Disclaimer; I do not own Robin Hood, nor am I associated with the BBC or make any money from this.
Chapter 66: Finally pt2
The maid finally finished twisting and pulling at Eleanor's hair and Marguerite gave a nod of approval. The maid curtsied and left. "Will you tell me what is going on now, Marguerite?" Eleanor asked for the seventh time since Marguerite burst in with maids to help her dress and do her hair.
"I don't see why we can't tell her now," Marion pointed out.
Gretchen smiled as she watched the sun set beyond the horizon. "It's almost time, after all."
"Time for what?" Eleanor demanded.
"My gift, of course," Marguerite spoke. "You look absolutely beautiful, ma bichette."
It was the finest gown Eleanor had ever laid eyes on and she was frighten she would somehow ruin it. She couldn't imagine why Marguerite insisted she wear the gown made from yards of lace and fabric. It had to be worth enough to feed all of Nottingham for at least several years.
She looked at her reflection in the highly polished metal and just stared. She wasn't quite sure who it was looking back at her.
"Why are you gifting me this? And now?" Eleanor asked curiously. If she knew the reason she could find a polite way of turning down her friend.
"No, the dress isn't the gift, it's the beginning of the gift!" Marguerite said excitedly. "I was thinking …"
"A dangerous thing, indeed," Marion drawled, smirking.
"Dangerous? Me?" Marguerite smirked. "I have many plans, Marion. Too many for one head now, but that is my burden to bear. I digress. I was wondering what to get you and Allan for your engagement and marriage. I figured any gift I decided upon you would claim was too extravagant. Really, Eleanor, you should know by now I rarely do anything that isn't extravagant. "
"But…" Eleanor began, worried where this was going.
"And really, you deserve fine things in life, Elle. So I was wondering what I could get you and Allan, and then I thought, 'c'est perfect! I solved several problems at once," Marguerite smiled. "Tuck has agreed to this, provided you are alright with it."
"With what?"
"Your marriage, of course," Marguerite said as if it wasn't obvious.
"Marriage?"
"You and Allan are engage, correct?" Marguerite reminded her. "This means marriage. And since you won't accept any of the gifts I have, I decided to gift you the ceremony."
Eleanor stared at her in shock.
"I am immune to that look by now. You can't change my mind. There will be a wedding tonight!"
"But…"
"You have a groom, you have the gown, you have the guests, the priest, and—here is the best part—the sun has set so we have a nice warm evening to celebrate under the stars. Allan thought this would be the best suited for you," Marguerite grinned.
Eleanor felt her mouth open but nothing came out. She tried to gather her thoughts and looked at Gretchen for confirmation.
Everyone else seemed to understand, and soon it was just Eleanor and Gretchen. "She just thinks Allan and I will be married? Tonight? Just like that?"
"What's wrong, Elle? Now you don't want to marry Allan?"
"Does he even know? Or are the guys preparing to drag him to the altar?" Eleanor worried.
Gretchen laughed, and it seemed the harder she tried to stop the more she giggled. "You are worried, after all this time, Allan is going to run away? Well, I guess I can understand why you fear that. But he knows, Eleanor. In fact, when Marguerite first asked him about it, it was his idea to do it now," Gretchen gestured out the window where the last rays of the sun were dying. "He wanted to give you something special, too, and wanted your wedding to happen under the stars."
Just as quickly all arguments and worries were gone. "He said that?" Eleanor smiled. "Silly man, I'd marry him in a barn. It's marrying me that's special," she laughed. She hugged her best friend. "You'll stand up with me, right?" She demanded.
"It's your night, I'd do anything you asked," Gretchen smiled. "She agreed!" She hollered out and her dressing room was flooded with all the girls.
"I think Allan is worried you are going to say no," Willa smiled, her eyes sparkling. Ever since she and John started courting there was a new bounce to her step, a spark of joy in her countenance.
"Well, we will let him wait a little longer," Marion smiled, sharing a mischievous look with Marguerite.
"I think those two are going to be good friends. That frightens me," Djaq whispered to Gretchen who nodded.
"You are going to be back home, you won't have to worry about their scheming," Gretchen pointed out.
After what was deemed an appropriate waiting time, judging by how much they wanted to torture Allan, the girls led Eleanor down through the castle, through the elaborate gardens in the Paris Castle, until they reached the final hedge of the garden that towered over all of them, shielding the final surprise from view; Eleanor had no idea what to expect once she passed through to the other side.
