enough for him to want revenge.”
“But he would have to own up to what he attempted to do if he orders your death.”
“Not if he does not make it public—which is why I must leave, to put myself out of his reach.”
“But to where?”
“I will go to Clydon. I was thinking to do so anyway ere this happened, since Father has not arrived yet, nor even sent word, and I am beginning to suspect he does not intend to. So I will take Roland to him, and tell him also what has happened here. He cannot still insist on this betrothal once he knows the king is set against it.”
“But that will not protect you from John’s wrath for what you did.”
“It might,” Milisant replied, speculating. “He may forget what passed betwixt us if I marry elsewhere, as he wants. ’Tis my only hope now.”
Jhone shook
her head. “I think you should tell Lord Guy what happened instead.”
“And put him at war with the king?”
Jhone paled. “You think it would come to that?”
“I am here under Guy’s protection. What do you think he would do, does he learn that his sovereign tried to rape his son’s betrothed, under his own roof? He wouldst be enraged, and rightly so.”
“But John must have expected that ere he tried what he did. Mayhap that was what he wanted all along, for Guy to break his oath of fealty with him.”
“Nay, what he expected was for me to comply and feel honored by his rape. No doubt when it came to light, he would have claimed that I was the instigator, that I threw myself at him, so only I would have been to blame. Verily, he probably would have brought it to light himself, rather than wait for the marriage bedding, for Wulfric to find out for himself that I was no longer pure. And who would take my word over John’s—other than you, of course?”
“Lord Guy might.”
“When it wouldst mean breaking with the king? You need only see it from John’s point of view. The betrothal would have been ended, Guy and Father both would still be loyal to him, and I, in disgrace, would have been found another husband who would overlook that I had once dallied with the king. Ironically, I wish that all of that would occur—if only I did not have to bed the king to see it so.”
“But you cannot just leave, Mili, not without Lord Guy’s permission. And how will you gain that, without telling him what has occurred?”
“I said I had already thought of leaving. I did not say I was going to announce it.”
“But you cannot get out of the keep without notice, much less the outer gates. How do you expect to just walk out of here?”
“With your help, of course.”
Jhone groaned. “Mili, there must be another way. What if you confide in Wulfric instead of Guy—and wed him today, without further delay? That wouldst put an end to John’s plot, would it not?”
“Not if what John really wants is a reason to brand Guy’s family as treasonous outlaws, or our family for that matter, so he can confiscate both our lands. And not if he still wants revenge on me for attacking him. And not if—”