The King's Mistress Read Free

as this?

Chapter Two
    â€œH enry will not do this to me. You are wrong,” Marguerite argued. “He loves me.”
    But the words sounded hollow and unconvincing even to her ears. Marguerite turned away from her companion and looked at the elaborate dress spread on her bed. It could not be. It simply could not be true that Henry had given her in marriage to someone else.
    â€œYou know him better than anyone, Marguerite,” Johanna replied in a bland tone of voice. “If you say he will claim you before the marriage can happen, I believe you.”
    Her temper flared and she flung the dress from the bed onto the floor. Grasping the edges of it, she tore it open and pearls and gems went flying all over the room. Before she could rip it into the pieces she wanted to, another voice called out to her from the doorway.
    â€œIs this how you treat the gifts of the king?”
    Marguerite turned as Lord Bardrick, Henry’s steward and henchman here at Woodstock, entered her chambers. Johanna made a quick curtsy and escaped, though Marguerite was not sure if her own temper or the steward’s lecherous gazes at the woman’s ample bosom made her run from the room. The door slammed and she was alone with one of very few men who had Henry’s confidence and knew the king’s secrets.
    â€œMy lord,” Marguerite said, dipping gracefully as she knew she could to the floor in a curtsy, one that shared a glimpse of her own now well-endowed bosom with him. “I fear I am overwrought with excitement over my impending marriage to Lord…Lord…” She pretended not to remember the name of her prospective husband for a moment until Bardrick said it.
    â€œLord Orrick of Silloth.”
    â€œJust so. Lord Orrick of Silloth. I mean no disrespect to the king. Indeed I am always pleased by his attentions and his gifts.”
    They both knew the gift most recently given to her by Henry. The babe had been a girl unfortunately, and of no use to Marguerite in her plans to make a claim for Henry’s further attentions and affections. At least a boy would have been accepted and graced with a title and a position of power and wealth as Henry’s other bastard son, Geoffrey, had been. Through a boy she could have some hold. But the girl born a few months ago was worthless to her and remained behind at the convent where she had given birth to her, a nameless noble, nay a royal bastard, to be raised by the nuns there. Her own sister stayedbehind to oversee the baby and to answer her own call to a life of service to God.
    Bardrick walked to the door of the room, opened it and spoke to one of the servants waiting outside. “Take this to one of the seamstresses and have her see to it. And quickly, girl,” he yelled, pushing the servant to move more rapidly. “The wedding is on the morrow and it must be ready.”
    Marguerite watched with a sense of amusement as the girl gathered the pieces of the dress together and stumbled from the room. She had not moved from the spot in which she stood.
    â€œThe king plans on carrying out this farce then, Bardrick?” she asked.
    â€œâ€™Tis no farce, lady. You will marry Lord Orrick and Henry will brook no refusal on your part.”
    â€œAnd if I do not?” Marguerite could not believe this was the end. Henry would reclaim her. He would object, mayhap even at the last moment, and save her from this unspeakable match.
    â€œThe last three people who refused the king’s generosity are not alive to tell you the stupidity of doing so. Think on that tonight as you prepare yourself for your marriage in the morn.”
    A shiver shook her and, even though she tried to hide it from this weasel, his smarmy grin told her of her failure.
    â€œAye, lady. The prudent thing to do would be to acquiesce to Henry’s wishes. His loyal subjects who do usually live longer and better than those foolish enough to stand against him.”
    Fight it