"Wait!" Eleanor gripped Gretchen's hand. "Who's giving me away? I mean, Marguerite has planned everything, surely she knows or thought of or…" she babbled.
Gretchen smiled and kissed Eleanor's cheek. "All you need to worry about is repeating Father Tuck's vows, and kissing Allan."
Marguerite returned to the gaggle of women. "Alright, everything is ready. This is your last chance to change your mind. If you want, I can smuggle you away from here just as easily," Marguerite asked Eleanor.
"Smuggle me where?" Eleanor wondered. "There's nowhere else I want to be."
"Atta girl," Marguerite smiled. "Alright, places," She smiled and turned around the hedge. One by one the girls kissed Eleanor's cheek and left her.
Gretchen was the last. "If you asked me, two years ago when all this started, when we first met Allan, that the two of you would finally be wed after all this craziness…I'd have thought you were driven mad by the fairies," Gretchen smiled. "I remember what it was like, leaving you when I went back to Locksley. I prayed so hard Allan would come back and save you. This isn't how I pictured it," Gretchen drawled, "but I am so, so happy for you!"
Eleanor hugged her friend. It wasn't how she pictured any of this, either, but she wouldn't change a thing.
When she looked up, Robin was standing there. "Will you allow me the honor of giving you away, Eleanor?"
Eleanor wiped away the tears that were already falling down her face. "Are you alright?" Robin asked concerned, making Eleanor laugh.
"Thank you," Eleanor said as she placed her hand on Robin's arm.
He kissed her forehead. "It's my pleasure, Eleanor. You've saved Allan more times than I can count, you saved all of us." He and Guy had a debate over who would walk Eleanor down the aisle until Marguerite stepped in. "Ready?"
"Yes! Yes," Eleanor smiled.
Robin led her around the last of the garden and she simply stopped. The pasture before them in the daytime would be a field of sprawling green leading to a small pond, with a forest to her left. A breathtaking sight, she was sure.
But now, someone had placed two rows of torches for light, creating an aisle for Robin to lead her down. Flowers had been strewn on the path she was to walk, with beds of flowers planted between the torches. Allan was standing with Tuck and Guy before the pond.
Seeing that look of complete joy and love in Allan's face when he saw her for the first time was enough to make Eleanor feel as if she could fly.
Floating down the aisle, Robin kissed her hand before placing it in Allan's. When she arrived to stand before Tuck with Gretchen on her left, could see the stars reflected in the pool of water.
The stars were above her and laid at her feet. She was pretty sure the smile was permanently affixed to her face.
"We are here to celebrate the joining of two dear souls, two souls perfectly suited for each other in this lifetime and the next," Father Tuck began, a broad smile on his face.
A quick look showed that everyone in their party was grinning like crazy. Eleanor would have to thank Marguerite because it was all just so perfect; their friends were right there, not seated in pews in the church far away, and Willa was even holding a sleepy Tom.
Eleanor managed to hear what Tuck was saying over the beating of her own heart. She answered her part, saying her vows. Allan repeated the same words to her…
Allan reached up to caress the side of her face. "I can imagine everyone is thinking 'don't screw this up Allan' right about now," Allan grinned as everyone shared looks wondering what was going. He caressed her face as he leaned in to whisper in her ear; everyone tried unsuccessfully to catch a snippet of what he was saying; Eleanor's reaction was a mixture of tears and a smile as she rested the side of her face against his.
Suddenly she cupped Allan's face and kissed him.
"Well, I now give you the newly wedded Allan and Eleanor, lord and lady of Norfolk," Tuck quickly announced, everyone laughing and cheering.
"Finally! Sorry," Much apologized, "but it had to be said."
"Who's going to argue with that?" Will laughed.
"Oi, we do things our own way," Allan grinned.
They escorted the newlywed couple back inside to one of the parlors Marguerite had filled with food to celebrate. To both Allan's and Eleanor's surprise she had a cake prepared for them. It was the first time Eleanor had ever tasted cake.
Everyone let Allan and Eleanor sneak out, and started debating what they thought Allan had whispered to Eleanor.
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A knock was followed by a maid announcing the queen was waiting in Marguerite's parlor. Marguerite waved away her maids and went to talk with her. "Marie," Marguerite smiled. She liked her cousin's wife and thought she also made an excellent queen.
"Phillip really is happy you chose to let him foster Henri."
Marguerite studied her cousin. "Is everything alright, Marie?"
"You and Guy wed tomorrow. What are your plans after?"
"We will retire to one of my estates, why?" Marguerite wondered.
