So, the King still lusted for Nesta, or at least Stratford thought so. Marcus did not like the implications of that.

The archbishop became the image of a man who had made a decision. “We will make this marriage tomorrow, then you will take both sisters with you back to Anglesmore. That way you can keep an eye on Nesta, and see that she causes no mischief. Better to have her there, than wandering around God knows where. If any of her father’s men seek to use her, you will know of it. If she is in league with them, you might even learn their movements and plans if she is in your household.”

Stratford’s strategy paralleled the King’s, which Marcus had learned about in the private letter from Edward that came with the official one regarding the marriage. The King also wanted Nesta at Anglesmore. The King had written friend to friend, and spoken of making amends and finding her a place. Now Marcus suspected the King had other intentions as well if, as Stratford indicated, he still held affection for Nesta.

The notion of that made his distaste for this marriage twist again. Bad enough to be bound to a woman coerced. Worse yet to have the sister he really wanted ever present. A living hell waited if the King visited and expected to tryst with his old lover.

If she was willing, he would have no choice except to permit it. If she was not …

And all the while he would be expected to discover if Nesta plotted against the realm.

If he learned that she did, he would be the man who had to bring her to judgment.

“The ceremony will be tomorrow,” Marcus explained. “I hope you will both come.”

“Of course. I have had a new surcotte made,” Joan said. “You are contented with this marriage, Mark?”

She persisted in calling him by his boyhood name, even though he never used it anymore. He had repudiated it, just as he had turned his back on the powerless youth who had been called that. Since taking his place as Lord of Anglesmore he had been Marcus, just as his father had been.

“Well contented. I have finally met her. She is beautiful and modest and obedient, and rich lands and the King’s favor come with her. What more could I want?”

The day had turned warm, and they sat in the garden of Joan’s London house while the evening light waned. The table between them held three small clay statues. Joan had made them, and now they dried so that she could take them to a kiln. Down by the far wall of the garden, Joan’s husband Rhys played with their two youngest children.