Huddled beneath a borrowed cape, Tyballis was led through torch-bright corridors. The group had been ordered to remain in Hastings’ quarters. They would all be thrown in gaol should the story prove untrue, but from the beginning they had known the risk and were not afraid. Tyballis, however, was terrified. She was relieved when Lord Geoffrey’s steward informed them that his lordship was not at home.
Lord Hastings’ page bowed. ‘Sir Henry, I am instructed to present this gift from Harold, Baron Throckmorton to his lordship, Geoffrey Marrott. My master has substantiated the claimant’s identity and authorised safe passage. May I assume you will accept responsibility for the package, my lord?’
The steward sniffed with faint distaste. ‘Certainly, Roger. I shall take it from here.’
Tyballis was pushed into a low-beamed chamber busy with activity, pages chasing dogs and building up the fire, servants preparing wine and lifting the shutters for twilight closure. Before having time to gaze at the strewn luxury, she was quickly thrust into a second and finally into a third room. This last was empty of bustle and only the hangings shuffled and whispered. Tyballis peered through shadows at a bed larger than any she had seen before. ‘Wait here,’ the steward informed her, ‘and touch nothing. Disrobe and leave your clothes by the garderobe door. His lordship will return presently. If he accepts you and after he has finished, you will make your departure through the private gallery to the rear of the bedchamber. If his lordship declines, you will immediately be removed the way you have come.’
He left her standing in the middle of the floor staring at the bed. She had never before, even on her wedding night, felt so humiliated. Her skin felt unclean, her eyes were blurred and moist, and she was bitterly cold. She swallowed hard, took a deep breath and began once again to loosen the top of her gown. She refused to remove all her clothes, but hoped that some bare flesh would at least be sufficient to start the conversation. Once alone with the man, she could give the message for which she had come. It must, she thought, be almost time for Throckmorton to turn up. His arrival would take Marrott away, and then she would be free to escape.
She clambered into the bed, tugging her bodice down to her hips and the downy covers up around her waist. Half-hidden by the bed curtains, she crossed her arms over her breasts and waited. The sheets smelled of sweet lavender, and perfumes of honeyed wax floated above her head. She felt increasingly sick. No one had offered wine, though she would have welcomed some additional courage. The bed was swelteringly comfortable, spread with furs, embroidered linens and silks, but she saw none of it. Although worried Throckmorton might arrive before Lord Marrott, she had no way of counting time, so she silently practised the words she planned to say. When she heard low voices in the outer chambers and finally the door opened, she jerked up, wondered what looking seductive might possibly entail, set her arms carefully at her sides and faced the distant and darkened doorway with rigid determination.
She was discomforted to realise that the first man who entered was shadowed by a second. These noblemen, she thought with annoyance, evidently went nowhere without their servants, not even to bed. She concentrated on the first to approach. He was at least smiling and, she could not help noticing, was extremely handsome. In fact, he was even more beautiful than Davey, and far better dressed. His furs were sumptuous sables, his velvets were vivid scarlet, his figure was tall, elegant and well muscled, and as his great coat swung back, his dark hose exposed a well-turned pair of legs. Tyballis forced herself to smile, and the man, standing just within the doorway with an expression of intense approval, smiled back. His plump mouth was perhaps a little loose and his eyes too avid, but Tyballis felt she was in no position to criticise. Quite naked to the waist, she leaned forwards a little and hoped the gloom would hide the depth of her blushes.
Lord Marrott came fully into the room. The long windows were still unshuttered but no light seeped through, for the day had disappeared behind the thrumming sleet. Nor had candles been lit, yet his lordship appeared so dazzling that Tyballis saw only him. He said softly, ‘Well, I was told a gift from Throckmorton awaited me. For once the fool has shown some taste. What’s your name, girl?’
Tyballis, shaking with nerves, stuttered, ‘Tyballis, my lord. And if your lordship pleases, I have brought an important message.’
Marrott stepped closer. ‘The message I see before me is undoubtedly sufficient, my dear. Nothing could surpass this proof of his generosity.’
She assumed this was a compliment. Receiving compliments from nobility was presumably something to be coveted, even if one was busy plotting his downfall. She tried not to cower. The man’s gaze was now firmly attached to her breasts. ‘My lord,’ she said, ‘forgive me, but the message is urgent. May I speak?’
He nodded, sitting suddenly on the edge of the bed beside her. ‘Make it brief, my dear. Don’t be frightened, I won’t hurt you. But how cruel you are, to make me wait.’
The words she had silently practised now inexplicably rearranged themselves. ‘The Baron Throckmorton is coming to see you, my lord, at exactly four of the clock. For important business. He’ll be here directly. I beg you to see him first – before me. It must be four by now, my lord, isn’t it? I’ve been a little delayed in giving the message, sir, and he believes you’re expecting him.’
‘Throckmorton coming here?’ Lord Marrott laughed. ‘I send my servants to him, girl. I’ll not receive him here at court, whatever the quality of his gifts. He can go to hell for now, I’ll deal with him later. First, let me see a little more of what he’s sent.’ Grasping her shoulders and thrusting her back with one hand, he threw off the covers with the other. His fingertips were like iron and he towered over her, filling her vision. The waiting servant had kept well back, hovering outside the doorway. There was, however, the faint sound of shifting feet and patient breathing. Marrott spoke over his shoulder. ‘You still there, my friend? Wait for me in the outer solar, will you? I doubt I shall be long.’
The man had a very hard grip on her right breast and was leaning closer to kiss her, when Tyballis started to struggle. With his mouth half-clamped on hers, she mumbled, ‘First the message, my lord. Please … no.’
Marrott, eyes steely, sat back. ‘Don’t be a fool, girl. What game are you playing now?’
‘Throckmorton,’ Tyballis said. ‘Please – no.’
‘If he dares turn up here, I shall have him thrown out,’ Marrott said calmly. ‘And if you think you can lead me on and then push me away, I shall have you thrown out too, Madam Whore. Has Throckmorton set you up to trick me?’ Seeing nothing but the cold fury growing in his eyes, Tyballis stopped struggling. She cringed back as his hands grasped at her body and groped beneath the remaining bedcovers. Expecting rape, she closed her eyes.