"Philip has been worried, and has been trying to keep it from me. You know Philip, he doesn't hesitate to confide in me."
Marguerite nodded. Philip confided in his wife when he needed someone to talk to; she knew nothing on military matters but listened patiently, letting Philip vent. She also trusted her husband implicitly and would do anything in her power to make sure his decision was carried through. Marguerite admired Marie's ability to bribe, entice, and threaten people to her husband's advantage. On more than one occasion Marguerite had complimented her on how well Marie fit into the family.
"The fact he won't tell me, tells me that it has to do with this war with Richard. I finally got him to open up this morning. It seems Richard has his army surrounding the castle at Anjou; as soon as he leaves after your wedding he joins his army on the siege."
"Richard hasn't asked me for any alliance," Marguerite spoke softly. "In fact, he hasn't talked to me about the war at all. It seems Richard has already decided what side I will fall on."
"He doesn't want you involved, neither of your cousins, do, ma fae. The one thing—and I mean one thing—both Richard and Philip agree on is that they love you. And they don't want to put you in a position where you have to choose. So they are not going to look for any involvement from any of your men." As the countess and duchess of several land holdings, Marguerite had a small army at her command of Norman Knights.
"So why are you here?" Marguerite asked.
"I just wanted to make sure you were prepared for what is going to happen, ma fae. Because despite all the attempts at keeping you uninvolved, you will become involved. You are involved. They are your cousins and you love both. I came to tell you to leave when you are married and shut yourself up in your estate, your newly wedded bliss keeping you blind to all else that is occurring."
Marguerite knew it was more than a suggestion but was a subtle command from a queen. The two women studied each other.
Marguerite reached for the bell and when her maid arrived, she ordered a fresh pot of tea for the two of them. Marie was the one living woman who Marguerite looked up to, admired; she was the only woman who had stood by her through all of her losses, and who had relied on Marguerite just as much as any other advisor when Philip was in the Holy Wars.
So the two held a long discussion over tea for the rest of the afternoon.
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Standing outside the door leading to the chapel, Marguerite studied the door.
"Are you nervous, ma fae?"
She turned to study the group of women, the four other royal women that were her sisters-in-law. She hadn't seen most of them in the three years since Michel's funeral. She didn't blame them for their absence, they simply didn't know how to help her. She hadn't known how to help herself, either.
"He's such a handsome lad," Maeve smiled, her red hair framing her pale face. She looked exactly the same as when she came to France to marry her brother, Christophe, eight years ago.
"What are you doing back here, you should all be inside," Marguerite pointed out.
"We had a talk this morning," Rebecca spoke up; she looked so much older, not the youthful beauty Henri had married nearly sixteen years ago. "We all wanted to talk with you, and thought instead of having four different conversations, we'd do it together. We have waited a long time for this day, and we can't even begin to express how happy we are for you," Rebecca smiled, gripping Marguerite's hands in her own. She had known Marguerite the longest, and remembered the young girl that was always causing problems with her twin. A pair of hellions, she remembered. A pair her late husband had doted on so affectionately. Truthfully, it had been the twins that were the first to make her feel at home in her new household; she had been sixteen and newly married, a duchess, and the second largest estate to run in all of England.
Maeve came up to hug Marguerite. "You wouldn't let us be there for you before, and we just wanted you to remember that we are here for you, in good times and bad."
"And to give you advice," Aoife smiled. She had only been a member of the family a few short years before Pierre died and perhaps knew Marguerite the least well. That didn't mean she loved her any less, though, in Aoife's opinion. "You may be used to walking down aisles, but this one will feel even longer," she warned.
"Really? I thought I flew down to the end, I still remember Jean-Paul's reaction," Marie smiled fondly. "I loved to tease him mercilessly when he blushed, he turned the same shade of his hair."
"It isn't easy being ginger," Maeve smiled. "but it's fun," she winked to Marguerite.
"We just wanted to remind you that we are here for you, we love you, and…we thank you, Marguerite," Marie said.
"Thank?" Marguerite wondered.
"You looked after our children, helped to raise them. Henri's the spitting image of his father, and that terrifies me. We weren't given that opportunity, but we know you were there as they grew up. We thank you," Rebecca admitted.
All four women hugged the bride. Then they chattered happily as they slipped inside and an escort led them to their seats.
Marguerite marveled at what occurred; perhaps she had shut out the very people who wanted the most to help her and she just hadn't been in the state to realize it after Michel's death.
