She bobbed her head. “Your Grace,” she said.
Margaret stepped forward and he embraced her, kissing her cheek. “Margaret, you look well,” he told her.
“Thank you, Father,” she said soft.
She stayed to the side of him, and he looked at Rob, but his gaze settled on Winchester. Leicester bowed his head, but didn’t bow, and Winchester did the same. “My lord Leicester,” he said.
“Winchester. Surprised to see you out here.”
“I escorted your daughter from the queen mother’s side to London,” he said. “A happy task.”
Leicester’s eyes settled on Rob, and then on me. He looked at my scar, and I saw his eyes run down my arm to where my hand were hidden in my skirts. “You must be the Earl and Lady of Huntingdon,” he said, his voice careful and even.
I curtsied to him, and Rob bowed. “My lord,” Rob greeted.
He glanced about, though we were in a very open space and were the only ones there. “Where is young de Clare? He did not come to greet me?”
“Lord de Clare has little in the way of graces to recommend him,” Isabel said.
Margaret looked down, and the earl took this in as well. “Hm,” he said.
“My lord, my servants will lead you to a room to refresh yourself,” Isabel said. “Or, if you would prefer, we would be honored for you to join us in the gardens. My ladies and I were just going for a walk.”
“I would prefer to walk,” he said, patting his legs. “Far too long in the saddle.” He turned to Margaret. “But I will need a few moments alone with my daughter,” he said.
Isabel gave a gracious nod and swept off toward the gardens. Her ladies followed behind her, and Isabel shot a glare over her shoulder at me.
“Come along, Quincy,” Rob said. “We can’t wait here for her.”
Winchester’s eyes were hard, watching Leicester. “No,” he said, shaking his head. “No, this cannot go on a moment longer.”
Rob reached for his arm, but Winchester shook him off, striding forward. “My lord, before you speak with your daughter, I must insist on a private audience with you.”
Leicester looked at Winchester and paused a long moment. “Margaret, go with Huntingdon. I will meet you in the gardens.”
I drew a long breath as Margaret came toward us. She raised her chin, walked forward, and though I couldn’t say the same, she never turned round once as we walked out of the courtyard and into the gardens.
When Leicester came out, Winchester weren’t with him. Leicester nodded to Margaret, flicking his fingers at her like a dog, and at his command, she went.
The first few words of their exchange were too quiet to hear, but she cried, “Father, please!” and everyone in the garden went silent.
“No,” he said sharp. “You will obey me. You will marry de Clare. You will listen to your betters and do as I say!”
“But Winchester is a better man! An earl in his own right already.”
“And you care for him,” Leicester snarled. “Do you not think I’ve heard of your wanton ways? The prince himself came to me, telling me of your behavior. The queen has written to me to say she wishes to attend the wedding, and if that were not so, you would marry de Clare tomorrow, my girl. No more of your protestations.”
“Father, please—” she begged.
He slapped her.
I ran forward, stepping in front of Margaret. She curled herself, sobbing free, against my back. “Lady Huntingdon—” Leicester started.
“Scarlet,” Rob said, coming to me. “Take Margaret inside. Now.”
I met Rob’s eyes, and his blue oceans were hot with anger. I nodded once, glaring at Leicester.
Turning, I took Margaret full in my arms, and I hauled her out of the gardens. We bare made it inside the wall of the palace when her legs stopped holding her, and rather than drag her, I crumpled round her, trying to make my arms a fortress like Rob’s arms were for me. I petted her head and kissed her hair, and she just cried on me.
“I thought—I thought I would have a happy end,” she whispered, hiccoughing with sobs. “I loved a man suitable to my station, without a wife, who was free to love me too. How did that end badly?” she said. “I did everything I was meant to.”
“It’s not the end,” I told her.
I brought her back to her chambers, and stayed with her until she slept. When I returned to my own, Winchester were there with Rob. His nerves were gone, and in its place, a cold, hard anger.
He saw me and stood. “Locksley’s terrible at this, Marian,” he told me.
Rob stood too, frowning.
“At what?” I questioned, coming in.
“I need a plan,” he said. “I’m going to marry Margaret one way or another.”
“And this came for you,” Rob said, holding a letter.