"Spare us the jackdaw chatter," Sartaq growled. "I require that he do homage for the throne of England, whether it is the throne matrimonial or not. And he will do homage as suzerain also."
"That requires no change in the marriage contract," Hamish said. "Sir Toby, you have no objections?"
"Hmm?" Longdirk seemed to focus one eye at a time, like a bird. "Objections? No objections."
Sartaq muttered something under his breath. "Aunt, it seems that we shall have to concede."
"I don't suppose," Blanche squeaked, going shrill as she always did at moments of stress, "that anyone could think of asking my daughter's opinion in this matter?"
"Ah, your quaint western customs," Sartaq said. "Very well. Cousin?"
Lisa looked in despair to Hamish.
Hamish had started back to the table. He glanced around briefly — and nodded to her, very urgently: Say yes! Then he turned his head again quickly, and continued as if that had never happened.
"Your High…" She stammered, unsure of what she had seen, unable to believe he would betray her now.
Again he glanced around and signaled, Yes! Say yes!
Was no one true to her? She heard her own voice respond. "I shall be obedient to Your Highness's wishes."
Sartaq shrugged. "Very well. Let us set the date and—"
"We have the marriage contract here," Hamish said. "The notary has advised us that the betrothal may be waived."
"Time is short, Your Highness," boomed the big Abonio man. "Sir Toby will have to lead his troops north in a day or two at the latest. Naturally he is impatient, yes? Seeing the bride, can any of us blame him?" The other men guffawed crudely.
This was obscene! Betrothed and married in ten minutes? Lisa wanted to scream a protest, but Hamish had taken up position behind his little table again and was definitely signaling to her. Beside the single candlestick stood an inkwell with a quill in it.
"If I am to be married at a gallop, then by all means let us get it over with!" Lisa declared, and swept across the floor to Hamish. She hoped he would explain.
His eyes gleamed inhumanly bright, reflecting the dancing flame. On the table, between candle and inkwell lay several pages of vellum covered in minute, cramped, handwriting. "If Your Majesty would just sign here. And here… Don't say a word," he added in a whisper, not moving his lips. "Trust me."
Tears made the vellum swim into a blur. Trust him? What was he going to do — abduct her from her husband's bed in the nick of time?
"Sign here!" Hamish insisted.
Lisa took up the quill and signed her name. Twice, three times. A tear splashed on the vellum.
"Now, Your Highness," he said loudly, "as de jure guardian, and the bride's mother as — Oops!" Clumsy Hamish had knocked over the candlestick. He stamped on it before it could damage the priceless Cathay rug. "Sign, er, here, Your Highness…"
So the contract was signed — Lisa and Longdirk, the prince and her mother, Guilo and Hamish as witnesses.
"The Magnificent Guilo," Hamish announced loudly, "has most generously provided a wedding breakfast — if Your Honors would come this way."
Longdirk offered Lisa his arm to walk half the length of the room. The prince and Blanche and the mercenaries trailed after.
"You smiled at your last wedding," her husband said. He had been riding and fighting all day in the hot Tuscan sun. Horse and man and gunpowder and worse. How very romantic!
"I liked my last bridegroom."
"He had money, but he was very small."
"You have none and are far too big."
"I think we are in for a very interesting married life."
"I don't."
They reached the table the servants had spread, and the grinning guests hastily lined up to congratulate the happy couple. There were no chairs or stools. This was to be a wedding feast on the hoof. Legal rape was what this was, and yet Hamish had told her to submit, to acquiesce. Had she misjudged even Hamish? Had he betrayed her to trick her into marriage with his longtime friend?
Yesterday the banquet and then, whoops! the groom just died, wait a minute, here's another, carry on where we left off…
Longdirk offered her a goblet of wine. She noticed again that he was almost out on his feet. Whatever else her wedding night might offer, romance was not on the playbill.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The wedding feast lasted seven or eight minutes, while the mercenary leaders bowed to her, offered leering congratulations, and thumped her husband on the back. And made crass remarks.
Such as: "Are you sure you're capable of this tonight, Big One?"
Longdirk responded vaguely: "Capable of what?" or "I'm told it isn't difficult."
She was very hungry and managed to snatch a mouthful or two before she found herself on her husband's arm being escorted out of the hall by all the guests, carrying lanterns. Hamish was leading the way. Hamish, Hamish! Had she misjudged Hamish? What had he meant by those cryptic words and mysterious glances…?
"Magnificent Guilo," Longdirk mumbled, "been kind, enough, put a room at our, our, er… Sorry. Not usual sparkling self."
The wedding ended, she recalled, when the bride and groom withdrew behind closed doors.
"I am curious," she said. "Did you murder my last bridegroom?"
"Hope not. Couldn't have pulled off the fraud without him."
"Another thing I always like to know about my husbands. Are you possessed by a demon?"
They walked up ten or twelve steps before he answered. "Two days ago would have said no."
"That's not quite the comfort I was hoping for. Now you say yes?"
"Now not quite so sure." He stumbled and recovered.
"When did you last sleep?"
"Don' 'member. Weeks."
"Well, you can have a nice, long, quiet night tonight."
At the end of a corridor she had not visited before, Hamish opened a door. There was a very large four-poster bed in it, a table with some refreshments, chairs and chests, another door leading perhaps to a dressing room. There was more crude humor. The door closed. There was silence. She had been left with one candle and one useless husband. She slid the bolt.
Longdirk walked across to the bed and laid a shoulder against the nearest post. He leaned, arms dangling limply, and the whole great bed creaked in alarm.
"Demons!" he muttered. "I… have… never… so tired. In my life."
Lisa fought for a grip on her temper. This was her second marriage in two days. Her first husband had been murdered in front of her eyes, her second was a physical wreck, and she was chained for the rest of her days to a lowborn bastard serf she despised and detested.
She had done nothing to deserve this!
"I am not going to undress you. You stink. Take your boots off and lie down. And stay away from me until you're respectable."
He peered around the post at her, struggling to make his eyes focus. "You compre… comp… un'ershtand… have just witnessed one of the great sleight of hands of all times?"
Carrying the candle, Lisa went across to inspect the other room. There was nothing in it whatsoever, just bare floor. She came back out again and closed the door. Longdirk was still on his feet, but barely so, propped up by the bed.
" 'S Hamish," he mumbled. "Mashermind the whole think."
"If you're not going to go to bed, will you please turn your back while I undress? I am not accustomed to an audience."