Childish laughter caught her attention. "We are ready, my lady," the maid announced as the nurse ushered in her nieces and nephews. Henri was the only one absent, sitting up with Philip in the front row. Her other nieces and nephews were all below ten years of age, and were her flower girls and groomsmen.
"You all know what to do, correct?" Marguerite smiled and her nieces and nephews nodded, suddenly somber.
"Alright, then," Marguerite smiled, kissing the top of all of their heads. "Now, lady Antoinette will walk down with you, alright?" Antoinette was Queen Marie's sister, and at sixteen was already being betrothed to some lord—Marguerite couldn't remember who Philip was trying to make an alliance with at the moment.
The groomsmen standing before the door opened the door for Antoinette and the children to pass through and closed them again. Anticipation made her skin tingle. "Please tell me you have changed your mind," her father spoke up.
Marguerite smiled. "When have I ever?"
William sighed. "One could always hope for a first, a small miracle. Although they seem to avoid our family."
"Up until I met Guy, I believed the same thing," Marguerite admitted.
That's what convinced William to agree to the marriage. With a nod to the groomsmen, the doors were once again pulled up for them.
It was the longest walk in her life that was over much too soon. She wasn't aware of all the looks, the sighs, the smiles surrounding her. All she saw was Guy waiting for her at the end of the aisle.
Everyone watched in awe as Marguerite glided down the aisle, maids having laid out the train as she walked till it seemed to stretch half the length of the aisle. Her gown was silver with purple trim, and pearls, diamonds, and emeralds stitched into the gown. The gown seemed to somehow be both simple and elaborate,
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx about 6 months later xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Marguerite was stunned, there was no other way to explain her reaction. "They are attacking here?!" she demanded.
"I'm afraid so, my lady," Archer nodded.
"What would possess them to such idiocy?" she wondered.
"Call the guards to arm, I want all the posts armed and manned," William ordered.
"They are past the first gate, my lord," Archer said. "I already have the knights armed and the fighting is pushed into the courtyard."
They had just arrived; this was absurd. "Upstairs, Marguerite, go," Guy ordered.
"They are attacking my home and you expect me to hide in the nursery?" Marguerite asked.
"Go," Guy ordered, leaving no room for argument. She picked the wrong day to tell him her suspicions that she was with child. Really, the day I say something is the day we are under siege? Not that Guy would normally have welcomed the idea of her fighting, but they were fighting to protect their home, someone dared to attack her home.
"Henri," she ordered her nephew. When it looked like he was going to protest, she grabbed him by his collar and pushed him towards the stairs. "Run up and make sure the windows are blocked," she ordered. "Do we at least know who it is?"
It had been only months since their marriage, and Guy and Marguerite had only just arrived in her castle in Flanders. Her father had brought her nieces and nephews before Henri returned to Paris to live with Philip. Neither had enemies that would dare attack their castle.
And yet someone had managed to use the half hour of their arrival to breach their defenses. Over half of her men were due to arrive the following morning, so this was either planned, or purely luck on their enemy's side. "Where's Kazim?" Marguerite demanded. She had yet to see her friend, and he always met with her within the hour of her arrival to update her on her holdings.
"He was in the courtyard when the chaos started, they are Richard's men. At least, they wear the symbol of Richard," Archer spat.
A servant had brought Guy and her father their armor. Guy was not use to fighting against other knights but knew the chain mail was necessary. "Marguerite, go," Guy ordered again.
She marched up and pulled him into a kiss. It wasn't loving, sweet; it was a harsh demand. "Don't worry about me, just come back."
"I have something to come back to," he promised her.
Marguerite turned towards the stairs and grabbed the sword her own servant brought. She would retreat—for now—but Guy was a fool if he thought she wouldn't be armed. He knew she knew how to wield a sword.
She had just stepped on the first step when the fighting could be heard inside the castle. She turned in time to see Guy and her father and Archer rush off to fight. Please, lord, let all my men come back, she prayed. She rushed up the stairs, glancing outside to see fighting in the courtyard. She couldn't distinguish who was who, it was too dark for that, but the fighting looked to be even. That told her the enemy wasn't more than her small army. At least, not much more.
She was nearly to the nursery where the children would be, when she heard the loud stomps of feet running up after her; they most definitely belonged to knights in chainmail, and she knew if it was Guy, her father, or any of her men, they would have identified themselves.
Unsheathing her sword, she turned and waited. Two knights emerged. "We knew we'd find you with the brats," one spat.
