Master Whitman regarded her closely. “I was on that voyage, my lady, but I canna’ say I remember you. The princess was the lady for whom the ship was named well enough. You musta’ been a wee child then. But the ship I loved best was the Golden Gull. It stands for freedom you see, an’ not having a cruel and heartless man for a master even if he be handpicked by the king himself, eh?”
Master Whitman did not bat an eye when Staff put Stephen and Nancy in the two tiny rooms and guided Mary into the larger chamber and, after a few words about supper, firmly closed the door. Stephen accepted it, Nancy looked jittery despite her exhaustion, but Master Whitman only twitched at one corner of his bearded mouth. Mary held her tongue until his footsteps died away outside the door.
“This is entirely unsuitable to me. I will bed with my girl since you so obviously intend to sleep here.”
“I think you had better wash your grimy face, sweetheart, and I will get you a bath after we have eaten.”
She stood uncertain as he peeled off his shirt and dug into the saddle sacks he had deposited on the floor. “A dress would feel better than those breeks, I imagine, though you do them justice well enough.” He looked up sharply. “Where do you think you are going?”
She paused with her hand on the door latch. “I told you, I am staying with Nancy.”
“Look, Mary. No more arguing. I am filthy and tired and starved, and so are you.”
Did he mean those words at face value, or something deeper? He faced her across a narrow space, her brown riding dress dangling from his fingers. His hair fell in disarray over his forehead, and his eyes pierced her as always. Her legs trembled as though she were still cantering in rhythmic motion on Eden’s back.
“All right,” she said. “I will stay for now. I know you will not force the widow of your dead friend to do anything she does not wish.” She took the dress from him and turned to pour water from the pewter ewer to wash her face and arms.
The food Master Whitman put before them was simple fare, but they devoured it as if it were the finest feast at court. To Mary’s relief, Staff stayed in the hall talking with the Whitmans and Stephen while Nancy helped her bathe in the bed chamber. She had not expected such manners and restraint from him considering the way his eyes caressed her, and she began to relax somewhat. After all, her servants were nearby. She had been with him all day, and he had not attempted to so much as kiss her. Surely he understood her position and would not make it hard for her.
As tiny star points began to pierce the darkening sky, she and Staff stood in the cobbled yard of the inn, stretching their weary limbs. Such starry nights always reminded her of Master da Vinci’s velvet painted ceiling. But even the old man had not had the humming of insects under his close-hanging heaven. Staff stood behind her, not touching her, but she felt his presence like a physical caress. His big body threw a long shadow from the lanterns in the hall across the stones and into the rose bushes. Inside, Nancy chattered to Master Whitman’s wife, Margaret, and Stephen dozed by the low fire.
“Will you walk with me by the pond, Mary?” his voice came quietly in her ear. “There is a little fish pond just behind the inn.”
Despite the fact that she should have told him no, with the stars burning so brightly and the three-quarter moon just rising over the thatched rooftops, she nodded and walked on ahead. The earth smelled fresh, as though it had just rained, and she felt very much at peace with herself despite her burden of guilt. Hever would do this for her too, this calm inside, this deep calm.
The little pond was as still as glass and the patches of oval water lily leaves cradling their pure white blossoms looked like stepping stones across its surface. She leaned pensively against the trunk of a trimmed willow tree. Trimmed, no doubt, to keep the view of the pond from the windows of the inn. The willow arched over them like a protective parasol. Fireflies studded the dark grass along the edge of the water.
“Am I to understand that you mean not to bed with me now that poor Will is gone and you are truly free to do so with a good conscience?” he asked low. The question hung between them and, though she had the proper answer composed in her head, the words would not come. “I will not have you come to detest me the way you did Francois, nor be indifferent as you did with His Grace for his ownership of you. I love you too much despite the way my foolish loins ache for you to be spread beneath me.”
Her pulse started its thump, thump in the silence. She blessed the dark that he could not see her face.
“They were kings, father approved, and it just seemed I never had a choice,” she heard herself say finally. “And Will was suddenly my God-given husband.”
“King-given husband rather,” he put in.
“But, you see, my father has always pushed or pulled me and if he has not, others have. Now I can make my own decisions.”