“The Devil it is!”
“If you treated your yellow-haired harlot the way you do me, you’d have to pay her a lot more money than you do now! You never ask, you just take. You force yourself upon me whenever you choose, and you do not care if I am ailing or tired. It is not unreasonable to want to say no sometimes. But then, you’d never hear me, would you?”
Geoffrey was incredulous. “Christ Jesus, woman, you make it sound as if I rape you!”
“You do,” she said flatly, and his disbelief exploded into outrage.
“Have you gone mad?” When he strode toward her, she took an involuntary backward step, for although she was tall for a woman, he still towered above her. “I have every right to lay with you, for you are my wife! Need I remind you of that?”
“As if I could forget!”
His eyes were of a changeable color, blue or grey depending upon his mood or the light. They were dark now, like slate. He’d made no move to touch her, but as soon as she could retreat without seeming to, she put some space between them.
“I would to God I knew what ails you, woman. Mayhap you’re not just bad-tempered and perverse, mayhap you’re truly crazy! I do not know how else to explain half of what you say. Unless you are mocking me? Is that it, Maude?”
“No!” she protested. “Why is it honesty when a man speaks his mind and madness when a woman does?”
He shook his head in disgust. “God help the English if ever you do become queen. But until then, you are going to do what I say. I am not offering you a choice, Maude. I can compel your obedience if need be, and we both know that.”
Maude swallowed. “I am not afraid of you, Geoffrey.”
“Then you are truly a fool,” he said coldly, “for you’ve given me no reason to think fondly of you. You’ve proven yourself to be a disagreeable companion, an indifferent bedmate, and a barren wife…Have I left any of your failings out?”
Maude gasped. “That is not so! I bore the emperor a son!”
“Dead,” he shot back. “What good does it do a man to have a stillborn heir?”
“My son lived…” she began, but she got no further; to her horror, her voice was no longer steady.
“Not long enough. How old were you when you started to share the imperial bed…thirteen? Fourteen? So you had nigh on ten years to conceive another child, and you could not do it. Your husband needed a healthy, living heir, and you failed him. So why should I think you could do any better for me?”
“God will give me a son,” she said huskily, “a son who will be king. My only regret is that the child must be yours, for I would rather lay with any man but you! Even a leper’s touch could not be more loathsome than yours-”
It was then that he lunged at her. But as fast as he was, she was even faster, and his hand just brushed her sleeve. She spun around and he thought she meant to dart behind the table. Instead, she snatched something from an open casket and whirled back to face him. “You will not hit me again,” she warned, “I swear by the Rood that you will not!”
He took a quick step toward her and then froze, shocked into immobility not by her defiance but by the sight of that jeweled dagger glinting in her fist. His eyes narrowed, flicking from the knife to her white face, back to the dagger again. She was holding it too high, too far out from her body. She’d not had his training with weapons. Nor did she have his greater reach. Measuring the risk, he decided he could probably get the blade away from her without too much trouble. He made no attempt to do so, though. Her breathing was uneven and shallow; he could see how rapidly her breasts rose and fell. Perspiration had begun to trickle down her neck, into her cleavage, and a pulse was throbbing in her throat. She’d never looked so desirable, or so desperate. But it was as if he were watching her from a distance. Even his anger had suddenly iced over. And he knew then what he would do.
“I have had enough,” he said. “The throne of England is not worth this. The Throne of Heaven itself would not be worth it. Our marriage is over.” And he turned away, strode toward the door.
Maude was stunned. “What are you saying?”
Sliding the bolt free, he looked back over his shoulder. “I no longer want you as my wife. Tell your women to start packing, for I’d have you gone by first light.”
Before she could respond, the door closed, quietly, and that was somehow more ominous than if he’d slammed it shut. Reaction set in and she began to tremble. The dagger slid from her fingers, dropped into the floor rushes.
“My lady? What happened? You look white as chalk! He did not hurt you?”
“No, Minna.” The other woman shoved a brimming wine cup into her hand, and Maude drank gratefully, entwining her fingers around the stem to steady her grip. “He says…says the marriage is over.”
Minna was dumbfounded. “He cannot mean that, madame…can he?”
“No,” Maude said, as emphatically as she could. “Of course he does not mean it! There is too much at stake- the succession of Anjou, England, and Normandy. The scandal would be beyond belief. All of my father’s plans would be set at naught.” She paused, turning then, to meet Minna’s troubled gaze. “My father,” she said softly, “would never forgive me…”
Maude spent the evening’s remaining hours seeking to convince herself that Geoffrey could not possibly have been serious. But she still slept badly and awakened at dawn, so tense and edgy that she decided she had but one course of action: to confront Geoffrey straightaway.
Her husband’s squire could not hide his surprise, for she’d never before made an early-morning appearance in Geoffrey’s bedchamber. Geoffrey was already up and dressed; his high boots and dark-green tunic indicated he had a day’s hunting in mind. He gave Maude a cool, mocking glance. “Into the lion’s den? How brave of you, darling.”
Now it was Maude’s turn to say, “We need to talk. Will you send Raimund away?” Forcing herself to add “please” through gritted teeth.
He shrugged, dismissing his squire with a casual gesture. “Have you come, then, to bid me farewell?”
Maude stared at him. “You cannot do this, Geoffrey. You could not be so irresponsible, so reckless!”
“You think not? Go to the window, then. Your escort is waiting below, ready to see you safe into Normandy or Hell or wherever else you care to go.”
“For God’s sake, Geoffrey, this is madness! You’ve not thought this through. The Church will not annul our marriage; we have no grounds. You’ll not be able to wed again. Neither one of us will. What will you do for an heir?”
Moving to the table, he poured himself a breakfast beverage of watered-down wine. “If it comes to that, I suppose I can wait for you to die, dear heart. The only benefit of having such an older wife is that you’re not likely to outlive me, are you?”
“This is nothing to joke about! What of your father? He’ll be enraged if you commit this folly and well you know it!”
“I expect so,” he acknowledged airily. “But Jerusalem is a long, long way from Angers. It’ll be months ere he even hears.”
“ My father is not in Jerusalem,” she snapped. “What of his rage?”
“That is your problem, dear heart, not mine,” he said, and smiled at her.
It was like looking at a stranger. He even sounded different; there was malice in his tone but no anger. Maude was at a loss, not knowing how to deal with this new Geoffrey, defeated by this odd mixture of boyish flippancy and adult resolve. “So be it,” she said at last. “I’ll not beg.”
“A pity,” he said, “for that would have been one memory of our marriage I might have cherished.” The smile he gave her was lighthearted, quite genuine. Moving past her to the door, he said, “Well, I’m off to the hunt. It would be sporting of you to wish me luck. I wish you Godspeed and a safe journey. But Maude…do be gone by the time I get back tonight.”
He didn’t bother to close the door; she could hear him whistling as he started down the stairs. Maude stood very still, listening to the sounds of his receding footsteps in the stairwell, the fading echoes of his jaunty tune. God in Heaven, what now?