"Who are you, and why do you dare invade my home," Marguerite demanded. She tried not to dwell on the fact that there were only about two dozen steps to the nursery, or the fact they somehow made it past Guy and the others to get inside.
Instead, she let the righteous anger fill her and tried to keep a clear head. "You wear my cousin's insignia, yet I know Richard would never allow anyone to attack me. How dare you wear that symbol."
"You dare tell us, you self-righteous whore. It's because of you the king is dead," one man, the taller one with blue eyes spat out, and her grip tightened on her sword as his words sunk in.
"Don't you dare come here with your lies," Marguerite ordered.
"You are in no position to order us, and because you refused to aid your cousin against the bastard Philip, he is dead. You held out your men to marry the man that made you a whore, and…" he got no further as an arrow pierced straight through his mouth, angled up into his brain.
"If you open your mouth, you'll make a pretty target, too," Henri spat out behind Marguerite.
She would complement him on his aim later; the head and the calf were the only place not protected by chainmail. Instead she took a better stance to face off against the other knight. "I don't know what you hope to achieve, but you will not get the chance." If he made it past her, it would easy to get past Henri and up to the nursery.
She anticipated him attacking, even guessed he would use his weight against her. He was at least a stone heavier, but she was faster and not weighted down in chainmail. She hoped it would make all the difference in the narrow stairwell.
Their blades crashed and she let him use his weight to lurch forward. She slipped along the wall till she was behind him and thrust down, slicing the back of his knee. He used his good leg to pivot and bring his sword straight down. She brought her sword up to block and blindly jumped down several steps. When he lost his balance and tried to compensate on his bad leg, she heard him let out a curse. She thrust only to be blocked despite the bad angle he had.
Her arms were swore from continually blocking the brute, and she almost missed the opportunity. She managed to get him unsettled, his weight unbalanced as his leg continued to bleed profusely. If only she managed to cut a little deeper and break the bone! But then he tried to push back up the stairs and she saw him fumble. It was enough for her to swing up. She kicked out, using all the force she could on his bad leg. He pitched forward and she instinctively thrust up.
It was enough, meeting the one place on his upper body that wasn't covered in chainmail. She just managed to let go and dodge to avoid his body falling down the stairs.
She slowly approached, as if afraid he would someone managed to jump up and continue fighting. She felt squeamish and turned away, afraid she would lose her supper. Nothing made her nauseous, and it was just one more clue pointing to the fact she was with child.
Henri was suddenly there, and pulled out her sword for her. "I'm sorry, aunt."
"Hey, we both got one," she tried to console him. "Up, they would have heard the fighting," she said and they rushed up the stairs. The nursemaids were trying to keep the children entertained but it was clear they heard the fighting.
They burst into the nursery and Marguerite did a quick headcount: Victor and Victoire, Genevieve and Peter, Joan and Cillian plus the nurses. "Henri thought it would be fun to practice in the stairwell. Now, what are the rules," Marguerite said in mock reprimand.
"Fighting is to be done on the field," Joan spoke up, nervously pushing back a strand of her red hair as if trying to convince herself it was all just a game. She was getting to the age she could tell Marguerite was lying, but wanted to protect the other kids.
"So Henri broke the rules. That is why he has to spend the night in the nursery," Marguerite quickly lied. Henri gave her a look, clearly believing his aunt could have come up with a better excuse than blaming him. She gave him a smile.
"Henri is too old for the nursery," Victor pointed out, eyeing everyone. He and his twin, Victoire, shared a look.
"And that is why it's punishment. He will have an hour more of Latin, tomorrow, too," Marguerite promised. "Now, why don't you pick out a story before bedtime?"
"We haven't had dinner," Cillian said sadly. "Are we in trouble, too?"
Blast, Marquerite frowned. "No, I meant a story before dinner." She gestured to the nursemaids as she and Henri moved, he to the door, and Marguerite to the window. She gently lifted it a very little to peak out. The fighting seemed to be coming to an end in the courtyard, she had no idea if that was a good sign or not.
After what felt like forever, but was two stories later, she heard Guy's voice calling up the stairs. Marguerite bolted out the door and down the stairs. Guy met her and wrapped her into his arms. He had seen the two dead knights and the thought they had gotten so close was like a vice on his heart.
"We're fine, we're fine," she reassured him. "One of the kills belongs to Henri," she said, knowing praise from Guy would be a confidence boost to Henri.
Marguerite looked beyond Guy and saw her father and Archer coming up the stairs. "Where's Kazim?"
