Black Douglas (Coronet Books) by Tranter Nigel

Author:Tranter, Nigel [Tranter, Nigel]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, azw3, epub
Publisher: Hodder & Stoughton
Published: 2012-08-29T18:30:00+00:00

CHAPTER TEN

SINCE the Abbey was grossly overcrowded, only two small rooms had been set aside as the bridal chambers. In one of them, Will paced the floor, a man at odds with his fate. Never had he felt less sure of himself.

As he paced, naked but for his furred bed-robe, he eyed the inner door almost askance. He would have had a bed made up in this ante-room, but for the talk that would have followed. All Sweet Heart would know of it before morning, nothing more certain. In any other place than this crowded abbey! . . .

Presently that door opened, and Meg Douglas came out. She had her mistress’s bridal-gown over her arm. She looked at Will seeming even more toughly muscular and compact than usual in his bed robe, and dipped the sketchy mockery of a curtsy. “All awaits your lordship’s pleasure,” she said.

He frowned at her. “I’ faith, Meg — you at least can spare me this!”

“Spare you, my lord? Who am I to spare the Black Douglas on his wedding-night?”

“Have done!” he said. “You know very well that this is not the wedding-night I would have.”

“Did any force you to it?”

Sombrely he looked at her. “I think they did, yes. All of the name of Douglas did!” He inclined his head towards the door. “How . . . how does she?”

“She does very well. Better than you. I think! She is tired, but herself. And very fair. She will not fail you!”

He shook his head. “A child,” he said.

“Gentle her, then.” Heavily Meg said that, her voice breaking. She hurried to the turnpike stair-head, and away.

The man still avoided that inner door. She was tired, he told himself. She might sleep. He waited, pacing. He wondered where Meg was bedding.

At length, snuffing candles, he tip-toed to the door, and quietly opened it.

A lamp still burned in the inner room, beside the great bed. Margaret was not asleep. She sat upright on the bed, looking very small and slight and great-eyed. The bed-clothes were drawn up to her chin.

“You have been long,” she said.

He cleared his throat. “I thought . . . perhaps you slept. You are weary.”

“I would not do that, my lord.”

“I am not your lord!” He almost shouted it.

“Husband, then. And I am none so weary.”

“You must be. It had been a long day. Heavy. Trying. I would not have come troubling you. To this room. I would have left you, this night, in peace. But the turnpike opens on to that other. There is no other door. Others, servants, would see. And talk.”

“Talk, yes. They would. At such thing. I would not wish such talk.”

“No. But I can sleep here, on the floor, very well. Give me but one cover. It will be better than many a night in the field. Or on the hill.”

Her eyes widened, if that was possible. “What do you mean?”

“Only that you need fear nothing, Margaret. This night.”

“Fear? I . . . I do not fear you.” She swallowed, for she was of an honest mind.

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