Guy led her out and she knew the news wasn't good even before he whispered to her. She rushed past everyone to the barracks to see where they had placed him. "It doesn't look good, my lady," the knights said, jumping up at her presence.
She looked around and her heart was in her throat. She did a quick headcount and saw that of the two dozen knights that had been in residence before the fight, two were not there. And Kazim lay struggling for breath on the cot. "We've sent for the surgeon, ma'am."
Marguerite nodded. "How is everyone else?"
"Callan and Markan were killed before we even knew we were under attack," another, a man named Frans informed her.
Marguerite looked at everyone; she approached Kazim to see what exactly had befallen her friend. "They didn't like the fact that he was a Saracen, ma'am," another spoke angrily. It had taken awhile for her men to accept it, but now Kazim was one of them, he had pledged himself to Marguerite's service like all the other men.
"Marguerite?" Guy spoke up, coming inside.
"One of them, the one Henri killed…well, before Henri poached him he said that Richard was killed. Were these really Richard's men?" Marguerite asked.
"It seems like it. Which means…"
"It means he's dead, yes," Marguerite nodded as she took a stool next to Kazim. She washed away the dried blood and tried to clean what she could. She gave orders for more clean linen and to build the fire up. She couldn't do anything for her cousin but she could do what she could for Kazim.
"He wouldn't dare anger you by dying, ma'am," one of the youngest nights, Percival, tried to lighten the mood.
Marguerite actually sobbed out a laugh. "He would certainly earn my wrath. That goes for the rest of you. Stop gossiping and wash up before you get infected."
She ignored the banter, felt Guy walk up behind her as the others went to get rid of the bodies littering the castle. "I'm sorry, Marguerite."
"He'll be fine." She wasn't sure if it was optimism or an order.
"I'm sorry those two got past us; I'm sorry you had to fight at all; I'm sorry Kazim is like this, and that you lost Richard," Guy said, his head resting against the top of hers, his hand rubbing her back.
"You have nothing to be sorry for, let me do this, Guy. Go lead the guys, heaven knows they appreciate taking orders from a man more than a woman," she said, dismissing him.
He could see her putting walls up and let it be for now. She had to stay clear headed while tending to Kazim, so he went to see what needed to be overseen. Archer met him at the door; he still couldn't believe Archer was his half brother, but over the last several months he had come to like the young man. He also had a wealth of information which was useful in situations like these where he was lord of the castle but he had never set foot in it before.
"The bodies inside have already been carried out so the kids won't see them. William has sent them to have dinner in the family parlor, which is on the other side away from the courtyard," he explained, gesturing to the other side of the castle. "Callan and Marcan have been moved to the backroom of the chapel, the others are being laid out in the barn."
"How much damage did they cause?"
"To the buildings? Practically none. But to Marguerite? Well, if we could kill them twice we would," Archer said darkly.
Moments like this had Guy smiling; not at the morbidity of his brother's statement, but because at these moments Archer felt like his brother. Archer's normally upbeat personality was such a contrast to Guy's, that he felt like he was talking with Robin.
"Have everyone tend to themselves and then return to their stations; I doubt we'll be attacked again, they seemed like a rouge group driven by their grief. But…"
"We won't be taken by surprise again," Archer promised.
Three days later it was apparent that Kazim was gripping onto whatever it was holding him to this mortal world. He had yet to wake, but everyone expected it any day now. "It's a miracle, which I don't understand," the surgeon frowned, clearly not liking the fact it seemed God was sparing a Saracen.
Marguerite berated the surgeon right out of her castle.
"That pompous, rat-faced imbecile. It is not for him to judge who is worthy, it's his job to save my friend," she vented.
"Believe me, he knows that now," Guy laughed. He pulled her close, pulling her down with him as he took a seat in the parlor. He felt her curl up into him, one of his hands found their way to resting on her stomach.
"Do you want to talk about it?" Marguerite asked.
"I should be asking if you are okay," he shook his head.
"Guy, I'm fine. You know that I am physically fine, they didn't hurt me," she teased him. She leaned up to study his face. "You're not upset, are you?"
He traced his fingers over her stomach. "I don't know what to think. You will …"
"Become fatter, yes," she volunteered for him.
Guy frowned. "Not what I …you'll be busy."
"Busy…" she repeated.
"My history with children is not the best. I frighten Genevieve."
"She's adjusting to you," Marguerite tried not to laugh. "You can be quite an intimidating man, especially to a five year old."
When the silence became too big, Marguerite repeated her question. "Are you upset?"
"No. I don't know what to think. It happened quickly." He laughed when Marguerite blushed. "I didn't think you could blush," he teased her.
"It is partly your fault," she chided him. "If you …no, I am not discussing this. I just wanted to know if you were upset, if you were angry…"
That surprised him. "I could never be angry with you. I'm worried. If I lose you, like Collin lost your sister…I won't be easy to live with afterword," he admitted. "I have nothing else to live for, Marguerite. I can't lose you, and this will be life changing."
"Guy…I can't lose you, either. And," she climbed off his lap to look at him. "Do you want to fight? John will become king, he likes you. Philip likes you. Both would love to have you. Or you could go to the Holy Lands again. Is that what you want?" It was the fear that kept her up at night because war had taken all of her brothers from her and she knew herself: she wouldn't survive losing Guy.
"That's what's been bothering you?" Guy asked, surprised. He pulled her back down into his lap. "I have no desire to fight other men's wars. The only battle I wanted to fight has always been selfish, to better my station in life. I realized that the only thing that mattered was getting you, and I won. What need have I to go off? I have a feeling we'll see plenty of battles just staying home," he drawled, thinking about the incident three days ago.
Marguerite laughed. "I do seem to attract trouble, don't I?" she teased. She sighed when the butler arrived in the doorway and announced the coach was ready.
"Are you up for this?" Guy asked.
"I'm only in my second or third month," Marguerite answered, knowing it wasn't what Guy was asking.
Guy realized he had better quickly get use to the fact he was going to be a father. "You know what I meant."
"I don't have an answer," Marguerite shook her head as she walked outside. Genevieve left her nurse to run up to her and Marguerite swooped her up in her arms. The little girl motioned for the little boy who was trying to hide. Marguerite looked to see where she was gesticulating. "Peter," Marguerite smiled. She surprised Guy by handing Genevieve to him. She went to crouch behind the chair Peter, Guy's son, was hiding. Before they left for France months ago, she had her men find Peter; she wouldn't rest comfortably not knowing what had become of Guy's son. Partly because there was always the potential for him to appear in a few decades to demand an inheritance; mostly, she couldn't leave knowing there was a part of Guy out in the world that she didn't know about. She had every intention of just getting reports on him every year, but her guard discovered that his mother was on her deathbead and the child would be sent to the workhouse when she died. The knight explained he was Marguerite's man and took Peter from her to Marguerite as she died.
"Genevieve wants you to sit with her in the carriage," Marguerite smiled. "Will you sit with us?" she held out her hand.
Guy's son broke her heart. He was such a quiet, shy boy and sometimes being around the rambunctious kids was overwhelming for the four year old. He had taken to sneaking away from his nurse and hiding. Genevieve took a shine to the boy, though, and he also enjoyed the mute girl's company. In fact, it was the only time she heard the boy speak was when he was talking to Genevieve. She suspected it had something to do with the boy's mother's death.
He studied her hand before taking it. Marguerite smiled and held his hand as they walked towards the carriage. "Genevieve, I found someone to sit with you."
Genevieve looked happy to see Peter and waved to him. That made Peter smile, which made Marguerite joyous. She was determined the boy would be happy and healthy. Something she knew Guy couldn't understand. But when she looked at Peter, she saw Guy. He had his father's eyes, his whole countenance was just like Guy.
She lifted Peter into the carriage then climbed in herself. The door was shut and they were off.
Off to Paris to bury the King of England.
The next week was a blur. The one memory that was clear as a bell was watching Queen Eleanor stoic at her son's burial, only to have her cousin break down in the carriage afterwards. Marguerite would never forget the helpless, bone wracking sobs that filled the carriage as Marguerite held her. She had never seen Eleanor cry in her life, and had no idea how to console her.
Now, remembering that awful week, she looked at the crown in her hands. It was dented, in need of a good polish. Someone should do that, Marguerite thought. She needed it to be polished. At least they had washed off her cousin's blood.
She gripped the crown tightly till the design left an impression in her hands she felt was sure went all the way to the bone. She still couldn't let go, though. All she could think of was what she had to do once they reached the land she could see through the porthole.
Warm hands rubbed up and down her arms and she leaned into Guy's warmth, needing the stability, the comfort he was offering. "This wasn't how I planned on coming back to England. Not this soon." She thought they would spend at least a year in France; she wanted to show Guy the other half of her heritage, the other land that held so much of her affection.
"I know. John will at least be glad to be there when you have your first child," Guy decided. "I heard Peter telling Genevieve a story about the time he crossed the ocean before." It was the first time he heard his son speak and he was stunned.
It felt like no time before they pulled into port. A carriage was hired to carry them to the palace in London.
She still couldn't loosen her grip on the crown resting on the cushion on her lap. She absently traced her finger along the points.
"How will John react?" Guy asked. They hadn't talked about it, Marguerite refusing to talk about everything that happened since the funeral.
"John loved his brother, in his own way. He wanted to be king, I have no doubt of that; he knew this would happen, that Richard's desire to go to war would catch up with him. I don't think he expected it to happen now, not if he survived the crusades."
Guy had no idea what to say, and watched as Peter wiggled up on the seat to sit between them, curling up against Marguerite as if he wanted to comfort her. Marguerite wrapped an arm around the boy, holding him close. Peter seemed to nestle into the embrace, closing his eyes.
Marguerite opened her eyes when they pulled into the palace grounds. The crowds of London started to notice their arrival, and he had no doubt John would know they arrived before they reached the castle.
Sure enough, as they were stepping out of the carriage, a crowd had gathered around Buckingham to watch as Marguerite and Guy arrive. "Marguerite?!" John said shocked, happy. He had left right after the wedding since he continued to act as Regent for Richard while Richard fought in France. He hadn't expected his favorite cousin to return so soon. He pulled her close to hug.
He must have read something in her face. "What's wrong?" he asked concerned, something like a stone falling in his stomach as he realized this felt eerily like when he had to break the news to her of her twin's death.
Marguerite motioned for the footman who brought a pillow forward. She stepped away to grab the crown that was gleaming in the afternoon sun. "Marguerite?" John asked, confused, denying what he was seeing.
"It was at the siege of Anjou," Marguerite whispered, her voice breaking. She cleared her throat. John had always been strong for her, she could return the favor. "Richard fell at the siege of Anjou, his death has been avenged," she said loudly, knowing the crowd had gone eerily silent seeing the crown.
A crown without a king was a somber sight and she knew everyone understood what it meant.
Marguerite held the crown up towards John. John just looked at her, bewildered, like it was a sick joke. "The King is dead, long live the King," Marguerite said clearly, her spine straight as she felt resolved. She placed the crown on John's head, took a step back, and dropped into a curtsey.
John watched as everyone in the courtyard and beyond did the same. He practically jerked Marguerite up as he reached for her, "Marguerite," he stuttered.
"John, let's go inside," Isabella, John's wife, said, gripping his elbow gently.
"But.."
"I know, love, I know," Isabella whispered. She gently turned him away from the crowd of onlookers who had started to chatter, the news no doubt spreading throughout the city like wildfire.
"I didn't…I always said…"
"I know," Isabella whispered as they walked inside.
"My mother?" John asked.
"She was consigned to her room when I left, but that was several weeks ago," Marguerite admitted. She motioned for the servant to bring the pitcher of mulled wine and poured John a healthy dose.
"I know everyone knows I wanted to be King, but I honestly didn't expect it, not now, not …" he threw back half the cup in one gulp.
"We know, John," Isabella comforted him. She and Marguerite talked softly with John until the Cardinal arrived; John listened as they made plans for the country to mourn before the coordination would occur.
He stood and left half way through the discussions. The two women shared a look, letting him go for a moment. They finalized the plans with the Cardinal and the advisors.
"Who should talk to him?" Isabella asked Marguerite. She had only been married to John for two years now, but she knew her husband and understood he was close to Marguerite.
"I wish there was a better way to soften what happened," Marguerite sighed. "I kept trying to think of how John always had this burden, how he tried to soften the news for me. But there is no easy way to tell someone this," Marguerite wiped away the tear as she took a deep breath. She went after her cousin knowing where to find him.
Isabella watched as Guy came up to stand beside her, both of them watching the cousins in the hall, standing next to each other but not talking as they leaned against the window.
"It would be so easy to be jealous of her," Isabella decided.
Guy ignored the comment. He figured most women would be jealous of Marguerite, for a variety of reasons, and most men wanted her. As long as everyone knew she was his, he had nothing to worry about.
"I suspect we are going to have a flood of nobles soon," Guy commented.
"Best to claim your room now, then," Isabella drawled, smiling despite the circumstances. "Although, once John realizes that …ah, he finally noticed," Isabella laughed as John noticed Marguerite's slightly protruding stomach. He seemed to reach out to touch, change his mind, and Marguerite grabbed his hand and placed it on her stomach. John led Marguerite back over and Isabella congratulated Marguerite as John did Guy.